“Congratulating myself!”
“Oh, come! I swear I never saw you so pleased with anything.”
Her lips trembled; tears came into her eyes.
“I know I’m not clever, but why should you laugh at everything I do!”
“Everything?” he said, laughing. “I assure you, Jane, that it is only on rare occasions that I can laugh at what you do.”
She turned on him angrily.
“Perhaps you will not find this such a laughing matter when I tell you who the lady is!”
He was startled now, and she had the joy of swing that she had all his attention.
“I forget her name. She is so quiet, one scarcely notices her. She is a friend of Chapuys; she is of those who would very gladly see the Queen displaced from the throne . . .”
She saw now that he was deeply perturbed; this was not merely a king’s light love affair; this was high politics. It was very likely that the girl had been primed to do this by the enemies of Anne.
George began to pace up and down; Jane sat in a window seat, watching him. Quite suddenly he went towards the door, and without a glance at Jane strode from the room. Jane wanted to laugh; but there was no laughter in her; she covered her face with her hands and began to cry.
George went to Anne. She was in her room, reading quietly, making marks with her thumbnail at those passages which she meant Henry to read. She was interesting herself in theology, because the subject interested him. She was trying now to bind him to her in every way she knew; she was uneasy; she thought often of Katharine and what had happened to her; she now wondered why she had not previously been more sympathetic towards Henry’s first Queen. Bitterly she would laugh at herself; did she not understand the old Queen’s case because her own was becoming distressingly similar?
“You look alarmed, George,” she said, laying aside her book.
“I have alarming news.”
“Tell me quickly.” She gave a somewhat hysterical laugh. “I think I am prepared for anything.”
“The King is philandering.”
She threw back her head and laughed.
“I cannot say I am greatly surprised, George.”
“This is no ordinary philandering. It is important, when we consider who the girl is.”
“Who?”
“Jane does not remember her name.”
“Jane!”
They exchanged glances of understanding.
“Jane made it her affair to discover this matter,” said George. “This time I think Jane has done us a service. She described the girl as meek and mild as milk.”
“Ah!” cried Anne. “I can guess who she is!”
“She is of our enemies,” said George. “It may well be that she has been made to do this to work your ruin, Anne.”
Anne stood up, her cheeks flaming.
“She shall be banished from the court! I myself will see her. She shall come to me at once . . . I . . .”
He lifted a restraining hand.
“Anne, you terrify me. These sudden rages . . .”
“Sudden! Rages! Have I not good cause . . .”
“You have every cause in the world, Anne, to go carefully. You must do nothing rash; everything you do is watched; everything you say is listened to. The throne shakes under you! You must say nothing of this to the king; you must feign ignorance for a while. We must go secretly and in great quiet, for this is no ordinary light flirtation.”
“There are times,” she said, “when I feel I should like nothing better than to walk out of the palace and never set eyes on the King again.”
“Be of good cheer. We’ll think of something. There is one point you must not forget: Give no sign to the King that you know anything. We will, between us, think of a plan.”
“It is so . . . humiliating!” she cried. “By my faith! I have suffered more indignities since I have been the Queen than I ever did before.”
“One of the penalties of being Queen, Anne! Promise . . . promise you will go cautiously!”
“Of course, of course! Naturally I shall . . .”
“No,” he said, with a little grimace, “not naturally, Anne; most unnaturally! Remember Mary . . .”
“What of Mary?”
“You know well to what I refer. How could you have been so wild, so foolish, as to say that if the King went to France and you were Regent, you would find a reason for putting Mary out of the way!”
