Виктория Холт - The Lady in the Tower

I was overcome with depression. I had been here seven years. This was my home. It could mean only one thing: England would soon be at war with France.

I stammered: “Leave here…”

“It would seem to be wise. I am sending all the students home. Your father thinks that, now your education has been completed, you should return.”

“When?” I asked.

“It would be advisable to begin preparations at once. You should leave not later than January.”

Of course, I had known it had to come. I thought back over all those years, to my arrival here and how exciting it had been serving Queen Mary; and after she had gone I had settled into the household of Claude. I had learned to love the company of Marguerite. And now I was to be uprooted.

Those days were gone for ever.

I was desolate but there was nothing I could do. I must say goodbye to my friends at the French Court—to kind Queen Claude, to dangerous François and to the one I loved best—my teacher and mentor, Marguerite d'Alençon.

I realized fully then—though perhaps I had always known it—that I, who tried to regard myself as an individual, was nothing more than a pawn to be set on a checkerboard at the spot where I could be most useful to those who commanded me.

I guessed my return might have something to do with a marriage. I was at last being called upon to play my part in the family game.

I was apprehensive and very sad to leave; but there was no escape, and in January of that year 1522 I set sail for England.

IT WAS STRANGE TO RETURN to a home with which I had been so familiar long ago and had not seen for seven years. I had forgotten the feeling of security I had always experienced when I crossed the moat and passed under the portcullis and stepped into the enclosed courtyard. How often had I sat there listening to my brother and Thomas Wyatt! I felt a thrill of pleasure because I must see them soon. How well I knew the buttresses and the embrasures where Mary and I had played hide and seek. A castle was a good setting for such a game.

France seemed far away, and whatever my feelings would be later, I was home.

One of the most pleasant experiences of my homecoming was meeting my stepmother. I took a great liking to her from the first moment I saw her. She was no grand lady but she had a pleasant face and a lovable manner; there was nothing fashionable about her; she was a country woman; I believed she had lived near Blickling and that my father had met her when he was staying there.

That he had recognized her worth and married her endeared him to me; it lifted my spirits to realize that he had made such a disinterested choice. But I was sure she had brought him more than lands and blue blood. Perhaps he was not the cold, ambitious man I had always thought him to be—or at least not in all things.

She was nervous of me, which made me feel protective toward her. I guessed it was not easy to be presented with a family of grown-up children. I put her at ease by calling her Stepmother and showing that I bore her no resentment for taking my mother's place. I could, at all events, remember very little of my mother.

An obvious relief settled on her, and she was too open and frank to hide it.

She said: “Your room is ready. They told me which one it was, and I thought you would wish to have it while you are at Hever.”

I thanked her and said it was what I had hoped.

I sat looking around my room at the paneled walls and the furniture I remembered so well—the bed, the chairs, the table and the muniment-chest. It seemed smaller than it used to, perhaps because I had become accustomed to the vastness of the palaces of France.

After a while my stepmother came up and asked me if there was anything I wanted. She advanced into the room and stood with her hands on her hips, looking at me tentatively. Her gown was of a brownish color, which was not very becoming, and I immediately thought her dress would not be fit for life at Court. I supposed it was fit enough for the country, but surely she must sometimes accompany my father to Court? But she was at home in the country now and she looked like a country woman—not like the wife of a man who was an associate of the King and advancing fast at Court.

But I liked her looks, her fresh, open face and her obvious desire to do what was right and be liked.

I smiled at her.

“Are you sure you have everything that you wish?” she asked anxiously.

I told her that I had.

She sat on the bed and looked at me. “I have been a little nervous of meeting you,” she said. “I know Mary and George now …”

“I am the youngest,” I said. “You should not stand in awe of me.”

She smiled. “I don't know. But you are…rather grand.”

“Grand?” I laughed. I realized that she was referring to my clothes. “It is how we dressed at the Court of France.”

“You are glad to be home?”

I hesitated. I was not sure. I should see George and Thomas Wyatt. That would certainly make me glad. But I should be apprehensive until I knew for what purpose I had been brought home so suddenly.

I said: “It is a little strange at first. I have been away so long.”

“It will seem quiet here in the country, but I daresay it will not be for long.”

“Do you know what is intended for me?”

“Your father will explain everything. He will be here soon…and your brother and sister, too.”

“They are well?”

“Indeed, yes. Your brother said he would be here almost as soon as you arrived. He is most eager to see you.”

“And I him. And my sister?”

“She is at Court.”

“Mary at Court!”

“Yes.” She lowered her eyes. “Her husband has a post there in the King's household.”

“Oh, I see. And she is well and happy?”

“She is well and seems happy.”

“I am glad. I look forward to seeing them.”

“We must have some talks while you are here. You must tell me about the Court of France. It must have been very interesting.”

I nodded.

She went on: “If there is anything…”

“Thank you. You have been so kind to me.”

She flushed a little and, smiling a little uncertainly, left me.

I thought: Mary at Court! Then she must have recovered from her disgrace. My stepmother knew something and, if I had read her aright, she believed it was not her place to tell me. Well, I must be patient and wait until it was revealed. But I had made up my mind that I would not be forced into a marriage which I did not like.

To my great joy, George arrived next day. I saw him from my window as he rode into the courtyard and my heart leaped with pleasure. My dearest brother, how handsome he was! Tall and distinguished-looking…yet still the same George, whose special favorite I had been in the days of our childhood. I ran down to meet him.

He leaped from his horse and I was in his arms.

I touched his face. I laughed. I was so happy. Whatever happened afterward, this was a moment to savor.

“Let me look at you,” he said, holding me at arms’ length. “Is this elegant lady my little sister?”

“Is this handsome gentleman my brother George?”

Then we laughed and were hugging each other.

“It has been a long time,” I said.

“I have thought of you constantly.”

“And I of you. There is so much to talk of. Let us go in, shall we?”

Our stepmother came running out to meet George. He kissed her affectionately and I could see that he had the same opinion of her as I had.

“I am so glad you are here,” she said. “Anne has been most impatiently awaiting your arrival. Will you have some food now … some refreshment?”

“Later please,” said George. “I want to talk with my sister first.”

Arm in arm we went up the staircase and into the gallery with its ornamental stucco ceiling, past the embrasures—favorite spots in which to conceal ourselves in our games—to that room where we used to gather with our friends—usually the Wyatts—and sit and talk and listen to Thomas's poems and play the lute.

“There are many things I want to know,” I said. “What are you doing now, George? And Mary… what of Mary? I hear she is at Court.”

“Oh yes. Will Carey has a post there. Esquire to the Body.”

“But after what happened in France…”

“You are thinking of Mary. Oh, Mary is reinstated. She is quite a personage at Court … if Mary could ever be that. No, in spite of everything, she is still the same. She never asks for anything.”

“What do you mean, George?”

“I thought you might have heard. There must have been gossip. Mary has found favor in a high place.”

“You can't mean…”

He nodded. “The highest place of all. The King finds our sister enchanting. He has selected her as his little playmate.”

“Oh… no!”

He nodded. “Sweet little Mary, the friend of Kings! I wonder whether she finds the King of England different from the King of France. One could never get Mary to tell. Not that she would know. Mary is intent on one thing and as long as she gets that she is content.”

“And what of Will?”

“Oh, the King likes him well enough. He is such a complaisant husband.”

“George, I find it… shameful.”

“No, sweet sister. Such goings-on are only shameful among the undistinguished. To be the mistress of a peasant is disgrace indeed, but to be the mistress of a King…well, that is a great honor.”

“Don't be cynical, George. This is our sister, and after what happened to her at the Court of France one would have thought she would have been wise enough to see that it did not happen again.”

“The Court of England is not the Court of France. Here there is a high moral tone. Amours are not flaunted here. François's affairs were too numerous for the people not to be aware of them. Our King is different. He would be a saint…if his nature would let him. François is more realistic. He knows he can never be a saint, even if he wanted to be… which he doesn't. He loves the world too well. So does Henry, but between you and me, Anne, he knows how to deceive himself. He feels very saintly since he wrote his book against Martin Luther, Assertio Septem Sacramentorum. It has earned him the title of Defender of the Faith. Mind you— again entre nous— Wolsey had a hand in it and Thomas More is responsible for a goodly part of it; but it is put forth as the King's work, and it shows him to be an upholder of the Church. You see, he wants to show the world that he is a good man. Half of him is…but we are all complex characters…you and I… and even His Grace the King. So … he tells himself that he is faithful to his Queen…in thought, he is…it is only these little forays on the side. And our Mary is at the center of one.”

“How long has it been going on?”

“Almost since she went to Court. He noticed her at once. Mary is like that, you know. Her appeal is immediate. It is not beauty…it is promise. I think that is the answer. That in some cases is the essence of the attraction between the sexes. I am ready. That is what Mary says: I am as eager as you. I want nothing but our union. It is only the satisfaction I can give you and you can give me, that I crave. There you have it, Anne— the secret of Mary's appeal to all men. Who could resist it? Certainly not the King.”

“She has learned nothing from what happened in France!”

“This is different from France. There, when the King threw her aside, she took lovers…anyone… openly. Men boasted that they shared the King's mistress. But there were so many of them that it became the talk of the Court. That was considered crude by the French. Not good manners… not polite behavior. That is the real sin over there. Mary is in her natural environment here. I don't see why she should not last quite a long time with the King.” He laughed at me. “Don't fret,” he went on. “You need never worry about Mary. She will always come up smiling. It is her nature.”

“So our sister is the King's mistress. What does our father say?”

“He says, ‘Well done, Mary.’ He is getting along well at Court. The King favors him. He has made a success of his embassies and more than that he has begotten a daughter who pleases the King.”

“I would he had earned his success in some other way.”

“The path to success is a thorny one, and the way is steep. There are many pitfalls. It is a fool who does not take advantage of a helping hand when it is offered.”

“Oh, George, it is good to be with you and listen to your talk. I have often thought of it all. Do you remember the gardens with the Wyatts?”