about your previous betrothal you must tell them that it was annulled, and that you have seen the document,’ she says earnestly. ‘If they ask why your brother failed to send it, you can say that you don’t know, that it is not your responsibility to bring the papers – as indeed it was not.’
I am breathless; something about her intensity makes me feel fearful. I cannot think why my brother should be so careless of my marriage, then I remember his constant resentment of me. He has betrayed his own plan from malice; at the last moment he could not bear to let me go smoothly from him.
‘I see you are shocked,’ she says. ‘Dearest Lady Anne, be warned by me, and never let them think for a moment that there is no document, that you have a previous betrothal still in place. You must tell a powerful and convincing lie. You must tell them that you have seen the documents and that your previous betrothal was definitely annulled.’
‘But it was,’ I say slowly. I repeat in English so she cannot be mistaken. ‘I have seen the document. It is not a lie. I am free to marry.’
‘You are certain?’ she asks intently. ‘These things can be done without a girl knowing what plans are made. No-one would blame you if you were at all uncertain. You can tell me. Trust me. Tell me the truth.’
‘It was cancelled,’ I say again. ‘I know that it was cancelled. The betrothal was my father’s plan; but not my brother’s. When my father was ill and then died, then my brother ruled, and the betrothal was finished.’
‘Why do you not have the document, then?’
‘My brother,’ I start. ‘My foolish brother … My brother is careless of my well-being,’ Lotte rapidly translates. ‘And my father died so recently, and my mother is so distressed, there has been too much for him to do. My brother has the document in our records room, I myself have seen it; but he must have forgotten to send it. There was so much to arrange.’
‘If you are in any doubt at all you must tell me,’ she cautions me. ‘And I can advise you what best we should do. You see from my coming to you and advising you that I am utterly loyal to you. But if there is any chance that your brother does not have the document you must tell me, Lady Anne, tell me for your own safety, and I will plan with you what we can best do.’
I shake my head. ‘I thank you for your care of me but there is no need. I have seen the documents myself, and so have my ambassadors,’ I say. ‘There is no impediment, I know I am free to marry the king.’
She nods as if she is still waiting for something else. ‘I am so glad.’
‘And I want to marry the king.’
‘If you wished to avoid the marriage, now you have seen him, you could do so,’ she says very quietly. ‘This is your chance to escape. If you did not like him, you could get safely home, with no word against you. I could help you. I could tell them that you had told me that you are not certain, that you may be pre-contracted.’
I withdraw my hands from hers. ‘I do not want to escape,’ I say simply. ‘This is a great honour for me and my country, and a great joy for me.’
Jane Boleyn looks sceptical.
‘Truly,’ I say. ‘I long to be Queen of England, I am coming to love this country and I want to make my life here.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Yes, on my honour.’ I hesitate and then I tell her the greatest reason. ‘I was not very happy at my home,’ I admit. ‘I was not highly regarded or well treated. Here I can be somebody, I can do good. At home I will never be more than an unwanted sister.’
She nods. Many women know what it is to be in the way while the great affairs of men go on without them.
‘I want to have a chance,’ I say. ‘I want to have a chance to be the woman I can be. Not my brother’s creature, not my mother’s daughter. I want to stay here and grow into myself.’
She is silent for a moment, I am surprised at the depth of my own feeling. ‘I want to be a woman in my own right,’ I say.
‘A queen is not free,’ she points out.
‘She is better than a duke’s disliked sister.’
‘Very well,’ she says quietly.
‘I suppose the king must be angry with my ambassadors for forgetting the papers?’ I ask.
‘I am sure that he is,’ she says, her eyes slide sideways. ‘But they will give their word that you are free to marry and I am sure it will all go ahead.’
‘There is no possibility of the marriage being delayed?’ I am surprised at my own feeling. I have such a strong sense that I can do much for this country, that I can be a good queen here. I want to start at once.
‘No,’ she says. ‘The ambassadors and the king’s council will resolve it. I am sure.’
I pause. ‘He does want to marry me?’
She smiles at me and touches my hand. ‘Of course he does. This is just a small difficulty. The ambassadors will undertake to produce the document and the marriage will go ahead. Just as long as you are certain that the document is there?’
‘It is there,’ I say, and I am speaking nothing but the truth. ‘I can swear to it.’
Katherine, Greenwich Palace, 6 January 1540
I am to help the queen to dress for her wedding and I have to get up extremely early to get everything ready, I would rather not get up early, but it is nice to be singled out from the other girls who sleep so late and so lazy. Really it’s very bad of them to lie in bed so late when some of us are up and working for Lady Anne. Truly, everyone but me is completely idle.
I lay out her dress as she is washing in her closet. Catherine Carey helps me spread out the skirt and the underskirts on the closed chest as Mary Norris goes for her jewels. The skirt is enormous, like a great fat spinning top, I would rather die than marry in a dress like this; the greatest beauty in the world could not help but look like a pudding, waddling out to be eaten. It is hardly worth being queen if you have to go around like a tent, I think. The cloth is extremely fine – cloth of gold – and it is heavy with the most wonderful pearls, and she has a coronet to wear. Mary has put it out before the mirror and if no-one else was here I would try it on, but already, though it is so early, there are half a dozen of us, servants and maids and ladies in waiting, and so I have to give it a little polish and leave it alone. It is very finely wrought, she brought it from Cleves with her and she told me that the spiky bits are supposed to be rosemary, which her own sister wore as a fresh herb in her hair at her wedding. I say it looks like a crown of thorns and her lady secretary gives me a sharp look and doesn’t translate my remark. Just as well, really.
She will wear her hair loose and when she comes out of the bathroom she sits before her silver looking-glass, and Catherine brushes her hair with long, smooth strokes, like you would a horse’s tail. She is fair-haired, to be just to her she is quite golden-haired,
