The Only Boleyn

Spring 1522 - Singing

    When the gentlemen of the court came to the Queen's rooms after dinner, the King singled Mary out straight away. We ladies were sewing shirts for the local church, at the direction of the Queen. It was terribly tedious work - I must say I can't see how there are so many poor peasants who need quite so many shirts. The order was for four-and-twenty a day, and even with 12 senior ladies and 16 junior, it was hard graft - and even more difficult to persuade the junior ladies in our company to cease their endless giggling and gossiping. I, myself, still at 14 years, was younger than many of them, yet I prided myself on condemning their irritating behaviour as juvenile.
    The King joined Mary at the window alcove where she was sewing, and after a quick glance at her husband, Katherine looked cheerfully up from her work and clapped her hands, distracting the court from the King's blatant attention to my sister.
    "Shall we have music?" The Queen's eyes scanned the room for the musicians, who were standing in the shadows at the back of the hall. She beckoned to them, graciously waiting for a lady to step forward to sing for her.
    To my horror, I, along with the rest of the court, watched Jane Parker rise from her seat and smile triumphantly at the lady she had been sitting with. I caught George's eye, and his sour face almost made me giggle.
    "Mistress Anne Boleyn, would you mind?" The Queen quickly requested my singing, in one smooth movement illustrating her disdain for Jane's talent. Perhaps not a gracious move, but certainly one that would save us from much embarrassment. I bobbed a curtesy and smiled cheerfully at the musicians, who bowed in return.
    Taking my place beside the consort, I began with a lyrical Scottish air, imagining myself soaring through the notes like the sparrow the song describes. I enjoyed the music so much that only upon reaching the end did I remember myself and my purpose for the time being. I shot a slightly alarmed glance at the alcove, where, to my relief, Henry and Mary remained whispering conspiratorially.
    The slight pause for applause after the closing phrase of the air left me subject to a silent reprobation from my fearsome uncle - smiling apologetically at him, I began another English folk song.
This time, I was utterly focused on the scene in front of me. My curious gaze travelled from my Uncle, Father, and the other elder Lords of the court in rapid discussion by the great fireplace of the Queen's presence chamber, to the young men of the court, boisterous, handsome men. The King's closest companions, a group of 6 men who are wealthy, influential and skilled enough to secure a place at court high in the favour of the King, were perhaps the loudest and most energetic of them all, believing themselves to be somewhat more free of the risk of Henry's disapproval.
The King, himself, remained engrossed in conversation with my sister, and, as I watched them, he laughed and slowly reached up his hand, palm up facing the ceiling. After a moment, Mary hesitantly reached her smaller hand up to lie on his, and he immediately clasped his large hand around her small one. A furious blush creeped up her fair neck as their eyes remained locked in an intense gaze.
Realising my song was coming to an end, and fearful of disrupting the special moment, I made a quick gesture to the musicians and launched into a haunting Irish tune seamlessly, without a change of key; holding the moment for the two of them.
    Only when another of the Queen's ladies offered to sing was I able to leave my post and perform those meaningless niceties that the court revolves around - I had only just taken up my sewing again, when my brother and his close friends finally deigned to seat themselves amongst we ladies.
"Why, George, your modest description of your sister failed to do justice to her angelic singing!" A handsome, boyish man that I hadn't seen before grinned at me and I smiled demurely in response to his comment.
"Weston, you surely cannot expect me to describe all my sister's fine talents to you? I should be here until the court moves for summer, at least." George proclaimed proudly, nudging me affectionately.
"You speak too swiftly, brother. I am neither especially gifted nor exceptionally talented."
Modesty is one of the virtues I hope will persuade my condescending Uncle that I am not some sort of scandalous whore.
"Oh, hush, Anne." Brereton beamed at me, "Although modesty becomes you, I shall hear no quarrel with George's statement. You are certainly a most talented young woman."
"I thank you kindly, sir. But I am sure you are not without talent, yourself." I slid a teasing smile at Brereton, but just as he opened his mouth to reply, the man called Weston cut across him.
"Have you not heard Brereton's poetry, Mistress Anne? Were I more poetic, myself, I should liken it to the squealing of pigs, or perchance more appropriately, Jane Parker's singing." This prompted a snigger from the men listening, and Jane Parker, herself, didn't even have the grace to blush. She simply gave me a scorching glare, as if the comment was in any way my fault.
"Perhaps she will now learn to refrain from her eavesdropping?" I suggested optimistically, in a lower voice.
"That," I turned to see Mary Tudor with a playful smile fixed on her face, "would certainly be a day to mark."
I shrugged my shoulders as elegantly as one can when shrugging shoulders, reiterating my French habits and style to the watching men.
"I should expect you are a fine poet, too, are you not, Anne?" Henry Norris returned the conversation to its previous topic.
"I must concede that my time in France has allowed me to hone my writing skills," I said carefully, painfully aware of Howard standing nearby so as to eavesdrop, no doubt.
Norris laughed, and continued, "Perhaps you would deign to show our Henry how to weave words? He is, I fear, a lost cause." Henry Percy turned as red as anything, which prompted another laugh from the gentleman.
    "I should be delighted to be of any assistance." I smiled shyly at Percy, this time not acting.
"If it were not an inconvenience, I assure you, it would be greatly appreciated." Percy's reply had a hesitant tone to it, and I assured him it was no inconvenience at all, and offered to meet him tomorrow in the gardens, whilst the hunt was out.
"It's settled, then!" Weston was unnecessarily cheerful, as was characteristic of the court. "Percy might finally learn a thing or two - but I don't suppose you could teach him a little of the subtle art of flirtation? The only woman I've ever heard him compliment is his Lady Mother."
The others grinned and caught on.
"I'm sure I once overheard him compliment his sister on her fine sewing-"
"Sewing? Well, there's a thing Anne could teach our Percy, eh George?"
"And a very fine sewer she is, Norris. But Percy's hands are so small, so dainty! He would surely overshadow even our wonderfully skilled Queen, soon enough."
"Come to think of it, has he ever exchanged more than two words with the lady, herself?"
"I distinctly remember he engaged in conversation with her at Christmastime. He rather dubiously likened her to a Yuletide log. Well intentioned, I'm sure, but -"
At this, Percy growled and swatted Norris playfully on the head.
"You see, Anne?" George beamed at me, "I'm quite sure Percy could use your help with a great many things that we men are less knowledgeable about than yourself. You may find yourself in the garden for sometime tomorrow."
"However, Anne, if he does attempt to liken you to a log - Yuletide or no," Weston declared, "come and find me when the hunt returns, and I shall teach him how to treat a lady. I could not bear to think anyone could ever compare you to a piece of shrubbery."
I laughed, and as the chatter continued, I scanned the room again. The Queen was diligently continuing her sewing; my Uncle appeared satisfied with my conduct for the time being, and had drifted away to speak to my Mother; the King and Mary were laughing like children -
And I made the mistake of catching Carey's eye.
He gazed at me with such a fierce intensity that I was almost frightened for a moment. I was so taken aback that I fear I displayed my vulnerability in my face, for anyone to read. If this was, indeed, the case, Carey appeared to react to my emotion - his eyes gained a hard look, and he bowed slightly, stiffly, before leaving the room swiftly by the door he had been standing before.
Determined not to let what had just passed alarm me, I resumed my conversation with the Duchess of Devon with even more zeal than before - but try as I might, my mind could not leave the disconcerting gaze Carey had given me. I knew not what to make of it.