Read The Kiss of the Concubine: A story of Anne Boleyn for Free Online

can even be heard in the bailey.
    I hover on the landing, watch ing the women dart in and out with bowls of warm water, piles of linen. When Mother emerges, I step forward and indicate I would join them in the chamber.
    “Go to your room, Anne. It is no place for a maid.”
    I bite my lip and turn away, but do not argue that Jenny, Mary’s servant, is a maid also. There are different rules for women like me and the likes of her.
    It is no more restful in my chamber. My fire has gone out and, due to the scarcity of staff, I try to light it myself, struggling with the tinder until finally, a tiny flame takes hold. At first it licks at the kindling, a tongue of flame that grows ever more passionate until the wood flickers and is consumed, writhing in the heat. I add more fuel, quenching the blaze, cooling the ardour, grey smoke, the embers simmering. I lie back in a chair and gaze into the hearth, trying to make sense of my fickle feelings. First it is the king, and then it is Percy. Now it is Tom, whom I have known all my life. It is as if my body has a mind of its own. It grows demanding, difficult to manage.
    Along the corridor Mary’s screams grow frantic , and I kneel at my prie dieu and beg God not to let my sister die. She is young. She may be wicked but she cannot help it; she is kind and soft-hearted, not a bad bone in her body. I am afraid for her, for truly, I have never heard her make such a fuss over anything before. For the first time I begin to suspect the reason why women dread childbirth.
    Another anguished scream, followed by scampering footsteps, banging doors. I can bear it no longer and rise from my knees, hurry onto the landing and listen, clutching the carved oak bannister with white fingers. Jenny’s head appears from the lower floor; she starts when she sees me waiting in the gloom.
    “Oh, Mistress Anne, you made me jump out of my skin.” She is carrying a tray of victuals, a jug of ale, a platter of bread and cheese.
    “How is Lady Carey? Is her child safe arrived?”
    “Oh, yes , Mistress, it’s a little lass, the bonniest thing you ever saw. I daresay your lady mother will let you in now her travail is over.”
    T he door opens and Jenny disappears inside. Over her shoulder I see my sister sitting up in bed, looking down like the Madonna at a bundle in her arms. Suddenly, I feel shy of her, as if motherhood has altered her in some way, as if she is no longer my ruddy-cheeked elder sister. I hesitate in the doorway, wondering if I should stay or go, but she looks up and sees me.
    “Oh, Anne,” she beams. “Do come and look. Isn’t she the loveliest thing you ever saw?”
    Confident now that maternity hasn’t altered her, I approach the bed. She pulls back the blankets and disturbs the child’s slumber. The babe pulls a face, screws up her eyes and opens a milky mouth. A tuft of red hair stands up on her crown, her nose a shiny red button as she gnaws hungrily at her own fist. She is like a hobgoblin from a fairy story.
    “She is lovely,” I lie. “What will you call her?”
    “Catherine,” Mary replies, “after the queen.”
    After the queen? I wonder what Queen Catherine will make of that. It is one thing to have your husband producing bastards under your nose, and quite another to be their namesake. Oblivious to the hurt she may cause the queen, whom Mary likes and respects, she croons over her newborn. What would Catherine give to be in her shoes?

Early Summer -1524 Hever
     
    Time slides by so slowly, days, weeks of limited company. The proposed match with Ormond is not progressing well, and George and Father have returned to court to try to deal with it, leaving me kicking my heels at Hever with a houseful of women. Mother, usually to be found in her stillroom, is distracted, a faint frown on her forehead, her greying hair tightly concealed beneath her coif. Mary is engrossed in her child and has little time for me. As for Grandmother, she is bedevilled with age, her mind as