“Do you have to go?” Mary asks childishly. We are beyond the formal privy garden, strolling beside the river, and we turn to sit on a little bench under a tree, the sun warm on our backs, and watch the barges and boats bringing visitors and goods to entertain and feed the insatiable court. Mary’s hand rests on her swelling belly. She is with child again. “I so hoped you would stay.”
I don’t dare to say that I was beginning to hope so too. It seems very hard that Katherine should live here, and Mary with her, and that I am the only sister who has to go far away, to such an uncertain future in a country that has been so hard-hearted to me.
“It’s been like being girls again, having you home. Why don’t you stay longer? Why don’t you live with us and never go back at all?”
“I have to do my duty,” I say stiffly.
“But why now?” she asks lazily. “At the start of summer, which is the best time of year.”
“It is the best time of year for me to do the journey and I have my safe conduct to Scotland.” I cannot keep the bitterness from my voice. “My son, my five-year-old son, has sent me safe conduct.”
That catches her attention, she sits up. “You have to have little James’s permission to go to him?”
“Of course I do. He’s the king, it is under his seal. It isn’t him really, of course. It is Albany who has decided that I can come home. And he sends conditions: no more than twenty-four companions, no rebels at my side, and then there are conditions for seeing my son. I may not go as his tutor, not as regent. Just as his mother.”
“The French are very powerful,” she says. “But I found them kind if you obey their rules. They love pretty things and courtesy. If you could only agree . . .”
“Of course, you would be on their side, since they pay your allowance,” I say sharply. “Everyone knows that you have nothing to live on but your dower money from them. But they do not pay mine, they do not honor their debts to me, so you cannot expect me to jump to their piping like you and Brandon.”
She flushes a little. “Of course I need the money,” she says. “We are paupers, we are royal paupers. And every day there is a new masque or a new dance or a new pageant and the king insists that I lead it. If there is a joust he insists that Brandon fight in it. The horses alone are worth their weight in gold and a suit of armor costs ten times as much as a gown.” She puts her hand to her belly to comfort herself. “Anyway, perhaps this is another boy and he will make our fortune. He will be heir to the throne after his brother and after your son James, after all.”
“Only if Katherine has no son,” I remind her smartly.
“God grant it.” She wishes her son out of the succession with complete sincerity. “But, Maggie, I do really think that you should try to agree with France. Can’t you make a better agreement with Albany? He is such a well-mannered nobleman. I liked him and his wife. And now she is ill and he is bound to want to go home to her. He might go back to France and leave Scotland to your rule? You could trust him, you could talk to him.”
“How much do they pay you for this?” I ask suddenly. “The French? And could you tell them, when you report back to your spymaster, that I would be happy to agree with them if they would take their soldiers out of my country and see to the paying of the rents on my dower lands, just as they pay you? You have been cheaply bought; but I have a country to take care of. I come at a higher price.”
I see the flush of her temper in her cheeks. “I am no spy. I take French money and so does half the court. There’s no need to throw it in my face. And I know you’ve been borrowing money from Wolsey, just as we all do. You’re no better than us and you have no right to scold me.”
“I certainly have,” I say. “I am your older sister—it is my duty to tell you when you are wrong. You’re as bad as a traitor—in the pay of the French. You can tell them to pay me my rents if you are so friendly with them.”
“I can’t tell them,” she blazes out. “It would do you no good if I spoke to them. You’re such a fool! It’s not the French who have been keeping your rents, but your own husband. You can’t blame Albany for it. Your husband has been collecting your rents in your name and not passing them on to you.”
“That’s a lie! A stupid lie as well as a wicked one. Archibald would never do such a thing. He’s not like your husband, who married you only for your fortune and title. Archibald is a great lord in his own right, he has great lands in his own right. He wouldn’t stoop to cheat me. You wouldn’t know. You’ve never loved anyone but an adventurer. A commoner, a climber! Of course Brandon would take your lands. He lives off you and every woman he has ever married. My God! Brandon makes Wolsey look well bred.”
She leaps to her feet, her blue eyes blazing with temper. “You think your husband doesn’t cheat you? When he makes peace with Albany without you? When he lives with a woman he calls his wife? When he tells everyone you will never go back to Scotland, and he is glad of it? You dare to compare your traitor to my Charles, who has never been disloyal to Harry or faithless to me?”
I feel as if she has punched me in the belly, as if the air is knocked out of me. I double up as if I am winded. “What? What? What are you saying?” I hear the words ringing in my ears, but I cannot understand them. “What did you say? A wife?”
At once she is sorry. She pitches heavily on her knees beside me to peer up into my face, her own face still wet with angry tears. “Oh, Maggie! Oh, Maggie! I am so sorry! Forgive me! I am so wicked! Oh, my dear! I should not have said. We agreed we would say nothing—and then I . . . ! It was when you spoke against Charles! But I should never have said a word!”
She is patting my gown and stroking my shoulder, and pushing my chin up so that she can look into my face. I keep my head down, my face hidden. I am speechless with humiliation.
“I am so sorry. I should not have said anything. She made me promise to say nothing.”
“Who?” I ask. I put my hands over my face so that she cannot see my burning eyes, my blanched cheeks. “Who told you to say nothing?”
“Katherine,” she whispers.
“She says this? She told you all this? About my rents? About Archibald living with a woman?”
The golden head nods. “But we swore that we would not tell you. She said that it would break your heart. She made me promise I would say nothing. She said that you could not bear to hear that he is unfaithful. That you must talk to him yourself. It must be between the two of you.”
“Oh, rubbish,” I say. All at once, I am completely furious at the thought of this mealy-mouthed gossip. “She’s such an old maid. As if all men don’t take lovers! As if Ard was going to live like a monk for months at a time! As if a wife should care!”
“Don’t you care?” my little sister asks me, aghast.
“Not at all!” I lie furiously. “She is a nothing. She is nothing to him and so she is nothing to me. Katherine is making a fuss out of nothing because she is grieved that Harry has taken Bessie Blount for a lover and she wants the world to think that Ard is as bad as he. That it matters, for God’s sake! That anyone cares!”
“Did you know about your husband’s woman then?”
“ ’Course I did,” I say. “Half of Scotland knows of her, and her easy virtue. Half the lords have probably had her. Why should I care about a whore?”
“Because she says she is his wife,” she says softly.
“As do all whores.”
Mary wants to believe me. She has always looked up to me. She wants to take my word for this. “Didn’t he marry you for love? And it was a proper wedding? He was not married to her at all?”
“What d’you mean at all? You’re such a fool. No. Never. They were betrothed when she was a child. It was never intended it should go ahead. He left her for me, for love of me, he preferred me to all the other women in Scotland. So what if he now amuses himself while I am away? As soon as I return to Scotland he will leave her again.”