Page 101 of Boleyn Traitor
‘The favour you promised, if I do this?’
‘What d’you want?’ I ask uneasily.
‘I have a craving,’ she whispers.
‘No more than ten sugarplums,’ I rule.
She beams at me. ‘It is a person, not a plum. But just as mouthwatering...’
‘What person?’
‘I wonder if you can guess? You who always know everything?’
‘I won’t guess a person,’ I say unhelpfully.
‘I’ll tell you then! I want to see Thomas Culpeper, privately, in my rooms.’
‘You can’t,’ I say at once. ‘Your presence chamber is always filled with people, and your privy chamber with courtiers. You can’t see a man in your bedroom. There is nowhere you can see him alone.’
‘I want to give him a gift for Easter,’ she says. ‘No harm in that.’
‘Depends on the gift,’ I say warily.
‘Just a cap – a velvet cap,’ she whispers. ‘Nothing special. The sort that the king gives his favourites at Easter. Just like that. To thank him for being so good to my husband when he was ill.’
‘You needn’t thank him; it’s his duty. Are you going to see the Seymours and thank them?’
‘Oh, don’t be so dull, Jane! I’ve bought a cap for him, and I want to give it to him, and he’ll think of me as he wears it.’
‘This is nonsense,’ I say.
‘But there’s no harm in it,’ she pleads. ‘I’m with child. I can’t do wrong. Nobody could say anything against me, after all?’
‘I don’t even know where you could meet.’
‘I’ve thought of that! Just outside my bedroom door! In the gallery. I could be coming out of my rooms with you. Catherine Tilney can walk past with him, and we meet by accident. Just for a moment.’
‘What if someone else comes by?’ I ask.
‘Then I’ll pass him with a bow,’ she says. ‘And you can give it to him later, instead. Go on, Jane – there’s no harm in it.’
‘There’s no good either,’ I say, unconvinced.
‘Yes; but I want to!’ she says, like the child she is. ‘And I won’t wash disgusting old feet unless you agree, and I won’t even get up in the morning unless you agree.’
CATHERINETILNEY HASno objection to playing the part ofBialacoil– the welcoming friend in the stories of courtly love. Henry Webb, the queen’s usher, fetches Thomas Culpeper to Catherine Tilney, who walks down the gallery arm in arm with him and then steps back as the queen comes out of her bedroom.
He stops still as he realises this is planned. He waits, like an experienced flirt, to see what she wants of him, how much she wants of him. Henry Webb goes to the other end of the gallery, looking down the stairs, ready to cough loudly if anyone comes up the staircase.
An accidental meeting between a queen and a courtier does not need guards. An Easter gift between queen and courtier does not need secrecy. But, equally, a secret meeting of lovers does not happen before three witnesses. This event is indefinable – on a border between one world and another, in a gateway. Culpeper may become known as the champion of the queen, her publicly acknowledged favourite, the king’s deputy at dancing and hunting. His prestige will rise, and herreputation will be undamaged. Their hidden fascination might turn into public devotion of loyal courtier to beloved queen. Culpeper knows the rules of courtly love as well as Kitty. I am hoping this meeting – on the border of indiscretion – will move them both into the safe roles of humble lover and distant mistress. But it is all over in a moment.
I see her speak to him briefly and pass him something small, folded in her hands. He takes it and, obeying her hurried gesture, tucks it out of sight, under his cloak. He says something that he thinks is funny – I see the cock of his head and his laughing smile – but she takes it badly. She steps back, turns, looks at him sharply over her shoulder, says a few words, and comes away with a cross little swish of her gown.
I am hugely relieved. This is far better than him swearing a lover’s fealty. He has offended her again, and she is no longer a half-lovesick girl, the youngest maid-of-honour, looking after him as he dances with his preferred flirt. Now, she is fully aware of her importance. Master Culpeper will discover that he cannot joke with Katheryn the queen as he did with Kitty the maid-of-honour; she will not forgive impertinence.
She says nothing until I am plaiting her hair for the night. ‘That’s a very stupid young man,’ she remarks.
‘I thought so,’ I reply agreeably. ‘He has facile charm.’
