Secrets of the Tudor Court by D. L. Bogdan Page B

doing the same whenever Norfolk spoke to her. Yes, there is a great deal of Howard in Anne.
    For a moment the ladies are silent, until Anne adopts her lovely courtier’s smile. “I’m certain that is an area my”—she cocks a sweeping black brow in mischief—“virile king and I will have very little trouble in,” she says, causing many a speculative glance to be exchanged.
    She has succeeded in lightening the mood, and soon everyone is back to discussing the voyage.
    But Mary Carey stands in a corner, head bowed, staring at Catherine’s jewels—more things that Anne has stolen.
     
     
    After we ogle the jewels some more, Madge Shelton and I extricate ourselves from Anne’s apartments and return to the maidens’ chamber to pick out our favorite gowns for the trip.
    “She’s a wench, isn’t she?” Madge asks as she helps me unlace my sleeves to get ready for supper.
    I am surprised she offers such open criticism of our mutual relation and want to agree, but guard my tongue. One never knows from one moment to the next when another’s loyalties will shift.
    “I know I wouldn’t have wanted Princess Catherine’s jewels if I were her,” Madge goes on. “I’d want my own. Really, Mary, it’d be like wanting the wedding ring of your husband’s dead wife. It’s sort of…well, rather like a circling vulture, don’t you think?”
    I can’t help but nod at that.
    As she helps ease my sleeve off she brushes against the shoulder my father had squeezed with such enthusiasm some time ago. I try to stifle a groan, but it has escaped and Madge grabs my arm, examining the bruise that has faded from onyx black to a deep purple.
    “God’s blood, Mary, who did this to you?” she asks, raising concerned blue eyes to me.
    I withdraw my arm, smiling. “It was so silly,” I tell her. “I ran into a doorway. I’m so clumsy sometimes.”
    Her lips twist. “Did the doorway resemble a man’s hand?”
    I cover my shoulder with my sleeve. I have no words. I want to defend myself, to contradict her implications, but cannot. I bow my head, blinking back tears.
    “It’s him, isn’t it? The duke?” she wants to know. Her voice is gentle but bears an edge, the same edge Anne adopts when angry. When I say nothing she continues. “Everyone knows about him, Mary. How he treats your mother. Tales have circulated…”
    “It isn’t true,” I say, knowing I must stop her. “Whatever you’ve heard, put it out of your head. Please, if you have any love for me, stop this and do not take part in spreading any false rumors about my honored father.”
    Madge’s eyes fill with tears as she finishes helping me dress. “You are very loyal, Mary. May it serve you well.”
    I say nothing in my panic, wondering what the court whispers about my father, about my mother, about dark secrets that should never be aired.
     
     
    That night I cannot contain my misery as I report to Norfolk. I tell him of Anne’s triumphant exclamations when her jewels were delivered, of her slapping her sister, of her provocative comment, which he makes me recite over and over. He tilts his head this way and that as he analyzes the statement.
    “She’s far too confident in her own abilities,” he says after a while. “Her arrogance will destroy her if she isn’t careful. Damn!” He slams his fist on the desk. “If she’d heed my advice—what’s the matter with you?”
    He has noted my tears, which I do not keep hidden as I stand before him.
    “People are talking about you,” I tell him.
    He offers what I describe as his almost laugh. A sound lacking in sincerity and warmth. “That’s nothing new. People talk about everyone; I daresay gossip could sustain the court should our foodstuffs run out.”
    “They say you are cruel,” I go on.
    “Not the worst reputation a man can have,” he says. “Better to be cruel than soft. Soft people don’t get ahead in life, do they?”
    He then continues about Anne, airing his complaints as though my