The sisters stared at each other in complete understanding. White-faced, Anne took Elizabeth’s hand and led her to a small antechamber, where tables were positioned around the fire for those wishing to rest or play cards. The room was empty except for servants. A page hurried forward and Anne indicated the table by the fire, where the boy placed two goblets and filled them with mulled wine from a jug on the trivet.
When the two women were sure the pages had returned to their own murmured conversation, Anne leaned forward and said in a low voice, ‘What did he give you?’
Elizabeth felt into the small, embroidered pouch that hung from her waist and removed the velvet bag Henry had given her earlier. She angled her chair to ensure the pages or anyone entering the room would not be able to see and placed the whistle on the table.
‘I didn’t want to leave it in our rooms,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Not until I’d decided what to say to Thomas.’
‘It’s exquisite,’ murmured Anne.
‘He also insisted he help with the problems at Cerensthorpe Abbey,’ said Elizabeth.
As Anne listened to Elizabeth explaining the solution the king had suggested, she rolled the whistle backwards and forwards across the table. When Elizabeth had finished, Anne asked: ‘The words, what do they mean?’
‘He had a matching pair made,’ said Elizabeth, shame rippling over her, even though she knew she had done nothing wrong. ‘His says “One for sorrow”.’
Anne winced at the implication of the words on Elizabeth’s whistle. It lay on the table between them, the polished gold alive with the reflection of the dancing flames. It was beautiful but dangerous in its intent. Anne lifted it with care, as though the metal would burn her, turning it slowly in her fingers, examining the detail.
‘Tell me what happened,’ said Anne.
Elizabeth spoke quickly in a low voice, giving the details of the dance, followed by her encounter out hunting, and Anne groaned.
‘I don’t want to end up disgraced and in a convent like Lady Hastings,’ hissed Elizabeth.
When the queen’s pregnancy had been announced, the king had enjoyed a dalliance with one of the queen’s ladies, Anne, the wife of George Hastings, 1st Earl of Huntingdon. The rumours had suggested she was having an affair with a close friend of the king’s, William Compton, but it transpired Compton was acting as a go-between for Henry and Anne. When it was discovered, Anne’s furious husband sent her to a convent. The fate of Lady Hastings had been the topic of whispered conversation for weeks, especially when it caused a huge row between the king and queen.
‘When he gave it to me, he waited for my gratitude, as though he was bestowing a great honour,’ she said angrily. ‘He didn’t seem to realise the implications of his gift – the implicit request to cuckold my beloved husband, to become the object of sneering gossip, to disrespect the queen, whom I admire greatly…’ Her voice ended in a strangled sob.
‘He is king,’ said Anne, ‘yet he’s a boy. He believes his position gives him the right to bestow a lover’s gift with no consequences.’
‘Was it meant simply as a token?’ said Elizabeth. ‘A device in this ludicrous charade we must all perpetuate for his passion for “courtly love”.’
The last words were said with a sneer of contempt.
‘Be careful, Lizzie,’ warned Anne as two men entered, their masks obscuring their faces as they gave the women a cursory glance. ‘He is new to the crown; power burns hot in his untested hands, he believes every woman is in love with him, hence the engraving. Does he mean to entice you into a tryst? It’s hard to say; you’re his senior by eleven years.’
‘So was Lady Hastings,’ whispered Elizabeth. She took a sip of her wine and continued in a low voice. ‘He’s dangerous; there’s something in him – a darkness, a desire to possess, to dominate – it’s not affection or love. It’s obsession.’
‘Has he touched you?’
‘No, except when we dance, but then it is acceptable, but he watches. Wherever I go, his eyes are always upon me,’ said Elizabeth with a shiver. ‘The trouble is, I believe my actions may have made this worse.’
‘What did you do?’
‘When we were dancing at Greenwich, I made my disinterest clear and?—’
‘He sees your dismissal as a challenge,’ finished Anne. ‘He sees you as a trophy.’
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes fixed on the gleaming whistle.
Anne placed a gentle hand on Elizabeth’s arm. ‘We must tread carefully.’
‘I always do.’
‘Not in this case, Lizzie; unintentionally you have lit the spark,’ replied Anne. ‘First, you challenged him, then you asked for his help. To accept the whistle was foolish.’
Elizabeth’s jaw tightened. ‘I tried to refuse it but to give it back would have insulted him.’
‘But to keep it invites more,’ said Anne and, for a moment, she reminded Elizabeth of their mother. ‘You could ask Thomas to give it back.’
