The Kiss of the Concubine: A story of Anne Boleyn by Judith Arnopp Read Free Book Online

is blue-faced and bawling in her crib, while her mother sorts through a heap of gowns and sleeves on the bed. “Where is the wet nurse?” I yell above the child’s screams. Mary shrugs.
    “Helping Mother … she is sparing none of us the rod. Which sleeves go best with this bodice, Anne, the red or the gold?”
    She turns to me, holding a garment beneath her chin, her face pale and anxious. Unable to bear the child’s protests any longer, I lean over the cradle and, for the first time, gingerly lift her into my arms. Her head nods against my shoulder, her cries lessening a little.
    Hesitantly, I jog her up and down and pat her back, turn my head toward her as I do so, inhaling the scent of her hair. The sweetness of her fragrance is new to me ; she is replete with promise, as soft and fragile as a duckling. Something lurches in my breast and I close my eyes and inhale again, holding her a little tighter.
    ***
    The king seems bigger now he is here at Hever, his frame fills the doorways and his laughter echoes to the vaulted ceiling. In bluff good humour that shows us his visit is to be informal, he lays an arm across my father’s shoulder and congratulates Will on the birth of his child. He must realise we all know the truth, but if the king demands a game is to be played, who are we to gainsay him? Will is forced to conceal his scowls, and Mary flushes beneath his chilly greeting. The kiss he leaves on the back of her hand is not that of a lover, and when she summons a maid to bring her child, the eye he casts over her is disinterested. He gives a non-committal grunt before turning the subject back to hunting.
    Mary cannot hide her stricken face. She shrinks into her chair , and as the conversation moves on to other things, she takes no part in it. She sits silently, her hands clasped in her lap as if all her grief and outrage are contained within them.
    Father is boasting of the wild game that runs free across his lands , and King Henry declares that he must revisit very soon to sample it. Although royal visits have been the financial ruin of lesser men than Father, Mother tries not to look dismayed. She nods her head at the steward in a silent summons for refreshment to be brought in from the kitchens.
    The cooks serve up fare far superior to what we are usually accustomed and King Henry smacks his lips and compliments Mother on her housewifery, making her blush with pleasure. Afterwards, he pushes his platter away and lays back in Father’s favourite chair, his hands on his belly while Mother makes her excuses and disappears into the kitchens to organise supper.
    “A turn about the gardens, Your Majesty?” Father asks, and Henry rises to his feet and looks about the chamber. When his eyes settle on Mary, they hesitate for a heartbeat before moving on to me.
    “Since Madam Carey is indisposed, perhaps your other daughter will accompany me. Anne, isn’t it?”
    I leap to my feet, the blood rushing from my head as I open and close my mouth in confusion. I manage to mumble something, aware of the silent stab of Mary’s outrage as the king holds out his arm. I smile, slide my fingers into the bend of his elbow, rest my palm on his fine slashed sleeves and allow him to escort me into the garden.
    He is so tall that I feel like a child again, my head bobbing below his shoulder as we pass into the pleasance. The sun has blessed us today and still shines high in the sky, the clouds staying away as if unwilling to mar the monarch’s pleasures. 
    “So, Mistress, when are you returning to court?”
    I don’t know how to reply. I was dragged from Greenwich at the behest of Cardinal Wolsey , and I have no doubt he will not be sorry should I never return.
    “That is in my father’s hands, Your Majesty. I await his pleasure.”
    Henry bends over and exclaims at an early rose bud, drawing my attention to the deep pink hue just peeking from its wrapping of green. “Summer is not long away, Mistress. That is good to see. I