The Boleyn Inheritance

Jane Boleyn, Hampton Court,
July 1541

The duke has come to pay a visit to his niece before the start of the summer progress, and realizes, very quickly, that he could not have chosen a worse time. The queen’s rooms are in chaos. Not even the most experienced servants, not even the queen’s sister and stepmother, can make any sense of the orders, as Katherine swears she cannot go without her new gowns, and then remembers that she has had them packed and sent ahead, demands to see her jewel box, accuses a maid of stealing a silver ring, and then finds it again, almost bursts into tears at the quandary of whether or not to take her sables to York, and then finally pitches facedown on her bed and swears she will not go at all since the king hardly pays any attention to her anyway, and what pleasure will she have at York when her life is hardly worth living?

“What the devil is going on?” the duke hisses at me, as if it were my fault.

“It has been like this all day,” I say wearily. “But yesterday was worse.”

“Why do her servants not take care of all this?”

“Because she interrupts them and orders one thing and then another. We have had her chest of gowns packed and corded and ready for the wagon twice already. Her wardrobe mistress cannot be blamed; it is Katherine who pulls everything out for a pair of gloves that she cannot do without.”

“It is impossible that the queen’s rooms should be so disorderly,’ he exclaims, and I see that for once he is genuinely disturbed. “These are the queen’s rooms,” he repeats. “They should be gracious. She should have dignity. Queen Katherine of Aragon would never-”

“She was born and bred a queen, but these are a girl’s rooms,” I say. “And a spoiled, willful girl at that. She doesn’t behave like a queen; she behaves like a girl. And if she wants to turn the place upside down for a ribbon, she will do so, and no one can tell her to behave.”

“You should command her.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Your Grace, she is the queen. You made this child Queen of England. Between her upbringing in your houses and the king’s indulgence, she has been taught no sense whatsoever. I shall wait until she goes to dinner, and then I shall have everything set to rights; tomorrow all this will be forgotten, and she will go on progress. Everything she needs will be packed, and anything she has left behind she will buy new.”

The duke shrugs and turns from the room. “Anyway, it’s you I wanted to see,” he says. “Come out into the hall. I cannot stand this women’s noise.”

He takes my hand and leads me out of the room. The sentry stands to one side of the door, and we move away so he cannot listen.

“She is discreet with Culpepper at least,” he says bluntly. “No one has any idea. How many times has he bedded her?”

“Half a dozen,” I say. “And I am glad that there is no talk of her in the court. But here in her rooms at least two of her women know that she loves him. She looks for him; her face lights up when she sees him. She has gone missing at least once in the last week. But the king comes to her rooms at night, and in the day there is someone always with her. Nobody could prove anything against them.”

“You will have to find a way for them when they are on progress,” he says. “Traveling from one house to another, there must be opportunities. It is no good for us if they can meet only seldom. We need a son from this girl; she has to be serviced until she is in pup.”

I raise my eyebrows at his vulgarity, but I nod in agreement. “I will help her,” I say. “She can plan no better than a kitten.”

“Let her plan like a bitch in heat,” he says. “As long as he beds her.”

“And my affair?” I remind him. “You said that you were thinking of a husband for me?”

The duke smiles. “I have written to the French count. How would you like to be Madame la Comtesse?”

“Oh,” I breathe. “He has replied?”

“He has indicated an interest. There will be your dowry to be considered and any settlement on your children. But I can promise you this, if you can get that girl with child by the end of the summer, then I shall kiss your hand as Madame la Comtesse by winter.”

I am almost panting in my eagerness. “And is he a young man?”

“He is about your age, and with a good fortune. But he would not insist on your living in France; I have already asked. He would be happy that you remain as lady-in-waiting to the queen and would only ask that you have a house in both England and France.”

“He has a château?”

“All but a palace.”

“Have I met him? Do I know him? Oh, who is he?”

He pats my hand. “Be patient, my most useful of all the Boleyn girls. Do your work, and you shall have your reward. We have an agreement, do we not?”

“Yes,” I say. “We do. I shall keep my side of the bargain.” I look at him expectantly.

“And I shall keep mine, of course.”