Francois smiled at her. “I share your view, my pearl. So much so that I am already thinking as though I am King of France. We must find a husband for Mary Tudor … in France.”
“You have discussed this with her?” asked Marguerite.
“It is as yet too soon. She is, after all, making a pretense of mourning Louis. But I have heard that her brother is already sounding Charles of Castile. Such an alliance would not be good for France. Moreover it would mean that we should have to return her dowry, and there would be the question of her jewels. Louis was constantly giving her trinkets and, as these by right belong to the crown of France, I should not want to see them leave the country. Therefore I have been thinking of a possible match for her.”
“In France, of course,” said Louise. “Oh for the day when Mary Tudor is safely married and no longer a threat to Francois!”
“I have two suitors in mind for her. There is the Duc de Lorraine, and the Duc de Savoy.”
“My beloved,” cried Louise, “what a King you will make! What a happy day it will be for France when you mount the throne!”
Marguerite, her eyes shining, knelt before him and taking his hand kissed it. The gesture meant that she was paying homage to the King of France.
“It must be so,” murmured Louise. Then her eyes narrowed and she added: “It
Mary was filled with despair. The walls of her mourning chamber seemed to her like a prison, and within them she felt herself to be doomed.
For six weeks she must remain here. She could have borne that if when she emerged it was to be to freedom. But there were plans to prevent this. To ambitious kings she was not so much a woman as a bargaining counter. Francois forgot his gallantry when he considered her future; was Henry going to forget his promise?
Fear was her companion. Little Anne Boleyn who, in spite of her youth, knew how to keep her ears and eyes open, had told her that there was gossip among the French attendants and that they were wagering who would have his way over the next marriage of Mary—Francois or the King of England.
Henry was in negotiation to renew the match between Mary and Charles of Castile which had been broken when she was affianced to Louis. Francois had other plans for her.
“I could not bear it!” Mary murmured into her pillows. “I will not endure it. Henry
She became so melancholy that her attendants were alarmed for her health. She complained of toothache and headaches; and on one or two occasion she burst into loud laughter which turned into weeping.
“The Queen realizes that she has lost a good husband,” said her attendants.
Each day she arose, fretting against her incarceration in the Hotel de Clugny, while at the same time she rejoiced in her seclusion because it gave her time to think. She would feel suddenly gay because she had gained her freedom from Louis; then the gaiety would be replaced by melancholy when she asked herself how long this freedom would last.
Marguerite, hearing of the Queen’s state of health, came to visit her in some concern. Her moods, reasoned Marguerite, could be due to her condition, and Marguerite was a woman who believed that it was better to know the worst and plan accordingly.
In the mourning chamber, Marguerite embraced her.
“You are looking pale,” she said anxiously.
“Are you surprised?”
“Indeed no. You have had a great shock. And, even though the King’s death was expected, when these things happen they shock nonetheless. Tell me about your health. I hear that you have headaches and toothache.”
“I have never had them before.”
“Have you any idea why you should feel thus … apart from your melancholy over the King’s death?”
Mary lowered her eyes. They were too insistent. In spite of her alarm for her future she felt the laughter bubbling up inside her. Had Francois or Louise sent Marguerite to question her? They had all three lost their subtlety in their great anxiety.
“I feel at such a time it is natural for me to be in delicate health.”
“Are there any other symptoms?”
“I felt a little sick this morning.”
Mary reproached herself on seeing the look of despair which Marguerite could not suppress. Poor Marguerite! She had always been very kind to Mary. It was a shame to tease her.
Mary went on quickly: “I think it was because I was upset. I had heard that my brother was already planning a new marriage for me.”
“And you do not favor such a marriage?”
“I was affianced to Charles of Castile before I came to France. He was not eager for the match then; I am not eager for it now. Then I was a Princess of England; now I am a Queen of France.”
“I’ll swear you have grown to love France during your stay here and have no wish to leave it.”
Mary stared dreamily ahead of her and Marguerite went on: “My brother is anxious on your behalf. He wants to see you happy. He would make a very good match for you here in France. Then you need never leave us.”
“I do love France, it is true,” answered Mary. “But do you not think that it is somewhat unseemly to think of marriage for me when …”
“When?” asked Marguerite, alarmed.
