Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

18

By the time the progress was over, it was almost Yuletide. We were to spend Christmas at the king’s favorite palace, Greenwich, and celebrate with masques and other pageantry. Then we would move to Hampton Court for the Twelfth Night festivities.

Will arrived at Greenwich a few days after I did. The moment I caught sight of him, I felt the powerful pull of attraction. I stared at him until he glanced my way and met my eyes. It did not take him long after that to find an opportunity to speak privately with me in a secluded corner of the queen’s presence chamber.

He kissed me first, a searing bonding of lips that left me breathless.

“I have missed you, Bess,” he murmured.

“And I, you. More than you can know.”

He kissed me again and ran the tips of his fingers over my cheek. I shivered with pleasure.

“I . . . I love you, Will,” I whispered.

“And I, you, from the first moment I saw you.”

I frowned, remembering that occasion all too well. “You were kissing Dorothy the first time we met.”

He chuckled. “Jealous, my sweet? There is no one else for me. Not anymore. I cleave only to you.”

But when he reached for me again, I put both hands on his chest to keep him at a distance. “Does your wife still live?”

“Sadly, yes. But that does not matter. I am free of her, free to wed again. We need only obtain the king’s permission.”

“And my father’s,” I reminded him, scarcely daring to hope it would be that simple.

“George will not go against the king’s wishes.”

“His Grace’s consent is all we need? Truly?”

“It is a trifle more complicated than that,” Will admitted. “I must convince King Henry to grant a royal decree that will allow me to remarry. But I am high in His Grace’s favor and my sister will support our cause.”

He’d said that before. “The king is nothing if not unpredictable,” I reminded him. “Especially if his leg pains him.”

“If I approach him at the right moment, catch him in an expansive mood . . . you will see, Bess. His Grace will favor my suit.”

I smiled up at him, struck by an idea. “What if I help you persuade the king?”

He winced. “It might be best if you keep your distance. He might find you too tasty a morsel to resist.” To prevent any argument, he caught me to him and found my lips. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back, reveling in the passion I’d unleashed until the sound of approaching footsteps forced us apart again.

“We must be circumspect,” I said in a breathless whisper. “No hint of scandal must touch us. We cannot expect the queen to help us if she thinks I am just another Dorothy Bray.”

Reluctantly, Will released me, but he made no promises.

We spent a great deal of time together after that, for the most part in the queen’s apartments. I resisted the temptation to visit him in his lodgings. In other circumstances conceiving a child would have led to the marriage we both desired, but so long as Will was not completely free, that was no solution for us. If the king did not sanction our union, I’d be banished from court and might never see Will again. Far better to bide our time and wait for an opportunity to broach the subject of a royal decree with the king. It had to be the perfect moment, else His Grace might forbid us to wed at all. He might even take it into his head to find a more “suitable” husband for me.

My closest friends, Alys Guildford and Mary Woodhull, knew how I felt about Will. They knew, too, that I heartily wished his faithless wife would die. But no one else was aware of our commitment to each other. Or so I thought.

On a dismal day in late February, in the queen’s privy chamber, Alys and I were feeding hempseed to the queen’s parrot when Jane the Fool capered across the room and stopped directly in front of me. She pressed both hands over her heart.

“I sigh, I pine,” she said in her carrying, singsong voice, and rolled her protuberant eyes.

I laughed, anticipating entertaining antics. Jane’s sole purpose at court was to amuse the queen and her ladies. Although she was dressed in beautiful court clothing, with a bright red pleated underskirt and a bodice and gown of brocaded damask, she wore the hose and shoes of a jester. A close-fitting cap covered her oversize head and she had bells sewn onto her sleeves. The tinkling sound attracted the attention of everyone in the privy chamber. They were all watching when Thomas, the queen’s male fool, skipped over to Jane, fell to his knees at her feet, clasped his hands high in the air in front of him, and began to declaim.

“I will do whatever it takes to have you, my love!”

“You already have a wife!” she cried.

“I will remove the impediment! Oh I, Will, will!” And he began to make stabbing motions with a wooden knife. Then he tossed it aside and mimed strangling an imaginary wife.

Horrified, I could do nothing but watch as the queen’s ladies tittered and Jane cheered Thomas on. When he abandoned strangulation and pretended to take out a pistol, prime and fire it, Jane mimed combing out long hair and placing a circlet on her head—like a bride.

“Stop,” I whispered. “Oh, please, stop.”

“Hush, Bess,” Alys warned. “Do not let on that you know they are mocking you and Will.”

Although I saw the sense in what she said, it was already far too late to salvage the situation. I heard laughter, hastily muffled, and saw the knowing glances directed my way. It was left to the queen herself to put an end to my torment.

“Jane. Thomas,” she said in her sweet, quiet voice. “That will do.”

At once the two fools fell into a tumbling routine that ended with Thomas juggling four wooden knives. Queen Kathryn ordered me into her bedchamber. She dismissed her other ladies and led me through into the secret lodgings beyond, the one area of her apartments where we could be truly private.

Five adjoining rooms made up the secret lodgings: the queen’s bed-chamber—the one where she actually slept; a withdrawing chamber with a garderobe; a privy chamber; another withdrawing chamber, one that the king and queen both used; and another private bedchamber. The latter was where the king and queen slept together, an increasingly rare occurrence if the rumors were to be believed. That bedchamber, in turn, connected to yet another privy chamber, one of the king’s, and to a private stair that led outside the palace. All the rooms looked out over the park and privy garden. The queen bade me sit beside her on a window seat in the middle room.

“Bess, this incident is most regrettable.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“I should send you back to your parents.”

“Yes, Your Grace, but I pray you will not.” My heart was hammering so hard that I feared it might leap out of my chest. I could barely hear the queen’s words over the rushing sound in my ears.

She tilted her head to better study my face. Then she reached out and patted my hand. “My brother is a good man, Bess.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” I took a deep, calming breath and reminded myself that we both loved Will Parr.

“I sympathize with you, my dear, but there is little hope that he will be permitted to remarry while his wife lives. The king disapproves of such unions.”

I bit back a rude reply. The king kept one standard for himself and another for everyone else. “Perhaps His Grace will change his mind.”

“I do not believe he will, and no good can come of pining for what you cannot have.”

The sudden hitch in the queen’s voice told me Her Grace spoke from experience. I had heard the story. Queen Kathryn had been courted by someone else before the king decided he wanted her—Thomas Seymour, younger brother of the late Queen Jane. I wondered if she had been in love with him. How sad if that were true. She’d had to yield to the king, even though her heart belonged to another. To defy King Henry was never wise.

“I believe that Will’s feelings for you are genuine,” the queen continued. She sounded as if this surprised her. “But you must be sensible. Discourage him, Bess. You have admirers aplenty here at court. Choose one of them, marry, and be happy.”

“I should like to be happy, Your Grace.”

She frowned at my answer. “Will is not besotted enough to kill his wife for you.”

“He would never kill anyone!” I sprang to my feet, for a moment forgetting that I was talking to the queen of England. “And her death is not the only way for us to wed.” Will was a member of the king’s Privy Council now. Surely that meant His Grace favored him.

“Stubborn fools, you and Will both, to live in hope of a royal decree.” Although the words were harsh, the queen’s tone of voice was tolerant, almost affectionate. Then she sighed. “I will not send you away, Bess, but I do ask that you be more discreet.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I will strive to be.”

I thought she would dismiss me then. Instead she added one more warning. “I have enemies at court, Bess. I am certain they were behind today’s attempt to discredit you. Have a care what persons you trust.”

I left the secret lodgings in a troubled frame of mind. Someone had put Jane Fool up to her antics. Jane’s mind was no more complex than a small child’s. She had to have been given lines to say and actions to pantomime.

I found Jane with her keeper in the poultry pen in one corner of the privy garden. The queen had given three geese and several hens to Jane to tend. The fool was industriously throwing grain at them when I called to her. She trotted over to the fence, a lopsided smile on her pale, unlined face.

“Jane,” I said slowly, “who told you to pretend to be a bride?”

“Her Grace said to entertain the ladies.”

I rephrased the question, but it did no good. Jane had no idea what I was talking about.

Discouraged, I returned to the privy chamber. I thought about pursuing the matter. I could talk to the other fool, Thomas. But to continue to ask questions would only call attention to the incident, and more notoriety was the last thing I wanted.