“Let me tell you something else, my girl,” he interrupted ominously. “I understand that William Stafford much fancies you and rows the murky Thames at night to visit you. See what you can get from him. No doubt a lusty man like that is enough to warm the blood in winter, eh? Will you be foolish enough to get nothing else from him for your sweet services just as you came away from His Grace after five years empty-handed?”
Mindlessly, Mary flung out her hand in the direction of his leering face and felt her palm sting as it struck him. She recoiled instantly and, far down in the depths of her mind, began a silent scream as he threw her back into the wall and her head hit hard. As she started to crumple, his quick hands seized her above the elbows and pinned her flat against the carved wood behind.
“Now listen carefully, Mary. Play the whore for Stafford if you will, for I trust him to be too clever to be caught. I care not about how you amuse yourself. Only, keep your mouth shut about my grandson. Your sister has had the brains and pluck to rise far, and you will not misbehave to harm our chances. You will serve her and our family and do it prettily or you will deal with me. And, as for your wardrobe, Anne went to His Grace with the request that I support you, and so, I shall do so. When Anne becomes queen, you will receive 100 pounds a year. Until then, you will have your new dresses and trinkets from your father’s purse. That must satisfy you, girl. And next time you need funds, do not get His Grace involved. See me directly.”
“I never see you directly anymore, father. Please understand that the money—it is not for trinkets. I do not often dine with Anne, you know. The money is for food and candles as well as clothing.”
“Spend it where you will, only be certain to look presentable. We shall have to find you a husband sooner or later and, thanks to your sister, he may be a fine one. If so, you may pay me back then.”
“I think I have already paid you many times over, father,” she said recklessly, still jammed tightly against the wall. “Loose me, please.” To her amazement he did so, though she continued to lean against the wall to support her shaking legs.
“Do not think, Mary, just because His Grace bid me support you and I agreed that you are somehow back in his favor. One of the reasons this trial has gone so poorly for him is that the queen’s damned lackey Campeggio has been citing the Leviticus exhortation against bedding the sister of one’s wife. We can all thank His Grace’s lawyers that they have proved what is incest for a brother’s widow, as Queen Catherine, does not hold for a concubine as you were. Remember that.”
He leaned one hand on the wall beside her head and bent closer. “I am trying to forgive your terrible actions,” he ground out. “I know it is difficult to lose a husband and king both and see your sister mount the pinnacle of the realm. Be grateful you have a strong family around you and never—never—dare to strike me again!”
She glared at him. Tears stung her eyelids and began to spill down her cheeks. “I want you to understand, my lord, that I am crying for a little girl who is long dead and who trusted and loved you once. Now she fears and hates you and, oh, God forgive her, she loves you still!” A sob wracked her body and her shoulders heaved. He stood narrow-eyed, staring at the wild display.
“Get hold of yourself, Mary,” he finally said quietly. “I cannot stand here while you carry on like this. Anne may have need of me. This has been a horrible night for her with the queen crashing in like that. Think of poor Anne. Dry your eyes and go upstairs to visit your daughter if that would help, but steer clear of His Grace’s willful sister if you see her. She has deserted us and the king’s side too. I shall send the money over in the morning. Cheer up now. When Anne is queen, there will be many fine dresses for you and little Catherine. You will see.”
Unbelievably, he was gone. Thankful no one was in the hall, she leaned into the linen-fold paneling and sobbed wretchedly, silently until she could hardly breathe. Damn her foolish heart, she loved him through all the hate. Her father was the slayer of happiness. He was a thousand times worse than Francois du Roi, who tortured little girls who trusted and loved! She could never face Staff tonight after this. But she loved Staff. There was nowhere to flee but into the circle of his strength.
There was a gentle rustle in the hall and Mary glanced up, horrified through a blinding veil of tears. It was the queen! Mary curtseyed crookedly, her hand for support on the wall. Two of the queen’s ladies stood behind her peering around their mistress’s angular headpiece with concern on their faces. One was old Lady Guildford.
“It is the little Bullen girl, Mary, Your Grace.”
“Si, I know,” Queen Catherine’s quiet voice floated to her. Mary nearly sank to the floor in utter terror, and the queen’s gentle hands rested on her shoulders to raise her. “You must let us help you, my dear. Nothing is worth this many tears. Believe me, I know. Come, come with me. My lord king did not come to me as I asked him, so we were going upstairs. It is all right. I knew he would not come. I only hoped. Is it so with you, my dear?”