The Last Boleyn(141)

“And what do you imply by that? Help me back to bed. I do not wish to have your pious lectures about anything, including that the little bastard Mary Tudor should be allowed to visit her Spanish mother. She must be made to serve as Elizabeth’s handmaid and companion. Do not look so grieved. It will be a good lesson to her. She and her wretched mother must learn who is queen and who is only princess of the realm now. I could also appoint your Catherine to live at Hatfield since the Duchess of Suffolk has been so ill and at Westhorpe unable to return to court. Elizabeth should have her little cousin with her. You would like little Catherine to be well provided for, would you not?”

“Yes, oh yes. Thank you, sister.” Tears of relief sprang to Mary’s eyes, for she had worried over Catherine’s future as she had heard daily of the worsening health of her dear friend Mary Tudor, beloved Duchess of Suffolk. All the court knew the king’s sister had hovered at the very door of death these past weeks.

“I thank the saints you are not queen here, Mary. Your spine and heart of jelly would hardly do the Boleyns any good. Though I am strong and will not bow to their whims, the people and court will come to love me when they have their prince. And—they will have him from my body as soon as I am well again.” She collapsed weakly to a sitting position on the bed. Mary lifted her legs and covered her with the sheet. “Tell Jane to fetch Cromwell.”

Jane’s face appeared beside Mary’s as though she had heard every word they had shouted or whispered. “I will fetch him, Your Grace,” she said, and darted back from the bed in a swift curtsey.

“And tell him nothing, Jane. Just fetch him and do not tell His Grace you do so,” Anne added, her eyes still on Mary.

“Then I should go to see what father wants, Your Grace,” Mary said bending slightly over Anne after Jane had departed.

“Wait, wait! Sit again. There is something else.” Mary did so.

“I promise you I will take care of your two children and that I will continue to ignore your little liaison with William Stafford, at least until His Grace and I find you a husband, but you must be my friend, Mary. You must!” Her fingers gripped Mary’s arm hard.

“I am your friend, Anne.”

“Then you forgive me for making you sleep with Francois in France?”

Mary bowed her head and the huge ruby on Anne’s thumb winked bloodily at her. She knew Francois had told them his lies as he had vowed. She hated the memory of that night now that she felt clean and whole as Staff’s wife. What good would it do now to deny it all?

“Mary, you forgive me?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“And you will help me? Vow it!”

“I do so promise, sister, unless you have some other plan for me to sleep with, wed or love elsewhere than I would choose for myself.”

“You will marry where the king and I bid you, but for the rest, yes, I promise. When you wed, we shall surely find you someone you can love, as they say. And as for sleeping elsewhere, that is what I do not wish you to do. You see, Mary,” her voice dropped to a bare whisper and Mary had to lean closer, “I heard father talking to George about how beautiful you still are and how you seem to have bloomed anew lately and I fear that...well, I know father so well, I fear he may try to get you to hold the king for the family.”

Mary’s body jerked back and her hands went to her open mouth. Anne’s dark eyes pierced Mary’s wide ones. “Yes, Mary. I am glad to see you knew nothing of it and he has not asked you yet. But I fear he will and you must vow to me to have no part of it.”

“Your Grace, Anne, how could you ever believe I would do such a thing? Besides, it is over long, long ago for me with the king, before his heart was yours. I would never do such a thing even if father threatens me.”

“I thought as much. But I have seen you bend to him before against your will and, unlike me, I know you love him still.”

“I do not, sister. That, too, went long ago.”

“Do not lie to yourself, Mary. I can see the grief in your eyes when he hurts or uses you. And do not let him try to bribe you through your children or Stafford. I am queen here. And, Mary,” her hand shot out and grabbed the folds of Mary’s gown, “you must vow to tell me if he even asks you to do so. I can only handle him if I know his plottings against me.”

“Anne, father would never plot against you. You are his dear hope and well he knows it!”

“But, you see, Mary, you were his hope once and, when the strings to the king’s heart dissolved, he dropped you. Can you deny it?”

“No.”

“I have always learned by your example, sister. Go on now. You must see him and then tell me what he says.”

“I wish not to be trapped as a spy between you and father, Anne. I have been in too many snares already and I wish it not.”

“Then, on this one thing only, as you have promised me, Mary. I need your strength. Please.”

“Yes. Yes. I understand.”

“Go now before Jane comes back with Cromwell in tow. I am not sure what I shall tell him.” She turned away from Mary on her side and sighed. “I only sent her on the errand to rid us of her prying ears. Still she may be useful to me in this.” Anne’s voice faded away as though she would sleep, and Mary rose carefully from the bed. Then she turned back.