The Only Boleyn

Spring 1522 - A Rude Awakening

The usual muffled confusion one experiences when waking from a heavy slumber, was, that morning, surprisingly absent. Perhaps my blanketed bliss was swept away so brutally with the assistance of my primal reaction to shock - if so, that would certainly explain the rush of adrenalin I experienced coursing through my alert body as I violently shook Mary.
"Mary?" I whispered, struggling to keep my voice hushed whilst fighting my rising panic. "Mary!"
My efforts were in vain. I was rewarded with a small, uncooperative groan from my sister, before she lazily turned over in our bed, to face away from me.
"Mary, wake up!" I insisted, continuing to shake her shoulders.
"Eurgh..."
The quiet sound she made was more than enough encouragement for me to continue my attempts to wake her.
Still protesting, a half-asleep Mary batted her hands at me in an effort to push me off her.
I froze.
There; it was there. Sure enough, the persistent scratching noise coming from the corridor upon which our chamber was situated had returned, yet now, sounding closer than it had before.
My vivid imagination immediately set to work, and I blame my love of literature for the cold sweat I found myself in. Seemingly paralysed by the insistent sound, my heart beat so rapidly and so loudly I could truly believe that the maids in the chamber next door could hear it.
"What, Anne?" Mary grumbled loudly, too loudly, finally sitting up in the bed. "It's so early. What on earth do you mean by -"
Pressing a hurried hand over her mouth and desperately signalling to her to be quiet when she started to struggle against me, I gestured towards the door and I watched Mary's eyes widen as the realisation of why I woke her up at this ungodly hour dawned on her.
She spoke the truth, of course. Mary never was capable of telling a falsehood. The two slits of moonlight that fell on the wooden floor, one just brushing the end of the bed, cast a particularly eerie glow on the room. They served a much more practical purpose, of course - they indicated to we mere humans that it was far past the daylight hours, and deep into the time when all creatures should be fast asleep.
A worthy distraction from my romantic thoughts of the moonlight was the sudden knock that came banging against our fragile wooden door, and I could quite imagine the whole room reverberating around us.
Releasing my hand from Mary's mouth, I clutched at her arm so tightly I felt sure I must be hurting her. She, equally as petrified as I, barely seemed to notice me, her eyes were so steadfastly fixed on the door.
Several knocks in succession so much frightened me that I edged closer to Mary and pulled a pillow in front of us, as if I could hide from my fear behind my useless sister and a fluffy object of comfort.
These things were indeed as hopeless as I'd feared. They offered me no protection whatsoever - and I felt myself turn stone cold from the tips of my toes to my frozen heart, which hardly dared to beat for fear of being overheard - as I heard the telling creak of the door as it opened. I turned my head away and buried it in the cushion, hardly daring to -
"Mind if I join you?" The mournful tone of a voice I had grown up with filled the tiny room. It surprised me so that I was rendered speechless and resigned myself to staring in amazement at the tall figure now framed by the doorway.
Shutting the door behind him, the figure in our bedchamber simply appeared bewildered by our stunned silence.
"What?" He asked, perfectly sincerely. When he received no more than gaping mouths and astonished expressions for a reply, he shrugged, before launching himself onto the bed beside us, and lying out flat as if he were asleep.
After a moment of silence, I regained my speech - and my anger at having been frightened so.
"Lord, George," I said, royally miffed, "What on earth do you mean, coming here at this hour and terrifying us half to death? Was it your intention to open that door and find us both dead of shock?"
My unsympathetic brother simply turned his head towards me with a pained expression in his dark eyes.
"Oh, pity me, why don't you?" I felt Mary slide off the bed beside me and head to the maids' room to find a brazier to light our candles from, so we could both feel more at ease after our dreadful shock.
"I'm to be married to Jane Parker." His voice was not far off a whimper, and I made a little attempt to suppress my urge to laugh - but I believe a small smile of amusement must have showed on my face.
George rolled over and hugged the pillow I had just abandoned.
"Oh, is she really that awful, Anne?"
"Aye," Mary returned with two lit candles, and placed them on the side tables. "She's the worst sort. Gossiping and slandering to whoever will listen to her."
George groaned in protest.
"I suppose I'll have to share a bedchamber with her. Think of that!" As he said the words, I detected a small slur in George's voice and was instantly scolding him.
"You've been drinking." I said haughtily, hardening my gaze.
George turned his pleading, puppy-dog eyes on me. "Yes, with father. That's how I found out."
After a few moments of my frank stare, George's soft eyes narrowed at me.
"You knew." He accused, not unjustly.
I inclined my head slightly, to show my agreement.
"Why ever did you not tell me?" George rubbed his tired eyes with his hands before returning his accusatory gaze to me.
"Would you have wanted to know?" I fired back at him.
He laughed hollowly and shook his head vehemently.
Considering the conversation concluded, I climbed under the covers and removed my pillow from George's desperate embrace.
"Well, it seems that everyone's getting married but me," I grumbled, "The Ormondes have fallen through, and I'm beginning to think I have a pretty good shot at ending up a spinster, if I'm not too careful."
"Ooh," Mary said teasingly, "Anne, a spinster!"
"A French spinster," George replied.
"Oh, Spanish, I should think."
"She'll be one of Katherine's ladies - a substitute duenna." I could hear my brother's grin through his voice.
"I'm not listening to either of you," I said grouchily, "So you may as well save your breath."
    "Ach, they'll find you a squire or something - someone down on his luck." George refused to let it go.
    "You'll see. I'm going to do better than both of you. And if my family can't arrange it, I'll do it myself."