care with your labels. Fancy gluing them on so feebly that they just fall off.”
Madge, who was very partisan as far as her young mistress was concerned, turned away quickly, but not quickly enough to hide a sly, smug smile. Jane looked at Lisa, who nodded.
“Start the unpacking,” said Jane, and turned grimly to face Dorothy.
“I took every care. Most people tie their labels on, so how did you know I used glue? I didn’t announce it and you weren’t in the room when I was sticking them on. They were wrenched off deliberately and where my name was painted on the wicker, someone has blanked it out with ink. Now, I wonder who did that?”
Dorothy coloured but tossed her head. “It wasn’t me, if that’s what you mean.”
“No?”
“Oh, don’t put on such righteous, haughty airs! Just because the king and Master Carew both dance with you…”
“Dorothy, what in the world is the matter with you? You surely don’t care whether you dance with the king or not.” It was incredible to Jane that anyone could actually wish to be physically close to the malodorous Henry. “And you have a handsome man of your own. Aren’t you going to marry Ralph Palmer?”
“There’s an understanding. We’re not formally betrothed yet and if we ever do marry, Ralph Palmer will be marrying my dowry, not me,” Dorothy retorted. “If yours were bigger, he’d take you instead and he’d probably rather. I saw him looking at you sometimes on the way here.”
“Oh, Dorothy!” said Jane helplessly.
She worried about it all through the May Day celebrations, with their tournaments and masques. On the following day Queen Anna said to her, in her slow English, “Hanna has written…how to make a dish I like. It is like a cake made with rice and covered in…bread in tiny bits….”
“Crumbs?” said Jane.
“Yes, so. Crumbs. And fried and served with cold, sharp stewed apples. Very good. Hanna does not like talking…to English officials. Take this to the kitchen and explain. I wish it tomorrow at supper.”
I don’t like giving orders to officials, either, Jane thought, but orders from the queen must be obeyed. However, the White Stave she spoke to in the Greencloth room was not one of the overdignified ones and was kind enough to tell her a quicker way back to the queen’s apartments.
“Whitehall is confusing, I know. But—” he pointed through a window “—you can cut through that building there. It has a small council chamber downstairs and the king is in conference there now, but there is a staircase just inside the door and no one will mind if you go up one floor and walk through the upstairs gallery. At the far end is another staircase and you can go down to a courtyard. The side door to the queen’s lodging is just a few steps to your left.”
Jane was glad of the guidance, since the good May Day weather had now given way to rain. She found the building the White Stave had pointed out and went up to the gallery, a wide and handsome place with a long row of windows. Settles with arm-ends shaped like lions’ heads and crimson cushions with gold fringes strewn on the seats, stood here and there, and oak chests with gold-inlaid carvings were placed between the windows. Rain blew against the diamond-leaded panes and she was glad to be on the indoor side of them.
Then, as she was walking through the gallery, a figure she decidedly did not want to meet entered through a small door near the far end. The conference, presumably, was over. At any rate, King Henry had left it.
He had seen her. There was nothing to do but stand aside and curtsy. He seemed to be on his own and he looked angry. She kept her eyes down as he approached, hoping he would just walk past, but instead he stopped, stretched one of those beefy hands down, slipped it under her elbow and raised her.
“Mistress Jane! You’re a healing sight for a harassed man. My nobles! All hummings and hawings and protocol and…ah well, never mind. Come and cheer me for a little.” He led her to the nearest settle and she found herself obliged to sit on it beside him. His thick, powerful arm went around her.
“There is something you must know,” he said. “Something that I suspect all you ladies have guessed anyway. Queen Anna and I…are not more than friends. I am seeking a way to dissolve the union, without harming her. I wish her to be respected and provided for and treated as my sister—but we cannot go on pretending to be man and wife. Cromwell is making every possible difficulty, damn the man. Others, not you, will have the task of telling the queen, but I want you to know. Can you guess why?”
With that, the powerful arm tightened and turned her to face him, and the big square countenance came close and his mouth clamped itself over hers. She dared not struggle, but the feel of his fat tongue forcing its way into her own mouth made her want to retch. She controlled the urge with a gigantic effort as he nuzzled and sucked. He had been drinking wine and the taste was on his tongue. Secondhand wine, thought Jane wildly, was horrible. There were tears in her eyes. The whole ghastly business seemed to go on forever.
He let her go at last, but put a thick forefinger on one of her eyebrows and said, “Dear little Jane. Are these tears? Have I moved you so much?”
“I…I am overwhelmed,” Jane found herself stammering. She blurted out something else, about fearful majesty, and he laughed and began to fumble at her clothes. “Please,” said Jane. “Please…sir…Your Majesty…”
Rescue came, but not in an agreeable form. She had been longing for it, but would have preferred it not to come in the shape either of the Duke of Norfolk or Thomas Cromwell. They, however, were both in the group of men who now followed Henry into the gallery and came striding toward them. Norfolk’s expression as he looked at her was that of a bird of prey eyeing a mouse.
Henry freed her and stood up. “Well, gentlemen. I left you to further deliberations. I hope you have some sensible suggestions to make to me now.” He smiled at Jane. “Go back to Queen Anna, but…” His voice dropped. “No word of this happy encounter. You understand? We will talk more in due time. Yes, Sir Thomas? What have you to tell me?”
Jane was dismissed. She was obliged to pass Norfolk and his companions, which shouldn’t have been difficult because the gallery was so wide. But Cromwell had instantly engaged the king in earnest conversation and Henry had turned away from her. He did not see Norfolk shoot out a hand and grip her shoulder, spinning her around to look at him.
“Slut,” said Norfolk softly. Then he let her go and she was on her way again, with tears once more in her eyes.
She found the stair at the end of the gallery and ran down it, thrusting open the door at the foot and fleeing out into the rain. The side door to the queen’s lodgings was only a few yards away and she hastened to it, with mingled rain and tears almost blinding her.
Just inside the door she stopped short, leaning against the wall. She felt breathless and her heart was hammering. Never had she wished more ardently that she could be back at home, sewing with Eleanor in the parlour with its view of the brown and purple moorlands, or riding down green-shadowed Allerbrook combe.
Inside her, something seemed to have snapped. I can’t stay here. I can’t stay at this court, said Jane to herself. The door through which she had just come opened again and Peter Carew came striding in.
“Jane! I saw you running in here as if you were in a panic and, well, here you are, propped against a wall and…” He came toward her, looking at her keenly. “You’re crying. Jane, what’s amiss?”
“King Henry,” said Jane miserably. Peter looked bewildered.
“I met him in a gallery and he kissed me. And he wants to divorce Queen Anna. Did you know?”
“Most of the court knows, except for the queen herself.”
“I can’t bear it. I daren’t stay here. I’m going home. I’ll take Lisa with me. Where’s the best place