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

will speak to Thomas and tell him his daughter is missed. He will have you back in no time. I can’t think how you amuse yourself all day, buried here in the country.”
    I wonder if he has such concerns for Mary who is likewise rusticated but, of course, I would never dare ask it. I pluck a leaf from the honeysuckle and begin to shred it. “Oh, I like to walk when the weather is fine and when it is not, I read. My father has a fine collection of books.”
    “Books? A little thing like you enjoys reading books? That is a thing I would not credit.”
    “Yes, Your Majesty, my brother George brings me things to read too, mostly so that he has someone with whom to share his wisdom of theology. I take great delight if I can best him at an argument.”
    King Henry bellows with laughter, his entire frame shaking with mirth. Then, when he has sobered a little, he wipes a tear from his eye and pats my hand.
    “Oh , Mistress Anne, I had not expected that. I can well imagine your brother’s discomfort at being beaten by a girl.” Laughter is still rumbling around his frame, a dimple winking in his cheek. “I imagined your chatter would be of sleeves and buckles, and here we are on the brink of intellect.” He turns and looks down at me, keeping hold of my hand. “I like you, Mistress Anne, and I believe you will amuse the queen too. I will instruct your father to bring you back to court just as soon as he can.”
    I bob a curtsey . He tucks my hand once more into his elbow and proceeds to conduct me around my own garden, pointing out primroses and a clump of Lent lilies beneath the hedge. As we turn a corner and duck beneath an arbour that will soon be smothered with roses, a movement from above draws my eye. I see my sister reaching out to slam her casement, and hear the tinkle of shattered glass fall to the gravel below.
Autumn 1524
    I am glad to be back at court, and after my long, lonely time at Hever the queen’s household seems less dull now. I welcome the other women’s chatter as we wile away our days, sewing quietly or strolling in the gardens. The summer is just a memory now, although a few late flowers still struggle bravely against the encroaching season.
    The gardeners are kept busy gathering up the leaves, the smoke from the bonfires drifting on the chilly breeze. Mary, after leaving her daughter in Hertfordshire, is back at court and in the king’s favour once again. I find myself curious about them. I know that Mary is besotted with the king, but I am unsure if the feeling is reciprocated.
    I watch from beneath my lashes and note how Mary seems to come alive when the king comes into the queen’s apartments. She straightens her spine, her cheeks redden and her eyes brighten , but he gives no sign that he so much as knows my sister’s name. But after dark, when she is summoned to his privy chamber, she gladly follows his messenger along the dim corridors to be with him. I am aghast that after the neglect he has so recently shown her, she can find it in herself to be so forgiving.
    “What has changed?” I whisper to George when we are alone. “He would barely look at her a few months ago.”
    George thrusts a hot poker into a jug, making the ale hiss and bubble. He pours it out and hands me a cup. “The king is not alone. Some men are squeamish, prudish even, when it comes to sleeping with mothers, and although he craves a son, I think he draws the line at co-habiting with a woman who still bears the marks of maternity.”
    I am puzzled. “What marks, George? Does a woman who has borne a child wear some hidden badge denoting her condition? I don’t understand.”
    He laughs and flushes a little at my directness. “There are minor signs on her body and, well, … other small things. But what I really meant was that Henry would not find any allure in a woman who smells of wet linen and is still leeching milk. He is delicate – fastidious even. Now that Mary has left baby Catherine at home, the king is