The Tudor Wife. Emily Purdy

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СКАЧАТЬ then that it was impossible, no matter how much you desire and crave it, to make someone love you.

      ‘Please, Father, do not deny me this! My heart will surely break if you do!’

      With a reluctant sigh he gave in. ‘It is with grave misgivings that I say this, Janey, but I will leave things as they are; I will say nothing to Sir Thomas of my doubts. The negotiations shall continue and we will see what comes to pass.’

      ‘Thank you!’ I whispered fervently. ‘Oh, Father, thank you!’ I flung my arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses.

      

      While the threat of losing my heart’s desire was but narrowly averted, Anne would not be so fortunate.

      Robert, a distant cousin of mine, was a gentleman of Cardinal Wolsey’s household, and from him I had the whole story.

      Wolsey summoned Harry Percy into his presence chamber and, before his entire household, soundly berated him, lashing poor Percy with his tongue as if it were a whip. How dare he dally with that Boleyn girl? Nearly foaming at the mouth, jowls quivering, eyes flashing, Wolsey declared himself astounded by the sheer gall, the presumptuousness and audacity Percy had displayed by allowing himself to become entangled with a common little nobody, the granddaughter of a merchant no less! Even if the man had risen to the rank of Lord Mayor of London and had prospered to such an extent that he was able to leave £1,000 to the poor upon his death, that dark-eyed minx with her long legs and swinging gypsyblack hair was no match for the Earl of Northumberland’s heir. Furthermore, Percy’s thoughtless behavior had grievously offended the King, and his father would arrive forthwith to deal with him personally.

      Never a very brave man under the best of circumstances, Percy stammered that he had not meant to offend anyone, but he was a grown man and thought himself capable of choosing his own wife.

      ‘I…I l-l-love Anne!’ He fell to his knees at Wolsey’s feet, blubbering and shuddering, like a man made of jelly.

      ‘Love? Bah!’ scoffed Wolsey. ‘Do you think that the King and I do not know our business? Do you think your father is a mutton-headed dolt like you are? Whom you marry is no concern of yours; it is for us—the King, myself, and your father—to tell you who to marry and when to marry, and it is for you to obey without quarrel or question!’

      Clutching like a drowning man at the Cardinal’s scarlet robes, Percy begged him to intercede, to plead his case before the King, asserting again that he loved Anne wholeheartedly.

      But Wolsey would have none of it. He ordered Percy from his sight, to be locked in his room until his father arrived.

      And oh, what a sight that was! His long red beard swinging, green eyes blazing, he swept down from the North, where it was his duty to safeguard the border from marauding Scots. Without waiting for Percy’s door to be unlocked, the Earl kicked it down, seized his son by the hair, and slapped him until his nose poured blood and two teeth wobbled in their sockets; then he dragged Percy out to the barge by his collar, flung him in, and bore him away, bawling like a baby, to marry Mary Talbot, the Earl of Shrewsbury’s only daughter, and a loathsome shrew if ever there was one.

      It was Anne’s turn next, and I was there to witness it, having chosen that moment as just the right time to bring my future mother-in-law a gift of embroidered gloves.

      Anne stood straight and defiant while her father paced before the hearth, raging and roaring at her. And I, seated out of the way on a window seat, my presence quite forgotten, could not help but tremble.

      I was glad that Thomas Boleyn was not my father. I swear ice water instead of blood coursed within his veins, and his heart was harder than marble. Gaunt and unsmiling, his dark hair speckled with gray, he spoke in crisp, curt syllables and was liberal with his blows, which he dealt swiftly and without remorse.

      ‘Did you not know that we had other plans for you? The Earl of Ormonde…’

      There had been some talk of marrying Anne to her cousin in Ireland to resolve a longstanding family dispute about the rights to an earldom.

      ‘James Butler,’ Anne announced, ‘is a drunken fool with a voice like bagpipes, he stinks like a stable, and I will not have him!’

      ‘You will not?’ Thomas Boleyn repeated incredulously.

      ‘I will not.’ Anne repeated each word slowly, enunciating clearly as if she were addressing a deaf man. ‘It is Harry Percy I love and I mean to marry him!’

      Thomas Boleyn raised his right hand and dealt Anne the first of three ringing slaps.

      ‘That is for your impertinence!’ he explained after the first. ‘That is for risking this family’s standing with the King. We would be nothing without his favor!’ he said after the second. His hand rose again and delivered the hardest and most stinging slap of all. ‘And that is because you failed! You have sullied your good name; your reputation has been compromised. Go now; you are banished to Hever until it is the King’s pleasure to recall you. Go! I cannot stand the sight of you; I never could suffer a fool!’

      With her head held high, showing the red print of her father’s hand blossoming against the pallor of her cheek, Anne left the room.

      I followed her, but she ignored me. The sight of her thus drew many alarmed and inquiring glances, and as she passed many fell to whispering, but Anne was oblivious to all.

      George, in his dust-covered riding clothes, his white shirt open at the throat and sweat-sodden, caught up with her in the garden.

      ‘Nan, oh, Nan, I came as soon as I heard…’

      Gently, he led her along the graveled path, to a quiet, leafy bower. Not once did he glance at me. I might as well have been a ghost; to him I was already invisible. His gloves fell unnoticed to the ground. I picked them up, pressed them to my nose, and inhaled their scent of spice, sweat, and leather.

      ‘Nan!’ he breathed as his fingers lightly traced the bruise flourishing on her cheek. His other hand tightened around his riding crop. ‘By Heaven, I should like to give him a taste of what he metes out so freely!’

      ‘It is all Wolsey’s doing,’ Anne said numbly. ‘Wolsey!’ she hissed, with all the venom of a serpent. ‘Heaven upon earth was within my grasp and he snatched it away, because he—that butcher’s boy!—deemed me unworthy. George, before you and God, I swear that if ever it is within my power I shall work the Cardinal as much displeasure as he has done me!’ And with these words she fell weeping into his arms, burrowing her face into his strong shoulder as I so longed to do.

      Neither of them seemed to realize what I knew from the start—Wolsey was only following orders.

      The next morning, Anne, dressed for travel, knelt at Queen Catherine’s feet to formally take leave of her.

      ‘I trust Your Majesty will know the cause,’ she said softly, her bitterness and anger ill-concealed.

      Queen Catherine leaned forward in her chair and gently took Anne’s bruised and tearstained face between her hands.

      ‘I am sorry, Mistress Anne. He is a sweet boy and I know your love for one another was sincere. Go with God’—she pressed a dainty gold filigree cross set with seed pearls into Anne’s hand—‘and know that you are in my prayers.’

      ‘Thank СКАЧАТЬ