Chapter 17
‘I worry that she will never be the same again,’ Marris confided to Will. ‘They were so close to one another, those girls, such dear friends. I do not think Bridget can quite comprehend what has befallen Catherine. She hopes that the King will relent, of course, but we know he will not.’
Will shook his head. ‘No. There is no hope for Queen Catherine now. It is only a matter of time.’
‘I’ll allow that she was very foolhardy in taking lovers after her marriage,’ Marris said, ‘but King Henry has broken a butterfly.’ She watched the snow falling softly against the mullioned windows, as light at the brush of a fragile wing.
‘Another woman used by ambitious men and cast aside,’ she said bitterly.
She thought of the Catherine Howard she had known whilst Anna and Henry had still been wed, the carefree child-woman who had loved nothing more than flirtation and dancing and fun.
How easy it was to get out of one’s depth in the murky shoals of life at court. How easy and how destructive.
‘Of them all, only Queen Anna has played against the King and won,’ Will said. The ghost of a smile touched his lips. ‘She was fortunate to be so well-advised.’
‘And yet she paid a terrible price,’ Marris said. ‘She gave up her child.’
She moved over to the window and stood watching the snow fill in every curve and hollow of the parkland, dressing the trees in pure white as it weighted their bows, softening the harsh ruins of the priory.
It all looked pristine and new, yet her heart was filled with grief: for Bridget, for Catherine, for Anna.
Will came to stand beside her, slipping an arm about her waist, drawing her close to him so that her head rested against his shoulder.
‘This time will pass,’ he said gently. ‘Spring will strike again, against the coldness of winter. Your sister is young and her spirits will rise, though none of us will ever be the same after what has happened.’
Marris nodded. She rested a hand on her swollen belly. ‘At least there will be a new baby in the nursery soon,’ she said. ‘That will be sufficient to chase away the darkest mood, I hope.’
The evening, however, brought an entirely unexpected visitor to Winterhill. As the light was fading, a travelling coach creaked its way onto the forecourt and when the leather flap was lifted, none other than the King’s sister descended.
‘I have come to wish you the joys of the season,’ Anna said, enveloping Marris tightly in a scented embrace.
‘It is so dull in London. The Queen is in the Tower, the King is in a prison of his own misery, and no one is merry. I thought that here at least, dear Lady Sharington, we might have some dances and carolling and feasting.’
Marris hugged her back. ‘It is always a pleasure to see you, Highness. Come inside out of the cold.’
Sir William was calling for mulled wine and a hot brick for the Lady Anna whilst Mrs Wood scuttled off to prepare the best guest chamber.
All was bustle and noise and excitement.
Marris thought it very wise of Anna not to have tried to visit in secret, for that would have been impossible and would almost certainly have given rise to speculation.
This way she was once again acting in plain sight.
Even so, she drew Anna aside for a quick moment whilst fetching her hot water and towels and whispered: ‘Is aught wrong, Highness? Is there anything we should know?’
Anna shook her head. ‘There is something that I need to give you,’ she said. ‘So, I have come with many gifts. That way, the most significant one is overlooked amongst the rest.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Marris said. No doubt Anna wished to give her keepsakes for little Richard.
It was a touching thought but it made her anxious.
Would Anna wish to see the baby? Would she find it impossible to keep away from him as he grew older?
The maternal pull, she knew, could be the strongest force in the world.
It could lead the former Queen into a great deal of danger.
But later, when a vast pile of Christmas gifts had been unloaded from the coach, and Marris was helping Anna prepare for bed, her purpose became plain.
‘There is a box, amongst all the toys and games and sweetmeats,’ Anna said.
‘It contains a copy of the record of Richard’s birth and baptism, with a note in my own hand as to his parentage.
’ She met Marris’s gaze, and her eyes were dark with both grief and pride.
‘I find that I wish there to be a record of my son somewhere in the world,’ she said, ‘for I am glad to have borne him. He will be a fine man one day. I know it.’ She swallowed painfully.
‘I consign it, and him, to God’s care. You will bury the box in the priory along with the bones of the holy men.
Their sanctity will protect both my son and his secret.
I trust in you, Marris. Keep my secret, keep my son safe, but give me the comfort of knowing that there is a record somewhere that he is mine. That is all I ask.’
‘Madam, I will, I swear it.’ Marris understood.
Anna knew that Richard could never take up his true place in the world, that he must be protected from those who would wish him harm if his parentage was revealed.
Yet she was not prepared to lose him entirely.
This slender thread would connect them through eternity.
‘My brother William and Dr Harsch plan to ask the King to take me back once Queen Catherine is gone,’ Anna confided.
She shook her head. ‘They are fools, for he will never agree, and nor would I wish it.’ Darkness shadowed her eyes again.
‘Even if he did, it would still be too late for our son, so there is nothing to be gained.’
There was no more talk of Richard, or King Henry, through the twelve days of Christmas.
The King’s sister was a gracious and generous guest, willing to mingle with the local dignitaries who flocked to Winterhill to pay their respects.
There were skating parties and mummers’ plays, wassailing and feasting.
Even Bridget left her chamber at last, tempted by the books that Anna had bought her and the painting materials Will and Marris had ordered for her from London.
The Lady Anna accompanied them all to church, where the vicar was so overawed by her presence that he could barely stutter a Christmas blessing.
On the twelfth day, when Sir William was to host the traditional entertainment for his tenants and neighbours, the Lady Anna announced she would make an early departure.
‘For I must return to Richmond,’ she said, ‘and see what I may do to raise the spirits of the King, my dearest brother.’
Only Marris knew that Anna wished to be away before Sam Welland and his sister visited from Woolstone with little Richard Swan, lest, as Anna had said, she be tempted to snatch him back and run away with him as though she were a simple milkmaid rather than a Princess of Cleves.
‘And what a scandal that would provoke,’ Anna had said, her natural twinkle back in her eyes.
‘Almost, it would be worth it to surprise all those long-faced men who sit in judgement.’ She kissed Marris.
‘Take the greatest care, my dear Lady Sharington. I will live for your letters, and I owe you more gratitude than I can ever say.’
* * *
‘You do not need me to tell you that this is a terrible idea,’ Will said.
He, Marris and Bridget were seated around the table in the parlour, the door firmly closed and the curtains drawn against the night and prying eyes.
In the centre of the table stood a small box of beautiful dark walnut that glowed with a purplish hue.
White mother of pearl swans decorated the lid.
‘What was the Lady Anna thinking, to consign her secret to God’s protection?’ Will groused. ‘Seal the box in a strongroom, by all means, or entrust it to a notary if you must, but bury it? Is she mad?’
‘I think it’s an excellent idea,’ Bridget said. ‘The door of a strongroom may be broken down and a man may be bribed to give away the items in his care, but God is constant.’ She squeezed Marris’s hand. ‘As are we.’
‘Indeed,’ Marris said. ‘As a former prioress I cannot but comment Her Highness’s trust in the highest authority.’
Will ran an exasperated hand through his hair.
‘Then if you cannot be swayed, I have a suggestion for you,’ he said.
‘Entrust the box to that most revered holy man, Father Nicholas Lowndes. I understand he is considered something of a local saint and his powers of healing and protection are well-established.’
Marris gave a snort of laughter. ‘Do I understand you a’right, Will? Are you suggesting that we open up Father Nicholas’s tomb and place the box in the grave with him?’ She shook her head at him, but her lips twitched with amusement. ‘Only you would think of such a sacrilegious plan, my love!’
Will had seen her smile and an answering one gleamed in his eyes.
‘Admit it,’ he said. ‘It is a splendid idea. No one, not even the most suspicious of the Lady Anna’s enemies, would ever think to look there.
Nor would anyone dare disturb the peace of a saint’s grave.
Whilst we live, we may watch over the tomb and when we are gone…
’ He sighed. ‘Well, with God’s grace, there may be some means by which he – and we – may keep the faith.
’ He looked from one to the other. ‘What do you think?’
‘It is a clever plan,’ Bridget admitted.
‘Although I shall have to apologise to Father Nicholas for disturbing his rest,’ Marris added.
‘Aye, well, it is all in a good cause, and I am sure he will forgive you,’ Will said cheerfully.
‘Once the snows of winter have thawed, we shall attend to it. But for now—’ he reached for the wine ‘—let us raise a glass to the Lady Anna of Cleves, and pray for the peaceful and happy future of her son.’
He poured a glass of wine for them and they solemnly raised the toast.