He stood abruptly, holding out his hand. ‘Let us dance, Lady Boleyn, let us move the stars and the moon with our suppressed passion. We are both married and are wise to the ways of love, to men and women, to the delights of the marriage bed. If dancing is the closest we can come to the true expression of our love, then, for now, it must suffice. Yet we both know, the passion beating between us will not be denied forever.’
Despite her distaste at his words, Elizabeth had no choice but to take the king’s hand. The crowd parted as he led her to the dancefloor and as the music shifted tempo to a sultry volta, she was aware of her father and Younger’s eyes upon her, their smiles complacent, while her husband’s eyes settled on the king and hardened in fury.
28
CERENSTHORPE ABBEY – MAY 1513
‘Mama, it’s beautiful,’ said Anne Boleyn.
Elizabeth’s two daughters hung out of the coach window, desperate to glimpse the property which had taken on a magical quality in their minds. Anne’s voice rang clear and bell-like through the spring air, while Mary sighed in delight.
‘It’s a house of love,’ Mary added. ‘You can feel the happiness in the air.’
‘Love,’ scoffed Anne. ‘You’re obsessed. It’s high time Mama and Papa found you a husband.’
‘Girls, girls, sit back in your seats,’ said Elizabeth, but her chastisement was mild. ‘This is the first time I’ve visited Cerensthorpe Abbey, I’d prefer it if the former nuns and their staff weren’t left with the impression that my daughters are wild beyond compare.’
The two girls giggled, Mary was nearing the age of fifteen and Anne was twelve; Elizabeth was pleased to hear their joy after the terrible news which had befallen the family the previous month. Her dashing and adored brother, Edward, Lord Admiral of the English Fleet, had been involved in a skirmish with the French. In his usual manner, he had led his men from the frontand was the first to board an enemy vessel, but before his crew could follow, the cable joining the two ships was cut, leaving him stranded, fighting alone. Upon their return, his sailors had said before he was killed, Edward had thrown the silver whistle of admiralty into the sea, claiming no Frenchman would ever wield such power.
The family and the wider realm had been devastated by his loss and Elizabeth had wept for days. Edward was one of the most popular and respected men at court as well as her favourite brother. His wife, Alice, had retired to her father’s home in Morley Saint Botolph in Norfolk, where she remained inconsolable. One of the reasons Elizabeth had agreed to the trip to Cerensthorpe Abbey was to distract her daughters from their grief.
The Boleyn sisters resumed their seats, smoothing their skirts and straightening their hoods as the coach swept up the tree-lined driveway. Cerensthorpe Abbey rose through the soft morning mist, a place of calm and tranquillity. Despite her mixed feelings prior to the visit, Elizabeth found herself agreeing with Mary, this was a house of love and hope.
The new red-brick gatehouse glowed against the old stone of the former cloisters, the thud of hammers and the murmur of voices drifted from the scaffolding on the west wing and, beyond the house, there were glimpses of a bustling courtyard. A groom led a horse to the stables, a maid shook out linens to dry in the sun; bees drifted lazily between the herbs in the knot garden, while rooks wheeled above the tall chimneys. The air was filled with the comforting noise of work and laughter, as if the house itself were offering its own greeting to Elizabeth and her daughters.
A woman in her early fifties appeared in the doorway. Dressed in a rich black gown with a white coif, her appearance was halfway between the abbess she had been for so many yearsand a Tudor matron. Elizabeth wondered whether the woman resented her change in position, moving from the life of a religious sister to her new position as Mistress of the College. Cerensthorpe Abbey was now a secular college of learning, with a scriptorium of growing reputation.
‘Lady Boleyn,’ she said, sinking into an obeisance as they were helped from the carriage, ‘welcome to Cerensthorpe Abbey.’
‘Lady Anne Reynolds, the pleasure is mine,’ Elizabeth replied. The former abbess had been given this honorary title now she was mistress of a secular house. ‘These are my daughters, Mary and Anne.’ She beckoned the two girls forward, who bobbed deferential curtsies. ‘They were eager to accompany me today. Both are keen scholars and would be honoured to visit the scriptorium.’
‘Of course, my lady,’ said Lady Reynolds. ‘After we have taken refreshments in my solar, I shall have one of our novices – sorry, pupils,’ she corrected herself, ‘we continue to adjust to our new roles – escort your daughters on a tour of Cerensthorpe, including the scriptorium. However, may I first offer my sincere condolences for the loss of Lord Howard, your brother.’
Elizabeth felt the familiar burr at the back of her throat, the prick of tears in her eyes at the mention of Edward, but she swallowed and, with a gracious incline of her head, said, ‘Thank you, Lady Reynolds, you are most kind.’
Elizabeth was gratified to hear her daughters murmuring their appreciation too. The loss of their uncle had been hard for them to bear. She had watched with some pride when they and, her son, George, had banded together to help each other through their sadness and confusion as the Howards mourned.
When they were alone as a family, Elizabeth encouraged her three children to be free with each other, to laugh, have fun, but most importantly to care for and respect the thoughts andfeelings of their siblings. She had been raised to regard her brothers and sisters as friends and allies, and it was her hope that the education she was giving her own children encouraged this bond of loyalty.
‘Please follow me,’ said Lady Reynolds, her voice low, gentle and, Elizabeth thought,comforting.
Lady Reynolds led the way into the long, vaulted room that had once been the refectory but was now a beautifully appointed great hall. Sunlight poured through the oriel window, catching on the glass like scattered gold, shields carved into the stone archway showed the entwined coats of arms of the Howard and Boleyn families, vast tapestries commissioned by Elizabeth hung on the walls and the two enormous fireplaces glowed with small piles of logs. The day outside was warm, but the stone walls of the hall were cool, and the fires continued to be necessary. Large wooden screens divided the space and beyond these, there was an echo of voices and the heady scent of spiced wine and roasting meat.
Elizabeth gazed around in wonder. When her daughters had requested a trip to Cerensthorpe Abbey, Elizabeth had been both surprised and unsure. In her mind, the house had become intrinsically linked with the awful warning her father had given her at Younger’s wedding. She was horrified to think the king had authorised the conversion of the house from religious order to secular college for nefarious reasons and this made her suspicious of their motives. Had her father suggested it to his granddaughters? Would the king be waiting when they arrived?
‘Why do you wish to visit Cerensthorpe Abbey?’ she had snapped.
‘Our cousin, Sir Francis Bryan, mentioned it has a scriptorium overseen by nuns,’ Anne had explained. ‘Neither Mary nor I knew women were allowed to undertake such workand we would be intrigued to watch their skills, but if it upsets you, Mama, then please forget my request.’
Elizabeth had silently scolded herself. She had reached out and squeezed Anne’s hand, murmuring apologies. She was delighted both her daughters were keen scholars. Anne, in particular, was a devoted student and, like her father, had an ear for languages. Mary preferred poetry and the classical tales of heroes and monsters in ancient Greece.
‘Being able to discuss in detail such things as the making of inks, the structure of illuminations and the works of a woman’s scriptorium would help me establish myself at the sophisticated court of Mechelen. Surely, you wish me to stand out, Mama?’ Anne had finished. Her expression had been one of wide-eyed innocence and Elizabeth had burst out laughing at the daughterly leverage.
Thomas had recently returned to Hever brimming with news of an opportunity for Anne.
‘You, my dearest daughter, are about to become the most sophisticated of us all,’ he had said, taking her hand and twirling her around, so she ducked under his arm, a manoeuvre they had perfected during her childhood.
‘How so, Papa?’ she had asked.
