Chapter 9
Marris had been sitting in the pleasure gardens on the riverbank when the page bearing Bridget’s letter arrived from Hampton Court.
It was rare for her to have much free time; the hard negotiations that Queen Anna had endured over the annulment of her marriage had taken up everyone’s time and energy, but for Marris it had been weightier as Anna’s translator and chief confidante.
Today, however, the former Queen was recovering from a stomach upset and had decided to sit quietly in the shade of the galleried courtyard.
She had given Marris permission to take some rare time alone, so she had gone down to the Thames and sat beneath a willow tree watching the water traffic pass by.
The river was busy with wherries and barges and seeing the bustle actually pleased her for she was tired and lonely for Will and heartsick that she had not heard from him for over a month.
And now here was Bridget, stirring trouble no doubt, for now that she was a lady in waiting to Catherine Howard, she thought herself vastly superior to everyone.
Marris broke the seal and started to read Bridget’s letter, which was written in a slapdash scrawl.
My dear sister, how do you fare in seclusion at Richmond with the discarded Queen?
We are all very merry here at court. You may have heard – or perhaps you may not – that His Majesty and Lady Catherine Howard were wed at Oatlands Palace last week and a very fine celebration we made of it.
I am sure you would have liked to attend but you would not have wanted to desert poor Lady Anna.
She has few enough friends these days. I painted a portrait of Queen Catherine and I swear the King is as enchanted with it as he is with the original.
Marris looked up as the breeze whispered across the river and stirred the branches of the willow.
The news of the King’s remarriage, a bare few weeks after the annulment of his union with Anna, was not unexpected but it was another insult that the former Queen would be expected to bear stoically.
No one had troubled to come to tell her in person.
Now Marris knew it would fall to her to do it.
Bridget’s letter continued.
I saw our sister Rose at the festivities.
Poor creature, she is already regretting her marriage and exile in the country.
Sir Geoffrey was there and proud as a peacock that our sister is increasing already.
For her part she is whey pale and as sick as a pig.
I swear I shall never marry. It is too much trouble.
Marris gave an exasperated sigh. Bridget’s quill was as sharp as her paintbrush was deft.
Which reminds me that your dearest Sir William is back at court and in high favour with the King, but you will already know of that, of course, for he is sure to have told you or even travelled to see you, I imagine…
He is a great favourite with the ladies though they tease him that he is so old, almost as ancient as the King himself…
Marris screwed up the parchment and threw it into the river, where for a moment it smoothed out on the surface, floating, as the ink ran and smudged into blankness.
She was aware of a mixture of fury and misery.
The news about the King’s marriage was eclipsed by the fact that Will had returned from the Low Countries and was at Hampton Court, having apparently made no effort to see her or even tell her.
Marris tried to forgive Bridget her trouble-making, tried to think of her as a young woman who had spent most of her life sequestered in an abbey and was now carried away by the excitement of a very different life at court.
But that was no excuse. Her sly pleasure in being the giver of bad news was evident and the gibe about William hurt Marris even more.
Your dearest Sir William is back at court but you will already know of that, of course, for he is sure to have told you… Except that he had not. She had thought her husband still abroad in the King’s service, not attending on his monarch so close at hand.
‘Is there any reply, my lady?’
Marris had forgotten that the messenger, vivid in the King’s red and gold livery, had been waiting whilst she read.
She repressed a strong urge to ask him if it was true that Sir William Sharington was at court.
That would be pitiful, getting her information from a mere page. She blinked away a tear.
A slight breeze off the water ruffled her gown and set the leaves rustling on the trees that edged the river. Sun and shadow shifted and merged; it was beautiful and peaceful, especially in the heat of summer, but Marris felt cold inside. All peace was illusory in this world of shifting fortunes.
‘No,’ she said. ‘There is no reply, I thank you.’
The messenger bowed and walked away across the knot garden.
Marris watched him go before she stood up and shook out her skirts.
She felt stiff and old all of a sudden and unexpectedly, amongst her anger, she felt a fierce pang of fear for Bridget.
She was riding high now as a lady in waiting to the latest of Henry’s queens, but where there had been four there were now five, and who knew how many more there might be?
If Catherine, young and no doubt fecund as she was, did not give Henry another son to shore up the succession, would the king be so fond of her in a year or two?
And what of those who would seek to bring her down, just as many ambitious men had done to Queen Anna?
As she made her way back to the palace, Marris knew that her first duty, before she dealt with her own personal affairs, was to speak to the Queen and let her know the news of the King’s remarriage.
She still thought of Anna as Queen even though the marriage had been annulled.
It felt petty to take her title away from her on top of everything else.
She found Anna and some of her ladies sitting in the shade of the galleries, the Queen resting with a book discarded on her lap, eyes closed, whilst her ladies plied their needles, speaking softly.
‘I am quite well,’ Anna said in reply to Marris’s anxious question, ‘just a little overcome by the heat today.’ Her gaze focussed on Marris. ‘You on the other hand look quite dreadful, my dear Lady Sharington. I saw the messenger. Is there bad news from court?’
Marris reflected, not for the first time, that Anna’s lack of fluency in English made her refreshingly direct sometimes.
However, the language issue had been a blessing over the last couple of months, when they had been negotiating the Queen’s separation from King Henry.
Juggling the natural outrage of the ambassador to Cleves, King Henry’s vanity and Anna’s best interests had been a delicate matter for Marris, particularly given that she did not want to seem too influential in the separation process.
The King and his advisors, she knew, would be outraged to think they had been manipulated by a woman.
Fortunately, her years of managing a priory had given her the experience to balance the conflicting elements and Anna had emerged with a most generous settlement.
She had also managed to retain her composure in public, only muttering fiercely in German about Henry’s iniquitous behaviour when they were alone.
The only time that the Queen had broken down was when a letter had arrived from the King magnanimously offering to adopt her as his sister.
Anna had laughed until she had cried, which they had had to pass off as her crying tears of relief and gratitude.
‘She loves His Majesty so dearly,’ Marris had told the messengers with downcast eyes, ‘that she is overjoyed to remain a part of his family.’
It was a measure of how much the King’s commissioners wanted it to be true and how conceited the King was that everyone was very much inclined to accept her explanation.
Yet Marris knew that for all Anna’s material comfort and the friendly relationship she had preserved with the King, it had been a difficult and terrifying time for her.
And now the ink was barely dry on the annulment papers and there was this news about the King’s fifth marriage.
‘There is indeed news from court, madam,’ she said. ‘May we speak privately?’
The other ladies had all fallen silent, well aware that something was wrong.
After the annulment, Anna’s household had been dismissed once again, new servants appointed as befitting her demotion in status, some old friends sent away.
Marris was mindful that some of the ladies who now hovered on the edge of this group were spies for the Duke of Norfolk, for the King’s ministers and, indeed, for the King himself.
However, Anna, suddenly almost translucently pale, merely waved a hand in disregard.
‘I have no secrets from my ladies,’ she said.
‘As you wish, madam,’ Marris said. She could understand Anna’s tactic of appearing as open as possible. It was exhausting living in a world where collusion and conspiracy hid around every corner.
‘His Majesty the King and the Lady Catherine Howard wed last week at Oatlands Palace,’ she said. ‘There is much celebration at court.’
Everyone was watching Anna. In the quiet, the shouts of the watermen from the river and the soft repeating call of the doves in the trees was all that could be heard. Then Anna smiled.
‘I am very happy for His Majesty,’ she said precisely, ‘and for the new Queen. This is not unexpected news, but it is most welcome.’