“You may go, Catherine,” said the Duchess. “Manox! Stay awhile. I would speak to you.”
Catherine went, eager to be alone, to remember everything he had said, how he had looked; to wonder how she was going to live through the hours until the next lesson on the morrow.
When Isabel was dismissed, she waited for Manox to come out.
He bowed low, smiling when he saw her, thinking that he had made an impression on her, for his surface charm and his reputation had made him irresistible to quite a number of ladies. He smiled at Isabel’s pale face and compared it with Catherine’s round childish one. He was more excited by Catherine than he had been since his first affair; for this adventuring with the little girl was a new experience, and though it was bound to be slow, and needed tact and patience, he found it more intriguing than any normal affair could be.
Isabel said: “I have never seen you at our entertainments.”
He smiled and said that he had heard of the young ladies’ revels, and it was a matter of great regret that he had never attended one.
She said: “You must come . . . I will tell you when. You know it is a secret!”
“Never fear that I should drop a hint to Her Grace.”
“It is innocent entertainment,” said Isabel anxiously.
“I could not doubt it!”
“We frolic a little; we feast; there is nothing wrong. It is just amusing.”
“That I have heard.”
“I will let you know then.”
“You are the kindest of ladies.”
He bowed courteously, and went on his way, thinking of Catherine.
Through the gardens at Hampton Court Anne walked with Henry. He was excited, his head teeming with plans, for the Cardinal’s palace was now his. He had demanded of a humiliated Wolsey wherefore a subject should have such a palace; and with a return of that wit which had been the very planks on which he had built his mighty career, the Cardinal, knowing himself lost and hoping by gifts to reinstate himself a little in the heart of the King, replied that a subject might build such a palace only to show what a noble gift a subject might make to his King.
Henry had been delighted by that reply; he had all but embraced his old friend, and his eyes had glistened to think of Hampton Court. Henry had inherited his father’s acquisitive nature, and the thought of riches must ever make him lick his lips with pleasure.
“Darling,” he said to Anne, “we must to Hampton Court, for there are many alterations I would make. I will make a palace of Hampton Court, and you shall help in this.”
The royal barge had carried them up the river; there was no ceremony on this occasion. Perhaps the King was not eager for it; perhaps he felt a little shame in accepting this magnificent gift from his old friend. All the way up the river he laughed with Anne at the incongruity of a subject’s daring to possess such a place.
“He was another king . . . or would be!” said Anne. “You were most lenient with him.”
“’Twas ever a fault of mine, sweetheart, to be over-lenient with those I love.”
She raised her beautifully arched eyebrows, and surveyed him mockingly.
“I fancy it is so with myself.”
He slapped his thigh—a habit of his—and laughed at her; she delighted him now as ever. He grew sentimental, contemplating her. He had loved her long, nor did his passion for her abate. To be in love was a pleasant thing; he glowed with self-sacrifice, thinking: She shall have the grandest apartments that can be built! I myself will plan them.
He told her of his ideas for the alterations.
“Work shall be started for my Queen’s apartments before aught else. The hangings shall be of tissue of gold, sweetheart. I myself will design the walls.” He thought of great lovers’ knots with the initials H and A entwined. He told her of this; sentimental and soft, his voice was slurred with affection. “Entwined, darling! As our lives shall be and have been ever since we met. For I would have the world know that naught shall come between us two.”
Unceremoniously they left the barge. The gardens were beautiful—but a cardinal’s gardens, said Henry, not a king’s!
“Dost know I have a special fondness for gardens?” he asked. “And dost know why?”
She thought it strange and oddly perturbing that he could remind her of his faithfulness to her here in this domain which he had taken—for the gift was enforced—from one to whom he owed greater loyalty. But how like Henry! Here in the shadow of Wolsey’s cherished Hampton Court, he must tell himself that he was a loyal friend, because he had been disloyal to its owner.
“Red and white roses,” said the King, and be touched her cheek. “We will have this like your father’s garden at Hever, eh? We will have a pond, and you shall sit on its edge and talk to me, and watch your own reflection. I’ll warrant you will be somewhat kinder to me than you were at Hever, eh?”
“It would not surprise me,” she laughed.
He talked with enthusiasm of his plans. He visualized beds of roses—red and white to symbolize the union of the houses of York and Lancaster, to remind all who beheld them that the Tudors represented peace; he would enclose those beds with wooden railings painted in his livery colors of white and green; he would set up posts and pillars which should be decorated with heraldic designs. There would be about the place a constant reminder to all, including himself, that he was a faithful man; that when he loved, he loved deeply and long. H and A! Those initials should be displayed in every possible spot.
“Come along in, sweetheart,” he said. “I would choose your apartments. They shall be the most lavish that were ever seen.”
