The Other Boleyn Girl

The queen observed that I was now a single woman, lodged with Anne as my bedfellow in a little room off her chambers, without comment. Her outward manner to me changed not at all. She remained courteous and quiet-spoken. If she wanted me to do something for her: write a note, sing, take her lap dog from the room, or send a message, she asked me as politely as she had ever done. But she never again asked me to read to her from the Bible, she never asked me to sit at her feet while she sewed, she never blessed me when I went to bed. I was no longer her favourite little maid.

It was a relief to go to bed at night with Anne. We drew the curtains around us so that we were safe to whisper in the shadowy darkness without being overheard and it was like France in the days of our childhood. Sometimes George would leave the king’s rooms and come to find us, and climb onto the high bed, balance his candle perilously on the bedhead, and bring out his pack of cards or his dice and play with us while the other girls in nearby rooms slept, not knowing that a man was hidden in our chamber.

They did not lecture me about the role I was to play. Cunningly, they waited for me to come to them and tell them that it was beyond me.

I said nothing while my clothes were moved from one end of the palace to the other. I said nothing when the whole court packed and moved to the king’s favourite palace, Eltham in Kent, for the spring. I said nothing when my husband rode beside me during the progress and talked to me kindly of the weather and the condition of my horse, which was Jane Parker’s, lent under protest, as her contribution to the family ambition. But when I had George and Anne to myself in the garden at Eltham Palace, I said to George:

‘I don’t think I can do this.’

‘Do what?’ he asked unhelpfully. We were supposed to be walking the queen’s dog, which had been carried on the pommel of the saddle for the day’s ride and was thoroughly jolted and sick-looking. ‘Come on, Flo!’ he said encouragingly. ‘Seek! Seek!’

‘I can’t be with my husband and the king at the same time,’ I said. ‘I can’t laugh with the king when my husband is watching.’

‘Why not?’ Anne rolled a ball along the ground for Flo to chase after. The little dog watched it go without interest. ‘Oh go on, you stupid thing!’ Anne exclaimed.

‘Because I feel all wrong.’

‘D’you know better than your mother?’ Anne asked bluntly.

‘Of course not!’

‘Better than your father? Your uncle?’

I shook my head.

‘They are planning a great future for you,’ Anne said solemnly. ‘Any girl in England would die for your chances. You are on the way to becoming the favourite of the king of England, and you are simpering round the garden wondering if you can laugh at his jokes? You’ve got about as much sense as Flo here.’ She put the tip of her riding boot under Flo’s unwilling arse and pushed her gently along the path. Flo sat down, as stubborn and as unhappy as me.

‘Gently,’ George cautioned her. He took my cold hand and tucked it in the crook of his elbow. ‘It’s not as bad as you think,’ he said. ‘William was riding with you today to show that he gives his consent, not to make you feel guilty. He knows that the king must have his way. We all know that. William’s happy enough about it. There will be favours for him which you will have been the means of his getting. You’re doing your duty by him by advancing his family. He’s grateful to you. You’re not doing anything wrong.’

I hesitated. I looked from George’s brown honest eyes to Anne’s averted face. ‘There’s another thing,’ I said, forced to confess.

‘What is it?’ George asked. Anne’s eyes followed Flo but I knew that her attention was turned on me.

‘I don’t know how to do it,’ I said quietly. ‘You know, William did it once a week or so, and that in the dark, and quickly done, and I never much liked it. I don’t know what it is I am supposed to do.’

George gave a little gulp of laughter and put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to laugh. But you have it all wrong. He doesn’t want a woman who knows what to do. There are dozens of them in every bath house in the City. He wants you. It’s you he likes. And he’ll like it if you are a little shy and a little uncertain. That’s all right.’

‘Hulloah!’ came a shout from behind us. ‘The Three Boleyns!’

We turned and there was the king on the upper terrace, still dressed in his travelling cloak with his hat rakishly set on his head.

‘Here we go.’ George swept a low bow. Anne and I sank down into our curtseys together.

‘Are you not tired from your ride?’ the king asked. The question was general but he was looking at me.

‘Not at all.’

‘That’s a pretty little mare you were riding, but too short in the back. I shall give you a new horse,’ he said.

‘Your Majesty is very kind,’ I said. ‘She’s a borrowed horse. I should be glad to have a horse of my own.’

‘You shall pick out your choice in the stables,’ he said. ‘Come, we can go and look now.’

He held out his arm to me and I put my fingers gently on the rich cloth of his sleeve.

‘I can hardly feel you.’ He put his hand on my own and pressed it tighter. ‘There. I want to know that I have you, Mistress Carey.’ His eyes were very blue and bright, he took in the top of my French hood and then my golden-brown hair, smoothed back under the hood, and then my face. ‘I do want to know that I have you.’

I felt my mouth go dry and I smiled, despite the breathless feeling that was something between fear and desire. ‘I am happy to be with you.’

‘Are you?’ he asked, suddenly intent. ‘Are you really? I want no false coin from you. There are many who would urge you to be with me. I want you to come of your own free will.’

‘Oh Your Majesty! As if I did not dance with you at Cardinal Wolsey’s revels without even knowing that it was you!’

He was pleased with the recollection. ‘Oh yes! And you all but fainted when I unmasked and you discovered me. Who did you think it was?’

‘I didn’t think. I know it was foolish of me. I thought you were perhaps a stranger in court, a new and handsome stranger, and I was so pleased to be dancing with you.’

He laughed. ‘Oh Mistress Carey, such a sweet face and such naughty thoughts! You hoped that a handsome stranger had come to court and chose to dance with you?’

‘I don’t mean to be naughty.’ I was afraid for a moment that it was too sugary even for his taste. ‘I just forgot how I should behave when you asked me to dance. I am sure I would never do anything wrong. There was just a moment when I –’

‘When you?’

‘When I forgot,’ I said softly.

We reached the stone archway which led into the stables. The king paused in the shelter of the arch and turned me towards him. I could feel myself alive in every part of my body, from my riding boots, slippery on the cobblestones, to my upward glance at his face.

‘Would you forget again?’

I hesitated, and then Anne stepped forward and said lightly: ‘What horse does Your Majesty have in mind for my sister? I think you’ll find she’s a good horsewoman.’

He led the way into the stables, releasing me for a moment. George and he looked at one horse and then another. Anne came to my side.

‘You have to keep him coming forward,’ she said. ‘Keep him coming forward but never let him think that you come forward yourself. He wants to feel that he is pursuing you, not that you are entrapping him. When he gives you the choice of coming forward or running away, like then – you must always run away.’

The king turned and smiled at me as George told a stable boy to lead a handsome bay horse from the stall. ‘But don’t run too fast,’ my sister warned. ‘Remember he has to catch you.’

I danced with the king that evening before the whole of the court, and the next day I rode my new horse at his side when we went hunting. The queen, seated at the high table, watched us dance together, and when we rode out she waved farewell to him from the great door of the palace. Everyone knew that he was courting me, everyone knew that I would consent when I was ordered to do so. The only person who did not know this was the king. He thought that the pace of the courtship was determined by his desire.

The first rent day came a few weeks later in April when my father was appointed treasurer of the king’s household, a post which brought him access to the king’s daily wealth which he could peculate as he thought best. My father met me as we went in to dinner, and took me from the queen’s train for a quiet word as Her Majesty went to her place at the top table.

‘Your uncle and I are pleased with you,’ he said briefly. ‘Be guided by your brother and sister, they tell me that you are doing well.’

I bobbed a little curtsey.

‘This is just the start for us,’ he reminded me. ‘You’ve got to have him and hold him, remember.’

I flinched a little from the words of the wedding mass. ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I don’t forget.’

‘Has he done anything yet?’

I glanced towards the great hall where the king and the queen were taking their place. The trumpeters were in position to announce the arrival of the procession of servers from the kitchen.

‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘Just eyes and words.’

‘And you reply?’

‘With smiles.’ I did not tell my father that I was half-delirious with pleasure at being courted by the most powerful man in the kingdom. It was not hard to follow my sister’s advice and smile and smile at him. It was not hard to blush and feel that I wanted to run away and at the same time wanted to draw closer.

My father nodded. ‘Good enough. You may go to your place.’

I curtsied again and hurried into the hall just ahead of the servers. The queen looked at me a little sharply, as if she might reprimand me, but then she glanced sideways and caught sight of her husband’s face. His expression was fixed, his gaze locked onto me, as I made my way up the hall and took my place among the ladies in waiting. It was an odd expression, intent, as if for a moment he could see nothing and hear nothing, as if the whole of the great hall had melted away for him and all he could see was me in my blue gown with my blue hood and my fair hair smoothed away off my face, and a smile trembling on my lips as I felt his desire. The queen took in the heat of his look, pressed her lips together, smiled her thin smile, and looked away.

He came to her rooms that evening. ‘Shall we have some music?’ he asked her.

‘Yes, Mistress Carey can sing for us,’ she said pleasantly, gesturing me forward.

‘Her sister Anne has the sweeter voice,’ the king countermanded. Anne threw me a swift triumphant glance.

‘Will you sing us one of your French songs, Miss Anne?’ the king asked.

Anne swept one of her graceful curtsies. ‘Your Majesty has only to command,’ she said, the hint of the French accent strong in her voice.

The queen watched this exchange, I could see that she was wondering if the king’s fancy was moving to another Boleyn girl. But he had outwitted her. Anne sat on a stool in the middle of the room, her lute on her lap, her voice sweet – as he said, sweeter than mine. The queen sat in her usual chair, with padded embroidered arms and a cushioned back which she never leaned against. The king did not take the matching chair beside hers, he strolled over to me and took Anne’s vacated space, and glanced at the sewing in my hands.

‘Very fine work,’ he remarked.

‘Shirts for the poor,’ I said. ‘The queen is good to the poor.’

‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘How quickly your needle goes in and out, I should make such a knot of it. How tiny and deft your fingers are.’

His head was bent towards my hands, I found I was looking at the base of his neck and thinking that I should like to touch the thick curling hair.

‘Your hands must be half the size of mine,’ he said idly. ‘Stretch them out and show me.’

I stabbed the needle into the shirts for the poor people and stretched out my hand to show him, palm up, towards him. His gaze never left my face as he put his hand out too, palm to palm towards mine yet not touching. I could feel the warmth of his hand against my hand, but I could not take my eyes from his face. His moustache curled a little around his lips, I wondered if the hair would be soft, like my husband’s dark sparse curls, or wiry like spun gold. It looked as if it might be strong and scratchy, his kiss might buff my face to redness, everyone would know we had been kissing. Beneath the little curls of hair his lips were sensual, I could not take my eyes from them, I could not help but think about the touch of them, the taste of them.

Slowly, he brought his hand closer to mine, like dancers closing in a pavane. The heel of his hand touched the heel of mine and I felt the touch like a bite. I jumped a little and I saw his lips curve as he saw that his touch was a shock to me. My cool palm and fingers extended along his, my fingers stopping short of his at the top joints. I felt the sensation of his warm skin, a callus on one finger from archery, the hard palms of a man who rides and plays tennis and hunts and can hold a lance and a sword all the day. I dragged my gaze from his lips and took in his whole face, the bright alertness of his gaze focused on me like a sun through a burning glass, the desire which radiated from him like heat.

‘Your skin is so soft.’ His voice was as low as a whisper. ‘And your hands are tiny, as I thought.’

The excuse of measuring the span of our fingers had long been exhausted, but we remained still, palm to palm, eyes on each other’s face. Then slowly, irresistibly, his hand cupped around mine and he held it, gently but firmly within his own.

Anne finished one song and started another, without a change of key, without a break in her voice, keeping the spell of the moment.

It was the queen who interrupted. ‘Your Majesty is disturbing Mistress Carey,’ she said, with a little laugh as if the sight of her husband handfast with another woman, twenty-three years her junior, was amusing. ‘Your friend William will not thank you for making his wife idle. She has promised to hem these shirts for the nuns at Whitchurch nunnery and they are not half done.’

He let me go and turned his head to his wife. ‘William will forgive me,’ he said carelessly.

‘I am going to have a game of cards,’ the queen said. ‘Will you play with me, husband?’

For a moment I thought she had done it, drawn him away from me by his long-established affection. But as he rose to his feet to do as she wanted, he glanced back and saw me looking up at him. There was almost no calculation in my look – almost none. I was nothing more than a young woman gazing up at a man, with desire in her eyes.

‘I shall have Mistress Carey as my partner. Shall you send for George and have another Boleyn for your partner? We could have a matched pair.’

‘Jane Parker can play with me,’ the queen said coolly.

‘You did that very well,’ Anne said that night. She was seated by the fire in our bedroom, brushing her long dark hair, her head tipped to the side so that it fell like a scented waterfall over her shoulder. ‘The bit with the hands was very good. What were you doing?’

‘He was measuring his hand span against mine,’ I said. I finished the plait of my fair hair and pulled my nightcap on my head and tied the white ribbon. ‘When our hands touched I felt …’

‘What?’

‘It was like my skin was on fire,’ I whispered. ‘Really. Like his touch could burn me.’

Anne looked at me sceptically. ‘What d’you mean?’

The words spilled out of my mouth. ‘I want him to touch me. I am absolutely dying for him to touch me. I want his kiss.’

Anne was incredulous. ‘You desire him?’

I wrapped my arms around myself and sank onto the stone windowseat. ‘Oh God. Yes. I didn’t realise this was where I was going. Oh yes. Oh yes.’

She grimaced, her mouth pulled down. ‘You’d better not let Father and Mother hear that,’ she warned. ‘They’ve ordered you to play a clever game, not moon around like a lovesick girl at twilight.’

‘But don’t you think he wants me?’

‘Oh, for the moment, yes. But next week? Next year?’

There was a tap on our bedroom door and George put his head around it. ‘Can I come in?’

‘All right,’ Anne said ungraciously. ‘But you can’t stay long. We’re going to bed.’

‘I am too,’ he said. ‘I’ve been drinking with Father. I am going to bed and tomorrow, when I am sober, I shall arise early and hang myself.’

I hardly heard him, I was staring out of the window and thinking of the touch of Henry’s hand against my own.

‘Why?’ Anne asked.

‘My wedding is to be next year. Envy me, why don’t you?’

‘Everyone gets married but me,’ Anne said irritably. ‘The Ormondes have fallen through and they have nothing else for me. Do they want me to be a nun?’

‘Not a bad choice,’ George said. ‘D’you think they’d take me?’

‘In a nunnery?’ I caught the sense of the talk and turned around to laugh at him. ‘A fine abbess you’d make.’

‘Better than most,’ George said cheerfully. He went to sit on a stool, missed his seat and thudded down on the stone floor.

‘You’re drunk,’ I accused.

‘Aye. And sour with it.’

‘There’s something about my future wife that strikes me as very odd,’ George said. ‘Something a little …’ he searched for the word. ‘Rancid.’

‘Nonsense,’ Anne said. ‘She’s got an excellent dowry and good connections, she’s favourite of the queen and her father is respected and rich. Why worry?’

‘Because she’s got a mouth like a rabbit snare, and eyes that are hot and cold at the same time.’

Anne laughed. ‘Poet.’

‘I know what George means,’ I said. ‘She’s passionate and somehow secretive.’

‘Just discreet,’ Anne said.

George shook his head. ‘Hot and cold at once. All the humours muddled up together. I shall live a dog’s life with her.’

‘Oh marry her and bed her and send her to the country,’ Anne said impatiently. ‘You’re a man, you can do what you like.’

He looked more cheerful at that. ‘I could push her down to Hever,’ he said.

‘Or Rochford Hall. And the king’s bound to give you a new estate on your marriage.’

George raised his stone decanter to his lips. ‘Anyone want some of this?’

‘I will,’ I said, taking the bottle and tasting the tart cold red wine.

‘I’m going to bed,’ Anne said primly. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, Mary, drinking in your nightcap.’ She turned back the covers and climbed into bed. She inspected George and me as she folded the sheets around her hips. ‘Both of you are a good deal too easy,’ she ruled.

George pulled a face. ‘Told us,’ he said cheerfully to me.

‘She’s very strict,’ I whispered in mock-respect. ‘You’d never think she spent half her life flirting in the French court.’

‘More Spanish than French, I think,’ George said, wantonly provocative.

‘And unmarried,’ I whispered. ‘A Spanish duenna.’

Anne lay down on the pillow, hunched her shoulders and pulled the covers into place. ‘I’m not listening, so you can save your breath.’

‘Who’d have her?’ George demanded. ‘Who’d want her?’

‘They’ll find her someone,’ I said. ‘Some younger son, or some poor old broken-down squire.’ I gave the flask to George.

‘You’ll see,’ came from the bed. ‘I’ll make a better marriage than either of you. And if they don’t forge me one soon, I’ll do it for myself.’

George passed the stone flask back to me. ‘Drain it,’ he said. ‘I’ve had more than enough.’

I finished the last swig of drink and went round to the other side of the bed. ‘Goodnight,’ I said to George.

‘I’ll sit here awhile beside the fire,’ he said. ‘We are doing well, aren’t we, us Boleyns? Me betrothed, and you on your way to bedding the king, and little Mademoiselle Parfait here free on the market with everything to play for?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We are doing well.’

I thought of the intent blue gaze of the king on my face, the way his eyes travelled from the top of my headdress down to the top of my gown. I turned my face into the pillow so that neither of them could hear me. ‘Henry,’ I whispered. ‘Your Majesty. My love.’

Next day there was to be a joust in the gardens of a house a little distance from Eltham Palace. Fearson House had been built in the last reign by one of the many hard men who had come to their wealth under the king’s father, himself the hardest man of them all. It was a big grand house, free of any castle wall or moat. Sir John Lovick had believed that England was at peace forever and built a house which would not be defended, indeed which could not be defended. His gardens were laid around the house like a chequerboard of green and white: white stones and paths and borders around low knot gardens of green bay. Beyond them lay the park where he ran deer for hunting, and between the park and the gardens was a beautiful lawn kept ready all the year round for the king’s use as a jousting green.

The tent for the queen and her ladies was hung in cherry-red and white silk, the queen was wearing a cherry gown to match and she looked young and rosy in the bright colour. I was in green, the gown I had worn at the Shrove Tuesday masque when the king singled me out from all the others. The colour made my hair glow more golden and my eyes shone. I stood beside the queen’s chair and knew that any man looking from her to me would think that she was a fine woman, but old enough to be my mother, while I was a woman of only fourteen, a woman ready to fall in love, a woman ready to feel desire, a precocious woman, a flowering girl.

The first three jousts were among the lower men of the court, hoping to attract attention by risking their necks. They were skilled enough, there were a couple of exciting passes, and one good moment when the smaller man unhorsed a bigger rival which made the common people cheer. The little man dismounted and took off his helmet to acknowledge the applause. He was handsome, slight and fair-haired. Anne nudged me. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Only one of the Seymour boys.’

The queen turned her head. ‘Mistress Carey, would you go and ask the master of the horse when my husband is riding today and what horse he has chosen?’

I turned to do her bidding, and I saw why she was sending me away. The king was coming slowly across the grass towards our pavilion and she wanted me out of his way. I curtsied and dawdled to the doorway, timing my departure so that he saw me hesitating under the awning. At once he excused himself from a conversation and hurried over. His armour was polished bright as silver, the trimming on it was gold. The leather straps holding his breastplate and armguards were red and smooth as velvet. He looked taller, a commanding hero from long-ago wars. The sun shining on him made the metal burn with light so that I had to step back into the shade and put my hand up to my eyes.

‘Mistress Carey, in Lincoln green.’

‘You are all bright,’ I said.

‘You would be dazzling if you were in the darkest of blacks.’

I said nothing. I just looked at him. If Anne or George had been close by they could have prompted me with some compliment. But I was empty of wit, it was all crowded out by desire. I could say and do nothing but just look at him and know that my face was full of longing. And he said nothing too. We stood, gazes locked, intently interrogating each other’s faces as if we might understand the other’s desire from his eyes.