The Treacheries of Fortune, page 1
part #3 of The Lady Rochford Saga Series
THE LADY ROCHFORD SAGA
PART III: THE TREACHERIES OF FORTUNE
Danielle Marchant
First Published in Great Britain by Danielle Marchant, 2017.
Copyright © Danielle Marchant, 2017.
No reproduction without permission. All rights reserved.
The right of Danielle Marchant to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Front cover: “Arundel Castle” © Laurence Marchant
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Prologue
Lady Rochford
20th May 1536 – Blickling Hall, Norfolk.
The silence was deafening. I sat alone in the garden. The sun was shining, but all I could feel was a permanent coldness. I looked out onto the fields, empty and vast, spreading into the valleys, into the unknown. Was this like my life now? Empty, unable to see into the distance, the unknown. Part of me felt safer here though, however. The events of the past three weeks had moved the earth beneath my feet.
My family has been destroyed.
The King took everything. He didn’t stop at anything. Even the silver dishes, the candlesticks, the gilt trenchers and pots, embroidered furnishings, the small intricate details from the life I had shared with George, erased. Not even my own personal possessions were safe. My items that I had stored in a chest in the chamber above the kitchens of Beaulieu were also riffled through. My own prayer book edged with silver and gilt, my sleeves and gowns made of the finest materials, ranging from crimson velvet worked in gold, silver, white satin, white damask to black velvet, all noted by the King’s officers. Even the rosaries I had broken over the years, made of gold, white bone and pearl, were noted by the scavengers. No stone left unturned.
My family is gone. Mary is across the narrow sea in Calais.
She’ll never talk to me again for as long as I live, I am certain of that.
She doesn’t understand. If only she knew, just listened to me for five minutes and heard my side of the story, then she might understand. I know though that that is never going to happen. She is gone forever from me. Like my sister-in-law. Like my husband.
I, the widow of a convicted traitor, am left with nothing. No possessions, no husband and possibly, no future.
Jane Boleyn
July 1529, Shelton, Norfolk.
Now it was my younger sister’s turn to sample the life of a Tudor wife. Little Margaret was to be married to John Shelton. John was already related to us – his mother, Anne Shelton (née Boleyn), was my father-in-law’s sister. As they left the Church merry just as both I and George had once done, I couldn’t help feeling a bit of envy at my sister’s happiness. Despite still being together, I still had not given George a child and this still continued to cast a shadow over us.
As the Boleyns, Parkers and Sheltons celebrated at the wedding feast, Margaret at one point took me to one side. I gave her a hug as a proud, elder sister. “Congratulations, Lady Margaret Shelton!” I couldn’t believe how grown up she was now, this beautiful, fresh-faced, eighteen-year-old bride.
“Thank you, sister!” She replied, hugging me back. “And you, how are you? Are you feeling happy today?” I hated that question. I didn’t really know how to answer it. Inside, I wasn’t feeling great at all. I felt like a failed wife. I felt unwomanly because I couldn’t be with child. I felt like I was deserting the Queen that I had always been loyal to since Day One. Do I say all of this, or do I continue the façade of Team Boleyn, that we all stay together, no matter what happens?
“Couldn’t be better, Sister,” I replied, forcing a smile. Then, at the corner of my eye, I saw Anne move towards us. It was Margaret’s wedding, but standing next to Anne, you would be forgiven for believing Anne was the bride, dressed top to toe in silver damask with a neckline trimmed with pearls and wearing a beautiful, sparkling, diamond necklace, which I am certain must be new as I hadn’t seen her wear it before. Was it another gift from the King? “Oh Jane, please try and smile – it’s a wedding!” Anne said.
“I am smiling, Anne,” I replied. “It’s just hard to smile with your dazzling necklace blinding me.”
“Don’t be jealous, Jane,” Anne replied. “I am sure my brother would buy you more jewels too as a gift, especially when you give him a son.”
“A gift? Are you sure? Did His Majesty actually buy it, or did he steal from Catherine’s neck? Or even worse, Bessie’s?” I replied tartly.
“Ladies, hush!” Margaret interrupted. We both then stopped, realising the scene we were causing on what was supposed to be Margaret’s day.
“I’m sorry, Margaret!” Anne replied. “I think I have had too much Bridecup.” Margaret smiled, squeezed my arm and then left us. Anne turned to me and then, muttered under her breath “Have a son, like me. It will cheer you up!” She then walked away to the other side of the room. I took a deep breath and calmly stopped myself from retaliating. How dare she say that! After William Carey’s death, Anne had been granted Wardship of Mary’s son, Henry. It was just a Wardship! Anne, now engaged to the King, was in a good position to provide for Henry and ensure that he received a good education. Henry was not actually her son, but she seemed to behave as such! At that same moment as Anne walked away, I caught Mary’s eye. She was sitting on her own at the table and beckoned me over. “Don’t worry Jane,” She said. “If I can handle my Sister dominating my son, I’m sure you can too!” We both laughed and she poured out some more Hippocras for us both. “No, seriously. I am happy that my son will be well-provided for and I couldn’t wish for a better arrangement.”
“I am glad to hear that,” I replied.
“My sister is very complicated. The more the King loves her, the more untouchable she feels. I just hope one day that love doesn’t stop.” I agreed, but silently, part of me wasn’t convinced that Anne felt invincible. Sometimes, I would catch her eye and I would see a different emotion in them that not even the smile on her face could mask.
Sometimes, I could see fear.
Then, George appeared, looking very merry. To my surprise, he pulled me up from my chair, urging me to dance with him. I was slightly baffled and assumed that he had drunk too much, but happily complied. In the crowd of participants, it was a mixture of those attempting La Volta and those who were in a slightly drunken embrace with their partners, as was the case with George and I. Holding me close, he said “Jane, we have much to celebrate!”
“Do we?” I replied.
“Yes, I will be going to France in October. This will be my first French embassy!” Overwhelmed with happiness and pride for him, I kissed him. This was the best news I had heard for some time in terms of George’s career. Was this down to Anne’s rise in prominence? Maybe it was, but in that moment, I didn’t care, as he suddenly lifted me up in the air, in a La Volta move. I looked down and I just enjoyed this moment of triumph and happiness with George.
Even though it was Margaret’s wedding, that night was like our second Wedding Night. He had such a new lease of life and there was so much passion in our lovemaking, more than we had ever experienced before.
It was also on that night that I finally conceived.
August 1529, Palace of Beaulieu, Essex.
It was the early stages of the pregnancy and I was cautious in everything I did. We had been waiting for this baby for so long and I was so scared of losing it. George and I rode slowly towards the Palace of Beaulieu. George had been appointed its keeper in November last year and then, was made steward in February. It wasn’t our palace to live in though – well, at least not just yet. With everything turning more in favour of the Boleyns every day, who knows? We stopped our horses at the top of the hill overlooking the Palace, imagining what it would be like to live in there. Such a grand, lavish building. I put my hand on my belly and imagined bringing up the child there. It used to be called New Hall, but the King renamed it Beaulieu because of its beauty.
Being the keeper though, George was allowed to use the palace when the King was not there. When the King was there, George and I would live in a house in the grounds. The King was now planning to give the palace to the Princess Mary, who was to move in in a few months’ time. What a lucky Princess. She couldn’t have hoped for a better Palace to make her home. It has eight courtyards, a façade measuring five hundred feet at the entrance displaying the royal coat of arms, a great hall, the tennis court, that great kitchen and that gallery! The royal apartments occupied a wing three stories high, with service quarters at the bottom. The Queen’s lodgings occupied the first floor. The King’s lodgings could be found at the top, where the windows were much greater. I often marvelled at the sight of the royal apartments, where gold and silver decoration was everywhere to be seen, murals telling the great stories of triumph. The walls were covered in expensive tapestries from the Netherlands made of gold and silver thread.
Then, there was the richly gilded and lavishly decorated royal chapel. It had an amazing east window showing the Crucifixion. It also showed a commemoration of the King and Queen’s marriage in 1506, both of them kneeling on either side. “Well, this is unfortunate!” George remarked, the last time we visited the chapel. “It’s a shame that I can’t have this covered up! I don’t know what Anne would think of this!”
“Who cares what she thinks of this,” I replied. I co
“WE care what she thinks! Remember whose side you’re on!” He replied.
I calmed down and hugged him, trying to placate him. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just Anne just can’t change everything just like that! Catherine is an ordained Queen. Anne is aiming too high. Sometimes, I have these terrible dreams, which don’t make sense. I have a terrible feeling this campaign is going to end badly.” I recalled, shivering at the thought.
“Jane, the King is determined to make Anne his Queen – whatever it takes. Smashing through a window commemoration would be the very least damage he is prepared to wreck in order to get his own way!” He replied. This is what bothered me. What if he, like Anne, is also aiming too high? What if he moves heaven and earth for her and then ends up disappointed? And we have already seen what he can be like when he’s disappointed with someone. I shivered at the memory of the events surrounding the fate of the Duke of Buckingham.
Ironically, however, it was here at Beaulieu two years ago, that some of the plotting behind the King’s “Great Matter” took place. I then recalled how in July 1527, the court accompanied the King and Queen to Beaulieu from Hunsdon, staying here for a month while Henry plotted how he was going to marry Anne. Anne was with us too – and she did see that window in the chapel. It annoyed her at first, but she got used to it. Anne wouldn’t dream of destroying anything in a holy chapel – even if it was a picture of Henry with Catherine. I never told George this. I still don’t think I will tell him either.
In that fateful month, the King was joined by Uncle Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk, Henry Courtenay, 1st Marquis of Exeter and Thomas Boleyn. The plotting was broken up by periods of hunting at nearby Castle Hedingham. I remember George one night coming away from one of these summits, slightly drunk. “The King is going to by-pass Wolsey and will go straight to the Pope!” He declared.
“He can’t just by-pass Wolsey!” I told him. “Wolsey is across the channel now trying to resolve the King’s situation. Go to bed, you’re drunk!”
“Oh yes he can – and he just has!” Replied George, before falling asleep in a drunken stupor. I found out the next morning that George was right. “Henry has sent Secretary, William Knight, to Rome to gain access to the Pope!” Anne reported to me. “He has a document for the Pope to sign to agree to a dispensation, freeing him to marry again!”
“The King has also just written to Wolsey commending him for his meticulousness,” I reminded her. Anne furrowed her brows, but I ploughed on. ”I’m not particularly fond of Wolsey myself, but doesn’t this duplicitous behaviour of the King – you’re possible future husband – slightly unnerve you?”
“Have a care for what you say Jane!” Anne then warned me. “The King’s eyes and ears are everywhere!” There was a menacing silence and then, she smiled and continued “But, you are my sister-in-law and I will let this one go.”
“Yes, Anne. I am your sister-in-law and I only care for your well-being and safety.” I replied slowly.
“Well, don’t Jane, there’s no need,” Anne replied.
Back in the present, I put my hand on my stomach and was determined to not pick anymore quarrels with Anne for the sake of my unborn child.
Viscountess Rochford
October 1529, York Place
The Boleyns and Wolsey were at opposing sides on the wheel of fortune. As the Boleyns rose, Wolsey fell further and further. I reflected on how all our fortunes were changing as I stood with George at York Place. Today, George was to be knighted Viscount Rochford and I was to become Viscountess. With George just about to embark on his first embassy to France and a growing child in my belly, I couldn’t have been happier.
However, I still had this nagging sense of foreboding. After being publicly humiliated by the Queen back in June at Bridewell Palace, the foundations beneath Wolsey had increasingly weakened as he struggled to get a papal dispensation for the King’s marriage. He was seen as a failure and his enemies capitalised on this, circling him like crows, the Boleyns leading them, mounting more and more pressure on Wolsey. I had never liked Wolsey, but it never failed to unnerve me how quickly a favourite could fall out of favour and be left to the wolves.
This could easily happen to any of us.
George’s investiture was a lavish affair, witnessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Norfolk and Suffolk. It took place, in of all places, York Place, which now the King had taken from Wolsey. George stepped up to the King to be knighted, the sun glinting off the cold, metal of the double-edged sword. Today, he makes George a Viscount; tomorrow, will he take it away, along with the keys to Beaulieu, George’s appointment as governor of Bethlehem Hospital and keeper of the New Park? George and I had risen so high quickly, but what if George ever displeases him?
I felt uncomfortably too close to the throne. My sister, Margaret, had warned me that to surround the King is to surround the sun; you should not get too close to the sun, as Icarus once had done. He flew too near to the Sun with wings made of feather and wax. Then, his wings melted and he fell into the sea.
The once high-flying Wolsey was definitely falling and slowly drowning in the sea storm created by his enemies. The beginning of the end started in August when the French finally gave up on trying to have Charles V removed from Italy. This would have worked in Wolsey’s favour as this would have led to the Pope’s freedom from Spanish control. Wolsey, however, did persevere, but it was to no avail.
Not only did he lose in his campaign, but he also lost the King’s trust. From that point onwards, it was a dangerous, slippery slope.
The campaign of Wolsey’s enemies, led by my own father-in-law and Anne, intensified. Thomas today was now both the Earl of Wiltshire and at long last, the Earl of Ormond after Piers Butler agreed to the title of Earl of Ossary. My father-in-law was indeed reaping the rewards from using his expertise in the machinations of court to destroy Wolsey, while his daughter continued to manipulate Henry. The campaign was relentless; Wolsey’s enemies would continue to criticise him and find fault whenever given the chance.
After the ceremony, Elizabeth full of maternal pride could not resist hugging her son. I stepped back, suddenly feeling very unwell. “Jane, are you well?” Elizabeth asked concerned.
“I think I will step outside to get some air,” I replied and made my way out into the gardens. The autumnal breeze gave me a brief respite from my increasingly terrible headache and dizziness. As I walked on, I could hear some mumbling in a distance behind some rose bushes. I could not help, but go nearer and eavesdrop on the conversation. I quietly spied through the leaves and saw Thomas Boleyn and Norfolk talking. “So, the stage is set for the big ending to this story!” I heard Norfolk say, rubbing his hands together in glee.
“Yes, that’s right, no less than forty-four charges will be made against him!” Thomas replied.
“Is that all? Surely you could have found ten more to finish him off well and truly!” Norfolk replied with amusement.
“No need for ten, when one charge on its own stands in place of ten,” Replied Thomas, who first paused for dramatic effect before uttering the words “Praemunire; acting on the alien authority of the Pope.”
“Thomas, you are so wicked – and I like it!” Norfolk replied.
“He will have no choice, but to surrender the Privy Seal,” Thomas replied.
“Chancellor no more!” Norfolk added with relish. There was no prizes for guessing who this was about; the Cardinal. They were going to finish him off.
“Everyone has to sign the document showing the charges. I will get George on board too,” Said Thomas. Even George was going to be sealing the Cardinal’s fate. He may as well sign the Cardinal’s death warrant.
This was too much for me. I felt uneasy and then, felt a pain take hold of my lower abdomen. I started to panic and sat down against the wall, trying to calm down. Then, I looked down and saw the site I dreaded the most; my skirts covered in blood. Oh no, my baby! Beginning to feel tearful, I panicked even more and unwittingly caught the attention of the conspirators on the other side of the bush. “Jane, what on earth are you doing?” Norfolk said, unsympathetically. Did I just see him roll his eyes at me? Thomas, however, immediately knew what was going on. Concerned, he asked Norfolk to go and fetch a Doctor while he stayed with me. I took one look at the sadness in Thomas’ face. He knew what it was like to lose a child – he had lost two sons very young before George. “Will the baby live?” I asked him, the tears now coming down uncontrollably.
