Over the moat, under the portcullis, into the familiar courtyard …I was home, banished from Court, banished from joy for ever more.

My stepmother greeted me with pity and affection. She knew of the broken love affair.

“You will feel better at home,” she told me. “I will look after you.”

I fell into her arms and, for the first time since it happened, I was weeping. I think I alarmed her, for it was so unlike me, and as always with me, my tears were more tempestuous than those of other people—just as my anger and my pleasure seemed to be.

She was a great comfort to me. I was able to talk to her. She understood how much I had cared for him and why. I told her of our meetings and our plans; and she listened and wept with me.

She assured me that I would recover in time. “Time is our friend in trouble,” she said, “because it tells us that the sorrow cannot last for ever.”

I was sure mine would.

“I shall never forget him,” I told her. “He was not in the least like the man I should have expected to marry. He was no great warrior. I am surprised that I could care for such a man as he was… but as soon as we were together I knew that I was for him and he was for me. He was not like any of the others and nor am I… but the difference between us was great. Oh, it is good to talk of him … to someone who I think will understand.”

“There, my darling child,” she said. “Talk to me. Tell me… and if you would be quiet, then we shall just sit together… close like this… and you will know my thoughts are with you.”

I do not know how many weeks passed thus. I lost count of the days. Sometimes I lay in bed from sunrise to sunset; and my stepmother would come up and sit by my bed.

“There is nothing to get up for,” I told her.

And she would sit there, so that if I wished to talk to her I did and if I was silent it did not matter.

I have never forgotten what she did for me at that time.

Then one day a messenger came from Court from my father.

Among other things he brought a letter for my stepmother. He wished to know how I was faring. Was I sulking in my disappointment?

“She should be told that Henry Percy is now married to Lady Mary Talbot for whom his father has always intended him.”

So it was really over. Before that, I had had wild hopes that some miracle might happen, and that one day I should see him come riding into the castle.

This was the end… and I did not care what became of me.

I do not know how I lived through the weeks that followed. I was ill for a while. I had some sort of fever and I lay in my bed unsure where I was for long stretches of the day—for which I was grateful.

Mary Wyatt came over to Hever to see me. She read to me and we talked a great deal about the old days when we had all been so happy.

“Thomas is at Court,” she said. “He writes more now. He produces many of the entertainments there. The King likes his work.”

I did not want to hear about the Court.

Mary went back to Allington, but it was comforting to know she was not far away.

My stepmother tried to interest me in some embroidery stitches she had learned. She was working on an altar cloth for the church and wondered if I would care to help her.

I worked with her listlessly, taking no interest in it.

And so the weeks passed.

Then one day a messenger came from Court. We were to prepare for a visit from the King. He would be with a hunting party in Kent and as he would be near Hever he would spend a night at the castle. My father had written out a list of instructions for my stepmother. It was possible that the Cardinal would be a member of the party.

I felt sick with rage.

“I shall not see them,” I said. “I shall take to my room and they must be told that I am ill… which I shall be at the thought of seeing them.”

My stepmother reasoned with me. “You cannot do this. It will not be allowed. You will be commanded to come down to greet the King.”

“I refuse.”

“Have you forgotten that when the King came before you stayed in your room pleading illness?”

“I remember the occasion well,” I said grimly.

“You must steel yourself, my love. It will not be so bad. Remember, it is only for one night. It will soon be over.”

“No,” I cried. “I will not.”

The next morning I had a return of the fever, and this was not feigned. I think I must have conjured it up. I lay in my bed, hot and uneasy, assuring myself that in no circumstances would I see the royal party.

What if they forced me? They could, I supposed. They had shown me how powerful they were. If they were capable of ruining my life, they could surely insist that I leave my bed and join them.

I lay there fuming with hatred. I was not calm and gentle like my stepmother. I could not mildly accept the fate which had been thrust upon me. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw the sinister figure of the Cardinal. How I hated that man! How dared he humiliate my lover! How dared he speak of me as he had!

How I should love to have my revenge on him! If ever the opportunity arose, I would gladly take it. I would never forget, never forgive.

It was absurd to think that the King was interested in my affairs. It was the Cardinal who was making the trouble. After all Henry Percy had been of his household. He wanted to have charge of all those there; he looked upon them as his minions. He was an arrogant man.

And as I lay there I thought: There is only one way to be sure. I must not be here when they come.

I rose from my bed. I felt better now that I had a plan of action. The fever had miraculously subsided, so it must have come to my aid as it had now so conveniently left me.

I put on my riding habit and rode over to Allington Castle.

Mary received me warmly.

“I must talk to you,” I said. “I need your help.”

“You know I shall be happy to give it.”

“The King's party is coming to Hever. The Cardinal may be among them.”

“What an honor!”

“I do not see it as such, Mary. I cannot be there. I cannot face them. I think if I did I should do something … say something which would damn me and my family forever.”

“Anne, you must restrain yourself.”

“Restrain myself when they have taken away the only man I shall ever love, when they have ruined my life!”

“Anne, be calm. Tell me your plan.”

“I intend to be away from home. I want to come and stay here during their visit.”

“Might they not come here to seek you?”

“Why ever should they?”

“I don't know. Your father might be angry and send for you.”

“That is true. My stepmother will help. She has been wonderful to me. I shall ask her to say that I am with you and we are going to visit a friend of yours and she does not know who it is.”

“He could send to see if you were here.”

“Then we could make your people pretend that I was not. Would they do that?”

“There would be talk.”

“I know. But I must try. May I come and stay… just for a few days. Leave it to me. I will do the planning.”

I rode back to Hever.

My stepmother was in a panic. “I heard that you had gone out riding alone, Anne. You know …”

“Dearest Stepmother, I am old enough to ride alone and the sky is full of daylight. No one would harm me. You are going to help me in this.”

So we went to my room and we talked. I told her that I was going to Mary Wyatt. She was to make them believe that the arrangement had been made before the King's visit to Hever had been proposed. While the royal party was in Hever, I should be elsewhere. As a safety precaution she must tell them that Mary had arranged for us to visit friends so that we should not be all the time at Allington. When the King's party had left she should send a servant over to Allington to tell me. Then I would return to Hever.

She needed a certain amount of persuasion. She hated to lie to my father, but she was very worried about the state of my health, and she feared I would fall into a fever if I were crossed. So at length she agreed.

In due course I rode over to Allington.

Mary welcomed me and I talked to her freely of my hatred for the Cardinal, who I reckoned was at the root of my trouble.

Mary could not understand why he, who was so involved with the politics of Europe, should concern himself so deeply about the marriage of two young people at Court.

I could not understand it either, but it was clear to me that he was behind all my troubles.

“Cardinals are not allowed to marry, so perhaps they resent other people's finding happiness in that way.”

It seemed as good a reason as we could think of, and somehow it made me hate the Cardinal more than ever.

Those days were fraught with fear. Every time I heard the sound of horses’ hooves in the courtyard, I was alert. But it proved to be no fateful messenger.

I fed the pigeons with Mary; we rode together; she showed me some of Thomas's poems which I had not seen before; and so the days passed.

One day a messenger arrived at Allington. He came from my stepmother.

The royal party had been to Hever and departed.

So I could go home.

The Outcast

WEEKS PASSED INTO MONTHS and a year sped by. During that year my father had been awarded several stewardships and he was now a very rich man; it was clear that he was a favorite with the King. He had been considerably successful as an ambassador, but I was of the opinion that the King was saying: Thank you for giving me Mary.