they found they had no mirth in them.
Jane Rochford’s brief sojourn in the Tower had frightened her considerably. There, in her prison, as she looked down on the river at the pomp of the coronation, she had realized that only her own folly had brought her to this pass, and that in future she must be wiser. She would always hate Anne, but that was no reason why she should shout the dangerous fact abroad. Her short incarceration had been in the nature of a warning to herself and others, but she came out chastened, determined to curb her hysterical jealousy. She apologized to Anne, who accepted her apology, her dislike for Jane being but mild, and she thinking her too colorless to feel much interest in her. So Jane came back to court as attendant to Anne, and though they were never even outwardly friends, there was a truce between them.
It was about a year after the coronation when Jane, who had a habit of discovering the secrets of those around her, made a great discovery.
There was among Anne’s attendants a young girl of some beauty, of modest, rather retiring demeanor, somewhat self-effacing; a member of what had come to be known as the anti-Boleyn faction—that set which had held out for Katherine, and were quiet now, though seeming to be watching and waiting for a turn in events.
Jane had intercepted a glance the King had given this girl, and she had felt a deep exultation. Could it be, wondered Jane, that the King was contemplating taking a mistress . . . that he had already been unfaithful to Anne? The thought made Jane laugh aloud when she was alone. How foolish she had been to murmur against Anne! What a poor sort of revenge, that merely put oneself into the Tower! Revenge should be taken subtly; she had learned that now.
How amusing to carry the news to Anne, to falter, to shed a tear, to murmur: “I am afraid I have some terrible news for you. I am not certain that I should tell . . . I am grieved that it should fall to my lot to bring you such news . . .”
She must watch; she must peep; she must go cautiously. She listened at doors; she hid behind curtains. She was really very bold, for well she knew what the wrath of the King could be like. But it was worth it; she discovered what she had hoped to discover.
She then must turn over in her mind how she would use this. She could go to Anne; she could have the story dragged from her seemingly reluctant lips; it would do her good to see the proud eyes flash, the anger burn in those cheeks, to see haughty Anne humiliated. On the other hand, what if she went to George with the news? She would have his complete attention; she would have his approval, as he would say she had done right in coming to him. She could not make up her mind what she wanted most, and she must do so quickly, for there were others in the court who pried and peeped, and would be only too glad to have the pleasure of doing that which she had worked for.
In the end she went to George.
“George, I have something to tell you. I am afraid. I hardly know what to do. Perhaps you can advise me.”
He was not very interested, she noticed with a sudden jealous rage; he thought it was her own affair. But wait until he learned it concerned his sister Anne!
“The King is indulging in a love affair with one of Anne’s ladies.”
George, who had been writing when she came in, hardly looked up from his work. He was perturbed by this news, but not greatly. Knowing the King, he considered such affairs inevitable; they were bound to come sooner or later. The main point was that Anne should realize this and not irritate the King further than he was already irritated by the birth of a daughter. If she remained calm, understanding, she could keep her hold on him; if she were jealous, demanding, she might find herself in a similar position to that of Katharine. He would warn her to treat this matter with the lightness it deserved.
“Well,” said Jane, “do you not think it was clever of me to have discovered this before most?”
He looked at her with distaste. She could not hide the triumph in her eyes. He pictured her, spying; he discovered early in their married life that she had a gift for spying. And now she was all excitement, happy—and showing it—because she had knowledge which was certain to hurt Anne.
“I am sure,” he said, “that you enjoyed making the discovery and were clever in doing so.”
“What mean you?” she demanded.
“Just what I say, Jane.”
He stood up, and would have walked past her; she stopped him, putting her hands on his coat.
“I thought to please you, George. I wish I had gone straight to Anne now.”
He was glad she had not done that. Anne was nervous; she was irritable; she was inclined to do the first rash thing that came into her head these days.
He forced himself to smile at Jane. He patted her hand.
“I am glad you told me first.”
She pouted.
“You seemed angry with me a moment ago. Why, George? Why? Why does everything I do anger you?”
He could feel blowing up, one of those scenes which he dreaded. He said: “Of course I was not angry. You imagine these things.”
“You were angry because you think she will be hurt. It does not matter that
“To spy on the King!” he finished. He burst into sudden laughter. “By God, Jane, I should like to have seen His Majesty, had he come upon you peeping through a crack in the door!”
She stamped her foot; her face was white with rage.
“You find this comic!” she said.
“Well, in a measure. The King, taking his guilty pleasure, and you doing that for which you have a perfect genius . . . spying, congratulating yourself . . .”
