Jean Plaidy - Mary, Queen of France: The Story of the Youngest Sister of Henry VIII

Louis had said that he was asking that the most skilled men might be sent. In that case Charles must come. For the honor of England he must come. Henry would see to that. Yet, knowing the state of her feelings, would Henry consider it unwise to send Charles?

Rarely had she looked so beautiful as she did then; there was a suppressed excitement in her eyes which did not pass unnoticed by Marguerite.

The Queen is in love? she thought. Has it gone as far as that? Oh, François, beloved, have a care.

It was a golden October day when they rode into Beauvais; and as they reached the mansion where they were to stay for the night, Mary was alert for a sign of the English party.

A banquet had been prepared in the great hall, and she had taken her place at the center table, when the news was brought to the King that the English knights had arrived.

“Have them brought in at once,” was Louis’s answer. “We must give them a good welcome, for they come on behalf of my good brother, the King of England.”

And so the doors were thrown open and as the Englishmen came in, Mary caught her breath with wonder; for they were led—as was only natural that they should be—by Charles Brandon. And there he was coming to the center table, his eyes on the King, betraying only by a twitch of a muscle that all his thoughts were for the young woman who sat silently there, her cheeks aflame, her eyes sparkling as no one in France had seen them sparkle yet.

She must see him. Who would help her now? If only Lady Guildford were with her! But Louis had artfully removed all her English attendants except little Anne Boleyn who, he considered, was too young to influence her.

She dared confide in no one. Marguerite was a friend—up to a point—but only when by being so she could do no harm to her brother. And if she told Marguerite that the man she loved was in Beauvais and she must have an interview with him alone, Marguerite would immediately suspect that Charles might take the place of François in that wild drama she and her mother had conjured up. Therefore, Marguerite would never help her arrange a meeting with her lover—in fact, for the sake of François, might even betray her to Louis.

Perhaps it was natural that she should wish to receive the party from her brother’s Court. If they came to her she could flash a message to Charles who would be ready for it.

This was what she did when, headed by Charles, the Englishmen came to her apartment. Of course her French attendants were present. Nevertheless she must do the best she could.

How happy she was to see him kneeling before her, taking her hand in his, putting his lips to it. She was trying to communicate all her feelings to him, and she knew by the pressure of his hand that he understood.

“It pleases me to see you here,” she said.

He told her that her brother sent her affectionate messages and there were letters which he would bring to her.

“Yes … yes,” she answered.

She must receive the others; she must murmur platitudes to them. She must tell them how excited she was at the thought of the coming joust, and she hoped they would conduct themselves with honor for England.

Oh Charles, she thought, stay near me.

He understood. He was by her side. He said quietly: “Are you happy?”

“What do you think?” Her voice was sharp and bitter.

“You are more beautiful than ever.”

“I must see you alone,” she said. Then added hastily: “Come back in five minutes’ time after the party have gone. I will endeavor to be alone except for young Anne Boleyn.”

He bowed his head and she turned away lest Norfolk, who was with the party, should be suspicious.

Now she was impatient for them to be gone, and afraid that if they lingered much longer the King would come to her apartments.

But at last they went, and she dismissed her attendants, saying that she was going to rest for an hour; and to avoid suspicion kept little Anne with her.

He came back, as they had arranged; and she commanded little Anne to sit on the stool near the door of the main apartment while she drew Charles into a small adjoining chamber. If anyone came to the door, Anne was to tell them her mistress was resting.

It was dangerous, but Mary was ready to take risks. An interview alone with Charles was worth anything she might be asked to pay for it.

They embraced hungrily.

“My love,” said Charles, “I have lived it all with you.”

“Oh, Charles!” She was half laughing, half crying, as she touched his face with her fingers. “I can’t believe it, you see. I have to keep assuring myself that you are here.”

He kissed her urgently.

“We must be careful,” he said at length. “Did you notice Norfolk’s watchful eyes? That fellow hates me.”

“A curse on Norfolk.”

“I agree, my dearest, but he could do us much harm.”

“You mean he could tell Louis that I love you.”

“He could have me sent back to England.”

That sobered her. “Oh, Charles, we must be careful.”

“I should not be here. At any moment we might be discovered.”

“The little Boleyn will give the warning.”

“That child would not protect us. Mary … Mary … what shall we do?”

“When Louis dies and I am free I shall marry where I wish. You know where that will be.”

“But to talk of the King’s death …”

“Is treason, and we should die for it. Then I should not have to spend any more nights in his bed.”

“Hush, Mary. Was it … terrible?”

She shivered. “I lay awake all that first night thanking God and his saints that he was an old man. He apologized for his breathlessness, for his inability. I wanted to shout, Do not apologize to me, Louis. I want to sing Glory to God because of it.”

“And so … ?”

“Do not ask me to speak of it. But he has been ill since. Alas, he tells me he is getting rapidly better. It will begin again. But it won’t be for long, Charles. I feel it won’t be for long. I am certain of it, and that is why I can endure it, because, Charles, I have Henry’s promise that when it is over I shall marry where it pleases me to do so.”

“You grow too excited.”

“Can I help that? The one I love is here and I am in his arms. Who would not be excited?”

“I must not stay. You may depend upon it we shall be watched. I don’t trust Norfolk.”

“But you are here … in France. Oh, this is the happiest day I have known since I came to this land. Stay near me, Charles.”

“I shall as long as it is in my power. But, dearest, let us be cautious … for the sake of the future.”

“The future, Charles. I live for it.”

Once more they were in a close embrace. Then he slipped out of the small chamber into the main apartment where the little Boleyn sat, her great dark eyes filled with dreamy speculation.

The royal cavalcade was now journeying across Picardy toward the capital. Louis no longer suffered so acutely and could take pleasure in his bride. Mary’s moods were variable. Sometimes she felt rebellious and there were occasions when she told herself that she could not endure her husband’s embraces; at others she was resigned, for afterward the poor man always seemed so exhausted. Then Charles’s presence in the party made her feel recklessly gay. Life was never dull because all the time she felt as though she were living on the edge of disaster, for with the man she loved so near, she believed she could not continue to control her feelings.

Those about her noticed the change in her. Her beauty had become more vital.

Marguerite, watching her closely, thought: There is a woman in love.

And because it was inconceivable to Marguerite that any woman could be indifferent to François, she naturally thought that Mary was in love with her brother.

François thought so too; and so did Louise. They all felt themselves to be on the verge of an inflammable situation, disastrous from the point of view of them all while it was yet irresistible to François.

Mary became more aware of those two women and, understanding the reason for their apprehension, an innate streak of mischief made her long to mislead them. After all they had first conceived the myth.

There was more than mischief in it; there was sound common sense, because presumably she had been unable to hide the fact that she was in love. No one could think it was with Louis, and they must not guess it was with Charles Brandon. Therefore they must believe it was with François.

Her manner toward the Dauphin was changing; she showed quite frankly how she delighted in his company.

The more nervous Louise and Marguerite became, the more hopeful was François.

And Mary was diverted enough to laugh secretly as she amused herself at their expense.

Louis would not be content until Mary was crowned Queen of France; and as he did not wish to enter Paris until she could do so as crowned Queen he was anxious for the ceremony to take place as soon as possible. He continued to present her almost daily with some jewel; and he told her that he hoped very much to regain his health so that he could be more like the husband she deserved.

She told him—fervently truthful—that she preferred him as he was; which he thought charmingly tactful. He discussed the coming celebrations with her, adding that he thought that tall Englishman would be a good match for the Dauphin.

“I look forward to see them in combat,” he added; “I hear that man is something of a champion at your brother’s Court.”

“I believe the Duke of Suffolk to be second only to my brother in the joust.”

Louis laughed. “A diplomat into the bargain, eh?”

Mary thought then that the French were often a little too subtle; perhaps that was why she enjoyed leading Marguerite and Louise a merry little dance.

“Now, my dear,” said Louis, “I shall be forced to leave you at St. Dennis for a few days, because I must go to Paris. There are matters of state to which I have to give my attention. Your coronation will take place here and then there will be your triumphant journey into the capital. The people of Paris are eagerly waiting to welcome you.”

“I trust they will be pleased with me.”

“They will love you as we all do. I have only one regret and that is that I must leave you.”

Mary kissed him gently on the brow. She did not want him to see the relief which she feared might show in her face.

The King had gone on ahead to Paris, and the coronation was to take place in a few days.

François joined the Queen as she rode out with her attendants.

“It is the only way in which I can have a word with you in private,” he complained.

“You deceive yourself. We are being watched now. Do you not know that we are always being watched?”

“What an evil fate is this? You come to marry the King of France, and I might so easily have been that King!”

“You are rash.”

“Driven to it by your beauty.”

“Do you forget that ears are straining at this moment to hear what you say to me?”

“Surely they do not need to strain. They must guess. What could I be expected to say to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen?”

“You might be expected to be a faithful husband and remember that I am the wife of your King.”

“That would be asking too much of me.”

“I do not think the King would be pleased if he knew that you speak such words to me.”

“It is not my wish to please the King.”

“François, you are very reckless.”

“You shall discover that I can be more so.”

“To what purpose?”

“When can I see you alone that I may explain to you?”

“I am listening now.”

“This needs more than words. If you would come to an apartment I know …”

“I … come to an apartment! I do not think I have heard aright.”

“Disguised of course. We should both be disguised. It can be done. It is always amusing to be incognito. Do you not agree?”

“I have had no experience of that.”

“There are so many delightful experiences waiting for you.”

“And you propose to be my tutor?”

“I should be the happiest man alive if I were that.”

She laughed and slackened her pace so that she was close to those attendants who had fallen back.

François was disappointed, but he was certain he had made some progress. He had met opposition only once, and that was with poor simple little Françoise. The only woman who had ever refused him! But she was a virtuous woman; there had been no fire in Françoise.

How different was this lovely, vital girl.

Passion was strong in her; and he was certain that she was in love.

In the Cathedral of St. Dennis, François, the Dauphin, took the hand of the Queen and led her to the altar. As she knelt on a cushion which had been put there for that purpose, from a quiet corner of the cathedral Louis watched her. He had not wanted the people to know that he was present, because this was her day and he had no wish to distract attention from her.

His eyes were a little misty as he watched her. Tears came easily in age as they had in extreme youth, and he was deeply moved by her beauty. She looked so young in her dazzling robes with that wonderful hair, which he loved to caress, falling about her shoulders. There could never have been a more beautiful Queen of France, and he would never cease to regret that she had come to him in the days of his infirmity.

Cardinal de Brie was anointing her, and she remained still as a statue while the sacred oil was poured on her head. Now the scepter was being placed in her right hand, the rod of justice in her left, the ring on her finger. De Brie held the crown matrimonial over her head; it seemed too massive for that feminine fragility and Louis trusted it would not cause a headache.

The ceremony of crowning her Queen of France was almost over, and she was moving toward the chair of state on the left side of the high altar. It was the duty of the Dauphin to lead her to it; and she in her splendor, he in his elegance, must surely make all consider how well matched they were.

Poor François! Poor Mary! Fate could so easily have given them to each other. If I had died a few months ago, mused Louis, there would still have been a need to make an English marriage. If my poor Claude had not married François, and he had been free …

But it was not so. Life did not work out as smoothly as that. And now this beautiful young girl was his wife, and poor misshapen Claude was united with François.

Louis shrugged his shoulders. When one was old one realized that all glories, all sorrows, passed away in time. In time, yes. For time was always the victor.

They were singing Mass and François had taken his stand behind the chair of state that he might hold the heavy crown over the Queen’s head to relieve her of its weight.

And afterward, to the sound of trumpets the party, accompanied by the leading noblemen and women of France, left the cathedral.

In the royal apartments Louis embraced his Queen.

“You are now truly Queen of France, my dear,” he said. “And it gave me great pleasure to witness your coronation.”