Le Temps Viendra: A Novel of Anne Boleyn by Sarah A. Morris Page B

be at the end of our journey, I leaned forward, my hands grasping the edge of the litter. The imposing grandeur of the Wyatt’s fortified family seat was magnificent indeed. I reckoned that Allington Castle was at least three to four times the size of our little home at Hever. Made of grey stone, the medieval building was rectangular in shape. It comprised of a defensive curtain wall connected at each corner by a series of semicircular towers, each facing outwards onto the moat.
    We crossed over the ancient drawbridge and passed under the castle’s imposing barbican. Glancing upwards, I saw the portcullis tucked away above me and wondered if it had ever been used in defence. Perhaps it had, but on that pleasant summer’s day, all was well. The clattering of hooves on the cobblestones briefly reverberated around the enclosed space beneath the arch of the Gatehouse, before our litter emerged into the bright sunlight of the large, inner courtyard.
    In short order, we drew up opposite the main entrance. A servant dressed in blue and red livery immediately stepped forward and opened the door, offering his hand to my mother, sister and me. Once within the cool shadows of the grand Entrance Hall, we were met by a portly-looking, elderly gentleman who, I assumed by his rich attire and assertive manner, was the master of the house. He wore a long, black overcoat trimmed with a brown, fur mantle; the sleeves of the garment were edged with black damask and the cuffs lined with gold thread work. Draped about his shoulders was a thick and heavy gold collar, and upon his head, he sported a black velvet cap, or coif, as I would come to know it. This cap had been designed to fit closely to the shape of his skull, coming down about his ears. Poking out from beneath that coif, I could just see the odd strand of grey hair that betrayed his advancing years. I found the man’s face beguiling. It was deeply etched with the years of his experience, and although I imagined that his countenance could well be stern should the need arise, on this occasion, his face was set alight in a warm and generous smile.
    As he moved towards us, his girth and the bulk of his clothes gave the impression that he was waddling rather than walking; his outstretched arms welcomed us, as his large, bear-like hands scooped us up into his abode. I surmised that this must be Sir Henry Wyatt; unfortunately, I knew little about him. I assumed that the display of wealth all around indicated that this man had led a successful life at court and was probably held in high esteem by the King. I immediately took a liking to him.
    ‘My Lady Elizabeth!’ The man’s voice was deep and resonant. ‘It is marvellous to see you and your beautiful daughters yet again.’ With that, he looked first towards Mary and then at me, nodding an appreciative bow in our direction. If he knew of Mary’s reputation, he was discreet enough not to show it. However, I noticed that he lingered perhaps a little longer than he ought when he looked upon my face. I wondered if he knew of what had passed between Anne and his son, or perhaps he was already aware of the King’s intentions and was trying to fathom how a simple country girl like Anne could have captivated a Prince as magnificent as Henry. After the slightest hesitation, he added, ‘We have much to speak about.’
    With that, he stepped aside, opening out his arm and indicating that we should follow him into the castle. As we walked together he continued, ‘my wife is just concluding some household business and will join us presently.’ Then, he looked at Mary and me, and added, ‘and my son Thomas and some of his friends are already out in the garden enjoying this beautiful day. Perhaps you should like to join them?’
    Before we could answer, my mother replied,
    ‘Of course, that is exactly what the two of you should do. There is no point in you being bored by the ramblings of old people reminiscing about the past. Go and enjoy