The Last Boleyn(126)
“Listen well now, Mary. I need your help. I could not possibly stand Jane’s simpering face right now, and some of the others are not to be trusted. I may have Catherine’s—I mean the newly declared Duchess of Wales’s—royal jewels in my coffers now, but she still has some of their hearts and well I know it. Now, we will have the most elaborate banquet this old place has ever seen—hundreds of French delicacies and some English. I shall visit the kitchens myself to see that the French dishes are prepared properly. You could check those too, Mary, for you ate at Francois’s royal banquets as long as I. We will have dancing, masked I think, and a wonderful mime, maybe some charades. Yes, how appropriate. Something about the loving French and English relations, though that is a wretched lie. Some mimes from mythology. I know! We can hang these tapestries in the banquet hall instead of the silver and gold arras which are there now—we shall use those for table cloths—and put on mimes of every tapestry scene!”
“It sounds wonderful, Anne. I will help you any way I can.”
“In any way? Remember you said that, Mary.” Anne whirled and clapped her hands together once. “Can you see it all now, Mary? A feast and fun, yes, but revenge pure and simple on all of them, not the least on their foolish women who choose to let their French lords go gallivanting off to visit the English king’s latest concubine. We shall show them.”
Mary stood to stop Anne’s nervous pacing. She took a step into her swirling path and touched her sister’s slender arm. “Just what kind of revenge are you thinking of, Anne? It is one thing that they will miss the festivities and the chance to meet the English king and his future wife—that loss shall be theirs whether they know it or not—but you seem to be implying another.”
Anne smiled devastatingly at her taller sister. “You had best get the ladies assembled for rehearsals for the mimes, Mary, while I care for the other orders. Do not concern yourself now with the minute details.”
Mary’s fingers tightened slightly on Anne’s arm. “Anne, I think you had better tell me what you are thinking. There is something you have not said, of revenge, I think. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Can you, sister? I thought I was rather good at hiding what I would hide. Then I shall tell you since you have no way of stopping me. The sweetest revenge shall be this. Let the pious ladies of this fair realm stay away from contact with the English King’s Great Whore! Oh yes, I know what they are thinking now they do not come as they are bidden. Their husbands and sons will all go back to them awed and humbled by their evening here with Anne Boleyn—and they will all go back having been quite unfaithful to their pious little snobs.” Her voice broke in anger. Smeaton had long given up playing and sat stock-still, listening to their heated exchange.
“You had best consider this again, Anne. You are starting to sound like you are opening a brothel. His Grace will never permit it.”
“Which His Grace, Mary? Well enough you know that Francois’s court has no scruples about a quick conquest of any lovely, willing lady, and I have brought enough of those—single and beautiful women with dazzling dresses. Add that to wine, dancing and a man away from his home and wife and we shall see.” She yanked her arm from Mary’s grasp and began her rapid pacing again.
“As for Their Graces, sister,” Anne went on with an increasingly sharp edge on her voice, “you and I shall see to them personally. How perfect—it will certainly amuse father. Two kings in bed with two Boleyns at the same time, though maybe not in the same place.” She smothered a giggle.
Mary felt a stab of hurt deep inside, but the great waves of disgust overwhelmed that pain. “Anne, how dare you think and talk so to me. Seduce your king if you will. Heaven knows he has wanted you long enough and has done overmuch to earn your love, but I shall have no part of Francois!”
“Do not speak to me that way, Mary. He is your old lover—oh, yes, I knew of it at the time though I was young and pondered it and wondered ever since. He must be magnificent in bed. You have no one now but William Stafford, and he is so obviously beneath you that I cannot believe that affair is serious. Francois is the king, Mary, and he deserves to be humbled. It can be your revenge for his casual handling of you. Think of the fun we shall have together laughing about it after.”
“Your anger and fears have gotten the best of you, Anne. You should rest and I will see to the plans for the banquet.” Mary fought an urge to reach out and shake the girl, but she was obviously sick and distraught—poisoned by revenge. Wolsey’s death and Catherine’s fall had not yet appeased her. “Please, Anne, sit and I will call Lady Guildford.”
“I do not want that old watchdog here! She is still loyal to the Spanish princess. And do not patronize me, Mary. I know father thinks you are here to watch me, to calm me as if I am not responsible for myself. Well, I am responsible for the rise of the Boleyns and you had best not forget it! Both you and father must do what I say now, for I shall soon be queen and you must do what I say then. Be gone and see you hold your tongue about my plans. And that goes for you too, my lovely lutenist. You are much too much of a gossiper.”
She patted his cheek and spun away. The smooth-faced Smeaton gazed up at her slim back adoringly. “Yes, my dear Lady Anne,” he said only.
“Go on, Mary,” Anne prodded with her hands, then pressed them to her slim hips through her voluminous yellow skirts. “I will have no more of your lectures. You are hardly one to warn me of traps and indiscretions, sister.”