In her chambers, her tears still fell. She berated herself for not understanding the king better, for provoking him, though she had tried to do what was right. There was only one other woman who could offer her counsel, and this was the very woman Anne was destroying. Catherine had survived years under Henry’s thumb. Anne doubted she could survive a week without ruin.
She yearned for his softer words and lifted the lid of her trunk to fish out his letters, kept safe at the bottom, where no one dared disturb her private treasures.
They were gone. A stab of panic made her cry out, and she began removing the items one by one, setting them on the enormous bed, until the trunk was empty and there were indeed no letters.
She had committed treason in those letters, asking for the crown when another woman, very much alive, still wore it. Anne was sweating, a cold sweat that stung her brow. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, pressing in hard on her roiling stomach to calm it. Those lovely white papers bared at this moment before some enemy—they were no less than her neck. Is this what Hutchins must fear? Were they all doomed by ink and presses?
Anne shook herself awake from these terrors. She had to think. Who had access to her trunk, and who would want her in such a vulnerable state? It was either Wolsey or Henry, she decided. Henry could blackmail her to get her into his bed, and the law would still be on his side. Wolsey might not have known what he was looking for in her chambers, but if he was the thief, he had found the papers that would cause such outrage against her that Henry would have no choice but to dismiss her from court and remain with Catherine. Wolsey’s life, and his fortune, would be secure if there were no troubles with Catherine and the Pope.
Either man could be the thief. Both could be her adversary.
She paced in little turns, trying to find a spot that would stop her stomach from flipping and twisting. She accidentally knocked the book to the floor, and as she bent to retrieve it, her eyes fell upon the same words. But this time, the words were balm, and she pressed the book against her stomach, cradling it, murmuring the words again to herself. The words, spoken into thin air, did not disappear but lingered, settling in around her chamber, steadying her nerves as a friend might who sits with you on a night of fevers and dreams.
“I am surrounded by invisible witnesses,” Anne murmured.
A tapestry against the wall fluttered.
Chapter Fourteen
The crowds made progress through London tedious. The shop on Honey Lane was not so far that Rose and Margaret were compelled to travel by barge but had instead taken the litter drawn by two great mares. The horses, in their snorting, belligerent impatience, strained to make quick work of the journey, but the slow-footed, dim-witted commoners impeded them at every turn. That is how they looked to Rose, at least—throngs of oily stained people who lacked the wits to let the quick-moving nobility pass. Once Rose had resented these litters darting through London’s streets, making hazards for children and the infirm. But it was clear that bearing down on the people produced no ill effect, nor did it encourage them to move. Rose and Margaret were stuck, forced to submit at points to the indifferent will of the people.
As they took the turn at Honey Lane, they were again stopped by a gaggle of commoners. The horses pawed the ground, but no one in the crowd paid them mind. Rose lifted the curtain drawn round the litter ever so slightly, fighting back the duststorm that rose to meet her. The stink was overpowering with no curtain to filter it. The city streets stank of beer and urine and of unwashed bodies sweating in the August heat. The usual heat in August was not bad, but the drought that had cursed them took with it all the comforts of summer. There was no relief, not from the poor and their odours, nor for the farmers and their crops. Stalls should have lined this street with vendors selling the early harvest, blackberries being here by now, cheeses and herbs. Nothing lined the street today except these dread people and some amusement parading before them that had stopped them all dead in the street.
Rose leaned out of the litter, lifting herself a bit to see what amused them, and how long this delay would last. Margaret peered out the other side.
“Margaret! Stay inside!” Rose called to her.