“James Melton at your service, mistress.” Of course. Harry’s friend, another of Wolsey’s young gentlemen. She recalled that he had once accompanied Harry to the Queen’s chamber. He was a gaunt-faced fellow, well spoken and wearing riding clothes of good cloth, but glum of countenance. “I am come from Harry,” he said.
“Oh!” Anne exclaimed, delighted, but James Melton still looked miserable.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I would give anything not to be the bearer of this news,” James said.
Panic seized Anne. “Tell me he is not ill!”
“No, but he has been forbidden to see you.”
All her joy drained away. “Why?” she faltered, already marshaling indignant protests in her mind.
“I know very little about what has happened, but I believe he is now on his way north. He wrote to me shortly before he left, bidding me tell you that everything has changed between you two.”
“He has forsaken me?” she whimpered.
“On the contrary, Mistress Anne, he is frantic with worry about you, for he has no means of knowing what you have heard, and would not have you think ill of him. He sounded desperate. He begged me not to suffer you in his absence to be married to any other man.”
“Someone has tried to part us,” Anne said, feeling angry tears well up. “Was it Cardinal Wolsey?”
James nodded. “I suspect so.”
“Did Harry not stand up for us? I would have done.”
“I know not what happened,” James said, “but Harry said he was going to see the Bishop of London. He said he feared to do so behind the Cardinal’s back for fear of losing his head, but that the Bishop might be able to help him. But if Wolsey had threatened him like that, the King must surely be involved.”
Anne trembled. “Not necessarily,” she said, trying to reassure herself. “Everybody knows it was Wolsey who brought Buckingham down. Wolsey is all-powerful. But why did Harry ask to see the Bishop?” Had it been about their betrothal?
“He didn’t say, only that it did him no good, because the Bishop told him he had offended grievously. That’s another reason why I think the King is involved. You can read Harry’s letter for yourself.” He reached into his doublet, brought out a creased sheet of paper and handed it to her. She took it, her hands shaking, feeling cold to her core, and read. There was no more information, but at the end Harry had written: “Commend me to Mistress Anne. Bid her remember her promise, which none can loose but God only.”
“What can I do?” Her cry was anguished. “If the King is behind the matter, we are lost.” And she was consumed with white-hot rage against the man who had such power that he could ruin not only her sister’s life, but also her own.
James Melton spread his hands helplessly. “In truth, I do not know. You might ask the Cardinal’s gentleman usher, Master Cavendish, what he knows. There’s little that escapes him, for he is often in attendance on His Eminence.”
“Take me to York Place!” Anne begged him. “I am not needed until this evening. I must find out what has happened.”
“I dare not,” James said. “I should not be seen with you. I only risked coming because Harry is my friend.” It was then that Anne understood the seriousness of her situation. It was not only Harry who had given offense.
“I see,” she said. “Very well, I will go alone.”
“That is madness,” James warned her.
“I don’t care!” she cried. “I don’t give a fig for the Cardinal or the King! I want answers! I am going to make them understand that no one trifles with Anne Boleyn!” She was beside herself.
James looked distraught himself. “All right, Mistress Anne, I will escort you. But do not expect anything good to come out of this foolhardiness.”
—
They sat silently in the barge as London rolled past them. Anne had brought her maid, for propriety’s sake, as the Cardinal naturally presided over a household of men (although Anne had heard it rumored that he kept his old mistress hidden away in his private chambers, aye, and had children by her).
At Westminster Stairs they alighted and gave their names at the gatehouse of York Place. James was evidently known and liked, and they were waved through.
“I will take you to Master Cavendish,” he said, “but then I must leave you. My father would kill me if he knew I was doing this.”
“So would mine,” Anne said, tight-lipped, “but it matters not.”
York Place was massive, a disparate collection of buildings ancient and new, sprawling around gardens and courtyards, and negotiating it was like finding your way through a labyrinth. But James knew it well, and soon he was leading Anne up a privy stair, which led to apartments of such sumptuous splendor that, for all her misery, she gasped. Every available inch of wall and ceiling had been painted or gilded. No wonder so many people envied Wolsey!
They threaded their way through the throng of gentlemen, officials, petitioners, and servants who were waiting to see the Cardinal.
“Master Cavendish should be in his office,” James said, knocking at a fine paneled door. But when it opened, it was Wolsey himself who stood framed in the arched doorway. James hurriedly knelt to kiss his ring, which was extended absentmindedly, for Wolsey was staring at Anne.
“Master Melton,” he said, “you are a gentleman of great prescience, for you have brought me the young lady I was about to summon. I wonder how that could be.”
James stood up, visibly trembling. Before he could answer, Anne spoke. “My Lord Cardinal, I insisted on coming to see you, and this gentleman reluctantly agreed to escort me.” Everyone was staring at her, but the Cardinal seemed unaware of them.
“Indeed? How very fortunate that he was at hand. James, I will speak with you later.”
James flushed and bowed himself away. Anne felt awful. He had done her a kindness and she had got him into trouble. But she would get him out of it.
“Your Eminence,” she said, “I do hope you will not think amiss of Master Melton for his goodness to me. He but brought me a letter from Lord Percy. He was puzzled as to what it was about. It was I who, having read the letter, insisted on coming here.”
Wolsey regarded her wearily. She was repelled by his fleshy jowls and red-veined cheeks. She wished that he would take her somewhere they could discuss this matter in private. It was embarrassing having all these people avidly looking on.
“We shall see,” the Cardinal said. “No doubt you have guessed that I am aware of your pretended precontract to Harry Percy.”
“There was nothing pretended about it, my lord!” Anne bridled.
“Then you are clearly unaware that Lord Percy was betrothed seven years ago to Lady Mary Talbot, the Earl of Shrewsbury’s daughter.” He was watching like a great bird of prey to see her reaction.
“I do not believe it,” she said, striving not to betray how shocked she was.
“Then I am sorry for you. The King and I approved the betrothal at the time. It was a most satisfactory arrangement, the parties being of equal rank.”
This was insupportable! How dare this butcher’s son imply, in others’ hearing, that she, the granddaughter of a duke, if you please, was not fit to mate with the heir to an earldom!