To Die For: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 4

  “I’d heard.”

  “And the king spends a lot of time with Cardinal Wolsey.” “Indeed,” I said. We all knew that the cardinal was the king’s closest, most trusted advisor.

  “Wolsey read some of my work at Cambridge and felt that I had promise as a priest. He approached Henry. The king approached my father, who thought it an excellent idea, or so he told the king. I am the second son, after all.”

  “A priest? Your father is not even devout! Not all second sons must go into the priesthood. It’s not a law.”

  “It’s a practice,” Will said. “My father thinks it a good idea.”

  I drew back from him. “And you? What do you think?”

  “Meg, above any person in this world, I value you. I trust you, I dream of you, I long for you. But there is someone I value still more. And I have become more and more aware, lately, that He is calling me to Himself. To service.”

  “You can serve Him whilst administering your father’s lesser properties.”

  “I could,” Will said softly, trying to take my hand in his own. “But I don’t feel at leave to do that.”

  I moved it away without speaking but I was thinking, Leave from our Lord or leave from your father?

  “I know that I am supposed to pursue this,” he finished. “I…. love you, Meg. And I love God too. In fact, I only speak Latin with you and with Him. But I must obey.”

  Dolor.

  A great sorrow overcame me because I could see the stark truth commingled with sorrow in his beautiful, honest face. He would not hurt me if he could help it, and yet I could not help but feel that he could stop this, and he was choosing not to.

  I stood to take my leave, and he, a gentleman, stood as I did. The gardens had grown empty now; several litters from nearby estates took their leave. The lutist played a sweet and winsome tune that twisted and turned through the estate till it found and remained with us.

  I could have asked him, And I? What of me? But we had no precontract, nothing declared, nothing finalized. Will stood next to me, looking at the ground, and I loved him to the point of anguish. I had nothing but searing pain and wanted to run away as fast as I could. In spite of it all, my heart broke for him, seeing the grief of the moment writ on his face. Unlike almost anyone else I knew, he put God first, a trait I’d admired when it had cost me nothing.

  He impulsively reached over and pulled me close to him, a personal volte dance. His scent, like my favorite spiced wafers, was both faint and intoxicating. He pressed his lips against mine softly at first, and then more powerfully. My flesh failed my will and I kissed him back readily, longingly. My body willed him to move forward though my spirit knew he must stop.

  I pulled away—far away. “Don’t ever kiss me like that again until and unless you’re ready to make good on the promise behind it,” I said. I had never been kissed, but I knew that was the kind of kiss that should only be between a man and his wife.

  I took to the castle as quickly as I could. Another woman I knew I would not lose to; no other woman could take my place with Will, of that I was as certain as I was that no other man could take his place with me. But God? How could I compete with God? I could not and therefore it was unjust of him to set up such a contest at all.

  When I entered the room I saw my brother Edmund and he tipped his head toward me and smiled, if one could call it that.

  He knew. And Thomas knew, too, which is why he’d told me earlier I wanted a man I could not have. Thomas had had too much to drink and was slumped in a chair in one far corner.

  “Good-bye, Margaret,” Rose Ogilvy called to me as she headed toward her fine litter. No one called me Margaret—it was my mother’s name. They called me Meg to distinguish me from her.

  I nodded politely, tears blinding my path, and hurried to Anne’s chamber ere the tears spilled down my cheeks.

  I didn’t have to wait long. Anne arrived, dismissed her servants, and closed the door behind her.

  “What ails you?” she asked, sitting beside me.

  I fell into her arms and she held me as I poured out my story about Cardinal Wolsey and Lord Ogilvy and King Henry—the king who had his eyes and hands on the bride all evening!—talking about holy service.

  “And so now Will’s studying for the priesthood of his own accord, and then he’ll take vows,” I said. Anne picked up a brush and began to brush my hair, and I finally calmed.

  She began to tell me tales of the French court, and how exciting it was, and what her life was like. I stilled then, listening to her, glad to discuss something new.

  After a bit I stood up, and as I did, the daisy fell from my hair.

  “What’s this?”

  I shook my head and let it fall to the ground. “Nothing important.”

  I went to the trunk I had brought with my nightshift and a few personal items for spending the night. I withdrew a small, well-worn book and walked back to Anne.

  “I want you to have this—a souvenir to take with you as you return to France.”

  She held out her hand and took the book, then opened it and began to read a page here and there. “Meg, not your prayer book, your book of hours. Look here—you’ve added personal prayers and notes.”

  “Take it,” I said.

  “Surely it must be important to you—or you’d not have brought it tonight.”

  She was right. I’d read from or written in or prayed from it every night.

  No longer.

  “I don’t need it anymore. I have no intention of praying to a God who has put me in the bloody hands of an evil father, who robs my kindhearted mother of her every breath, and who has stolen from me the only man I’ll ever love as well as my hope.”

  Anne shook her head. “It’s not like that. You don’t know how this will end. Mayhap you and Will are not done yet.”

  I sensed that there were things ahead that I did not yet understand nor could I foresee. I knew that feeling was meant to be comforting.

  I did not want this comfort. I pushed the thought, and him, far away, and fast-locked the gate behind them.

  “And you’ve written in your beautifully rendered Latin,” she said softly after reading a few pages, knowing that’s how I often spoke with God, and with Will. She tried to hand the book to me.

  I firmly pushed the book back into her hands. “I will never speak Latin again.”

  FOUR

  Year of Our Lord 1522

  Blickenham Manor, London, England

  My mother had arranged for me to spend the months following the Christmas celebrations with my sister, Alice, at her home in Chelsea. So it was with some surprise that, one evening whilst we dined, a messenger arrived with a letter to my sister from our father. She nodded to the servant to set it aside till the meal was over, but her concern showed in her face. Had my mother passed away? Was my father in some kind of trouble? It was rare for him to have a care for me, so I wouldn’t have suspected that it involved me at all except for the burning feeling deep beneath my corset that warned me, preternaturally, that the tide was about to shift.

  My nephew John Rogers was Alice’s oldest son, home from Cambridge; he paid no mind at all to the messenger. Rather he kept talking even whilst the serving girl ladled out his soup. “So Cranmer, of course, began to gather a group of us for late-night debates. He said he had been mightily troubled by the discourse that Luther had started and the longer he dwelled on the matter the more troubled his spirit became. Perhaps, he thought, Luther may be right on some points.”

  Because Alice was the daughter of my father’s first wife she was much older than I, which meant that John and I were of an age, more like brother and sister than aunt and nephew. He turned directly toward me.

  “A friend of yours was invited to the discussions,” he said to me. “Will Ogilvy. Do you remember him?”

  Alice shifted in her seat and sent a confidence-inspiring smile in my direction. She often nurtured me when my own mother slipped under the horizon and was unable to attend to the q
uestions and concerns of young womanhood. Alice had mended my broken wings as best she could after Will’s announcement that he would be a priest, reassuring me that she hadn’t married for affection, either, but had grown to love Master Rogers well.

  Amenable Alice. Always compliant, making the best of things, peaceful and settled. I could see why my father found me a grave disappointment.

  “I do remember Sir William,” I said. “Well.”

  “He’s got quite a talent for languages,” John continued, sensing nothing amiss, I was sure, as men often do not. “And for debate. I’m not sure with whom he’s been sparring at rhetoric all of these years because it certainly wasn’t his brother Walter.” He turned to his mother. “I’d like to have Ogilvy to Blickenham sometime. You’ll not mind?”

  “Of course he’s welcome,” Alice murmured. I made my way through the soup course as, thankfully, the conversation turned to other matters, and then excused myself from the meal as soon as decently possible.

  I wasn’t in my room for long before there was a short knock on the door. “Come in,” I called out, expecting it to be my servant, Edithe. Instead it was my sister. She had a letter in her hand and she came and sat next to me on the bed.

  “It’s from Father, as you know,” she began. “He’d like for you to pack your things and return to Allington. He’ll send a cart for you the day after tomorrow.”

  I abruptly stood up. “What? Why? I’ve only just arrived.”

  She reached up and folded my hand into her own. “It seems he’s found a potential husband for you and they’re coming to visit.”

  I arrived home two days hence to find my father in high spirits and my mother aright on her own two feet, which was rare. I knew she meant to wring every last bit of vitality out of her bones to ensure that this meeting went well for my sake and for Father’s.

  “Don’t overextend yourself, Lady Wyatt,” my father said, gesturing roughly for a manservant to bring a cushioned chair to the portico so my mother could sit in the sun whilst we waited for our guests to arrive. The manservant hefted a chair and my father had it arranged in the best possible spot before easing my mother into it. I had never seen my father be gentle with anyone or anything other than my mother and his horses. Alice never spoke of her mother; she’d died when Alice was young and Alice had been married off at fifteen—as soon as my own mother arrived at Allington. But I’d overheard the kitchen servants speak of my father’s first wife and he had treated her as rudely as he’d treated me, so I suspected that when he’d given her his hand in marriage it had been often and with blunt force.

  Not so with my mother. If I’d been in the frame of mind to thank God for small favors this was one I could have thanked Him for. But I didn’t.

  Within the hour we could see a traveling cloud of dust in the distance, winding up the village lane, past the priory, on the way to Allington Castle. The ground shuddered slightly with the force of the oncoming horses. As I stood, I smoothed my hair and my dress, which earned me a rare nod of approval from Father. Thomas was at court and Edmund upstairs with the tutors, so we three navigated our way down to the great hall in which we would shortly greet our guests.

  They arrived preceded by a small clutch of attendants, across the brackish moat, and when the carriage door was opened, two men alighted. One was my father’s old friend Lord Blackston, with whom he had fought Richard the Third many years back. The second was his nephew and, as Blackston had no children of his own, the baron’s heir.

  My father and Lord Blackston clapped one another on the back and chortled loudly about the gambling my father had arranged for that evening’s entertainment after dinner, though the baron warned my father about cheating him—again. My father, notoriously tight with his money but honest, ignored him. I saw the flash in his eye.

  “Lady Wyatt. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” The baron extended his hand toward my mother’s, taking her hand in his and kissing it softly.

  My mother lowered her eyes demurely as she withdrew her hand. “Thank you, My Lord. As always, it’s a pleasure to have you as our guest. It’s been too many years.”

  He grinned. As he did I could see that whilst he may have won his fortune at the Battle of Bosworth it was clear that he’d forfeited some teeth in exchange.

  “And this jewel was naught but a girl at that time.”

  I curtseyed politely and heard the man to his side clear his throat.

  Lord Blackston turned and urged forward the second man. “My nephew, Simon.” Simon was a good Norman name. Norman blood. Titled. Moneyed. I held out my hand and cast my gaze downward, as gently bred girls are well taught to do.

  Simon took my hand in his. My first instinct, which I checked, was to withdraw it immediately. His fingers were long and cool, like recently snuffed tapers. He brought my hand to his parched lips and kissed the back of it. He then let go. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mistress Wyatt. I’ve heard so much about you. But I find that what I’ve heard seems to be untrue.” I looked up at that. Exactly what had he heard about me and from whom?

  “You’re far lovelier than I’d been expecting.” With that, he bowed courteously and my mother led the way into Allington.

  That evening all the servants were in their best liveries. My father had ordered an entire ox roasted—roasted meat being a sign of wealth—as it showed that we Wyatts had enough money to pay one or two men to do nothing but turn a burdened spit over a hellish inferno all day. There was stuffed swan and pale ale brought from Bruges. And of course, jellied eels. I tried hard not to compare Simon’s fingers to the jellied eels but I found myself unable to enjoy them for the first time ever. Afterward there was music, though no dancing, as dinner was a smallish affair. My mother withdrew and my father and Baron Blackston retreated to a far corner of the great hall where tables had been set up. Several gentlemen from the neighboring properties had arrived to play cards and dice. I wasn’t sure if I was gratified or disappointed when Simon politely declined to join them and instead asked me if I’d ask the musicians to continue to play whilst he and I sat by the fire and kept company.

  What could I do? “I’d be pleased to,” I answered, remembering my father’s warning to be kind and submissive to the next man he brought to my side. Scraping hardened horse dung with my bare nails from between the cobbled stones on the path to a Scottish abbey didn’t appeal to me. So Simon and I kept company.

  “I’ve heard that your father has seen fit to educate you,” Simon began. I dared to look up at his face. The fire had brought some color to it, which made him more pleasant to look at than he had been in the cool stone dining hall. His smile was not warm, but it was not cruel, either. I was glad of the fact that it would be impolite to look into his eyes for too long. The irises were blue but the whites around them slightly rheumy, perhaps a bit like eggs which had not been cooked quite long enough. They stared at me, however, intently. I became aware that he was expecting an answer.

  Would he find my education to his liking? “Yes, my father found my mother’s education pleasing to him and had me educated along with my brothers.” I answered as safely as I knew how.

  “What have you studied?” He folded his long fingers over his knee and used the movement as an excuse to move slightly closer to me on the covered bench. I held myself steady so as not to flinch. I looked into his eyes as I spoke, hoping that he wouldn’t misread my desire to gauge his response as a desire for intimacy.

  “I studied mathematics and rhetoric, Latin and letters,” I began. His eyes held mine and betrayed no emotion but I thought I saw a slight downward dip in the corner of his mouth.

  “And dancing, of course, and needlework. I can play the lute. And my mother has schooled me on household management.” At that he smiled.

  “Yes, yes, of course she would have. I am sure you play a fine lute. I’d like to hear it.” He looked as though he were about to signal a musician. I quickly held up my hand.

  “Perhaps tomorrow?” My voice was soft a
s carded wool. “I feel a bit tired now, the excitement of the day….”

  “Of course,” he said. He spoke at length about their property up north, which I knew to be extensive, their many castles and land-holdings. Lord Blackton’s sister had been his mother, and when she had died shortly after his father at the Bosworth Field the baron had taken him in and raised him. In spite of having married several times, the baron had sired no child of his own.

  “I think you might like the north, mistress,” he said after I’d admitted I’ve never been north of London. “It’s very family-oriented for the lady of the manor. There are serfs and peasants to attend to and alms to give. Servants to attend to, birthings and the like, and quite a bit of needlework, of course.”

  “Sounds…. bucolic.” I reached past the first three or four words that presented themselves to me to snatch one that might sound faintly praiseworthy.

  He nodded. I wasn’t entirely certain he knew what “bucolic” meant.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I must ensure that my mother is well settled for the evening, and then perhaps it is time to retire myself.” I kept my voice soothing and pleasant. I hardly recognized myself. I sounded like Alice. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation, but then again it reminded me of the times when I, as a girl, had slipped into her adult gowns. Mayhap it was time I grew into them. I smiled at him warmly because he truly had been a gentleman in every way. He was very…. proper.

  “Of course.” He stood immediately and held out his hand to assist me as I stood. I took it, and he turned it over, kissing the inside of my palm this time, rather than the back of it, which gave me some discomfort. After a careful curtsey to my father and his friends, I made my way to my chamber.

  Days later Lord Blackston and Simon led the dust cloud back the way they had come, down from Allington, past the priory, and toward the guesthouse many miles away that would be their first stay on the days’ journey north. It had been no small feat, nor small honor, that they came to Allington to meet me. Of that I was aware. I suspected, however, that I had failed in my mission because from the second day forward Simon had noticeably cooled toward me.