George nodded curtly as though he had bested her and turned his attention back to the pups again. Now tired of their romp, they lay stretched into little splashes of shining bronze beside the marigold beds.
But Anne lingered, her pale yellow gown almost touching Mary’s emerald skirts. The child often gazed at her older sister. She admired Mary’s golden hair and clear blue eyes and lovely face, for their beauty was noticed by all, and the tiny girl sensed the import of this more than did Mary. It meant somehow that Mary was special, was different, and though George resented this, the child Anne was quite in awe.
“Why can we not go into the solar to see father, Mary? He comes not much to see us. What has he so secret to tell mother that Semmonet sent us away from the house? I wish he would come out and play with us and the pups, but I know he will not.”
Anne sat beside Mary on the rough wood bench, her hands folded in her lap. She looked so dainty and demure that Mary wondered anew at the quicksilver changes of temperament the girl showed. She herself felt no such feverish blood stir her moods, nor did she ever throw the noisy tantrums of which this child was capable.
“Dear Annie, Semmonet said only that father had an important message for mother and that we shall learn of his tidings later. I am certain you can manage to wait until supper, for he will no doubt stay at least until the morrow, so you may ask him then, minx.”
The pale child bit her lower lip, and Mary knew another question would follow. Did she never tire of her endless probings of everything? Her mind is quick and her French and Latin may soon overtake mine, she thought.
“Mary,” Anne began in her childish voice, “do you believe the king looks in true life as he does in the portrait? He always seems to look sideways at me as I come down the stairs or go in the solar. His hands are so big and strong and he looks very frightening.”
Her eyes looked like wet black brook pebbles, and Mary reached out to touch her white cheek. “Well, little one, I have not seen His Majesty either, but father is proud of that portrait copy by Master van Cleve, you know, so I would guess it catches the king in truth. And I agree, Annie, the eyes and the hands do look most frightening, especially at night when the hall lies in shadow with only candle gleams.” She hesitated. “Is there anything else you would ask, Annie?”
Mary smiled at her little sister and the dazzling beauty that angered George, worried her mother, and pleased her father, simply amazed the younger child. Why could she not have golden hair and sky colored eyes and an angel’s face like those in the stained glass windows at grandmother’s chapel?
“I was only hoping, Mary, that he comes not back to take me to the king’s court, for I should be afraid to go from mother and Semmonet and George and you. Even if father were there, I should be afraid, for father has eyes and hands like the king.” Her lip quivered, and her fears, so plainly spoken, tugged on Mary’s love though she herself felt no such childish worries.
“No, Annie. Do not be afraid. We are all too young to leave here now. George will surely go first and though you and I are not too young to be engaged, there has been no word of this. Maybe father comes to tell of a fine promotion above being Esquire of the King’s Body. Father wishes to rise far, I know.”
“Yes, Mary. And mother says he shall. Does she miss him as much as we, do you think?”
“Yes. No doubt even more. But she loves it here and has almost no desire to be at court, though I do not know why. But who would not love life at our Hever, Annie?” Mary’s eyes skipped swiftly across the low boxwood hedges and the carefully tended beds of riotous marigolds, snapdragons and sweet heartsease.
“Father will soon ride back to the king’s business, and we shall be safe with mother and Semmonet. You shall see,” she comforted.
The child shot her a sunbeam smile and darted off, eager to follow George and the pups around the other side of the garden. Soon her lilting laugh and George’s sharp tones floated through the air again punctuated by excited yelps from the litter of spaniels.
Mary grimaced as she rose, but walked away from their play. She did not want another rude encounter with George if she scolded him again. Then, too, Anne’s innocent questions had unsettled her more than George’s bloodless cruelty to the pups could.