“And you are able to recognize them?”
“I can recognize all sorts of beasts, sir, even a jackass,” Elizabeth told George Boleyn with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
“God’s blood, George! You have been launched on your own petard,” Sir Thomas Wyatt said, and the group of courtiers surrounding Mistress Boleyn burst out laughing.
“What is all this merriment?” The king had come to join them, slipping his hand into Mistress Boleyn’s hand. Then he stared at Elizabeth Meredith. “Why, you are the last of Rosamund’s daughters,” he said. “And you look like your father, God assoil him. Your sister said you were here, as did Lord Cambridge. Welcome, Elizabeth Meredith!” And he held out his big beringed hand to her.
Elizabeth quickly took the hand and kissed it, curtseying low as she did. “Thank you, your majesty.” She rose from her curtsey.
“And how is your dear mother?” the king wanted to know. “Still shackled to that Scots border bandit she would insist on wedding?”
“Aye, your majesty,” Elizabeth replied, laughter in her voice.
“And how many children did he sire on her?” the king demanded.
“Four sons, your majesty,” Elizabeth said.
“He is a fortunate man, that Scot,” the king remarked. “You are having a good time, Elizabeth Meredith? Your mother, despite her protests, always enjoyed her visits.”
“It is my first day at court, your majesty, but I have been made to feel most welcome, and especially by Mistress Boleyn and her companions,” Elizabeth said.
“Indeed?” The king turned to the girl at his side. “That is good of you, sweetheart, and nothing could make me happier. Mistress Meredith’s father was a most loyal servant of the Tudors, and her mother spent part of her girlhood first in my mother’s household, and then in my grandmother’s house. Rosamund Bolton and my sister, Margaret, were close friends. Do they still correspond, Mistress Elizabeth?”
“Now and again, your majesty, they do. I bring you greetings from my mother, your majesty. She said I was to remind you that she is always your loyal servant.”
The king laughed. “When you write her, you will tell her that the king said if she were as loyal as she claims she would not have wed that Scot of hers, and then gone over the border to live.”
“I will quote your majesty precisely,” Elizabeth promised with a smile.
Flynn Stewart watched and listened to this exchange. So Elizabeth Meredith’s mother was a friend of his half brother’s mam. And she was wed to a Scotsman. It was indeed a small world, he thought.
The king was now laughing, for Mistress Boleyn had repeated Elizabeth Meredith’s jest on George Boleyn. “Be careful, George,” the king warned the young man. “If Mistress Meredith is anything like her mother, you will never get the best of her.” And he chuckled.
“Did you never get the best of her?” Anne Boleyn asked him.
“Nay, sweetheart, I did not,” the king said. He knew how jealous his Annie could be, and he did not want her transferring her jealousy from his long-ago relationship with Rosamund Bolton to her daughter. It had been the most discreet of all his dalliances, and never been public knowledge.
Anne Boleyn smiled. “Mistress Meredith is a beautiful girl, Hal. You have always favored fair women.” She was probing.
“Aye,” the king agreed. “She is like her father. But I prefer a dark girl with sparkling eyes and a quick wit. Do not fret, Annie, love. I could never be attracted to Mistress Meredith, having been her parents’ friend. It would be like incest, I fear.”
Anne Boleyn sighed happily at the king’s admission. She was always fearful of losing the king to another woman. A less chaste woman. She had led him a merry dance for several years now, but while she had allowed him many privileges of her body, she had never allowed him in her bed, and she remained a virgin. Anne Boleyn would not be one of Henry Tudor’s whores like her foolish sister, Mary. Anne Boleyn meant to be the king’s wife. But now she could be friends with Mistress Meredith, for the girl obviously posed no threat to her ambitions. Anne had no real women friends, though some pretended to like her.
Her Howard relations were almost wild with fury over her actions. They wanted her to yield to Henry Tudor and get what she could from him for them. The Duke of Norfolk, the head of the family, thought her mad, but he did not desert her. Eventually Anne would yield to Henry, and they would all profit from her lost virtue. But queen?
She would never be queen. In the end the king would marry a princess as he should, and Anne would be given a husband, and that would be the end of it. That was what they told her. But Anne would not give over. “I will be queen,” she insisted to her uncle, the duke.
“I remember your mother saying that you were musical,” the king said to Elizabeth.
Actually Elizabeth played several instruments, but she knew the instrument of choice at court now was the lute. “I play the lute, your majesty, and I sing,” she answered with a small smile.
“I am composing a special song for a certain lady right now,” the king said to Elizabeth. “You will learn it, and sing it for us when it is finished.”
“I would be honored, your majesty,” Elizabeth said with a curtsey.
“Let us go boating!” Mistress Boleyn suddenly cried. “The river is sweetly still, and the day so fair, my lords.” She drew away from the king and began dancing towards the Thames, singing as she went. “Now is the month of May, when merry lads do play! Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la! Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la!”
The king looked amused. He turned away. He had other guests to greet. He well knew his beloved. She had grown impatient with him. He had given Mistress Meredith too much attention, and she was jealous. But Anne was no fool, and she knew she had no reason to be jealous, so she was embarrassed by her emotions. When she turned to look back at him, Henry Tudor winked at her. The relief in her smile touched him.Sweet Annie,he thought.
