“My lord and I cannot thank you enough, dear sister.”
“Here, you must keep these documents in case father or anyone else tries to give you an argument should I not be near. There is one last thing. Fetch my jewel box. Behind that carved panel there where I used to keep it.”
Mary grasped the heavy box and put it on the bed next to Anne. “Would you believe it, Mary, that this is only one tenth of my things, not counting the crowning jewels? The others are kept under lock and key, but I shall have them sent to me in little bits in the near future. There are some things he will never have back to grace that skinny neck of Seymour or anyone else. They are by right Elizabeth’s after I am gone. Do you understand?”
Mary nodded wide-eyed, wondering what Anne would dare to do and whether Staff would allow her to be a part of it. Mary Tudor had once taken a jewel from Francois and had paid dearly for it when she was discovered.
“Several things I have sent to mother to keep for Elizabeth’s majority and she has vowed not to tell father. I would like to have you keep several for her too, and this piece for little Catherine.” A heavy rope of pearls as big as chick peas dripped from Anne’s slender fingers. “I know I can trust you to preserve these few things for my child should I be unable to for some reason.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Cromwell must not know. Can you put them down your dress? No, no, I shall give you this little pomander purse. Purses are quite in style now and no one will think a thing of it.”
“I hardly know what is in style or out at court, sister.”
“Cruelty and treachery are in style, Mary, but then, they always were. I have heard, by a note from father at Eltham, that the king returns for one of his extravagant jousts on the morrow and I wish to attend. I must show no fear or he will eat me like a little rabbit. Will you stay that long and go with me? Staff too? It would give me much strength to face all of their snickers after the, well, the death of my little son. Please, Mary. His Grace will quite ignore us, so do not fear him. Will you stay with me, Mary?”
“I would gladly walk by your side, Anne.”
“Go on then and hide those jewels somewhere. Tell your lord to put them in his boots or something. He was always very clever and he feared father and the king not at all. I shall not either.”
“You should not, Your Grace. You are the queen.”
Mary bent to kiss Anne’s sallow cheek. It felt cold, as though the sparkling life and vitality that had long warmed it had gone out.
“Come back for supper with me, Mary, and bring Staff. I shall send Lady Wingfield for you later. I trust her. She is not one of Cromwell’s lackeys.”
“But Cromwell has served the Boleyns, too, Anne, though of course he serves the king first.”
“Cromwell serves Cromwell first, my sweet and foolish sister. Do not believe otherwise.”
Mary wanted to give more words of comfort to the slender woman who sat facing her alone in the huge bed under the Boleyn and Tudor family crests, but words would not come. She curtseyed quickly and opened the door into the hall. Surprisingly, it was crowded with courtiers now, but she could not spot Staff or Cromwell in the clusters of people. She held the silken purse Anne had given her tightly and began to thread her way toward the room where she had left Staff. Suddenly, Norris and Weston sprang up before her in the crowd and, as she smiled and swept them a short curtsey, the king loomed up behind them. She stepped quickly back toward the tapestried wall. He looked massive, taller and much heavier than she had remembered. His jowls were hard and square, and his blue eyes sought her own. She hastened to curtsey again. Her back hit the wall behind her as she saw his booted feet halt. His large jeweled hand shot out to her wrist. He raised her to stand before him.
“At first I thought it was just a pretty ghost from the past,” he began, and the voices around them hushed in rapt attention. “Have you been summoned back to court, Lady Mary?” he asked directly.
She raised her eyes to his, hooded with thick red brows and sandy lashes. “Only for a day or two to visit my sister, Your Grace. My lord and I will be returning to our home very shortly.”
“If you have come to give the queen advice on breeding sons, it is quite too late, madam,” he growled. Then he pivoted his head to take in the circle of courtiers. “Come with me, Lady Stafford,” he said low. “I would speak with you.”