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In this scene, fourteen-year-old Mary Boleyn, Anne Bolyen’s elder sister by one year, is working on an embroidery at the Boleyn’s home, Hever Castle, when her mother, Elizabeth, very excitedly reads her a letter that has just arrived from Anne, who has recently joined the court of the powerful and influential Archduchess Margaret of Austria. Mary is NOT HAPPY that Anne has secured a place in a European court before herself and listens with growing irritation...
Mary Boleyn is sitting in the parlour, intent on her embroidery, when her mother, Elizabeth, enters waving a sealed letter.
‘Set down your needle, Mary. We have received a letter from Anne.’
Looking up, Mary watches her mother break the letter’s seal then settle herself on the bench across from her at the table. Anne this. Anne that. Always Anne, never me.
Nevertheless, Mary puts down the tablecloth she is embroidering and folds her hands in her lap as Elizabeth unfolds the letter. ‘Listen well, Mary. You may well learn from your sister’s experiences at the court of the archduchess.’ Mary smiles demurely in the manner she has learned pleases her parents, hiding her resentment.
I should be the one at court! I am the eldest daughter. Yet, I am sat here in Kent sewing and making potions while Anne enjoys the delights of the archduchess’s court. It is not fair.
‘I shall listen well, Mother,’ she says.
‘Sir and Madam,’ Elizabeth reads. ‘I thank you for your letter in which you desired me to be a worthy woman in the archduchess’s court. I have endeavoured by every measure to be a credit to our family, and I rejoice that the archduchess has taken it upon her wise and worthy self to speak to me, her most humble Anne, in French, the study of which I am applying myself with diligence.
‘I had happy cause to join the court ladies at the palace at Lille when the archduchess entertained our own King Henry and the Emperor Maximilian after their victory over the French at Thérouanne. King Henry exhibited a most lively manner and ensured that he danced with all of the archduchess’s ladies through the evening, though there was a Portuguese lady he favoured above all. I will attest that His Grace is most handsome and is fair light of foot.
‘Written by your very humble and very obedient daughter, Anne Boleyn.’
Elizabeth sighs. ‘Imagine, Mary. Anne has danced with the king.’
‘How pleasant for her.’
‘And the Archduchess Margaret speaks to our dear daughter, your sister!’
Her mother regards her. ‘Of course, Anne has always had the ability to charm and captivate with her wit, which is fortunate, since though she is middling fair, there is none so fair as you, my dear child.’
Mary forces a smile. Always the same refrain. ‘Anne is so clever. Anne is so witty. Anne is so captivating.’ And me? Mary? I am fair. What is that but an accident of Nature? It nods at no personal attribute, no element of character. Beauty fades and withers. Is it my fate to fade and wither, too, as Anne grows and shines?
Elizabeth folds the letter. ‘I shall entreat your father to endeavour once again to secure you a place at the French court. That your sister has had cause to be noted most favourably by the Archduchess Margaret may play well in your favour.’
‘Thank you, Mother.’
Mary watches her mother leave the parlour and pass into the great hall. She picks up her embroidery and needle, but lets them fall back onto the table. What use is yet another tablecloth strewn with leaves and flowers? She rubs together the calluses on her thumb and forefinger, where the needle’s pressure has hardened her once soft skin. She will be five and ten years old in the New Year, well of the age to attend court, and yet she is left to languish in the shadows of this ancient castle while her younger sister dances with the king.
Suddenly, Mary slams her hand on the table, overcome by a rare high temper. It is not fair! I am Mary Boleyn, eldest child of Sir Thomas and Lady Elizabeth Boleyn. I shall make my own mark on this life, so help me God!
She takes a deep breath to still the rapid beats of her heart and picks up the tablecloth and the needle again. Bending over the cloth, she calmly resumes stitching the fine linen.
I shall make my own mark on this life, so help me Anne.
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The story of the events that led to The Battle of Hastings in 1066 Harold the King (UK edition) I Am The Chosen King (US edition) AND 1066 Turned Upside Down an anthology of 'What If'' 1066 tales |
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