The King’s Mistress. Darcey Bonnette

in between.

      I kneel in the hay, not caring about the state of my dress. Both Henrys kneel beside me.

      “Do you think she’ll let us pet them?”

      “I should say,” says Harry with the authoritative tone of an expert. “Do you think so, Surrey?”

      My brother nods and I reach out a tentative hand, first to the mother, whose elongated snout I stroke while cooing soft endearments about her ability to breed. Once I am certain she is comfortable with me I reach out to pet one of her pups; the fur is silky soft under my hand and I purr with pleasure. I gather the little creature against my breast.

      “It’s so dear,” I say, kissing its downy head. “Oh, if holding a pup is this wonderful imagine how grand it will be to hold my own babies!” I breathe before I can help myself.

      Neither boy says anything; I imagine they don’t fantasize about holding babies very often.

      “Do you want to keep it, Mary?” Harry asks.

      I glow at the prospect. “Do you think it’s ready? I couldn’t bear the thought of separating it from its mother too early.”

      “It’s fine,” reassures my brother, whom I decide to refer to as Surrey as well, just to differentiate him from all the other Henrys running about court.

      I meet the gaze of the mother, as though seeking a glint of permission in the great brown orbs. I wonder what it is like to have a child taken away. Nobles give their children up for fostering most of the time and do not see their children but for a handful of times a year. Some don’t see their children for years at a time.

      If I take this pup, its mother will never see it again.

      Something about the thought brings a lump to my throat. I blink back tears.

      “Mary …” My brother rubs my shoulder. “Don’t you want the nice pup Harry’s offered?”

      I nod. “Oh, yes, to be sure. But to separate it from the mother …”

      “Mary’s so sensitive!” Surrey laughs. “You have a poet’s heart— like me.” He wraps his arm about my shoulders and kisses my cheek.

      “Do you want it or not?” Harry asks, but his tone is good-natured. “I have a mind to withdraw the offer—you know it will fare much better with you than out here.”

      This is true enough. I pat the mother’s head in a gesture of gratitude, then rise with the pup in my arms. “Thank you, Harry.”

      He offers a courtly bow and I return a curtsy. We erupt into laughter at our sport as we return to the tiltyard to watch the jousting.

      As I reach the stands to show the girls my new pup I see Anne watching me, a grin of amusement lifting the corner of her pretty mouth.

      It is a perfect day; the sun shines off the armor of the knights and I am blinded at times as they ride past. We are treated to a superb show of sportsmanship and my throat is raw from screaming for the various champions.

      King Henry takes the day, of course. Madge Shelton whispers to me that everyone lets him win else the consequences are dire. I giggle before I can help myself. He is a spoiled child! Yet I suppose he did not choose to be. He is a king and kings were first princes, spoiled and petted just for the sake of being born to the right folk.

      He wouldn’t even have become king had his sickly brother Arthur not passed on. In fact, he would not have married Catherine of Aragon, Arthur’s own widow, at enormous inconvenience to a great many people, including the Church he rails against now, had it not been for that fact.

      Yes, King Henry is very accustomed to getting what he wants. So accustomed that he does not even know there is another way to live. That is why he raises friends up only to cast them down at a whim, because no one has curbed him thus far. He will keep pushing and testing his limits and still he will not be curbed.

      I wonder if his son, so close to being a prince himself, will take after him. I squeeze the puppy to my chest. I hope not.

      That night as I report to Norfolk I am ecstatic. It has been a wonderful day, a day etched in memory and emblazoned in my heart. It is a day of innocence and perfection that will sustain me through the days that follow.

      I am playing a prank on Norfolk tonight. The day and company of my brother have put me in a mischievous mood. I dress in my nightgown and wrap, concealing the puppy within as I bounce into his chambers.

      “Wasn’t it a wonderful day, Father?” I ask, beaming as I clutch my wrap tight about the warm, wriggling pup.

      He says nothing. He looks down at the eternal display of papers scattered across his desk.

      I tell him the things I imagine he wants to hear, verbatim conversations that have no consequence or relevance that I can see, but are the best I can come up with.

      “I think Anne is smart, Father,” I venture.

      At this he looks up. “As smart as a woman can be, I suppose,” he says. “But she is greedy and headstrong. That same temper that so charms His Majesty now could someday prove her ruin.”

      I shudder at the words. I do not like to hear anything bad said against my mistress, for I consider Anne more my mistress than Queen Catherine for all my interactions with the latter. I decide now is the perfect time to unleash my little joke. Norfolk seems in as good a humor as possible for him, so it may as well be now.

      I clutch my wrap around me and double over. “Oh, Father, I have the worst stomach pains. Perhaps something disagreed with me today!”

      “Go to bed,” he says in his taciturn manner.

      At once I open my wrap and out springs my new puppy. He runs around the room to investigate everything.

      “Isn’t he wonderful?” My cheeks hurt from smiling. “Harry Fitzroy gave him to me so I call him Fitz, after him.”

      “Sounds like a seizure,” says Norfolk as he watches the dog relieve himself on the leg of his desk. After a slight pause he asks, “Are you a complete idiot?”

      I gather the pup in my arms, chastising it in gentle tones. I do not respond to Norfolk’s query, as I am not quite sure. I may be a complete idiot. I did think it would be funny to see a dog jump out of my robes, but Anne has told me countless times that my sense of humor is rather quaint. God knows Will Somers, the king’s fool, could make me laugh till I begged him to cease in his antics for the pangs in my sides, and his sense of humor is none too sophisticated.

      “I’m sorry, Father,” I say as I right myself. I bow my head.

      “Clean it up,” he orders.

      “Do you have some rags …?”

      “Use your wrap, foolish girl,” he says. “You want a dog, you deal with its unpleasantness with the accoutrements at your present dispensation.”

      I am horrified at this. Not only because I have to sacrifice my favorite red velvet wrap from Mary Carey, but because I will have to walk through the halls of the palace in nothing but my night-clothes, and though I am still considered a child, I feel too old to prance about thus.

      After a moment of staring at my father without effect, I remove my wrap and wipe up the offensive reminder of my puppy’s less attractive habits. I call for a ewer filled with rose water to make certain the scent does not remain behind. The servant who brings it casts a strange look at my father and I am both angered and embarrassed. I do not want anyone looking down at him for my foolishness, nor do I want anyone seeing me stooped to this level of humility.

      “You’ll have to varnish the leg if any is stripped off,” Norfolk says.

      I nod, praying this isn’t the case. I right myself, shivering. His rooms are cold.

      “So you were with your brother today,” Norfolk says in a lighter voice, as though nothing had happened. “Did he tell you he is betrothed?”