The Queen's Rival (53 page)

“I only pray that I am, because I must do it. There is no other choice.”

The secret stairwell leading to the king’s bedchamber to which Cromwell showed her, then left her on her own, was narrower than her memories and the years made it. Each step felt steeper.
One . . . two. . . three. . . four. . . five. . . six. . .
Each footfall was full of such bittersweet memories, as if each contained a part of her life
.

Bess found him then, as she might have known she would, slouching low in a huge oak chair that was covered in blue velvet and studded with gilt nails. He was turned from her, facing the window, a man like any other man; a father full of grief, like any other who had lost a son. He did not move or acknowledge her presence even as the floorboards creaked beneath each gentle step that drew her near to him.

He was so different now than the young king with whom she had fallen so boundlessly in love; a king who now had sanctioned execution, murders, changed laws, and broken rules. As she came up beside him and placed her hand on his shoulder, Henry did not move, even as he realized it was Bess. The moment was a quiet eternity. And then silently, as he reached up to take her hand, the tears came. She wanted to shout out her fear that Harry had been poisoned. The court was full of such envy and malice. It came now from every direction for a boy who threatened the goals of so many. She wanted to accuse someone—anyone. There were several she suspected, but there was no proof.

“It should not have happened this way,” he murmured in a broken whisper full of anguish. He did not glance up, yet he knew now it was she. “He was meant to be king. I was going to see him made king.”

The grand declaration made it all real in a way that the gossip never could have, and Bess felt the bitter fall of her own tears. She knew Henry meant it. From the beginning, he had honored their child, and through that their love. She knew Henry well enough to know what he would say next.

“He must be well honored. It shall be a state funeral.” He sobbed out the words. “A funeral fit for the king Harry might well have been.”

“No.”

Bess stopped him then in a voice as gentle as it was firm.

“I have never asked you for anything, Hal. I have given and given . . . and given to you. My heart, my soul . . . and then my precious son. Harry was raised a Tudor. Let him rest in peace a Blount,” she asked quietly as he finally looked up at her brokenly, defeated, his face wet with tears.

It seemed an eternity that they gazed at each other, sharing the past, sharing this torturous moment of the present—all of it; everything that had led them here.

“His wife’s family has requested he be buried in Norfolk at the Thetford Priory there. But I knew that much must be up to you. I knew I had to see you. I simply did not know how to ask you for another single thing, even coming here.”

“In death, he is mine again, and I want no ceremony to mark his return to me. Take him on a cart in a plain coffin, and covered over with straw so no one knows. He will be better protected at the priory, so let him be taken there,” she replied in tearful agreement.

The decision, heartbreaking, final, had been made. He was not a king. He was not the heir.

He was Duke of Richmond, all he would ever be.

There was another long silence marking his agreement, before she knelt at his feet and Henry took her hands into his own. She searched his tear-moistened face, and he searched her glistening eyes. But there were no answers there for either of them. She hoped he had a son with Queen Jane—many sons. Henry had waited so long for that gift. And she hoped this marriage would endure. She hoped it all but could not bring herself to say any of it in this silent, shadow-filled moment, full as she was of too much grief and remembrance.

Finally, she stood and stepped back from his chair as Henry surrendered his face to his hands and wept anew by the light of a dozen flickering tapers that lit the drapery-darkened room. That so mighty and powerful a king could be reduced like this for love of a child gave Bess an odd peace as she lingered for another moment. The sound of footsteps and the creak of floorboards beneath the weighted steps beyond the closed door finally brought the encounter to a close. As she turned to go back behind the curtain and through the secret door, she heard him.

“No,” Henry commanded, yet with a voice that trembled in a way only she could hear. “Leave properly . . . through the gallery door this time.”

“But the queen—”

“You were the mother of the king’s son long before there was Jane,” Henry declared. “Leave by the proper door and be as proud as I am of what we once had, and the magnificent person we created together.”

When she hesitated, he nodded, urging her. She reached out one last time then to touch the top of his head amid the burning candle flames and the light that danced between them like a thousand little sparks of what might have been. She stroked him tenderly for a moment more, remembering everything, and wishing once again for all that might have been but could never be because they had reached the final step of their long journey together. She was so thankful even then for the life to which she would now return, a life that lay waiting just beyond the gallery door below . . . and she was so thankful for the happiness she had found after Henry. The journey had been a long one.

“Leave me now. But you shall never know how glad I am that, across this long road we have often together trod, you found your way back to me. For a little while, at least,” he said without meeting her gaze.

There was a small silence between them then, one full of things she thought to say, thought to do, but could not, before Bess finally and firmly turned away.

B
ess Blount died in 1540, at the approximate age of thirty-eight, of apparent consumption. It was likely the same ailment that took the life of the Duke of Richmond rather than something more nefarious—the subject of theory and conjecture for centuries. The truth is lost to time and no one can say for certain; however, the very real possibility of Fitzroy succeeding Henry VIII, after passage of the Act of Succession in 1536, created envy and concern enough in the various court factions to have made such speculation a viable scenario.

Bess did give birth to Lord Clinton’s three daughters, Bridget, Catherine, and Margaret, and she lived as his wife for four years more following her son’s death. As per her request, and in agreement with the king, the body of Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond, was transported in a plain cart with no ceremony to Thetford Priory. Bess was buried, as she had lived, away from her first child, at the Blount family estate at Kinlet.

While there is no direct proof that Thomas Wolsey fathered Gilbert Tailbois, the powerful cardinal was known to have maintained several mistresses and to have fathered several children throughout his life. In addition, young Tailbois was curiously close to the powerful prelate throughout his youth as well as his adolescence, and he did hold a prominent place at court as his ward, in spite of his having had his own father, who was well placed enough to make the sustained connection curious. In addition, the month of his death was here altered. Thomas Wolsey died in November of 1530.

After his wife’s death, Edward Fiennes, Lord Clinton, survived another forty-five years and went on to an illustrious career himself at court as Lord High Admiral of England.

Diane Haeger
is the author of several novels of historical and women’s fiction. She has a degree in English literature and an advanced degree in clinical psychology, which she credits with helping her bring to life complicated characters and their relationships. She lives in Newport Beach, California, with her husband and children.

READERS GUIDE

IN THE COURT OF HENRY VIII

 

 

DIANE HAEGER

1. Prior to reading
The Queen’s Rival
, what, if anything, did you know about Bess Blount or her son Henry Fitzroy? Many people know about Henry VIII’s legitimate children, Mary, Elizabeth, and Edward, but did it surprise you that a son shown such favor by so famous a king has been rendered so much more obscure throughout history?

 

2. Discuss how Bess’s relationship with Gilbert Tailbois evolved and was enriched throughout the novel. Why do you think Bess could not initially see Gil’s true feelings for her, or even earlier on, when others around them so easily did? Do you think her blindness to it was intentional?

 

3. When faced with a choice, Bess, knowing how illness frightened the king, chose to risk not only her life and her standing at court, but her place in Henry’s heart, in order to nurse Gil back to health. Why do you think Bess made that choice for one man when she believed herself in love with the other?

 

4. Bess allowed herself to believe that the king’s lovers were not mistresses, and therefore not serious rivals to her place in his heart. Why do you think she allowed this of herself, in spite of having been raised by seasoned courtiers? Does this seem characteristic of the Renaissance with a girl from the country? Or was there something more at play for Bess?

 

5. Bess felt great compassion very early on for Queen Katherine. How and why do you think Bess allowed herself to compromise her conscience to become the mistress of a married man who brought her hope of marriage only at the expense of the woman she admired?

 

6. Elizabeth Carew went to great lengths to keep her relationship with Henry VIII a secret from her best friend, Bess. What do you believe motivated Elizabeth? Do you believe she was naive in a different way than Bess was regarding the king?

 

7. How were Bess Blount and Elizabeth Carew different as two of Henry’s early mistresses? How were they similar?