Norfolk nodded as he spoke. “Yes, Thomas. Mary has always been as sensible as she is beautiful. But I have hardly known Anne since that crazy Percy affair. Something broke in her then, I think. I wish you God’s help in dealing with the sticky situation.”
Thomas Bullen rose to go, as though all were settled, then spun back to Will, who still seemed dazed by it all. “See that you are gone before the retinue arrives, Will. To Plashy, I think, since the house is better there than the one in Lancaster.”
“I had thought Plashy. If you can use your influence, be certain my household position awaits me when we come back.” Will’s voice was strangely forlorn, not bitter or taunting as Mary had expected when he faced her father. He had not seen Thomas Bullen as crushed by the news as he had hoped. He is astounded at the Bullen resiliency, she thought.
“Then I will contact you there when it is safe to return. And, Will,” Thomas Bullen added as he and Norfolk turned at the open door, “do not fear for your precious position. I have the surest feeling that your friend William Stafford will hold it secure for you until your return. And then there is always the child if His Grace does not forgive Anne her foolishness.”
Mary’s head jerked up from her cup. “Father, wait.” Staff reached for her arm, but she was too quick for him as she moved unsteadily toward the two men.
“If Anne is wise and strong enough to stand up to your counseling as I have never been, then I am all for her. That is a battle she must fight for herself But if she will not be your pawn as I have been so faithfully all these lonely years, then I tell you now, sensible little golden Mary will never allow you to use her son to buy favors with the king. Never.”
Thomas Bullen’s dark eyes widened suddenly and then narrowed to slits of blackness in the dim room. “I spare you my anger, Mary, because exile and the loss of those things with which you have been surrounded are hard to accept. Go off to Plashy with Will, think it over and remember to keep your tongue. I want no silly letters to the king. You have been a good soldier, girl, but admit it. Your rewards have been great. Good night, Mary.”
“I may have been a good soldier to you, father, but to me, I have been a damned fool! I hope Anne tells you to go to the devil! You wanted to send her away to Ireland. You stood there while she was ripped apart from Harry Percy. You married George to that treacherous Rochford woman.” Sobs tore at her throat and tears coursed jaggedly down her flushed cheeks.
Staff was the first to reach her as her father grabbed her arms and shook her. He shoved her against Stafford, but his toneless voice addressed Will. “Your wife is drunk, I think, Carey. You had best calm her hysteria before she gets on the subject of her own marriage of which I was hardly the cause. See to her.”
The door slammed behind him. Mary seized Staff’s arms and pushed her wet face against his soiled velvet chest as Will stood silent, watching his impassive friend comfort his sobbing wife.
PART THREE
A Lover’s Vow
Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green, Or where his beams may not dissolve the ice, In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen; With proud people, in presence sad and wise, Set me in base, or yet in high degree; In the long night, or in the shortest day; In clear weather, or where mists thickest be; In lusty youth, or when my hairs be gray; Set me in earth, in heaven, or yet in hell; In hill, in dale, or in the foaming flood; Thrall, or at large, alive whereso I dwell; Sick or in health, in ill fame or in good; Yours will I be, and with that only thought Comfort myself when that my hap is naught.
—Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
CHAPTER NINETEEN
December 28, 1527
Greenwich