The King’s sister? She was aging now; different indeed from the giddy girl who had led poor Louis such a dance, who had alternated between her desire to bear a king of France and marry Brandon; there was nothing left to her but ambition; and ambition for what? Her daughter Frances Brandon? Mary of Suffolk wanted her daughter on the throne. And now here was Anne Boleyn, young and full of life, only waiting for the divorce to bear the King many sons and so set a greater distance between Frances Brandon and the throne of England.
And the Duchess of Norfolk? She was jealous, as was her husband, on account of the King’s having chosen Anne instead of their daughter the Lady Mary Howard. She was angry because of Anne’s friendship with the old Dowager Duchess of Norfolk.
What do I care? What have I to fear!
Nothing! For the King was looking at her with deep longing; nor could he bear that she should not be with him. She only had to threaten to leave him, and she could have both of these arrogant ladies banished from court.
So she was bold and defiant, and flaunted her supremacy in the faces of all those who resented her. Lady Anne Rochford, beloved of the King, leader of the revels, now taking precedence over the highest in the land as though she were already Queen.
She had seen the Countess Chateau-briant and the Duchess D’Estampes treated as princesses by poor little Claude at the court of Francis. So should she be treated by these haughty Duchesses of Norfolk and Suffolk; yes, and by Katharine of Aragon and her daughter Mary!
But of course there was a great difference between the French ladies and the Lady Anne Rochford. They were merely the mistresses of the King of France; the Lady Anne Rochford was to be Queen of England!
In her chair the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk dozed; her foot tapped automatically, but she was not watching the pair at the virginals. She was thinking of the court and the King’s passion for that gorgeous lady, her dear granddaughter. Ah! And scheming Thomas now has his Earldom and all that goes with it; and well pleased he is, I’ll swear, for money means more to Thomas than aught else. And she is the Lady Anne Rochford, if you please, and George on very pleasant terms with the King . . . though not with his own sly little wife! Poor George! A pity there can’t be a divorce. Why not a princess wife for your brother, eh, Queen Anne? Eh? Of course you are Queen! But she’ll look after George . . . those two would stick together no matter what befell. Ah, how I wish she would send for me! I trow she would if she knew how eager I am to be gone . . . What if I sent a messenger . . . Ah! The court, the masques . . . though indeed I am a little old for such pleasures. Charming, if she came to visit me at Lambeth . . . We would sit in the gardens, and I would make her talk to me of the King . . . My granddaughter, the Queen of England! My granddaughter . . . Queen Anne . . .
She was asleep, and Henry Manox, sensing this, threw a sly glance over his shoulder at her.
“There!” said Catherine. “Was that better?”
He said, moving nearer to Catherine: “That was perfect!”
She flushed with pleasure, and he noticed the delicate skin and the long, fair lashes, and the charming strand of auburn hair that fell across her brow. Her youth was very appealing; he had never made love to one so young before; and yet, in spite of her youth, already she showed signs of an early ripening.
“Never,” he whispered, “have I enjoyed teaching anyone as I have enjoyed our lessons!”
The Duchess snored softly.
Catherine laughed, and he joined in the laugh; he leaned forward suddenly and kissed the tip of her nose. Catherine felt a pleasurable thrill; it was exciting because it had to be done while the Duchess slept; and he was handsome, she thought, with his dark, bold eyes; and it was flattering to be admired by one so much older than herself; it was gratifying to be treated as though one were charming, after the reproaches her grandmother had showered upon her.
“I am glad I am a good pupil.”
“You are a very good pupil!” he said. “Right glad I am that it is my happy lot to teach you.”
“Her Grace, my grandmother, thinks me very stupid.”
“Then it is Her Grace, your grandmother, who is stupid!”
Catherine hunched her shoulders, laughing.
“I take it, sir, that you do not then think me stupid.”
“Indeed not; but young, very young, and there is much you have to learn yet.”
The Duchess awoke with a start, and Catherine began to play.
“That was better,” said the Duchess, “was it not, Manox?”
“Indeed, Your Grace, it was!”
“And you think your pupil is improving?”
“Vastly, Madam!”
“So thought I. Now you may go, Catherine. Manox, you may stay awhile and talk with me.”
Catherine went, and he stayed and talked awhile; they talked of music, for they had nothing in common but music. But the Duchess did not mind of what her young men talked as long as they talked and entertained her. It was their youth she liked it was their flattery. And as Manox talked to her, she drifted back to the days of her own youth, and then forward again to the court as it was today, ruled by her loveliest of granddaughters.
“Methinks I shall go to Lambeth,” she announced, and dismissed Manox.
Catherine went to the apartment, where she found Isabel.
“How went the lesson?” asked Isabel.
“Very well.”
“How you love your music!” said Isabel. “You look as if you had just left a lover, not a lesson.”
