The Last Boleyn(134)

“It is of a son I wished to ask, Your Grace.” Mary resisted the impulse to wring her hands and tried to keep her voice calm.

“My son, Mary?”

“No, Your Grace. Henry Carey, Will Carey’s son and mine. You see, I almost never see the lad and he grows so fast. And since you keep to your bed in the mornings and see His Grace much in the afternoons, I thought it might be a convenient time for you to let me visit him at Hatfield.” Anne’s almond-shaped eyes fastened on her blonde sister’s face. “It is sad for a child to be without a father and mother too.”

“I hope you do not mean that as another of your pious suggestions that the king’s illegitimate daughter Mary be allowed to visit her Spanish mother the Princess of Wales just because she is so ill this winter.”

Mary could feel her heart pounding, vibrating her velvet bodice. “No, of course not. I meant nothing by the remark yesterday. I am speaking only of my son and your legal ward. Please Anne, Your Grace, it would mean much to me to see him even if for a day or two.”

“Well, if you are not gone long, I am certain I can spare your services. Sometimes, sister,” she said leaning toward Mary and lowering her voice, “I am not certain whose side you are on, although the Boleyns have quite vanquished the treasonable forces of the Spanish princess. And, as His Grace and I have said, her stiff-necked daughter will be allowed back to court only when she will bow her head to the rightful heir to the throne after he is born this autumn. Indeed, after I am crowned at the Abbey in June as His Grace has promised, no one will dare to doubt who is queen or whisper ‘there goes the king’s concubine, his whore’ in the streets.”

“You have many loyal followers and more to come, sister,” Mary comforted.

“Yes, Mary. Father, the king, and Cromwell shall make certain of that. Only, it would help me to know that you are one of my most loyal subjects and not only my sister.” She sighed and her slender hands smoothed the silk coverlet over her legs pensively. “I can see why the court is more boring for you now that your paramour Stafford has gone off to Wivenhoe.” She raised her hand and pointed her finger at Mary as though she were warning or scolding a child. “See that you do not accidentally stray to his little manor after seeing your child.”

Mary took a deep breath and fought to keep the alarm from her face. “I go not to Wivenhoe, Your Grace. Indeed, I have never even seen the place.”

Jane Rochford approached the bed beside Mary and offered Anne a golden goblet with spiced wine. “Could you not hear well enough where you sat?” Anne inquired tartly to the short woman, but she took the wine. Jane said nothing.

“Fine, Mary, go if you will, but do not tarry there. And as to your friend at Wivenhoe, His Grace intends to marry him to the Dorsey wench this summer. As sister to the queen, you, of course, will wed much higher than that.”

Mary almost shouted for joy. It would be too late for all their plans after tomorrow. She backed quickly away from the bed and curtseyed. She would be gone within the hour and join Staff to ride for Hatfield, and tomorrow would see their wedding at Banstead, free, free from them all for a time.

“Our sister Mary is journeying out in this terrible weather,” Jane noted sweetly to Anne, and Mary could have slapped her for her meddling. “Does your father approve then, Mary?”

“I think,” Mary began, but Anne’s sharp tone interrupted her.

“Hush, Jane, and stay out of Mary’s and my business. Lord Boleyn is not king here or queen either. It is my decision that Mary shall visit Will Carey’s son and so she shall. Tattle to father if you wish, but keep well from me if you do. And I will tell Cromwell myself so he knows where she is. I hope, dear Jane, it will not choke you to have to keep juicy information quite to yourself.”

Jane opened her mouth to answer, but bent in a jerky curtsey and backed from the bed to her chair in the corner again without a word. Anne’s smile of triumph and Mary’s obvious relief hung between the sisters.

“’I thank you, Your Grace. I shall not forget this kindness.”

“See you do not, Mary. And say best wishes to the lad. Maybe I shall have him appointed to the Inns of Court to learn royal service at the bar when he is ready. He would be eleven now?”

“Yes. Almost twelve.”

“Then he could serve my son as advisor or companion someday perhaps. You would like that, Mary?”

“The Carey children would be honored to serve the king’s family,” Mary said low. Her legs began to tremble. Could she not get away? He would think she had failed to convince the queen she should go. He might not wait for her or come back here. “May I leave now, Your Grace? The morning rest would do you good.”

“Yes. I dare say, I should keep up my strength, for the fact I am carrying his babe does little to dampen the Tudor ardor at night. Goodbye, then.”

Mary spun and forced herself to walk slowly from the room. The raucous shouts still permeated the courtyard, and she was relieved to see few people in the corridor. His Grace was probably closeted with his Cromwell, for he was content no longer to let a chancellor run the government unbridled as Wolsey had done all those years. She would be on her horse and off with Stephen and the grooms before anyone missed her.

Nancy’s face lit like a torch when she saw her mistress’s smile. “She is letting you go, then?”