The King’s Mistress. Darcey Bonnette

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СКАЧАТЬ I must press onward. I am a Howard.

      I urge myself toward my cousin and curtsy. “It will be my pleasure to serve you, Mistress Anne,” I say.

      Anne laughs. She reaches out a hand and seizes my chin. Her touch is not as gentle as the queen’s.

      “You have a big nose like your father,” she says in a slightly French-accented voice.

      At once tears fill my eyes. This is the last thing I expect to hear. On instinct my hand flies up to cover the offensive appendage, though all my life I have been unaware of its effect. It is all I can do to keep from sobbing out loud. I blink. I must think. I must win her favor.

      I lower my hand and smile. “Were it only like yours, my lady,” I say. “Perhaps you can show me how to make the best of this unfortunate circumstance?”

      Anne ponders me a moment, then bursts into laughter. There is something about it, an edge that makes it less joy-filled than nervous. Immoderate.

      “You shall sleep with the other maidens,” she says, putting to rest one of my anxieties. “You’ll find yourself in good company. Our cousin Madge Shelton is with us, and here is my sister, Mary Carey.”

      She gestures to a curvaceous blonde who reminds me of my Bess. I smile at her. I remember that Bess told me she had once been the king’s mistress. Through servants’ gossip I heard that her two children are his bastards. She is very beautiful; soft and round to her sister’s willowy delicacy. It is easy, however, to see how one could be attracted to both of them.

      Mary Carey approaches me and takes my hand. “We’ll take good care of you here,” she assures me, and my stomach settles a bit upon hearing the soothing sincerity of her tone.

      “But we must figure out a way to differentiate between all the Marys,” Anne comments. “Is it the only name in England?” She rises, flinging her grand hair over her shoulder. “My sister shall be big Mary and you shall be little Mary.”

      “What about Princess Mary?” I ask.

      Anne’s face darkens and I curse myself for mentioning the princess’s name. I have so much to learn about this court and I just cannot take it in fast enough!

      Anne bats her eyes and adopts a playful expression. “Ugly Mary.” The room erupts into titters of girlish laughter and I stifle the guilt that churns in my gut as I imagine Princess Mary, rumored to be plain and studious, alone and unloved in her own father’s court.

      But I am sworn to the Howards. I am sworn to the preserving of Anne’s happiness. It is not for me to fret over the princess.

      Yet late that night, after I am settled into bed with my cousin Madge, I find myself mumbling a prayer for her.

      No one should ever be without a friend in the world.

      It does not take long to realize that there exist two courts here. One small faction remains faithful to Queen Catherine and the other—the younger, more flighty set—flocks to my lady Anne, the star ascendant. I am caught up in all the excitement. There is nothing but merriment when around Anne. We recite poetry and sing, her favorite musician, Mark Smeaton, accompanying us on his lute, playing with slim deft fingers. We playact together, rehearsing masques we will perform for the king.

      The king! What a dazzling figure! He is so big and charming one cannot help but be rendered speechless in his majestic presence. One afternoon while we are readying ourselves for a picnic in the gardens, he struts into Anne’s apartments with the confidence and beauty of a peacock, decked out in his finest velvet and ermine.

      As he enters I am brushing my lady’s hair, as she prefers my hand to her sister’s when they are in disagreement, which is often.

      “And how now, Brownie?” he asks her.

      She laughs at the endearment and shoos me away. I manage to put the brush down but am too awed by His Grace to move, so stand transfixed.

      “Who’s this little beauty?” he asks, directing his gaze at me.

      “Surely Your Grace met my cousin Mary, Uncle Thomas’s daughter.” Anne’s voice is flat.

      “No, we would remember encountering such a fair child,” he says, stroking his tawny beard.

      While it is true I have seen the king from afar at meals and entertainments since coming to court, and even bear some vague childhood memories of him, I have never been formally introduced.

      He reaches out and places a bejeweled hand on my head. “Bless you, little one,” he says. “How do you find our court?”

      “It is the most splendid place in all the world, Sire,” I say, breathless.

      He laughs, a robust sound as mighty as he is. “You see? From the mouths of babes! May you always find happiness here, young Mary.”

      I am delighted by the encounter. He is so strong and cheerful I allow myself to imagine being held against his doublet, snuggled up safe and warm in my sovereign’s arms. I wonder if his relationship with Princess Mary is affectionate.

      His relationship with Anne certainly is. Now he is kissing her hand, turning it palm up to devour her little wrist. She pulls back. It is her bad hand, the one with the nub of a sixth finger on it, a very subtle deformity she hides well.

      It withdraws into her voluminous sleeve. She distracts him from the gesture by fluttering her thick dark lashes at him. “And to what do we owe the honor of this impromptu visit, Your Majesty?”

      “We would like to present you with a gift,” he says, his crisp blue eyes sparkling. He turns his attention to the mass of courtiers eavesdropping. “Ladies and gentlemen, why don’t you prepare for the gardens? We will join you shortly.”

      We have no choice but to do as we are told.

      Madge Shelton is now my best friend at court. She is not altogether attractive, but is spirited and full of a vibrancy that creates an aura of beauty that deceives the untrained eye. She and I stand in our maidens’ chamber gossiping over His Majesty’s “gift.”

      “No diamonds or rubies for Anne,” Madge says, laughing. “But Wolsey’s own Hampton Court!”

      I bow my head a moment. “I can’t help but feel sorry for the Cardinal …”

      “Shhh!” Madge puts her finger to my lips. “Don’t say such things. We aren’t permitted opinions. He failed in granting an annulment and proving the invalidity of the king’s marriage, so suffered the price—confiscated lands and a confiscated title. He’s the archbishop of York now, remember?”

      “But he was so close with the king,” I continue in genuine puzzlement. “It’s frightening to think one he loved like a brother can be thrown down so fast. And so far.”

      “This is strange to you?” Madge’s tone is incredulous. She is a true Howard, I think. There is a hardness in her voice that echoes of my father. “Haven’t you observed how he treats his once-beloved wife? How many tales have we grown up listening to, of the king’s love-madness for Queen Catherine—that once, before his affairs and neglect ruined her, she was the loveliest princess in Christendom? Still he manages to throw her aside. Strange, Mary?”

      “Now СКАЧАТЬ