Mary nodded wordlessly, afraid she would become hysterical again if she dared to speak. Then she feared that Her Grace would misinterpret her acquiescence.
“Not that I grieve for His Grace, Your Majesty. My father...well, my father is very angry with me.”
The queen’s dark eyes flashed. “And I am very angry with your father, so we are allies, no?”
Mary felt the overwhelming desire to laugh—to laugh and shout at the shock of having the queen be kind to her, a Bullen and a mistress to the king for so long.
They walked slowly down the corridor which ran parallel to the now-deserted banquet hall. Lilting murmurs of pipes and drums reverberated through the walls from the dancing gallery beyond. The queen held Mary’s hand, and Mary’s love flowed out to her in gratitude. If Father could see her now, he would absolutely die of anger, she thought.
“Really, Mary Bullen, you and I have much, much in common. We have both cared for His Grace and lost him. Yes, yes, I know it is true. I blame you for nothing, not for several years now. We both have daughters we adore and they are, of necessity, away from us much, eh? But, then, you...you, Mary, have a son, also. We shall talk much while they dance. It is too late for me, but you are young and beautiful and can bear a man many sons.” She turned her head away from Mary’s rapt gaze. Her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Shall we stop by the royal nursery to see your little girl and my sweet niece Margaret on the way? They will be happy to see their queen. I think you are too, Lady Mary.”
“Yes, Your Grace. It is true. My eyes are glad for the sight of your smile.”
“I could tell that, dear Mary. Your feelings are clear on your face. Then we shall sit and talk of our daughters. My loyal sister-in-law will be there. That will be good.”
Mary thought of Staff’s anxious face as he scanned the dancers to see that she was not there. He would understand when she told him later. Father and Anne would never understand, but then, she would not tell them.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mary smiled at the ponderous black figure at her side. The queen’s jeweled crucifix swung from side to side as she walked, and it caught the light from each separate sconce in the long hall. “I would enjoy that very, very much, my queen.”
The nursery was ablaze with candles and Princess Mary looked up from a game of child’s chess, smiling with the two little girls as they entered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
October 14, 1531
Whitehall Palace
Mary could hear Anne’s piercing laughter before the guard even swung wide the door for her. “She screamed for me to bring you, lady,” Nancy panted at her elbow as they rushed down the hall. “They are all there and everyone is laughing—just like that.” A squeal of raucous delight shredded the air as they entered the mad scene. Anne cavorted, still in her court dress, for they had returned only moments ago from Westminster, where a masque had been held for the Lady Anne, Marquise of Pembroke. George and Anne held hands like wild children and whirled around each other leaning back against the spin. Their father laughed aloud at their antics and downed a huge flagon of drink. And Jane Rochford hit at the whirling Anne and George with a down pillow, sending great puffs of fine feathers into the air. Mark Smeaton, Anne’s new and very talented lutenist, strummed a quickstep galliard from a sitting position in the middle of a fine polished table.
Mary stood aghast for an instant. She could not fathom what might have transformed them so quickly from the dour company who had only just left Westminster. Queen Catherine had long since been banished to More House and her retinue cut from hundreds to a mere twelve. Even that glorious occasion for the Boleyns when the king had finally deserted his queen at Windsor to ride off hunting with Anne and George had not caused such an explosion of joy.
“Mary! Mar—eee! Come on! Dance and sing with us!” Anne threw herself at her sister, nearly knocking her off balance, and hugged her hard.
“Anne—what is all this?” Mary smiled from the pure joy of their exuberance. She had not seen this sort of foolishness since the old days at Hever. “Has the divorce gone through? But surely His Grace would have been more buoyant tonight if that...”