Brief Gaudy Hour: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Read Online Free

death’s-head like that!”
    “I think it is cruel!” broke out Anne.
    But even in this off duty hour it was dangerous to talk so freely.
    “Our cousin was obliged to arrange the marriage for diplomatic reasons,” observed the elder Grey sister, adopting the proprietory tone with which she was wont to put the flighty Boleyn girl in her place. “And at least the weather has been kind and given her a month’s reprieve,” she added, beckoning the handsome Wyatt to pick up some dropped silks.
    “Perhaps it has been a reprieve for the King, too,” giggled her younger sister.
    The two Boleyns looked up sharply. With the spiteful little jabs of Elizabeth Grey’s tongue one could never be sure. She might have meant only that it was dull these days at Westminster, with a sick Queen surrounded by priests and doctors. But no one could help noticing that Henry had twice gone out hawking here with their sister. They were young, touchy, half-shamed and proud.
    “Is it true that Mary is the King’s mistress?” Anne whispered to George, while the servants were lighting the candles against the growing dusk.
    Young Boleyn shrugged uncomfortably. “You should know best. She shares your room.”
    “She is always singing to herself.”
    “It would be for William Carey. She is supposed to marry him next summer.”
    “Pooh! She scarcely knows him. And that new necklace she wears! I asked her who gave it to her—”
    “And she said ‘Henry Tudor.” A new, clipped hardness seemed momentarily to have eclipsed George’s boyish charm.
    “You know?”
    “I saw the goldsmith bring it to his bedside.”
    “But, George, Jocunda says it is sin.”
    “Jocunda doesn’t live at Court,” pointed out her stepson cynically.
    “And you mean that neither our father nor you will speak to her about it or do anything?”
    “What can we do?” he asked, just as Jocunda herself had done. “One doesn’t thrust one’s head into the lion’s jaw.”
    He would have gone to join the others by the fire, but Anne tugged at his modish slashed sleeve. She looked perplexed and childish, much as she used to look when he taught her to read the leaden figures on the sundial at Hever. All her early concepts were lying shattered about her, and she was trying to apply some painfully acquired new ones to herself. “But suppose it were I?” she asked, in a small scared voice.
    George turned sharply. “God forbid!” he ejaculated.
    “But where lies the difference?” she persisted.
    He looked at her with puzzled tenderness, smiling at himself as well as at her. “Only in the degree of my affection, I suppose,” he admitted.
    They were talking in whispers. It was unmannerly, unpardonable. They went to warm themselves at the fire and the conversation became general; but although the King’s cousins were so much more important, both the attractive young men hovered about Anne. She was pleasantly aware of it, and her strange, elusive beauty bloomed.
    Presently Lord Dacre’s daughter came from the inner room to fetch her. “The Princess needs you, Nan,” she said, with weary friendliness. “To read French with her, I think. And will you take your lute.”
    A warm feeling of triumph tingled through Anne’s veins. Officially, her spell of duty was finished, and she was the youngest and most obscure of them all. But the King’s sister had sent for her. She glanced towards the plain, resentful faces of his cousins. Neither of them had any particular ear for music nor a good French accent.
    Anne forgot all about her sister Mary. She rose and shook out the folds of her new green velvet. She knew that at least four pairs of eyes were upon her. She gathered up book and lute. Unhurriedly, with that peculiar grace of hers, she walked towards the Princess’ private room. Soon, when they had crossed the Channel, it would be, “Nan, the Queen of France wants you!”
CHAPTER THREE
    The Princess Mary’s youngest lady came into her presence with a brave attempt