Anne was present when Henry was informed that the number of reported cases of the sweat in London had soared to forty thousand. She watched the color drain from his face. For all his courage—this was the man who had sought glory on the battlefields of France—he had an inordinate fear of illness, and no wonder, given that he had no son to succeed him.
“We must leave Greenwich,” he said, his voice hoarse with fear. “The court must remove tomorrow.”
He was debating with himself where best to go, and which parts of the country were safest, when word came that the sweat had invaded the royal household itself. Two servants had sickened—and Sir Henry Norris.
Anne began trembling violently. No! Norris must not die! God could not be so cruel. She strove to calm herself.
“Dear God, not Norris!” Henry lamented. “The best of my gentlemen, God save him! I will pray for him.” He crossed himself and Anne fervently followed suit. “That settles it,” Henry went on. “We’ll leave today. I’ll give the order to break up the court. Darling, you are shaking—do not fear, I beg of you. We will go to Waltham in Essex, where I have a small house. We’ll be safe there—it’s a long way from the contagion.”
“What of the Queen?” Anne asked.
“She must come too. I cannot send her away at a time like this. Remember, until judgment is given, I must be seen to be cherishing her as my wife.” He shouted for his grooms. “We will take only a small retinue,” he told Anne.
It would not be easy, she thought, living in close proximity to Katherine, although the Queen had continued to show herself courteous, if distant. And it would be a challenge concealing her fears for Norris. At least Henry would be kept informed of his progress.
At Waltham she found herself accommodated with the Queen’s ladies, none of whom had a kind word to say to her these days. And Henry, to her dismay, seemed to be spending most of his time with Katherine—when he was not closeted away experimenting with remedies for the sweat. She suspected that he was storing up credit with God, just in case his marriage was found valid—which it wouldn’t be, of course; but she was seeing a different side to Henry right now, and was coming to realize how much he really did fear divine disapproval.
Wolsey, who had had the sweat before and was immune, wrote frequently. Norris, mercifully, was recovering, for which Anne gave secret heartfelt thanks. All affairs of state saving the Great Matter were being held in suspension while the sickness raged, but the Cardinal had enough to keep him busy late into the night.
“Write to Wolsey, darling,” Henry urged late one evening, when Katherine had gone to bed and they were snatching a quiet hour together in his privy chamber. “Let him know how grateful you are for his diligence.”
Dutifully, Anne wrote, the insincere words of thanks dripping from her pen.
“I had hoped,” Henry said, when she had finished and given it to him to read, “to have heard that Cardinal Campeggio had reached France by now.” He added a postscript, saying as much to Wolsey.
“I warned you,” Anne said. “Campeggio will not be in any hurry. They are all hoping that you will tire of me and forget about an annulment.”
“Darling, that is just not true,” Henry said, taking her hands. “His Holiness would not send a legate all this way unless he means to give a favorable judgment. It is only right that my case gets a fair hearing, and that the legates are seen to be weighing the evidence. You must stop imagining the worst.”
“I will try,” she sighed. “I cannot help being anxious.” She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. “There is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”
Henry subsided into his chair and gave her a rueful grin. “I had hoped to make the most of our time alone together, but go ahead.”
“It will not take long,” Anne smiled. “You will have heard that the Abbess of Wilton died.”
“Yes. It’s a rich and fashionable nunnery, and the nobility send their daughters there, so there’s been much ado about choosing a successor. The community supports the election of the Prioress, Dame Isabel Jordan. The Cardinal is in favor, and I daresay I shall approve it.”
Anne already knew that Wolsey was backing the Prioress. She had learned that earlier in the day when Will Carey had come to see her. His sister Eleanor was a nun at Wilton, and both he and Mary were hoping that Anne would exert influence on her behalf. Anne had smiled to herself. For all her jealousy, Mary was quite prepared to use her to get what she wanted. Yet it was chiefly the chance to score one over Wolsey that had made Anne determined to secure the appointment of Dame Eleanor. It would be an effective way of demonstrating her ascendancy over her enemy.
“Your Grace may not be aware that Master Carey’s sister Eleanor is a nun at Wilton,” Anne said now. “I think she would be a far more suitable choice. She is young and learned, and much liked. The Prioress may have many qualities, but she is too old. If it were known that your Grace preferred Dame Eleanor, the convent would vote accordingly.”
Henry considered. “I will think on this,” he promised.
“Thank you, sir,” Anne replied. “That would make me so happy.” And she held out her arms to him.
—
She was delighted to hear that Henry had written to Wolsey expressing his wishes in the matter of Wilton Abbey, and even more gratified to hear that the Cardinal had promised to push for Dame Eleanor’s election. But her elation was short-lived. No sooner had she heard the good news than one of her two maids came running to say that the other had the sweat.
Henry was distraught. He ordered Anne to leave Waltham immediately for his manor of Byfleet in Surrey, in case she herself was infected. He would not even kiss her goodbye, or take her in his arms. She left, head held high, concealing her hurt. On the journey, huddled in a litter, a scented kerchief tied around the lower part of her face to ward off infection, she assured herself that it was not because he did not love her, but because he could take no chances with his own health. Indeed, she soon learned that he had abandoned Waltham and fled to Hunsdon House the day after she left.
At Byfleet, alone and in fear, she could not stop crying. The signs were there—Henry had sent her away, having all but returned to Katherine. No doubt Wolsey had got at him, pricking his ever-tender conscience. But soon Henry began bombarding her with letters begging her to send word that she continued well. He also informed her that George had contracted the sweat, but by God’s mercy had recovered and was going home to Grimston as soon as he was able. She was desperately relieved to hear that, and that there was not a single sick soul at Hunsdon.