behalf of my good brother, the King of England.”
And so the doors were thrown open and as the Englishmen came in, Mary caught her breath with wonder; for they were led—as was only natural that they should be—by Charles Brandon. And there he was coming to the center table, his eyes on the King, betraying only by a twitch of a muscle that all his thoughts were for the young woman who sat silently there, her cheeks aflame, her eyes sparkling as no one in France had seen them sparkle yet.
She must see him. Who would help her now? If only Lady Guildford were with her! But Louis had artfully removed all her English attendants except little Anne Boleyn who, he considered, was too young to influence her.
She dared confide in no one. Marguerite was a friend—up to a point—but only when by being so she could do no harm to her brother. And if she told Marguerite that the man she loved was in Beauvais and she must have an interview with him alone, Marguerite would immediately suspect that Charles might take the place of Francois in that wild drama she and her mother had conjured up. Therefore, Marguerite would never help her arrange a meeting with her lover—in fact, for the sake of Francois, might even betray her to Louis.
Perhaps it was natural that she should wish to receive the party from her brother’s Court. If they came to her she could flash a message to Charles who would be ready for it.
This was what she did when, headed by Charles, the Englishmen came to her apartment. Of course her French attendants were present. Nevertheless she must do the best she could.
How happy she was to see him kneeling before her, taking her hand in his, putting his lips to it. She was trying to communicate all her feelings to him, and she knew by the pressure of his hand that he understood.
“It pleases me to see you here,” she said.
He told her that her brother sent her affectionate messages and there were letters which he would bring to her.
“Yes … yes,” she answered.
She must receive the others; she must murmur platitudes to them. She must tell them how excited she was at the thought of the coming joust, and she hoped they would conduct themselves with honor for England.
Oh Charles, she thought, stay near me.
He understood. He was by her side. He said quietly: “Are you happy?”
“What do you think?” Her voice was sharp and bitter.
“You are more beautiful than ever.”
“I must see you alone,” she said. Then added hastily: “Come back in five minutes’ time after the party have gone. I will endeavor to be alone except for young Anne Boleyn.”
He bowed his head and she turned away lest Norfolk, who was with the party, should be suspicious.
Now she was impatient for them to be gone, and afraid that if they lingered much longer the King would come to her apartments.
But at last they went, and she dismissed her attendants, saying that she was going to rest for an hour; and to avoid suspicion kept little Anne with her.
He came back, as they had arranged; and she commanded little Anne to sit on the stool near the door of the main apartment while she drew Charles into a small adjoining chamber. If anyone came to the door, Anne was to tell them her mistress was resting.
It was dangerous, but Mary was ready to take risks. An interview alone with Charles was worth anything she might be asked to pay for it.
They embraced hungrily.
“My love,” said Charles, “I have lived it all with you.”
“Oh, Charles!” She was half laughing, half crying, as she touched his face with her fingers. “I can’t believe it, you see. I have to keep assuring myself that you are here.”
He kissed her urgently.
“We must be careful,” he said at length. “Did you notice Norfolk’s watchful eyes? That fellow hates me.”
“A curse on Norfolk.”
“I agree, my dearest, but he could do us much harm.”
“You mean he could tell Louis that I love you.”
“He could have me sent back to England.”
That sobered her. “Oh, Charles, we must be careful.”
“I should not be here. At any moment we might be discovered.”
“The little Boleyn will give the warning.”
“That child would not protect us. Mary … Mary … what shall we do?”
“When Louis dies and I am free I shall marry where I wish. You know where that will be.”
“But to talk of the King’s death …”
“Is treason, and we should die for it. Then I should not have to spend any more nights in his bed.”
“Hush, Mary. Was it … terrible?”
She shivered. “I lay awake all that first night thanking God and his saints that he was an old man. He apologized for his breathlessness, for his inability. I wanted to shout, Do not apologize to me, Louis. I want to sing Glory to God because of it.”
