Murder Most Royal: The Story of Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard

He looked at her sharply. Did she mock? Did she like his songs? Did she compare them with her brother’s, with Wyatt’s, with Surrey’s? Did she think they suffered by comparison?

She was smiling very sweetly. Absently she twirled a lock of her hair. Her eyes were brilliant tonight, and there was a flush in her cheeks. He was taken aback at the contemplation of her beauty, even though he had come to know it too familiarly.

The little one would be awaiting him. Her homage was very sweet. He would sing his song to her, and have no doubts of her approval—but for that reason it was not as sweet as Anne’s. She thought him wonderful. She was not clever; a woman should not be clever; her mission in life was to please her lord. And yet . . . he was proud of his Queen. But what matter? It was but manly to love; there was little harm in a dash of light loving here and there; the ladies expected it, and a king should please his subjects.

“Henry . . .” she said. He paused, patting the diamond which was the centre button of his coat. “There is something I would say to you.”

“Can it not wait?”

“I think you would rather hear it now.”

“Then tell me quickly.”

She sat up on the bed and held out her hands to him, laughing.

“But it is news I would not care to hurry over.” She was watching his face eagerly

“What!” said the King. “Anne . . . what meanest thou?”

He took her hands, and she raised herself to a kneeling position.

“Tell me,” she said, putting her face close to his, “what news would you rather I gave, what news would please you more than any?”

His heart was beating wildly. Could it be what he had longed to hear? Could it really be true? And why not? It was the most natural . . . it was what all expected, what all were waiting for.

“Anne!” he said.

She nodded.

He put his arms about her; she slid hers about his neck.

“I thought to please you,” she said.

“Please me!” He was hilarious as a schoolboy. “There could be naught to give me greater pleasure.”

“Then I am happy.”

“Anne, Anne, when . . . ?”

“Not for eight long months. Still . . .”

“You are sure?”

She nodded, and he kissed her again.

“This pleases me more than all the jewels in the world,” he told her.

“It pleases me as much as it pleases you. There have been times of late . . . when I have felt . . .”

He stopped her words by kissing her.

“Bah! Then thou wert indeed a foolish girl, Anne!”

“Indeed I was. Tell me, were you about to go on an important mission? For I would fain talk of this . . .”

He laughed. “Important mission! By God! I would desert the most important of missions to hear this news!”

He had forgotten her already, thought Anne exultantly. Here was the tender lover returned. It had only needed this.

He did not leave her, not that night, nor the next. He had forgotten the demure little girl; he had merely been passing the time with her. Anne was with child. This time a son; certainly a son. Why not! All was well. He had done right to marry Anne. This was God’s answer!

Henry felt sure of his people’s joy, once his son was born. It would but need that to have done with the murmuring and grumbling. He forgot the girl with whom he had been pleasing himself; he was the loyal husband now; the father of a daughter, about to be the father of a son. He gave up the idea of going to France, and instead went on a tour through the midlands with Anne—belligerent and mighty. This is the Queen I have chosen. Be good subjects, and love her—or face my wrath!

Subjects en masse were disconcerting. A king might punish a few with severity, but what of that? The Dacres affair was proof that the people were not with Anne. Dacres was devoted wholeheartedly to the Catholic cause, and thus to Katharine; and for this reason, Northumberland—still a great admirer of Anne— had quarreled with the man and accused him of treason. To Cromwell and Cranmer it seemed a good moment to conduct Lord Dacres to the block, so they brought him to London, where he was tried by his peers. The Lords, with unexpected courage and with a defiance unheard of under Henry’s despotic rule, had acquitted Dacres. This would seem to Henry like treason on the part of the peers, but it was much more; it meant that these gentlemen knew they had public support behind them, and that was backed up by hatred of Anne—whether she was with child or not made no difference. It shook Henry; it shattered Anne and her supporters. It seemed that everyone was waiting now for the son she promised to produce; that of course would make all the difference; Henry could never displace the mother of his son. Once Anne gave birth to a boy, who showed some promise of becoming a man, she was safe; until then she was tottering.

Anne was very uneasy; more so than anyone, with perhaps the exception of George, could possibly guess. She would wander in the grounds around Greenwich, and brood on the future. She wished to be alone; sometimes when she was in the midst of a laughing crowd she would steal away. Anne was very frightened.