The Heretic Wind: The Life of Mary Tudor, Queen of England by Judith Arnopp (best ereader for students TXT) 📕

spent there with Mother and Father when I was still the Princess ofWales. I had been away from court and missed them so much and, after travellingfrom Ludlow to be with them, I can still feel the tightness of my mother’sembrace, the approval of my father. My mind roams, tumbling down the years thatfollowed, and I recollect that later, my mother was sent to Ampthill while theking fought for his divorce so that he might marry his strumpet. The rosymemories are pushed aside and the misery of those days intrudes, thehumiliation that came afterwards clouding the present. I glance toward theking’s wide shoulders and scowl. He is as far removed from the father of mychildhood as the moon is from the sun.

I sighunhappily.

“Are you well,my lady? Is the sun too hot for you?”

“A little.” Itry to smile but the day is spoiled, the memory of my distant past with all itsbrightness has blotted out any hope of joy in the present. We ride on, evernorthward, but the further we get from London, the quieter the waiting crowdgrows, the less welcoming the cheers. Their resentment is tangible. I feelunwelcome, but Father doesn’t seem to have noticed.

By the time wereach Northampton, I am tired and disillusioned. At the end of the day, pleadingillness I take to my bed, and when the royal party rides north in the morning,I remain behind, promising to follow on when I am recovered. But I don’t. I cantake no joy from the journey.

It is strange.I spend my life surrounded by people yet I am always lonely, displaced. I yearnfor something I cannot name; I want to strike out at the bleakness of my unmarried,unlovely, virgin state. But at least the king seems happy; I should be thankfulfor that. If Katherine has achieved anything at all, she has managed to make himsmile again. For that I owe her my thanks, for when Henry is at peace, thecourt is too.

Away from hispresence, I forget the man Father has become and remember only the man he usedto be; the man that made me laugh, the man who tickled me under the chin andcalled me his little pearl.

For the restof the summer, the real king ceases to exist. In my mind, he is as he used tobe; a figment, a dream. So when Father returns to Hampton Court in October, I almostexpect to greet the tall virile prince of my imaginings. I am surprised at thefat, cantankerous old man that stands before me.

Hampton Court – November 1541

At first, I ignore the whispers.It is just court tittle-tattle, I tell myself, people dearly love to gossip. Butthere is something in the air; the atmosphere is thick with intrigue. Returningfrom Mass one morning, I encounter Cranmer and Norfolk in anxious conversation.They stop talking when they see me, break apart, straighten their backs andgreet me cheerfully, but I note their white faces, their anxious eyes.

“Is somethingamiss?” I ask, looking from one to the other. “Is the king in good health?”

“His Majestyis very well.” Cranmer tucks a sheaf of papers beneath his elbow and bends overmy hand. “The trip north seems to have benefitted him.”

Silence falls.I search their faces as their eyes drift away, and Norfolk moistens his lips.

“Was Fathermuch enraged when the king of Scots did not meet him as he requested?”

“Oh,” Cranmerwaves a dismissive hand. “Only for a short while. The king of Scots has nothingthe king of England desires. His Majesty has better things to occupy him than troublinghimself about a Scotsman.”

They arehiding something and I am desperate to know what it is.

“How is thequeen? Another son will please him.” I cannot help pushing, I know something isamiss. Perhaps the queen is with child at last. I sense it has something to dowith the succession … perhaps a match has been proposed for me.

“It wouldindeed, my lady. We look forward to news of it.”

His words donot ring true. It is as if he is a performer in a mummer’s play, reeling off rehearsedsentences.

“I hope for anaudience with the queen later today,” I continue blithely. “She will enjoy tellingme all about the progress. I was sorry to miss it. Did Her Majesty enjoy herfirst trip north?”

“It seems shedid, my lady. It seems she did. Now, would you excuse us, it will not do to keepthe king waiting. I wish you good day.”

One after theother, they bend over my hand again, and take their leave of me. I watch themwalk away, note again their agitation, their sense of nervousness. I frown, ponderingthe cause of it before turning on my heel and hurrying off to crave an audiencewith the queen.

I am conductedto her privy chamber. When I am announced, she looks up from an abundance offine fabrics. “Mary!” She rises to her feet and hurries to greet me, takes bothmy hands, her expression warm. “It is so good to see you. Are you recoveredfrom the megrim that beset you on the road?”

“Oh yes, itwas nothing more than my usual complaint.”

“It is good tosee you looking so well now.” She snatches a roll of red velvet and holds itagainst her cheek. “Do I look well in this shade? I am choosing new gowns forthe Christmas festivities. Oh, I do hope you will be joining us this year.”

I nod, pleasedby her thoughtfulness, but I have no need to reply for she continues to chatteras she plucks up different fabrics and holds them against her face. I take aseat near the window and mark her underlying nerves, the brittleness of her joy.She is so full of suppressed excitement it is as if she might break apart.

Katherine shuffleson her knees to another pile of fabric and holds up first the red, then theblue.

“Oh, I cannotdecide,” she says as if her life hangs on the choice. “What do you think, LadyMary?”

I lean forward,test the nap.

“The kingprefers blue, I think, but whatever you wear will please him. You can do nowrong in his eyes, least of all in your choice of gown.”

“No.”

She sobers andsits back on her heels, her wide eyes settling