Le Temps Viendra: A novel of Anne Boleyn by Sarah A. Morris

Author:Sarah A. Morris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Spartan Publishing
Published: 2012-03-25T16:00:00+00:00

Almost two weeks later, my mother and I arrived back at Hever, having spent Twelfth Night celebrations as guests of honour of Sir Henry Wyatt and his wife, Elizabeth at Allington Castle. It was a glorious affair, their family home buzzing with the activity of their large, extended family, several close friends and neighbouring families of gentle birth. Only Thomas, in active service at court, was missing, although I was somewhat relieved. As much as I enjoyed Thomas’s easy manner and entertaining banter, when our paths crossed at court, I would often find him gazing at me with eyes that conveyed beleaguered hope and emptiness.

I was also extremely wary of endangering Thomas. I recalled earlier that summer, during a game of bowls with the King, Thomas had foolishly pulled out the locket which he had stolen from me during our game of blind man’s bluff at Allington. A dispute had broken out between the two men over whose bowl had won the day, and I later understood from Mary Norris, whose husband Sir Henry had witnessed the game, that the debate had become quite heated.

It seems the King had pointed towards his bowl declaring victory, at the same time, pointedly extending his little finger, which was adorned by a ring that clearly belonged to Mistress Anne, the King’s beloved. Sir Thomas must have recognised this as such, and drew my locket from his doublet, using the ribbon to measure the distance between the bowl and the jack. As Sir Henry had explained to my friend Mary over dinner that evening, it was clear that the argument was less about who would be the victor of the game and more about who had won Mistress Boleyn’s heart!

When Henry recognised my locket, he declared loudly, ‘Then I must be deceived!’ and he had stormed off to find me. I knew that much, for the next thing that happened was that Henry burst into our apartments, demanding to speak with me. I was playing my harpsichord, singing a sweet ballad for my mother, as she embroidered by the fire side. Upon Henry’s fiery entrance, we were both startled, arising quickly and sinking into a deep curtsey. Henry had dismissed my mother brusquely, without even taking his gaze from me. Neither my mother, nor I, had seen the King so irate and could not begin to guess what could cause this choleric rage. Elizabeth Boleyn, who was intimidated by the King’s presence at the best of times, was terrified, scuttling from the room with our two maids, only pausing briefly at the door to cast a concerned and anxious glance in my direction.

When we were alone, the King had exploded into a fit of jealous ranting. He had paced the room, demanding to know of my relationship with Thomas Wyatt and whether he, the King, had been deceived in my love and loyalty towards him. For a moment, I was unsure how to react, until Anne calmly and boldly spoke through me. With great temerity and courage, I strode over to the King and faced him square on, stopping him in his tracks.

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