Chapter 7
Beneath the glorious vaulted ceiling of the Chapel Royal at Hampton Court, Marris stood shivering in her wedding gown and fur-lined cloak.
It was bitterly cold both inside and outside the building.
Outside, snow floated down from a heavy grey sky.
Inside, the air was so cold it froze the breath.
The pale golden light of the candles was a tiny glimmer of warmth in what felt like a world that was chilled to the core.
She and Will had made their vows before God and only a handful of witnesses.
Rose and Bridget were present, of course, representing Marris’s closest family, whilst Will’s groomsman was Thomas Seymour, a friend of his of whom Marris secretly disapproved.
Lord Seymour, with his banter and his peacocking ways, was too brash for her taste but it had gratified her that he was only the second most important guest. Queen Anna was guest of honour.
Marris had wanted a tiny, private wedding whilst Will had wanted a big wedding, to counteract all the gossip about Marris’s previous status as a prioress, but Marris could not bear the fuss and bother of a grand event and did not believe it would stop the scandal-mongers anyway.
So they were married quickly and quietly, and now she was Lady Sharington.
The final prayers had been said and the Queen came forward to congratulate them. Thomas Seymour was already flirting with Rose, offering both sisters an arm to escort them out of the church. ‘Let us find a fire and get some wine down our throats!’ Marris heard him say.
‘My dears, you are to be greatly congratulated.’ Anna kissed Marris first and then extended a hand to Will to bow over. ‘I wish you every happiness.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ Marris curtsied.
She was sure that she did not imagine the shadow of sadness in Anna’s eyes.
The royal wedding had taken place a month before with a great deal more pomp and pageantry than this one, but she would not have exchanged hers for anything.
Anna’s wedding had been a sombre ceremony, heavy with regret, for all the grandeur.
Everyone had known that Henry had made a last-ditch attempt to get out of the marriage by questioning Anna’s pre-contract with Francis, Duke of Lorraine; when that bid had failed, he had gone to the wedding muttering of the heavy yoke that had befallen him.
In contrast, Will was smiling as he thanked the officiating priest and then he had his arm about Marris, drawing her close to his body as they walked slowly down the aisle.
‘My love.’ His words were for her alone. ‘You have made me the happiest of men.’
Marris could not imagine the King saying those words to Anna, even less with any sincerity.
‘You are a fortunate woman.’ Queen Anna drew Marris aside as they reached the chapel doorway.
‘Sir William truly loves you.’ She pronounced it ‘loffs’ which made Marris smile until she saw the stark misery in Anna’s eyes.
‘How might one engender love in a man,’ Anna wondered, ‘and passion too? What can I do?’
‘Majesty…’ Marris felt utterly at a loss. It was different in royal marriages, different in most marriages if truth be told, yet it seemed Anna yearned for the fairy tale as much as anyone else might.
‘Lady Andrews suggested I might consider taking a love potion made of Spanish fly, wine and herbs,’ Anna confided, much to Marris’s horror, but added thoughtfully, ‘I think she may wish me to be burned as a witch.’
‘You have good instincts, Majesty,’ Marris said, taking both of the Queen’s hands in hers in a comforting grip, regardless of etiquette. ‘Trust no one who offers you such a hideous brew. His Majesty values you for your poise and grace and kindness. His regard will grow into love.’
The chill wind lifted the tapestries from the corridor walls and swirled about their ankles, seeming to make a mockery of her words.
‘I would still like some passion,’ Anna said plaintively. ‘It must be pleasant I think, no? And also, very warm on these cold nights.’
‘Very warm,’ Marris agreed, trying not to laugh. Anna was a practical woman.
‘I thought so.’ Anna nodded. ‘Well, I shall hope. What more can I do? But I have little expectation, dear Lady Sharington. Sometimes it feels that this bitter winter has set in forever.’
* * *
It was curious to be one of the Queen’s favourite ladies in waiting.
Marris had found that some people envied her, others tried to use her, whilst many merely despised her, depending on their dispositions.
It was fortunate that she had found her feet quickly, for her honeymoon had lasted barely a month before the King had despatched Will on a diplomatic mission abroad and she was alone in the dangerous waters of the court.
The gossip about the King’s dissatisfaction with his marriage had already run through the court like a plague of rats.
The atmosphere was poisonous with spite and plotting.
Yet Anna rose above it all, apparently unaware of the whispers, the pitying stares and the laughter.
As spring succeeded winter and the King showed no sign of warming to her, Marris thought Anna’s stoicism and self-control miraculous, at least in public.
Only with her closest intimates would she show her exhaustion at keeping up the mask of indifference.
‘Why do people hate me so?’ she would ask wearily. ‘Why are they glad that the King shuns me? Is it because I am a foreigner?’
Marris had given up trying to be tactful. Anna could see through lies for what they were so there was no point.
‘It is because you are the Queen,’ she said bluntly, ‘and queens always have enemies, Majesty.’
‘Verdammt,’ Anna said, with feeling. ‘Damn them.’
Meanwhile, Catherine Howard danced and flirted and smiled at the King, and Bridget was her confidante and dearest friend, the two of them often seen arm in arm, giggling together.
Marris could see the novelty of having a friend of similar age with such very dissimilar interests had dazzled Bridget.
She wondered whether Rose would feel put out to have less of Bridget’s attention, but Rose was consumed with the preparations for her wedding, a situation that made her feel superior to both her sisters.
‘Of course, I shall outrank you soon,’ she said to Marris loftily, ‘as my dear Sir Geoffrey is both a knight and heir to a barony, whilst your husband is heir to no one and nothing.’
‘How happy that will make you,’ Marris said lightly, wondering how she had ever imagined that Rose would have been a good nun, but of course that had been another life, long gone now.
Rose’s wedding was set for May Day, and dawned a beautiful, bright morning.
Rose took this as no more than her right, as though the world had been made for her.
Marris wanted to be happy for her on her wedding day; she wanted to see Rose’s self-centredness as no more than the excitement of a young woman making the excellent match that she had always desired and hoped for, and yet, as with Bridget, it felt as though there was something more, some ambition in Rose that had been unleashed.
Both her sisters, Marris thought wistfully, were slipping away from her in their different ways.
‘Do stop poking and prodding at me,’ Rose said to her attendants as they surrounded her in the chamber set aside for the bride’s preparations. ‘I look delightful.’ She smiled smugly. ‘Sir Geoffrey will have no quarrel with my appearance, I assure you.’
Marris did not doubt it. Sir Geoffrey Stent, her sister’s soon-to-be-husband, was deeply enamoured of Rose’s fair good looks, just as the patrons of the Wantage alehouse had been before him.
He had been even more impressed by the dowry that had been somewhat reluctantly provided for her by the Duke of Norfolk.
As a younger member of the court, consumed with the desire to climb high in the King’s favour, Sir Geoffrey knew an advantageous marriage when he saw one.
So did Rose. They were, Marris thought, a well-matched pair even if there was no love in their union, only self-interest.
Rose picked up her posy of primroses and violets. ‘I am ready,’ she said with another bright smile, sailing through the chamber doorway without a backward glance, or a thank you, leaving Marris and the other ladies to follow in her wake.
The hall outside was packed with chattering courtiers who fell silent as the Duke of Norfolk stepped forward to escort Rose to the dais where Sir Geoffrey waited with his groomsmen and the priest. Marris doubted that the duke would have offered to host the marriage celebrations, had it not been for the insistence of both the King and Queen on attending.
It was very different from her own marriage ceremony a mere four months before, Marris reflected.
Anna had attended that out of regard for her.
The King was present today, she suspected, because Sir Geoffrey had toadied up to him but also because he knew that Mistress Howard would be present.
Marris could see him up on the dais, his face flushed to his customary high colour, a goblet of wine in his hand, his sharp gaze resting on Catherine.
She was small and fine-boned, her gestures quick and vivid as she spoke, her face alight with animation.
Her most striking feature was her bright blue eyes.
Next to her was Bridget, who glanced up, saw Marris looking in her direction and waved.
Marris felt a shiver of disquiet, seeing how intent upon Catherine was the King’s attention.
Oh, there had been rumours of his liking for her even before he had married Anna five months ago, but she, like everyone else, had dismissed Catherine as being a passing fancy.
Now she thought they had probably underestimated the danger.