Carolyn Meyer

Mary, Bloody Mary


Скачать книгу

id="u4d6ee0d4-81d7-505a-90af-c85a58ac465d">

       Copyright

      Collins

       an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in the USA by Harcourt Brace & Company 1999

       First published in Great Britain by Collins 2003

      Text © Carolyn Meyer 1999

      The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

      Find out more about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/green

      Source ISBN: 9780007150298

       Ebook Edition ©SEPTEMBER 2010 ISBN: 9780007381722 Version: 2015-08-18

       For Marcia H. Henderson

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

       The Tudors

      Prologue

      

      CHAPTER ONE King Francis

      CHAPTER TWO Betrothals

      CHAPTER THREE Tudor Colours

       CHAPTER SIX Lady Anne

       CHAPTER SEVEN Sickness and Dread

       CHAPTER EIGHT A visit from the King

       CHAPTER NINE Enter Chapuys, Exit Wolsey

       CHAPTER TEN Lady Susan

       CHAPTER ELEVEN Reginald Pole

       CHAPTER TWELVE Queen Anne

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN A Royal Birth

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN Elizabeth

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Princess’s Servant

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Double Oath

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Rumours

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN A Question of Poison

       CHAPTER NINETEEN The Madness of the King

       CHAPTER TWENTY The Executions

      CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE The new Enemy

       Historical Note

       Keep Reading

       Also by the Author

       About The Publisher

       Prologue

      Anne was a witch; I never doubted it. She deserved to die; neither have I doubted that. She wished for my death long before the executioner’s sword glittered above her own neck: month upon month I lived in terror of poison being slipped into my cup. Yet, an hour before the blade bit into her flesh, they say she prayed for my forgiveness. Had the jailers brought me her message, would I have forgiven her?

      No. Never.

      She beguiled my father and seduced him. She transformed him into a man so unlike his former self that even after she had lost her diabolical hold on him, my father was never again the king he had once been. Because of this evil witch who called herself queen, I lost everything: my rightful place in the circle of my family, my mother’s loving presence, my father’s devoted affection, my chances of a fruitful marriage. And I came close — very close — to losing my own life.

      Because of Anne, my father discarded my mother like a worn slipper, forbidding me ever to see her again. Because of Anne, he declared me a bastard, humiliating me for his own selfish ends. And after years of using me as a pawn in his endless quest for power, promising me to this suitor and one, my father abandoned me.

      I can forgive her nothing.

      You who are quick to judge me, I beg you, hear my story.

       CHAPTER ONE

       King Francis

      I inherited King Henry’s fiery temper — no one would deny that! And so, on the day I learned that he had betrothed me to the king of France, I exploded.

      “I cannot believe that my father would pledge me to that disgusting old man!” I raged, and hurled the bed pillows on to the floor of my chamber. “I shall not, not, NOT marry him!”

      I was but ten years old and had yet to master my anger nor learn its use as a weapon. I shouted and stamped my feet until at last my fury subsided in gusts of tears. Between sobs I stole glances at my governess, the long-nosed Lady Margaret, countess of Salisbury. She stitched on her needlework as though nothing were happening.

      “Come now,” the countess soothed, her needle flicking in and out, in and out, “it is only a betrothal, and that — as you well know — is quite a long way from marriage. Besides, madam, the king wishes it.”

      Her calm made me even angrier. “I don’t care what he wishes! My father pays so little attention to me that I doubt he even remembers who I am!”

      A thin smile creased Salisbury’s face, and she set down her embroidery hoop and dabbed at my cheeks with a fine linen handkerchief. “He knows, dear Mary, he knows. You grow more like him every day — his fair skin, his lively blue eyes, his shining red-gold hair.” She tucked the handkerchief into the sleeve of her kirtle and sighed. “And, unfortunately, his temper as well.”

      Suddenly exhausted,