“Yes, the tall girl. She married a lawyer in the king’s household.”
“Staff, his daughter loved him so much that she went out at night in a boat to London Bridge and bribed the keeper of the bridge to drop his head to her. She took it in her skirts and carried it home in her lap to bury it with his body. She loved him so much, she did that!”
Staff’s big hand reached out and curled around hers, clenched at her side. Her tear-filled eyes still haunted by the wonderment of her own words of Meg Roper sought his face.
“I am sorry, Mary. It is a fearsome thing, but you must not carry these thoughts around with you. For the babe’s sake, at least.”
“I have prayed for Meg Roper, Staff. I have written to her, too, telling her that I admire her courage and her love. I apologized that the Boleyn family had any part in bringing her the loss of her dearly beloved father.”
“Lass, you cannot go about the kingdom trying to gain forgiveness for the Boleyns. Do not put that burden on yourself. You are not a part of them and will be well rid of them soon. Your mother we shall keep close. The rest will be most difficult to hold over the years. There is always some sort of disaster brewing on the horizon around your father and I will have you and the child well rid of it.”
“Where are you going?”
“I have changed my mind. This is no time for sleeping. They have returned from a triumphant trip through the central shires and even testy Anne is in a good mood. The prospect of a child has returned the glow to her cheeks, and she was hardly booed at all along the way. His Grace has dreams and hopes of a legitimate son again and has sweet Madge to serve his every whim while he waits for the heir’s arrival. We shall tell them now before supper, before someone sees you and all hell explodes.” He began stuffing his breeks back in the tops of his boots.
“Still, I will send the letter to Meg Roper, Staff.”
“Fine, love. Send the letter. But you must cease to carry guilt around with you for your family’s actions or your disappointment in the father you love. Fetch a pelisse to cover yourself. I will not have your sister screeching at us before we can present it to them calmly first.”
Though the day was warm, Mary wrapped a loose blue pelisse around her shoulders and arranged its folds carefully. Staff kissed her and sent her on ahead, through the crowded halls to the queen’s privy chamber and said he would be along to join her shortly, after he had told the king and begged his indulgence. “If you can keep from discussing it with your sister until I arrive, do so. Do not play the heroine, for I want to be there. And if the king walks in with me, do not panic,” Staff had instructed her moments ago. His last words went over and over in her mind. Do not panic. I will be there.
The walk to Anne’s chambers was not long, but it seemed an eternity. The time had come. Time always thrust things swiftly upon one and then one had to act. Time would bring her to the labor bed to birth Staff’s babe; time would bring Anne’s next child; time had brought death to a beloved friend; time had brought separation from Hever; time had brought a daughter who loved her father so much that she would carry his poor bloody head home in her lap.
Anne’s bedchamber was full of hovering Boleyns and, worst of all, the king was there and in a rage. Mary nearly fled in alarm, but the yeoman guards behind her had closed the door and stood against it. At least Staff would be here quickly when he did not find the king where he sought him. Only the impassive Cromwell is needed to complete this scene, Mary thought, but no one looked impassive here. She wrapped her pelisse protectively about her and lurched back against the wall as the suspended tableau before her exploded.
“Am I to understand, madam, that this entire trip where you had me prancing through Derby and Rutland and Shropshire was a cruel hoax, a deception?” The king’s ruddy face went increasingly livid as his voice rose. “No child! Am I to believe a woman who has borne a child and been pregnant yet again cannot tell when she is with child! You misread the signs? ’Sblood, madam, the whole thing has been a typical Boleyn trick. My people are right when they shout ‘Witch! Witch!’”
“Please, my lord, the signs were there. And if I am not with child, I can be soon again. Our trip was so wonderful, so placid and jovial and we...”
“And I touched you not and you were well content of it, madam, so how you plan to get with royal child is quite beyond me!”
“Does not the fact that the queen did not encourage Your Grace to bed her indicate that she truly believed she was with child and was afraid to harm her delicate condition?” Thomas Boleyn said low in the angry hush in the room.