Mary touched Staff on the shoulder as she followed Cromwell from the room. The strength she sought, the love she would give in this interview would be her own, nurtured by sanctuary at Wivenhoe, but it would come from her dear husband too.
Only Lady Wingfield was in attendance on the queen when Mary entered the chamber, and Anne dismissed her with a wave of her hand. How barren the room looked without the familiar clusters of ladies sewing or talking. Not even the ever-present musician Smeaton sat on table or chair or the corner of the queen’s vast bed as he often had before. Surely the king would not dare to diminish the queen’s household in his anger, nor would Anne’s temper make them all desert her in her hours of need.
“Sister. Mary. Come here. I am so happy you have come to see me. It has been long.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed to pierce the dimness of Anne’s curtained bed. The drapes of the room had been drawn and several candles burning low littered the huge table next to the bed.
“Sit, sit here with me so I might see you. You are not changed, not at all changed, Mary.”
“I am changed inside, Your Grace. And I am much grieved to hear of the lost child, sister.”
“Speak not of that. It is over. It is all over now.” Anne looked thin and her face was long with dark shadows under each almondshaped eye. How those eyes used to dance with flirtation and fire, Mary remembered. She took Anne’s delicate hand in her own warm ones.
“I was so happy that you sent to see me, Your Grace. I have missed you these two years and have thought of you often and prayed for—for your happiness.”
“God is not answering Boleyn prayers lately, Mary, though I thank you for your loving words. And will you not call me Anne today? George does when we are alone. He told me of your child and your home. I made him tell me all about you. It sounds rather like a little Hever there, but then you would like that.”
“Yes, Anne. I do like it.”
“And you are very, very content there with Stafford? And he loves you still?”
The pitiful eagerness of Anne’s voice and face frightened Mary. This kindness, this desperate reach for love was somehow more terrible than the ranting and raving she remembered and feared. A single tear traced its lone path down Mary’s cheek.
“Yes, I know. Do not be afraid to tell me. You have a man who truly loves you and two sons besides. I have accepted it all now, Mary. Do not be afraid to be here.”
“You have Elizabeth, Anne, and Cromwell says she is beautiful and His Grace loves her well.”
“He can hardly help loving her, for she is clever-witted and as red-haired as himself. But daughters do not really count in the royal scheme of things, so that is that. Princess Elizabeth will live and die a princess if the king has anything to do with it. But now, here, you and I have some business to take care of before we just enjoy talking. Can you fetch me that document right there? I am guilty of long neglecting members of my family who need my love in return for the good service they have always rendered me.”
“Have you forgiven me then, Your...Anne? I have longed for that these years.”
“Yes. Mary, do not cry. You have always let your heart and feelings leap to your face, though I warrant at little country Wivenhoe you need not hide them as in this viper’s nest. This document gives back to you the rightful guardianship of your son Henry Carey upon my death, and...”
“Your death? Please, Anne, you need not...”
“Stop and listen, Mary. The queen is used to having people listen to her—courtiers, spies, whatever—everyone except her husband, of course. His Grace is getting desperate, and I am quite in his way now.”
“Please, do not speak of death, Anne. You are young.”
“But I feel very, very old, Mary. Now, until the event of my death, the lad’s annuities shall continue equal in value to the lands which His Grace gave away at the time of the boy’s father’s death.” Anne’s eyes lifted from the paper to Mary’s intent face. “I was proud of you when you told George to get father out of your boy’s life, Mary. I assure you, I had George report to father exactly what you had said.”
“What did father say of it?”
“I believe he dismissed your message as the ravings of a woman in the throes of childbirth, but it rattled him greatly. He must have thought you would be properly chastened after a year’s exile away from this mess. Now, the other thing about little Harry is that you and Stafford may have him to Wivenhoe or wherever for two months a year.”
“Oh, Anne, I thank you so! It is the most wonderful gift you could give me!” Mary put her arms around Anne’s stiff, slender body and trembled to know how thin she was under her silken robe. Anne put her arms slowly on Mary’s back.
“Loose me, Mary,” she said after only a moment. “The other thing is your daughter Catherine. The princess is three now, and would benefit from a part-time companion at Hatfield. Then, when her father sends for Elizabeth to come to court, Catherine could go to you at Wivenhoe. She would have a good allowance and a better tutor than she ever had when she was in company of Princess Mary’s little Margaret.”