LITMIR.BIZ

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with the nub of a sixth finger on it, a very subtle deformity she hides well.

      It withdraws into her voluminous sleeve. She distracts him from the gesture by fluttering her thick dark lashes at him. “And to what do we owe the honor of this impromptu visit, Your Majesty?”

      “We would like to present you with a gift,” he says, his crisp blue eyes sparkling. He turns his attention to the mass of courtiers eavesdropping. “Ladies and gentlemen, why don’t you prepare for the gardens? We will join you shortly.”

      We have no choice but to do as we are told.

      Madge Shelton is now my best friend at court. She is not altogether attractive, but is spirited and full of a vibrancy that creates an aura of beauty that deceives the untrained eye. She and I stand in our maidens’ chamber gossiping over His Majesty’s “gift.”

      “No diamonds or rubies for Anne,” Madge says, laughing. “But Wolsey’s own Hampton Court!”

      I bow my head a moment. “I can’t help but feel sorry for the Cardinal…”

      “Shhh!” Madge puts her finger to my lips. “Don’t say such things. We aren’t permitted opinions. He failed in granting an annulment and proving the invalidity of the king’s marriage, so suffered the price—confiscated lands and a confiscated title. He’s the archbishop of York now, remember?”

      “But he was so close with the king,” I continue in genuine puzzlement. “It’s frightening to think one he loved like a brother can be thrown down so fast. And so far.”

      “This is strange to you?” Madge’s tone is incredulous. She is a true Howard, I think. There is a hardness in her voice that echoes of my father. “Haven’t you observed how he treats his once-beloved wife? How many tales have we grown up listening to, of the king’s love-madness for Queen Catherine—that once, before his affairs and neglect ruined her, she was the loveliest princess in Christendom? Still he manages to throw her aside. Strange, Mary?”

      “Now we are ruled by two queens,” I am compelled to say. I tremble at the thought, not because I am afraid but because it is so odd.

      “Not for long,” says Madge. “Not now that Mistress Anne is granted Hampton Court!”

      We burst into another fit of giggling, all pondering dissipated. It is all such a game to us, two girls barely out of the nursery, still naïve enough to enjoy the intrigues of the court.

      “Will we all move, then?” I ask.

      “I imagine the Anne faction will relocate to the palace. It sounds as though His Majesty plans on making it the new London residence,” says the all-knowing Madge.

      “How terribly exciting!” I breathe.

      “Oh, Mary, you’re such a little girl,” Madge scoffs, but there is no malice behind it and I respond with a smirk. “Do you think old Wolsey left all his red fabric behind?” she adds.

      “Why?” I ask.

      “To swathe the halls of Hampton Court, of course!”

      I laugh in approval, remembering the very rotund Cardinal Wolsey.

      Still, the laughter is a little forced. I do believe even cynical Madge seems to pity King Henry’s poor discarded adviser, and it takes away from the excitement of our move.

      A little.

      I am tired. I am so caught up in this faerie world that I do not sleep at night. I toss and turn, anticipating what wonders will await me the next day. What games will we play? What songs will we sing?

      We await our move to Hampton Court. We gossip in voices that ring out like the tinkling of little chimes. We drink wine. Anne thinks it’s funny to see my face get flushed.

      We all congregate at supper and I can’t keep my eyes open. My father sits far out of my reach with the other members of the council. As Mother predicted I do not see her, but I catch glimpses of the duke at court. We do not speak, not until he lays a hand on my shoulder in the hall on the way back from an evening’s entertainments, pulling me aside.

      I am thrilled to be acknowledged. “How now, Father?” I ask with a cheery smile. It is Anne’s smile. I practice it whenever I’m alone.

      “Wipe that stupid grin off your face. You look like a harlot,” says Norfolk. He grips my shoulder and guides me down the hall toward his apartments.

      He takes me to his privy chamber and sits behind his austere mahogany desk, folding his hands before him and regarding me, one eye squinting, as though I am a diamond he is examining for flaws. “How is Anne?” he asks after a long pause.

      “I think she is well, sir,” I say.

      “Has she slept with the king?”

      I am shocked at the question. My face burns and I bow my head.

      “Don’t play innocent. I know how maidens talk.” He has not raised his handsome voice; it is thin and impatient but not loud.

      I still cannot look at him. “She does not speak of that,” I say.

      “Don’t you listen, fool?” he demands, slamming his hand on the desk. “Do you think you’re here for your own entertainment? Do you realize your task in this? You are to be my ears, Mary. I depend on you to report to me all that is said and done in those chambers.”

      “What am I to do if she does…if she is…” I cannot say it. I don’t even know what it really means.

      “Nothing,” he says. “It is not your place to advise her, not that she’d take it from the likes of you as it is. You are my ears, Mary, that is all. I will expect a nightly report from this day hence. It seems she is weakening under his pressure. No doubt with Hampton Court now dangling before her, she feels secure in her position and thinks she’d have nothing to lose by giving in. Fools, all of them.” The fist on the desk clenches and my eyes are drawn to it. A melding of perfection and anger. “She is difficult to manage,” he says now, more to himself. “It would have made life easier if he’d have settled for that dolt of a sister of hers; she’s already proven her capacity for childbearing.” He shakes his head, then returns his black eyes, eyes that are much like our Anne’s, to me. “It is vital that Anne understands the king’s fickle nature; that he tires of his playthings once he has them.”

      I do not know how to respond to this monologue so remain silent, wondering if he will dismiss me.

      “Do you understand, Mary?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

      I nod. “Yes, my lord. I understand.”

      “Go on, now. It’s late,” he says. “To bed with you.”

      I turn to leave, but he raps his hand on the desk. I turn.

      Without raising his head he says, “News from Sir Edward Stanley.” My brother-in-law? What news could there be of him? Was my sister with child? My heart leaps at the thought of being an aunt. “Seems your sister Catherine passed from the plague.”

      I am dizzy. My head tingles. Catherine…my fair sister, Catherine, newly married. She was going to have a happy life; a quiet country life with many children. She was so gentle and sweet…Catherine. How could he tell me like this? How could he just sit there and mention my sister’s death with the same dismissive tone he’d describe a failed crop or broken axle?

      I approach the desk, trying to remind myself that he is a soldier. It is not in a soldier’s nature to show emotion; they see death all the time. Should they cry, I imagine their tears would never stop.

      Rounding the desk I inch closer to where he sits. He has not raised his head. He is looking through some documents. Letters from Stanley? From behind I wrap my arms about his shoulders in a feeble embrace, leaning my head against his cheek. He stiffens, every muscle growing taught beneath my touch. I drop my arms and bow my head, tears burning my eyes.

      “Will we go to her interment?”

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