Part 31 (1/2)

”What is it, George?” I asked.

He shook his head. ”Something and nothing. Something I cannot tell you and nothing I dare to do.”

”Someone at court?” Anne demanded, intrigued.

He pulled up a stool before the fire and looked deep into the embers. ”If I tell you, then you must swear to tell no one.”

We nodded, absolutely sisters in our determination to know everything.

”More than that, you won't even say anything to each other when I am gone. I don't want your comments behind my back.”

This time we hesitated. ”Swear to not even talk among ourselves?”

”Yes, or I say nothing.”

We hesitated, and then curiosity overcame us. ”All right,” said Anne, speaking for us both. ”We swear.”

His young handsome face crumpled and he buried his face into the rich sleeve of his jacket. ”I'm in love with a man,” he said simply.

”Francis Weston,” I said at once.

His silence told me that I had guessed right.

Anne's face was one of stunned horror. ”Does he know?”

He shook his head, still buried among the rich red velvet of his embroidered sleeve.

”Does anyone else know?”

Again his brown head shook.

”Then you must never give any hint of it, never tell anyone,” she ordered him. ”This must be the first and last time you speak of it to anyone, even to us. You must cut him out of your heart and mind and never even look at him again.”

He looked up at her. ”I know it's hopeless.”

But her advice was not for his benefit. ”You endanger me,” she said. ”The king'll never marry me if you bring shame to us.”

”Is that it?” he demanded, in sudden rage. ”Is that all that matters? Not that I am in love and tumbled like a fool into sin. Not that I can never be happy, married to a snake and in love with a heartbreaker, but only, only, only, that Mistress Anne Boleyn's reputation must be without blemish.” that Mistress Anne Boleyn's reputation must be without blemish.”

At once she flew at him, her hands spread like claws, and he caught her wrists before she could rake his face. ”Look at me!” she hissed. ”Didn't I give up my only love, didn't I break my heart? Didn't you tell me then that it was worth the price?”

He held her away but she was unstoppable. ”Look at Mary! Didn't we take her from her husband and me from mine? And now you have to give up someone too. You have to lose the great love of your life, as I have lost mine, as Mary lost hers. Don't whimper to me about heartbreak, you murdered my love and we buried it together and now it is gone.”

George was struggling with her and I gripped her from behind, pulling her off him. Suddenly, the fight went out of her and the three of us stood still, like masquers forming a tableau, me hugging her waist, him holding her wrists, her stretched hands still inches from his face.

”Good G.o.d, what a family we are,” he said wonderingly. ”Good G.o.d, what have we come to?”

”It's where we're going that matters,” she said harshly.

George met her gaze and nodded slowly, like a man taking an oath. ”Yes,” he sighed. ”I won't forget.”

”You'll give up your love,” she stipulated. ”And never mention his name again.”

Again the defeated nod.

”And you'll remember that nothing matters more than this, my road to the throne.”

”I'll remember.”

I felt myself shudder, and I let go her waist. There was something in that whispered pledge that felt not like a pact with Anne but like a promise to the devil.

”Don't say it like that.”

They both looked at me, the matching brown dark eyes of the Boleyns, the long straight noses, that impertinent quirky little mouth.

”It's not worth life itself,” I said, trying to make light of it.

Neither of them smiled.

”It is,” Anne said simply.

Summer 1528 ANNE DANCED, RODE, SANG, GAMBLED, SAILED ON THE RIVER, went picnicking, walked in the gardens and played in the tableau as if she had no care in the world. She grew whiter and whiter. The shadows under her eyes went darker and darker and she started to use powder to hide the hollows under her eyes. I laced her more and more loosely as she lost weight, and then we had to pad her gown to make her b.r.e.a.s.t.s show plump as they used to. went picnicking, walked in the gardens and played in the tableau as if she had no care in the world. She grew whiter and whiter. The shadows under her eyes went darker and darker and she started to use powder to hide the hollows under her eyes. I laced her more and more loosely as she lost weight, and then we had to pad her gown to make her b.r.e.a.s.t.s show plump as they used to.

She met my eyes in the mirror as I was lacing her and she looked every inch the older sister. She looked years older than me.

”I'm so tired,” she whispered. Even her lips were pale.

”I warned you,” I said without sympathy.

”You'd have done the same if you had the wit and the beauty to hold him.”

I leaned forward so that my face was close to hers and she could see the bloom on my cheeks and my eyes bright, and my color high beside her own drawn fatigue. ”I don't have wit or beauty?” I repeated.

She turned to the bed. ”I'm going to rest,” she said ungraciously. ”You can go.”

I saw her into bed, and then I went out, running down the stone stairs to the gardens outside. It was a wonderful day, the sun was bright and warm and the light was sparkling on the river. The little boats plying across the river wove in and out of the bigger s.h.i.+ps waiting for the tide to set sail for the sea. There was a light wind coming upriver and it brought the smell of salt and adventure into the well-kept garden. I saw my husband walking with a couple of men on the lower terrace and I waved at him.

At once, he excused himself and came toward me, resting one foot on the flight of steps and looking up at me.

”How now, Lady Carey? I see you are as beautiful as ever this day.”

”How are you, Sir William?”

”I am well. Where is Anne, and the king?”

”She's in her room. And the king is going out to ride.”