Betrayal (46 page)

             
“I see the wisdom of your argument, Thomas, but how will Lady Jane Seymour view my return to the Queen’s bed? Surely she will feel deserted and betrayed. She is so pure, an innocent. She will think me a rogue to play with her tender heart so carelessly.” Henry threw back his head shouting to the ceiling, “On the Cross, I swear, I will not be denied this lady’s love!  Am I to be denied her company too, Thomas? May I not at least gaze upon her gentle face?  Am I to be left without her comforting countenance to reassure me that her future lies entwined with mine?  I am desolate in my loneliness.”  Henry turned to fill his silver wine cup, his face awash with sadness.

             
Cromwell swallowed his rising bile as he fought back the urge to slap the King into the realization that his silly ‘affaire de Coeur’ would have to wait. Cromwell watched the King crumple into his chair by the hearth and shook his head. Trying to orchestrate the King’s annulment while keeping Henry away from the Seymours, was not going to be as easy as Cromwell had first thought. He crossed to the window to look out over the River Thames. Silently he cursed the Boleyns and their coterie of hangers on. He remembered the vicious demise of his Master, the Cardinal, which the Queen and her family had brought about. ‘No,’ he thought, ‘I cannot forget. I will repay her iniquity with righteous recompense.’ Cromwell turned to see the King staring into the fire, drunk with wine and consumed with sadness.  ‘It falls to me to rid this kingdom of its dreadful curse. England needs a legitimate heir and I shall see she gets one if it takes my dying breath.’ Cromwell cleared his throat to gain the King’s attention.  “If you will endeavor to continue with our plan for a few more days, your Grace, I believe I can promise you a quick end to all this.”

             
Henry slowly nodded his head. “But, what of the election of the new knight to the Order of the Garter?  The announcement is to be made soon.  I thought to give it to George before Anne’s miscarriage, but Edward Seymour has put forth Nicholas Carew and I would not like to …” Henry paused, not sure of how to say what he wanted to.

             
“I understand, your Grace. I suggest you hold off on your announcement, after all the ceremony is not until St. George’s Day.  Before long all will be clear, I promise you.”

             
“Do not fail me, Thomas. I have not forgotten what a mess Wolsey made of everything. Do not think you will survive another such disaster.”

             
Cromwell swept a deep bow. “I shall not forget, my lord, and I shall not fail either,” he said quietly as his muscles screamed for release from his cramped position.  ‘I am too old to bow and scrape like this.  Perhaps when I have accomplished what he desires I will at long last get the Earldom he has promised.’ Then, aloud, Cromwell asked, “Does my lord King desire anything else?”

             
“Just provide what you have promised, Thomas, and soon. I would not admit this to anyone else, but I am growing old and I fear for my kingdom should I die without male issue.  While I shall willingly pursue my marital duties I doubt the Lady Anne can fulfill hers. Leave me, Thomas, my head aches and I am tired.”

             
“Yes, Your Majesty; I shall return to the Cardinal’s papers and return when I have secured the documents.”

             
“Good, now go and leave me to my wine-cup. Good night, Thomas.”

“Good night, your Grace.”

Cromwell stopped outside the door; he stood rubbing his chin as he pondered his situation. He had no doubts that should he fail to free the King from his unprofitable marriage, his own head would roll.  He could not afford to fail. ‘I should contact that sheep farmer from Cornwall and see just what he proposes. It may be that we may need him yet, if the search of the old man’s papers proves futile. But tonight it is home and to bed for me. Dear God, but I am tired,’ Cromwell complained to himself. Placing his cap upon his head and pulling his cloak tight, he nodded to the guard and set off into the heavy night rain for his own quarters, within the grounds of Whitehall Palace.

             
                                                                      ***

             
Elisabeth was awakened by a loud knocking on the Queen’s outer chamber door. She grabbed for her robe, running to answer the door from her small bedroom adjacent to the Queen’s. 

             
George Boleyn stood breathless outside. “Is she awake yet?  I saw the King come down to the Great Hall late last night. I couldn’t read his face. Was he happy? Where is Anne, I need to speak with Anne,” he said as he pushed past Elisabeth.

“What time is it?  Who dares to disturb my sleep?” Anne said as she opened her bedroom door.  “George!” she called, and then noticing Elisabeth, she dismissed her. “Go back to your room, Elisabeth. I will call you when I need you.” Anne turned back to her brother. “Is everything all right?”

              “That is my question for you, is everything all right?  I saw Henry come down late last night.”

             
“Yes, he stayed late in my chamber,” Anne replied wrapping her fur robe tight about her trim waist.

             
“And?”

             
“And what?  Oh, you want to know the details. He was very pleasant and gentle, almost as if these past weeks had never happened,” Anne said, sighing as she sat down on the leather chair before the fire. “He didn’t mention our separation, or the babe. It was as if it had never happened.  All was as it had been before.”

“Then we are secure?”

              The young Queen shook her head. “I don’t know. It is true he sought my company and my bed, but still, at times, when he thought I wasn’t looking, he seemed distant, almost unreachable. Truly, I do not know what to think.”

             
“But Anne, if he sought your bed then he must have forgiven you.”

             
“Forgiven me!  Of what should I have been forgiven?”

             
“I am sorry,” George said lowering his head. “I spoke thoughtlessly. I meant only that he has resigned himself to your loss and means to make an attempt at reconciliation.”

             
“Yes, we are reconciled. We are agreed that when I have been churched and the proper time has passed we will try again to give Elizabeth her brother.”

             
At the mention of the name Elizabeth, George flinched. It was now or never, he must broach the subject with Anne now while the King’s ardor was fresh. “Anne, I would speak with you of a matter of great importance.”

             
“Yes, dearest, what is it?”

             
“I want you to petition the King to have my marriage put aside. I want to marry Elisabeth.”

             
“But she is married!” Anne replied surprised at the audacity of her younger brother.

             
“I meant both our marriages, of course.  Mine is barren and Elisabeth’s rests on a lie.” George said breathlessly as he reached to embrace his sister, his only hope.

“No” Anne said pulling out of his reach. “How can you ask such a thing? I will not. I cannot be a party to this outrage. Now is not the time for such foolishness.”

              “Have you no heart? Have you never known love, Anne? Felt it burn your insides, destroy your sanity?  I have loved Elisabeth since the day she came into your household. Would you deny me my happiness, my one chance to live with the woman I love? Anne, will you deny me my children?” George asked helplessly.

             
Anne turned her back to him crossing to the inner door of her chambers. “I must,” she said quietly, and then she heard the door slam. He was gone.  She crossed back over to the hearth. She felt chilled to the bone. “My brother’s foolishness will be my undoing,” she said aloud as she stirred the fire. “If I do as George asks, I plant the very idea in my husband’s head that I seek to avoid.  If one wife can be put aside, why not another? No, dearest brother, I will not support your suit.  You must learn to accept your lot in life, there is naught else either of us can do.”

             
                                                        ***

             
Several weeks had gone by and Cromwell was running out of time. The sun lay hidden behind heavy clouds that dripped rain, as he rose unwillingly from his bed on this cold mid-March morning.

             
His fruitless search of the old Cardinal’s papers had nearly driven him mad. Daily the King sent messengers for news, but Cromwell had none to give.

             
‘Perhaps it is time to recall Cavendish to London,’ Thomas Cromwell thought as he hurried to put on his woolen doublet and fur cloak.  ‘Perhaps he can tell me where to find what I am looking for.’

             
“Samuel!” he shouted to the page who was stirring the coals to life in the hearth in Cromwell’s small office.

             
“Yes, sir,” the boy replied, bowing deeply from the waist.

             
“Where lives George Cavendish now?”

             
The boy thought a moment then shook his head. “Who is he, my lord?”

             
“Fool, do you not know him? Well, find someone who does and bring him to me,” Cromwell growled, crossing back into his bedchamber and slamming the door behind him.  “God’s Bones, can no one help me?” he swore as he huddled by the fire.

             
Whitehall Palace was still undergoing renovations and the chambers Cromwell inhabited were unfinished and drafty. Even on a bright summer day, the rooms held a 

chill and woolen clothes were needed. But today Cromwell shook with more than cold, he shook with fear. He could not afford to fail at the task set before him.

              Twenty minutes later the small boy returned.  “He lives not far away, sir,” he said, executing a deep bow and holding it. “A man has been sent for him. We expect him within the hour. Is there anything else, sir?”

             
“My breakfast, I have much work to do and I will need all my strength to get through this day. Then do not disturb me until Master Cavendish has come.”

             
“Yes, sir,” the boy responded as he backed his way out of the chamber. He stood a moment outside the door chafing his hands before running down to the kitchens.

                                                                                    ***

              George Cavendish arrived at Whitehall Palace shortly after ten in the morning. Stepping down from his horse he drew a deep breath as he took in all the changes to his beloved York Place.

             
“My, my, my,” he mouthed as he watched a young fair-haired boy dressed in the King’s livery of red and gold approach.

             
“Master Cavendish?” the boy asked shyly.

             
“Yes, I am George Cavendish.”

             
“If you will come with me, my master awaits in his chambers,” the boy said pointing the way to a small gate.

             
“This gate used to lead to the rose garden,” Cavendish said conversationally.

             
“The rose garden is over there.” The boy pointed to the riverside. “This way to Master Cromwell’s quarters, if you please. We must hurry. You were expected an hour ago.”

             
“Yes, yes,” George Cavendish soothed.  “He will be impatient for my arrival; he never was a patient man, our Master Cromwell.”

             
“Tis true. This way, if you please,” the boy continued as they entered the Palace by a side door.

             
All too soon Cavendish found himself standing before a closed door.

“If you will knock, sir,” the boy suggested as he stepped back into the shadowy corridor.

“Yes, yes, I must, mustn’t I?” Cavendish replied, raising his hand to knock on the heavy oak door.

“Enter,” called Cromwell still standing by the fireplace. “Ah, yes, Cavendish, how are you, man?” he asked, extending his hand in greeting. “Come, warm yourself by the fire. It has been a long time.” Cromwell was shocked by the change in his old friend. The years had not been kind to George Cavendish.

“Six years,” George replied as he rubbed his hands to restore circulation to his numb fingers. “It has been six years since we last met.”

“Six years, you say, ah, well, I suppose it has been. Will you have cup of warmed mead?”

“Yes, thank you. March can be the cruelest month,” Cavendish replied wondering why the great man was being so solicitous. “A warm drink would be good.”

After they had finished their drinks Cromwell got down to business.  “You are wondering, I am sure, why I have called you here.”

“Yes, Master Cromwell, I am.”