Anne put her arm around Mary. She was trembling herself. “Is this true?”
Mary nodded. “He…forced me,” she whispered through her sobs. “He was taking me to see a painting. He said it was a work of art such as no one had ever surpassed. But…there was no painting. When we got into the gallery where it was supposed to be, he put his arms around me and started kissing me. I did not know what to do. He is the King. I dared not gainsay him!” She gulped. “Then he said we’d be more private and comfortable elsewhere, and pulled me through a door. It was a…bedchamber. I tried to protest, to say that I was a maid and was saving myself for my husband, but he just laughed and said that everyone says that but it means nothing. And then he…he pushed me on the bed and…Don’t ask me to say more.” She hung her head. “He did things to me I had never heard of.”
“It was rape!” hissed Elizabeth Gray, her eyes blazing, and the others murmured shocked agreement. “Shame on him!”
Shame on me, Anne thought, distraught, unable to grasp the enormity of what had happened. If I had gone to look for her, I might have prevented it.
“I cannot face going to court,” Mary wept. “Waiting on Queen Claude, I will see him every day, and I could not bear the shame. She will guess!” Her cries rose to a piteous wail. “She will dismiss me!”
Anne could imagine the scandal, and shrank from the prospect. She held Mary tightly, waiting until the storm had subsided. The others stood round, shaking their heads in concern.
Eventually Mary straightened, her face red and blotched with tears, her hair tousled. She took a deep breath. “I will see Queen Mary in the morning and ask if I can go home with her.”
That seemed to Anne to be even more fraught with difficulties. “But what will Father say?” she asked. “How will you explain it to him? He secures for you one of the most coveted posts to which a girl can aspire, and you turn your back on it!”
“Do you think I wanted this?” Mary flung back. “It was not my fault!”
Anne knew that, if she had been Mary, she would have stamped on the King’s foot, or screamed, or slapped his face, but she refrained from saying it. She would not upset Mary further. Outraged on her sister’s behalf, she reflected bitterly that whatever anyone—even the enlightened Christine de Pizan—said, men were still stronger than women and able to take what they wanted. With them it was either brute force or cruel deception. Look at how Suffolk had treated the Regent. And kings did not have to answer to anybody.
“I understand that you cannot face serving Queen Claude,” Anne said, feeling like crying herself, “but you must think about what you are going to say to Father.”
Mary gave a shuddering sob. “I don’t know. I can’t think just now. I’ll think in the morning.”
“We have to be up early to ride to Saint-Denis,” Anne reminded her. “Queen Mary has a long journey ahead.”
“Just leave me alone!” Mary wailed, and lay down, still in her clothes.
Looking at her, defiled and broken, Anne was again swamped with guilt. Why did she not feel sorrier for her? The truth was that Mary could be so exasperating—and stupid. Why go off alone with the King in the first place? But—she pulled herself up—that did not excuse his appalling behavior. Mary’s silliness was as nothing compared with what he had done.
She bent down, contrite, and began unlacing her sister’s gown, then fetched her night rail and helped her into bed.
“Perhaps, Mistress Anne, you understand now why a woman should not be by herself with a man,” Florence said nastily.
—
When they were roused at six, Anne was feeling ragged. She had not slept for racking her brains over what to do about Mary. After the horrifying thought that Mary might be pregnant occurred to her, she’d lain awake torturing herself for being responsible, and worrying about what would happen to her sister, and how a pregnancy could be concealed. She did not dare think what their father would say.
King Fran?ois arrived promptly at eight o’clock to escort Queen Mary to the great abbey of Saint-Denis, where they would say farewell and she and Suffolk would begin their journey back to England. Anne could hardly look at Fran?ois, she was so filled with loathing. She was seized with the urge to slap him—it was the least he deserved—but what good would that do? She felt so impotent.
It had been arranged that Anne and Mary were to return to court in the King’s train and be presented to their new mistress, Queen Claude. Elegant in black velvet and a jaunty cap that showed off her red hair to advantage, Queen Mary embraced them and bade them farewell.
“I am most appreciative of your good service—and your discretion,” she told them. Flushed with her good fortune, she did not notice that both were subdued and red-eyed.
But now Mary spoke up.
“Your Highness, let me come home with you,” she pleaded. Anne was appalled. This should be kept within the family. Already too many people knew of it.
The Queen frowned. “What is this? You are going to court to serve Queen Claude.”
“Madame, I cannot,” Mary said, beginning to weep again.
“Why, for Heaven’s sake? Do you not realize how fortunate you are?”
Mary swallowed and lowered her voice. “Madame, you know, better than most, how persistent a certain gentleman can be.” Her voice faltered. “I dare not stay here at court. My reputation will be compromised.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed. Understanding dawned. “Has he seduced you?”
“No!” Anne said. But Mary hung her head.
“Take me home, your Highness,” she begged. “I cannot bear to see him again after last night. Please do not ask me to elaborate. Believe me, I had no choice in the matter.”
“What of Father?” Anne asked. “He will be furious.”
“You may leave it to me to explain to him,” the Queen said, her tone unusually strident. “I will vouch for you, Mary. If he is furious with anyone, it should be with that villain. My dear, I am so sorry—and appalled. I can never forgive myself, for you are in my service and have been dishonored. I should have been more aware.”
“Your Highness understandably has had weighty matters on your mind,” Anne said.
“It was my duty! But we cannot waste time on regrets. I am late already. Mary, have a servant load your baggage.”
“Oh thank you, your Highness!” Mary cried, before hastily embracing Anne and hurrying away.
“I must go,” the Queen said. “Mistress Anne, I wish you well at the French court. After what has happened, I don’t need to warn you to guard your virtue—it is the most precious jewel you will ever possess.” She smiled sadly, watching Mary’s retreating back. “I think you are wise, and do not need my advice. You would not let any man take advantage of you.”