The King's Secret Matter by Jean Plaidy Page B

feel a slight degree of tenderness towards any of her husband’s mistresses, but she was finding that this could be so. Mary with her plump bosom that seemed to resent being restrained within that laced bodice, her tiny waist and her flaring hips, had the air of a wanton even when she was distressed as she was at this moment; and there was also a look of the slattern about her; and yet that gentleness, that desire to please, that certain helplessness was appealing.
    How could he deceive me with such a one? Katharine asked herself. Elizabeth Blount had been different – a young and beautiful virgin when he had first seen her; and their
affaire
had been conducted with decorum. But Katharine was certain that the King had not been this girl’s first lover.
    And for many nights he had not visited his wife because the creature had claimed his attention. This slut had been preferred to a princess of Spain; the daughter of Thomas Boleyn – whofor all his airs had his roots in trade – had been preferred to the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand!
    There were so many questions she wanted to ask. She was jealous of this girl, because she knew that there would be such passion between her and the King as there never had been between the King and his wife. How did you manage to attract him? she wanted to ask. How did you manage to keep him? He went to you in spite of his conscience, in spite of the scandal which he hates. Yet he cannot bring himself to come to me when it is right and proper that he should, and it is his duty to give me the chance of bearing a son.
    She ought to hate the girl, but it was impossible to hate her when she stood there, an occasional sob still shaking her body.
    The Queen said: ‘So you have spoken to your father of this marriage?’
    â€˜Yes, Your Grace. He is against it.’
    â€˜Why so?’
    â€˜Because Will is only a younger son.’
    â€˜And do
you
not think that you might look higher?’
    â€˜I could not look higher, Your Grace, than the man I love.’
    Katharine was shaken. She had expected to find a calculating mind beneath that voluptuous exterior; but the girl’s looks did not lie. She was indeed soft and loving.
    â€˜That is a worthy sentiment,’ murmured the Queen. ‘When I sent for you I had thought of dismissing you from the Court, of sending you back to your father’s castle at Hever.’ The Queen half closed her eyes, visualising the scene with Henry if she had dared to do this. ‘But,’ she went on, ‘since you speak to me of your love for this young man, and speak of it with sincerity, I feel that I should like to help you.’
    â€˜Your Grace!’ The babyish mouth was slightly open; the dark tearful eyes wide.
    â€˜Yes,’ said the Queen. ‘I can see that you need to be married. Your husband will then keep you out of mischief.’
    â€˜And Your Grace will . . .’
    â€˜I will arrange for your marriage to Will Carey. The ceremony shall be here at Court and I myself will attend.’
    â€˜Your Grace!’
    There was no mistaking the joy in the girl’s face.
    Katharine held out her hand, Mary took it and pressed a damp hot face against it.
    â€˜You may go now,’ said the Queen graciously, and watched the girl depart.
    A slut, she thought. And no virgin when he found her. Yet he desired her as he never did his wife.
    Why should this be? Katharine asked herself passionately. Is there no hope left to me? What is the use of praying for a son when the King has given up all hope of begetting one? How can there be a son when he never comes to me, when he spends his manhood on girls such as Mary Boleyn?

    There were isolated moments in life, thought Katharine, which were sheer happiness; and what had happened in the past and what the future held could not touch them. As she sat watching her daughter Mary leaning against her father’s knee while he instructed her in playing the lute,