The Boleyn Inheritance

  I wish to God I had not spat.

  This is a bad beginning. A bad and undignified beginning. Really, he should not have come on me unprepared and without warning. All very well for them to tell me now that he loves disguising and masquing and pretending to be an ordinary man so that people can discover him with delight. They never told me this before. On the contrary, every day it has been dinned into my head that the English court is formal, that things must be done in a certain way, that I have to learn orders of precedence, that I must never be faulted by calling a junior member of a family to my side before a senior member, that these things matter to the English more than life itself. Every day before I left Cleves, my mother reminded me that the Queen of England must be above reproach, must be a woman of utter royal dignity and coldness, must never be familiar, must never be light, must never be overly friendly. Every day she told me that the life of a Queen of England depends on her unblemished reputation. She threatened me with the same fate as Anne Boleyn if I was loose and warm and amorous like her.

  So why should I ever dream that some fat old drunk would come up and kiss me? How would I ever dream that I am supposed to let an ugly old man kiss me without introduction or warning?

  Still, I wish to God that I had not spat out the foul taste of him.

  Anyway, perhaps it is not so bad. This morning he has sent me a present, a gift of rich sables, very expensive and very high quality. Little Katherine Howard, who is so sweet that she mistook the king for a stranger and greeted him kindly, has had a brooch of gold from him. Sir Anthony Browne brought the gifts this morning with a pretty speech, and he told me that the king has gone ahead to prepare for our official meeting, which will happen at a place called Blackheath, outside the City of London. My ladies say that there will be no surprises between now and then, so I need not be on my guard. They say that this disguising is a favorite game of the king’s and once we are married I must be prepared for him to come wearing a false beard or a big hat and ask me to dance, and we will all pretend not to know him. I smile and say how charming, though in truth I am thinking: how odd, and how childlike, and really, how very vain of him, how foolishly vain to hope that people will fall in love with him on sight as a common man, when he looks as he does now. Perhaps when he was young and handsome he could go about in disguise and people would welcome him for his good looks and charm; but surely, for many years now, many years, people must have only pretended to admire him? But I don’t speak my thoughts. It is better that I say nothing now, having spoiled the game once already.

  The girl who saved the day by greeting him so politely, little Katherine Howard, is one of my new maids-in-waiting. I call her to me in the bustle of departing this morning, and I thank her, as best I can manage in English, for her help.

  She dips a little curtsy, and speaks to me in a rattle of English.

  “She says that she is delighted to serve you,” my translator, Lotte, tells me. “And that she has not been to court before, so she did not recognize the king either.”

  “Why then did she speak to a stranger who had come without invitation?” I ask, puzzled. “Surely, she should have ignored him? Such a rude man, pushing his way in?”

  Lotte turns this into English, and I see the girl look at me as if there is more that divides us than language, as if we are in different worlds, as if I come from the snows and fly on white wings.

  “Was?” I ask in German. I spread out my hands to her and raise my eyebrows. “What?”

  She steps a little closer, she whispers in Lotte’s ear without ever taking her eyes from my face. She is such a pretty little thing, like a doll, and so earnest that I cannot help smiling.

  Lotte turns to me, she is near to laughing. “She says that of course she knew it was the king. Who else would be able to get into the chamber past the guards? Who else is so tall and fat? But the game of the court is to pretend not to know him, and to address him only because he is such a handsome stranger. She says she may be only fourteen, and her grandmother says she is a dolt; but already she knows that every man in England loves to be admired, indeed, the older they are the vainer they get, and, surely, men are not so different in Cleves?”

  I laugh at her, and at myself. “No,” I say. “Tell her that men are not so different in Cleves, but that this woman of Cleves is clearly a fool and I shall be guided by her in future even if she is only fourteen, whatever her grandmother calls her.”

  Katherine, Dartford,

  January 2, 1540

  Utter terror! Oh, God! Horror beyond my worst fears! I shall die of this, I shall. My uncle has come here, all the way from Greenwich, specially to see me, and has summoned me to him. What on God’s earth can he want with me? I am certain that my conversation with the king has come to his ears and he thinks the worst of it and will send me home to my grandmother for unmaidenly behavior. I shall die. If he sends me to Lambeth, I shall die of the humiliation. But if he sends me back to Horsham, I shall be glad to die of boredom. I shall fling myself into the whatever it is called, the river there – the River Horsh, the River Sham – the duckpond if needs be, and drown, and they will be sorry when I am drowned and lost to all of them.

  It must have been like this for my cousin Queen Anne when she knew she was to appear before him accused of adultery and knew he would not take her side. She must have been scared out of her wits, sick with terror, but I swear no worse than I am now. I could die of terror. I may just die of terror before I even see him.

  I am to see him in my Lady Rochford’s own room; the disgrace is obviously so bad that it has to be kept among us Howards, and when I go in, she is in the window seat, so I suppose it is her who has told him all about it. When she smiles at me, I scowl at her for a tale-bearing old tabby and I make a horrid face at her to let her know whom I thank for my doom.

  “Lord uncle, I beg of you not to send me to Horsham,” I say, the moment I am through the door.

  He looks at me with a scowl. “And good day to you, my niece,” he says icily.

  I drop into a curtsy, I could almost fall to my knees. “Please, my lord, don’t send me back to Lambeth either,” I say. “I beg of you. The Lady Anne is not displeased with me, she laughed when I told her-” I break off. I realize, too late, that to tell my uncle that I have told the king’s betrothed wife that although he is fat and old he is also unspeakably vain, is perhaps not the cleverest thing to say. “I didn’t tell her anything,” I correct myself. “But she is pleased with me, and she says she will take my advice even though my grandmother thinks I am a dolt.”

  His sardonic bark of laughter warns me that he agrees with my grandmother’s verdict.

  “Well, not my advice, exactly, sir; but she is pleased with me, and so is the king, for he sent me a gold brooch. Oh, please, uncle, if you let me stay I will never speak out again, I won’t even breathe! Please, I beg of you. I am utterly innocent of everything!”

  He laughs again.

  “I am,” I say. “Please, uncle, don’t turn your face from me, please trust me. I shall be a good girl, I shall make you proud of me, I shall try to be a perfect-”

  “Oh, hush, I am pleased with you,” he says.

  “I will do anything-”

  “I said, I am pleased with you.”

  I look up. “You are?”

  “You seem to have behaved delightfully. The king danced with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And talked with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And seemed much taken with you?”

  I have to think for a minute. I would not have called him exactly “taken.” He was not like a young man whose eyes drift down from my face to peek at my breasts while he is talking to me, or who blushes when I smile at him. And besides, the king almost fell back into me when Lady Anne rebuffed him. He was still shocked. He would have spoken to anyone to hide his hurt and embarrassment.

  “He did talk to me,” I repeat helplessly.

  “I am very pleased that he honored you with
his attention,” my uncle says. He is speaking slowly as if he is a schoolmaster, and I should be understanding something.

  “Oh.”

  “Very pleased.”

  I glance across at Lady Rochford to see if this is making any sense for her. She gives me a slight smile and a nod.

  “He sent me a brooch,” I remind him.

  He looks at me sharply. “Valuable?”

  I make a little face. “Nothing to the sables that he sent Lady Anne.”

  “I should hope not. But it was of gold?”

  “Yes, and pretty.”

  He turns to Lady Rochford. “Is it?”

  “Yes,” she says. They exchange a small smile, as if they understand each other well.

  “Should His Majesty honor you by speaking with you again, you will endeavor to be very charming and pleasing.”

  “Yes, my lord uncle.”

  “From such little attentions do great favors flow. The king is not pleased with the Lady Anne.”

  “He sent her sables,” I remind him. “Very good ones.”

  “I know. But that is not the point.”

  It seems the point to me, but very cleverly I don’t correct him but stand still and wait.

  “He will see you daily,” my uncle says. “And you may continue to please him. Then perhaps he will send you sables. Do you understand?”

  This, about the sables, I do understand. “Yes.”

  “So if you want presents, and my approval, you will do your best to behave charmingly and pleasantly to the king. Lady Rochford here will advise you.”

  She nods at me.

  “Lady Rochford is a most skilled and wise courtier,” my uncle goes on. “There can be few people who have seen more of the king throughout his life. Lady Rochford will tell you how you are to go on. It is our hope and our intention that the king will favor you, that he will, in short, fall in love with you.”

  “Me?”

  They both nod. Are they quite mad? He is an old old man; he must have given up all thoughts of love years ago. He has a daughter, Princess Mary, far older than me, nearly old enough to be my mother. He is ugly, his teeth are rotten, and his limp makes him waddle like a fat old goose. A man like this must have put all thoughts of love out of his head years ago. He might think of me as a granddaughter but not in any other way.

  “But he is marrying Lady Anne,” I point out.

  “Even so.”

  “He is too old to fall in love.”

  My uncle shoots such a scowl at me that I give a little squeak of terror.

  “Fool,” he says shortly.

  I hesitate for a moment. Can they really mean that they want this old king to be my lover? Should I say something about my virginity and my spotless reputation, which in Lambeth seemed to matter so very much?

  “My reputation?” I whisper.

  Again my uncle laughs. “That doesn’t matter,” he says.

  I look toward Lady Rochford, who was supposed to be my chaperone in a lewd court and watch my behavior and guard my precious honor.

  “I can explain it all to you later,” she says.

  I take it then that I should say nothing. “Yes, my lord,” I say very sweetly.

  “You are a pretty girl,” he says. “I have given Lady Rochford money for you to have a new gown.”

  “Oh, thank you!”

  He smiles at my sudden enthusiasm. He turns to Lady Rochford. “And I will leave a manservant with you. He can serve you and run errands. It seems that it may become worth my while to keep a man with you. Who would have thought it? Anyway, keep me informed as to how things go on here.”

  She rises from her seat and curtsies. He goes out without another word. The two of us are left alone.

  “What does he want?” I ask, utterly bewildered.

  She looks at me as if she were measuring me for a gown; she looks me up and down. “Never mind for now,” she says kindly. “He is pleased with you, that’s the main thing.”

  Anne, Blackheath,

  January 3, 1540

  This is the happiest day of my life, because today I have fallen in love. I have fallen in love, not like a silly girl falls in love, because a boy catches her eye or tells her some foolish story. I am in love, and this love will last forever. I am in love with England this day, and the realization has made this the happiest day of my life. This day I realize that I am to be queen of this country, this rich, beautiful country. I have been traveling through it like a fool, with my eyes shut – in all fairness, some of the time I have been traveling through it in darkness and in the worst weather that I could imagine – but today it is bright and sunny and the sky is so blue, blue as duck eggs, the air is fresh and bright, as exciting and cold as white wine. Today I feel like the gyrfalcon my father used to call me, I feel as if I am riding high on cool winds, looking down on this most beautiful country that will be mine. We ride from Dartford to Blackheath, the frost white and shining on the road all the way, and when we get to the park all the ladies of my court are presented to me, all dressed so beautifully and warm and friendly in their greetings. I am to have nearly seventy ladies altogether, the king’s nieces and cousins among them, and they all greet me today as new friends. I am wearing my very best, and I know I look well; I think even my brother would be proud of me today.

  They have made a city of tents of cloth of gold, flying brilliantly colored flags, guarded by the king’s own Yeomen of the Guard, men so tall and so handsome that they are a legend in England. While we wait for the king, we go inside and take a glass of wine and warm ourselves at the braziers; they are burning sea coal for me, only the best, as I am to be a member of the royal family of England. The floors are lined with rich carpets and the tents hung with tapestries and silks for warmth. Then, when they say it is time, and everyone is smiling and chattering and almost as excited as I am, I mount my horse and ride out to meet him. I go out filled with hope. Perhaps, at this ceremonial meeting, I shall like him and he will like me.

  The trees are tall and their bare black winter branches stretch out against the sky like dark threads on a tapestry of blue. The park extends for miles, so green and so fresh, sparkling with melting frost, the sun is bright and pale yellow, almost burning white in the sky. Everywhere, held back by gaily colored ropes, there are the people from London smiling and waving at me and calling blessings down on me, and for the first time in my life I am not Anne – the middle daughter of Cleves: less pretty than Sybilla, less charming than Amelia – but here I am Anne, the only Anne. They have taken me to their hearts. These odd, rich, charming, eccentric people are all welcoming me, as if they want a good queen and an honest queen, and they believe and I know that I can be such a queen for them.

  I know very well that I am not an English girl like the late Queen Jane, God rest her soul. But having seen the court and the great families of England, I think it might be a good thing that I am not an English girl. Even I can see that the Seymour family is high in favor now, and could easily become overmighty. They are everywhere, these Seymours, handsome and conceited, always emphasizing that their child is the king’s only son and heir to the throne. If I were the king and it were my court, I should be wary of them. If they are allowed to govern the young prince, to dominate him because of their kinship to his mother, then the balance of this court will all be thrown to them. From what I can see, the king is not careful whom he chooses for his favorites. I may be half his age, but I know well enough that a ruler’s favor must be measured. I have lived my life with the disfavor of the favorite son, and I know how poisonous is whim in a ruler. This king is whimsical; but perhaps I can make his court more balanced, perhaps I can give his son a levelheaded stepmother who can maintain the flatterers and the courtiers at a safe distance from the little boy.

  I know his daughters have been estranged from him. Poor girls, I so hope to be of service to little Elizabeth, who never knew her mother and has spent her life under the shadow of disgrace. Perhaps I can bring her to court and keep her nea
r me and reconcile her to her father. And the Princess Mary must be lonely, without her mother and knowing herself to be far from her father’s favor. I can be kind to her; I can overcome her fear of the king and bring her to court as my kinswoman. She need not say “stepmother,” but perhaps I could be as a good sister to her. For the king’s children at least I can be a great force for good. And if we are blessed, if I am blessed, and we have a child of our own, then perhaps I shall give a little prince to England, a godly youth who can help to heal the divisions in this country.

  There is a murmur of excitement from the crowd, and I see all the heads turn away from me and back again. The king is coming toward us, and all my fears about him are gone in a moment. Now he is not pretending to be a common man, he is not hiding majesty in the disguise of a vulgar old fool; today he is dressed as a king and he rides as a king, in a coat embroidered with diamonds, with a collar of diamonds around his shoulders, on his head a hat of velvet sewn with pearls, and on the finest horse I think I have ever seen. He is magnificent. He looks like a god in the bright winter light, his horse curvetting on his own land, weighed down with jewels, surrounded by the royal guard with the trumpets singing out. He smiles when he draws near to me and we greet each other, and people cheer to see us together.

  “I give you welcome to England,” he says slowly enough for me to understand, and I reply carefully in English: “My lord, I am very glad to be here, and I shall try to be a good wife to you.”

  I think I will be happy, I think it can be done. That first embarrassing mistake can be forgotten and put behind us. We will be married for years; we will be happy together for all our lives. In ten years from now, who will ever remember a little thing like that?