Page 2 of Boleyn Traitor
‘It’s good enough for now,’ she agrees. ‘But when I give birth to a prince, I’ll have George named as a duke!’
This is the dizzying Boleyn ambition. My father’s plan was for me to be a mid-rank courtier, expert in this new trade for educated men and women. He sent me to court speaking French and English and reading Latin. He advised me to learn German, as the Protestant thinkers write in German, and hide my Spanish from the Spanish queen.
But Anne never had any interest in discreet courtier work; she went straight to the fount of power and seduced and married the king. She has all the courage of her mother’s grand house, the Howards, and all the ambition of the self-made Boleyns. If she wants a dukedom for George, she will get it, and I will be a duchess. Anne, and all of us, Boleyns and Howards, are on the rise – we cannot be distracted by a girl like Agnes.
‘She curtseyed properly to the old queen. She used to sink down as if Katherine of Aragon was the Virgin Mary,’ Anne complains.
We all did. But that was three years ago and courtiers’ memories are as short-lived as mayflies.
‘Dowager princess now,’ I remind her.
‘And she was talking to the Spanish ambassador,’ Anne says fretfully. ‘What can a fool like her have to say to a fool like him?’
I make a mental note to tell my patron that Agnes has been recruited into the Spanish ambassador’s network of friends and spies. ‘Oh, he talks to everyone,’ I say reassuringly. ‘What else can he do?’
‘He can go home to Spain. He can lock himself up in Kimbolton Castle with the queen.’
‘Dowager princess,’ I prompt again.
‘But who else does she talk to?’ she asks. ‘To the Papist lords? The Courtenays? The friends of the old queen and Princess Mary?’
‘Lady Mary,’ I remind her.
Queen Katherine is to be called dowager princess, and herdaughter is newly named as Lady Mary; but those who served and loved them refuse to miscall them, and the rest of us have to learn a new habit.
‘None of them matter to you. You’ve won. It’s only old people, childhood friends of the king! Doddering Papists! Looking back to the old days. Not us – not us of the new court, the new religion, the new world. Time is on our side. They’ll die of old age or just give up. If your baby is a boy, it will prove that your marriage is God’s will, and the old queen, her daughter, and the Spanish ambassador and all the faithful will just fade away.’
‘Where’s George?’ she demands. ‘He’s late.’
I never complain of George being late; but I am his wife of ten years, and she is his queen.
‘Go and fetch him, Jane.’
I am saved from looking like a needy wife hunting for her husband by a tap on the door that connects the queen’s bedroom to the king’s private gallery. George slips in, breathtakingly handsome in a new hose and jerkin of rich brown velvet. He carries a mask and a hat with a long sweeping heron’s feather in his hand. He is like his sister: dark-eyed and dark-haired, as if they are twins, carved from mellow polished wood into the same hard intelligent features and darkly promising eyes.
‘Behold a rustic falconer!’ he announces and comes to the bed and takes Anne’s hand to kiss. He looks at her keenly. ‘You’re pale.’ He turns to me. ‘You’ve not let her get overtired?’
‘She only tried on her costume and ran through the dance – since then, she’s been resting.’
I step towards him for a kiss of greeting; but he turns to sit beside her and unpins her hair. I hand him her silver hair brushes, and he sweeps the long dark heap of hair from her forehead and plaits it.
‘I’m troubled,’ Anne complains.
‘Don’t be,’ he says instantly. ‘You must think of holy things, joyous things to make the baby grow. You have to be Anne, “The Most Happy”.’
‘Agnes Trent,’ I explain, and see his quick nod of thanks.
‘She has to show respect,’ Anne says.
George fastens two ivory pins in the plaits at the nape of her neck, so loosely that the king can release a tumble of her scented hair and bury his face in it when they are alone.
Anne gestures for me to slide on fresh stockings, and winces at the tightness of the red silk shoes. ‘I’ve told Jane to speak to her.’
‘She’s a new favourite,’ George warns me. ‘Speak tactfully.’
‘But clearly,’ Anne insists. ‘I’ll have nothing less than complete loyalty. I didn’t send the queen—’
‘Dowager princess—’ George and I say together.
