Lady Kingston came forward and curtseyed. She too was a friend of the Lady Mary, and had once served the Princess Dowager. Anne did not expect her to be sympathetic. Lastly, there was Mrs. Coffyn, the wife of her Master of Horse.
Was this some added refinement of cruelty on Henry’s part, forcing upon her the company of four women who hated her? How could he! But he had sent her old nurse, Mrs. Orchard, who was shaking her head in sorrow, and the amiable Mrs. Stonor, her Mother of the Maids. These two ladies, Kingston explained, would serve as her chamberers and sleep on pallet beds in her bedchamber at night.
“Madam, it is customary for prisoners of rank to take their meals at my table,” he said. “Supper is ready, and I should be pleased if you would join me and my wife.”
Anne was surprised by this unlooked-for courtesy, and allowed herself to be escorted to the Lieutenant’s House, a crumbling old building facing Tower Green and the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula. A table was set with linen and silver, and good fare was placed before her. Heartened, she managed to eat a little, under the watchful eyes of her host and hostess, but the conversation was awkward, punctuated by tense silences. There was so much she wanted—nay, needed—to know, but dared not ask, for fear of what she might hear.
Above all, she had a burning need to proclaim her innocence, and that of Norris and Smeaton. She also craved spiritual comfort. “Master Kingston, will you please move the King’s Highness to agree to my having the Blessed Sacrament in my closet, so that I might pray for God’s mercy?” she asked.
“I can arrange for that, madam,” he told her, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “Would you like me to ask one of the Tower chaplains to give you Holy Communion after supper?”
“I should like that very much,” she faltered, trying not to cry. “God will bear witness that there is no truth in these charges, for I am as clear from the company of man as from sin, and I am the King’s true wedded wife. Master Kingston, do you know why I am here?”
Kingston looked troubled. “If I did, I would not be allowed to discuss it with you.”
“When did you last see the King?” she persisted.
“I saw him in the tiltyard on May Day.”
“I pray you tell me where my lord my father is,” she begged. Father had influence. Surely he could intercede for her.
“I saw him before dinner at court,” Kingston replied. Had Father been aware of what was happening? He was a member of the King’s Council—and he had been appointed to that Grand Jury. She remembered how distracted he had been when she saw him last. Had he known about this and not warned her? And George? If George knew, he would move Heaven and earth to save her. He would speak to the King on her behalf and fearlessly defend her. She could not bear to imagine his distress when he heard of her arrest.
“Where is my sweet brother?” she cried desperately.
“I left him at York Place,” Kingston said.
Lady Kingston reached across and touched her arm. “Madam, there’s no use working yourself up into a frenzy,” she said. But Anne was lost in terror, deeply agitated, and remembering that someone unnamed had also been charged with committing treason with her. Who could it be?
“I hear that I am accused with three men,” she said, “and I can say no more but nay, I have done nothing wrong, unless I should open my body to prove it!” So saying, she pretended to hold wide her bodice, and then found herself laughing hysterically again at the absurdity of what she had just said, until Kingston reminded her that Norris and Smeaton had testified against her. She could believe it of Smeaton, for he was no gentleman, but not of Norris. Surely he would not betray her?
“Oh, Norris, have you accused me?” she burst out, laughter turning to weeping. “You are in the Tower with me, and you and I shall die together. And Mark, you are here too,” she lamented, remembering that he too was innocent. Then she thought of her mother, still lying sick at Hever, and how badly the news of her arrest, with all its shocking implications, would affect her. “Oh my mother, you will die for sorrow!” she cried. The thought of her mother was too much to bear, so she quickly changed the subject and spoke of her fears for Lady Worcester, whose child might have died inside her.
“What caused it?” Lady Kingston asked.
“It was for the sorrow she felt for me,” Anne told her. There was a silence.
Anne turned to the Constable. She desperately needed to know if she was to face trial. “Master Kingston, shall I die without justice?”
“The poorest subject of the King hath justice,” he replied.
She laughed at that. She could not stop herself.
—
It was ten o’clock. The chaplain had long gone, and Anne was completing her light penance in her closet when she heard Lady Kingston, in the outer chamber, say to her aunts that Smeaton had at last been found a lodging in the Tower, and that it was meaner than Norris’s. Would to God she knew where Norris was lodged. But as she fell, exhausted, into her bed, at the close of what had been the most dreadful day of her life, it was a small comfort to know that he could not be far away.
Sleep was impossible. She had suffered night terrors before her arrest, but they were a hundred times worse now. Henry, she was convinced, wanted to be free to take a third wife who could give him sons, but without the trouble that had ensued when he had tried to set Katherine aside. But she, Anne, would go quietly, if only she were given the chance—and she would say so as soon as the opportunity arose. It might be her only hope of saving herself. Unless, of course, he was just trying to frighten her into submission. How many times had his threats proved to be mere bluster? He did not really mean to put her to death, not after all she had meant to him. She tried not to imagine herself kneeling before the block, waiting for the ax to fall—the thought was too terrifying. And she had thought rape was the worst thing a man could do to a woman! Her thoughts kept revolving, an endless, convoluted torment, until she saw another bright May morning dawn outside her window.
—
A few hours later, she was allowed to sit in the Queen’s garden, a walled enclosure with an unkempt lawn and poorly tended flower beds. Her four guardians had to accompany her, and she realized that Lady Kingston, who was ostensibly busy with her sewing, was watching her closely. Lady Shelton’s overt hostility was unmitigated. It hurt, especially after Anne had done her the honor of appointing her to Elizabeth’s household.
“Why are you so angry with me, aunt?” she challenged.
“You should know!” Lady Shelton hissed. “Not content with bringing disgrace on our family, you have ruined my Madge’s reputation! Do you deny that you pushed her into the King’s path? Or that Norris, the man she loved, betrayed her with you? Thanks to you, her good name is gone and her happiness destroyed.”