Anne curtseyed. No, she would never let that happen. No man would have the chance. In fact, she was resolved never to have anything to do with the perfidious, dangerous, bestial creatures. There were so many other things in life to enjoy.
She looked after the departing figure of her sister. Pray God the Queen spoke to Father before he set eyes on Mary.
—
As the royal retinues prepared to leave Saint-Denis, Anne bade Mary a hurried farewell.
“If you want me to write to Father in your defense, I will do so,” she said, then lowered her voice. “Your secret is safe with me. I pray there will be no unpleasant consequences.”
“Oh, there could not be,” Mary said, sounding happier now that she was leaving Paris. “Mary Fiennes told me that the woman has to experience pleasure to conceive, and most certainly I did not.”
Anne was not sure that was true, but she held her peace. “God keep you,” she said, and kissed Mary. She watched as the great cavalcade rode away northward, before climbing into the horse litter that was to take her to the Louvre. The world was opening up again, and she was aware of excitement welling up within her, but it was tempered by what had happened to her sister in the very court for which she was now bound.
1515-1516
Claude of Valois was little more than a child, a delicate-looking girl with a pleasing face and curly chestnut-brown hair. Her eyes squinted disconcertingly in different directions, and she had a pronounced limp, having been crippled from birth. But as the daughter of the late King Louis, and heiress to the duchy of Brittany, she had been a great prize in the royal marriage market, which was why the future King Fran?ois had made her his bride, the poor girl.
She arrived late for the audience, walking to her chair of estate in as stately fashion as her condition and her uneven gait permitted. The midnight-blue velvet gown embroidered with the lilies of France, its stomacher unlaced over her belly, seemed to weigh her down, but she was all smiles, and the first impression Anne gained was of an innate sweetness of character.
“Welcome, mademoiselle,” the Queen said, looking both at and past her as Anne sank into a deep curtsey. “You may rise. Is your sister not with you?”
Anne was prepared. “Your Majesty, she is unwell and has had to return home to England.” She hoped Claude would swallow the lie.
“I am sorry to hear it,” the Queen said. “I hope it is nothing serious.”
“Madame, I am assured that time and a good rest in the country will effect a cure.”
Claude smiled. “Well, Mademoiselle Anne, I rejoice to see you, for I have heard excellent reports of you. There is always a great clamor when a place becomes vacant in my household, but I liked what I heard of you, as did my mother-in-law, Madame Louise, who noticed you on her visits to Queen Mary. She told me how accomplished you are.”
“It is kind of your Highness to say so,” Anne said. She was aware that the domineering Madame Louise ruled the court, overshadowing Claude, but she could detect no bitterness in the young Queen’s demeanor.
“There are three hundred young ladies in my household,” Claude told her. “You will be in good company. I hope your time here will be happy.”
Anne was thus dismissed. A lady-in-waiting came to take her to her new lodgings—yet another maidens’ dorter high up in the eaves, where she would share space with nineteen other girls. It was sweltering in the warm weather. She found herself missing Mary already. It was a daunting prospect, going alone into this vast royal household. But—and she kept her chin up—she would deal with it. And maybe, among those three hundred young ladies, she would find some friends.
“You will wait upon Her Majesty when summoned,” the lady-in-waiting said. “At other times, you will confine yourself to this dorter or the Queen’s chapel, and you may walk in her private gardens with another of the maids, but never unaccompanied. You will not go anywhere else without permission. Is that understood?”
Anne’s spirits plummeted. It sounded worse than the H?tel de Cluny.
“Yes, madame,” she said meekly.
—
In those first few days, she began, with mounting dismay, to understand the constraints of her new life. But the Queen’s strict regimen played to Anne’s advantage, for she found that most of her new companions shared her distaste for it, and it made a common bond between them. They were forever devising schemes to circumvent the rules, and soon Anne was joining in with enthusiasm. Many of the young ladies were keen to hear about her time at the court of Burgundy, and grew wistful when she told them of the freedom she had enjoyed. Having heard only rumors, they were agog to learn about the goings-on at the H?tel de Cluny from someone who had been there. She was grateful that she had worked diligently at her French, for she was now fluent and could converse and gossip with them on equal terms—and she knew they admired her for it. She was quickly accepted into their aristocratic circle, and began to feel that she was among friends.
Queen Claude was kind and affectionate, but that mild exterior concealed a will of steel—and, Anne came to suspect, a desperate unhappiness; and no wonder, given that she was married to that unspeakable lecher. It was no secret that the King dallied with many mistresses—indeed, it was one of the chief topics of conversation among the excitable young women in that teeming household. But Claude—she was a saint—ignored the gossip, or rather the conversations that were suddenly hushed when she appeared. When the King visited her, which was not often, she was sweetness itself to him, but when he had gone—usually all too soon—she could barely hide her sadness.
That she was aware of his constant infidelities, and the lax example he set to his courtiers, was apparent in her imposition of a strict moral code upon her household. Her mission was to protect her maids from predatory men, but it was like living in a nunnery. Anne was told early on that she must follow the Queen’s example and conduct herself with modesty and decorum. Her days were governed by a tedious round of prayers, good works, devotional reading, and endless sewing. Within a week, she thought she might go mad or die of frustration. There was no talk here of the game of love!
The Queen kept nearly always to her apartments. Anne learned that she did not like the court, and disapproved of what went on there.
“She attends when she has to,” one of the maids said, “but she would far rather be at Amboise or Blois.”
“Away from the court?” Anne asked, dismayed.
“If the King agrees, yes. And usually he does. He has his reasons, of course.” A sly smile accompanied that statement.
You could not blame Claude, Anne reflected. After all, what queen would want the humiliation of seeing her husband parading his mistresses in public, or of other people’s pity or derision? Look at her, poor little misshapen thing; no wonder he strays!
It felt like being in prison, immured in the Queen’s lavishly painted and gilded rooms, which offered every luxury a woman might require but held no attractions for Anne. What good did it do to wear all her gorgeous court gowns, on which Father had outlaid so much money, if no one saw them?