“I think the King would see replenishing his coffers as a good purpose,” George observed. “And I’d rather see all monks and nuns rot in Hell.” She knew that at heart he was a Lutheran, and that many thought she was too. Certainly she had become the hope of those who had secretly embraced Luther’s precepts. Men like the firebrand Robert Barnes, who had fled England for fear of persecution, but had been able to return four years ago, thanks to her protection, and preach openly in London, unmolested. Henry had granted her every wish in those days. Even last year he had agreed to release a convicted heretic, and four months ago he had approved the appointment of another reputed Lutheran, Matthew Parker, as her chaplain.
“No one could say I am not a friend to true religion,” she said to George. “I see myself as a zealous defender of Christ’s Gospel. But it seems wrong to use the wealth of the monasteries to buy the support of individuals for the King’s supremacy. I feel strongly that the confiscated riches should be used for educational and charitable purposes that would benefit everyone.”
“And you think the King will agree with that?”
“I’ll do my best to persuade him.” It wouldn’t be easy when he was barely speaking to her.
George snorted. “Cromwell certainly won’t. He would make His Grace rich, and buy himself further into his good graces.”
“Cromwell has too much power,” Anne said.
“More than you, I fear.”
“Until I get pregnant again,” she was quick to say.
“You mean there is a chance of your getting pregnant? Anne, I have seen how things stand between you and the King.”
She would not weep. “I can make him return to me, never fear. And then Cromwell had best look to his back, for I will have my way over this!”
“Go to, sister!” George applauded.
—
Laying up treasure in Heaven, and hopefully with Henry, she was now spending her days doing the good deeds that would earn her salvation and increase her store with the Almighty. She gave alms weekly to the poor, with the piles of clothing she had sewn with her ladies. She provided for widows and impoverished householders, giving money for the purchase of cattle or other livestock. Braving those who shouted abuse, she visited towns and villages, sending her almoner ahead to find out from the parish authorities if there were any needy families in the district. When she arrived, she made grants of money toward their support.
She aided poor scholars, providing money for their education. She even helped Wolsey’s bastard son when he returned penniless from the University of Padua. She wrote to King Fran?ois and secured the release of a French humanist, Nicholas Bourbon, who had been imprisoned for heresy. When Bourbon arrived in England, she made him tutor to her nephew, Henry Carey. Bourbon could not sufficiently express his undying gratitude. “Your Grace is one whom God Himself loves,” he told her. She wished she could believe it. For all her charities and good works, she knew she was still hated.
It was rare for Henry to visit her these days, but when he came to her chamber to tell her that he had at last persuaded King Fran?ois to enter into negotiations for the marriage of Elizabeth to his son, she was overjoyed and took courage from it, assuring herself that he would not have pressed for the match if he had been planning to divorce her.
But then, relaxing with a book in her privy garden one day, with Urian sleeping at her feet and her ladies chattering and laughing in a circle on the grass, she heard voices beyond the high box hedge behind her.
“It’s the Lady Mary people look to when they consider the future.” That was Cromwell! “The Princess Elizabeth is not yet two, and if anything should happen to the King, Mary would have a far more realistic chance of gaining and holding the throne. I’ve decided that it’s in everyone’s interests if I lend Mary my support.”
“I am gratified to hear that, Master Secretary,” she heard Chapuys reply. “Someone should stand up for the Princess’s rights. Many do not recognize the Lady’s child as legitimate.”
“I’m well aware of that. I’m looking into the possibility of altering the Act of Succession with a view to naming Mary the King’s heir.”
How dare he! This was treason! Anne leapt up, threw down the book, and raced out of the garden. At the sight of her bearing down on them vengefully, both men stared in dismay, then Cromwell hurriedly bowed low and Chapuys walked away without acknowledging her.
“You are a traitor!” she accused Cromwell, shaking with fury. “I will have your head off your shoulders! I heard what you said about supporting the Lady Mary. It’s treason, as you should know, to deny my daughter’s title.”
Cromwell appeared unperturbed. “Madam, as the King’s chief minister, I have to take a pragmatic view. God forfend, but should the King die, a two-year-old girl could not rule.”
“His Grace has provided that, in that event, I should be absolute mistress of the realm during Elizabeth’s minority. You seem to have forgotten that.”
He regarded her dispassionately. “And your Grace thinks that the lords will accept you as regent? Madam, you would not last a quarter of an hour, and I say that as a friend who wishes you well.”
“Is working to have my daughter dispossessed an act of friendship?” she flung at him. “You overreach yourself, Master Secretary. The King shall hear of this!”
He shrugged. “I think you will find that he too will take a pragmatic view. He knows I have this kingdom’s interests at heart.”
“We shall see!” Anne cried, and left him standing there.
She found Henry in his privy chamber, rummaging through his cupboards. A pile of dog leads, tennis balls, and rolled-up maps lay on the floor.
“Wait a moment, Anne,” he said. “I’m looking for a plan of the Calais fortifications. I want to go over and inspect them soon.” He stood up at last, holding a large scroll. “Well?”
She told him what Cromwell had said. “He is a traitor and should be punished as such,” she demanded.
Henry sat down wearily, stroking his beard. “He is the ablest man in my kingdom, and very useful to me. I should be loath to lose him. If he has said these things to Messire Chapuys—”
“If?” she interrupted. “I heard him, as clearly as I hear you!”
“Madam!” His look silenced her. “I am in no doubt that Master Cromwell spoke from an earnest desire to ensure the future security of this realm. After all, you have failed to bear me a son.”
“That was not my fault. And I can’t believe you are turning a deaf ear to his treason.”
“Madam, you are in no position to complain. Now go, and leave me in peace. I have business to attend to.”
She fought back the tears. “How can I give you a son when you never come to my bed?”
“I will come to you later,” Henry said, making it sound more like a threat than a promise.
—
He came, as he had said he would. She tried to be as alluring and welcoming as she could, wearing an almost transparent shift and lying with her long hair spread out over the pillows. He grunted a greeting, took off his robe, climbed into bed still wearing his nightshirt, and did what was necessary to get her with child without one word spoken. After he had lain beside her for a space, recovering his breath, he rose to leave. By then, she had turned away, weeping helplessly, not caring if he heard.