Page 23 of The Queen’s Witch

Of course I knew, far better than Anne. Just as I knew that my performing even a small malefic magick would have hurt my grandmother’s heart. But I did not see any other choice.

The next night, Jane Boleyn cast dice with Anne, watched by a circle of courtiers placing wages on the outcome. “Ten marks on Mistress Anne,” said Sir Henry Norris, a favorite of both Anne and the king.

“I will take your wager,” said William Brereton, “only because I love you well, Harry, and wish to add to your income.”

Anne looked up at him through her lashes. “And I thought it was me that you loved well, William.”

“As who does not?” he said.

I crouched beside Anne’s chair, listening to them play at love. Under the table, I touched the satin skirt of Jane Boleyn’s gown and whispered my spell. Anne lost the game and congratulated her sister-in-law, Anne’s smile clearly bewildering Jane. An hour later, George’s wife was taken ill with vomiting and hastened from the hall, her face green, her hand clapped over her mouth.

I was dismissed and not called again that night to Anne’s chambers. The next day, we left for Hever Castle.

8

Hever Castle

The first few weeks at Hever, Anne remained in good spirits. Her father stayed behind at court; her mother accompanied her home. Lady Rochford no longer hunted, but George Boleyn, who rode often to bring Anne news from court and letters and gifts from the king, was happy to hunt with his sister. After the rainy summer, the autumn weather turned glorious and, to my eyes, so was the countryside, so much lusher than Tydd Saint Stephen. Oak leaves rustled. Brighter, less hardy leaves fell in yellow showers. The air smelled of apples and woodsmoke. This was the grease season, when deer were fat and nuts ripe and the harvest, although poor this year, at least for the moment provided all with enough to eat. Even Pipkin grew fatter than he should have been.

“You will become too heavy to scamper,” I told him, and he stared at me with unwavering dark eyes that all at once reminded me disconcertingly of Anne’s.

Anne had no use for me while her brother visited, and little use at any other time. She dropped her pretense of needing a taster. Anne felt safe here at her childhood home, although she had been born at Blickling Hall. Had Mother Redcap midwifed her birth? My neck prickled to picture that.

Occasionally Anne would remember my presence in the kitchen and send for me, always with some errand in aid of a villager or a request for some small magick. The former showed the generosity of which she was capable when she was happy. The latter, I realized, were tests.

“Elyn, Emma tells me that the village baker has suffered a burn from his oven. Emma will make up an ointment that I wish you to deliver and then to aid his suffering however you can.”

“Elyn, my lady mother has misplaced a button. Where is it?”

“I am informed that a stableboy has lost his father to the bloody flux. Go to the stables and ask where his family lives and what would be best to send them.”

“One of my father’s hunting dogs suddenly cannot walk. Is there a curse on the animal?”

To my surprise, there was. I removed the curse. And as the dog trotted happily around the stable yard, Anne regarded me with new respect. But I wondered: Who cursed the dog, and why? Were there other cunning women around? I had seen no signs.

Anne told me nothing of the Italian cardinal, but the kitchen, as always, knew everything, chiefly from George Boleyn’s men. One of them had bedded the new dairy maid, a pretty, silly girl who usually smelled of cheese. He liked to impress her, and she liked to impress anyone within earshot. By mid-October, the Italian cardinal still had not met with Henry, and Anne’s temper soured.

She sent for me, but not in her chamber. A page conducted me through the castle and up the narrow, winding stone stairs to the roof of the keep, the oldest part of Hever. Anne said to the boy, “Leave us.” At her tone, he clattered back down the stairs as fast as his boots would go.

She stood close to the jagged edge of the parapet in mellow October sunlight, her cloak blowing slightly in the fresh breeze. Her hands rested on the stone, for once the tiny sixth finger not hidden by her trick of holding another finger over it. She beckoned me toward her. Below lay the moat, the forest and the river, the track to the village, the magnificent stables. I had never been so high, and a slight dizziness overtook me. I shook it off; I needed my wits. Anne was in her most dangerous mood.

She said abruptly, “My brother has come and gone.”

Unsure what response she expected from me, I said, “I did not know he had visited again.”

“You did not? I should have thought a witch able to foresee events.”

I was not yet a witch; no one knew that better than Anne. I dropped my eyes and said nothing. The breeze shifted, wafting the stink from the moat upward.

“I should have thought,” she went on in that light, deadly voice, “a witch would be particularly able to foresee important events such as my brother’s visit. So I shall give you a second chance to redeem yourself. Tell me, what news did he bring me?”

“I do not know, my lady.”

“You do not know?”

“No, my lady.”

“It falls on me to inform one supposedly capable of magick? News that even Emma does not yet have? Then I will do so. Cardinal Campeggio finally met with the king, and told him that he should return to his wife. His Majesty replied, quite properly, that Katherine was never his true wife. So Campeggio made a second offer, that Katherine retire to a nunnery and take the veil, leaving the king free to marry in order that England might have an heir. Use your magick to tell me the outcome of that proposal, little witch?”