Lady In Waiting

As Anne stared at the criss-cross wood ceiling, she thought about everything she had done to get to this point. She supposed loving multiple people was better than loving no one. Then again, she was pretty certain Sister Mary would have something to say about them being women. Maybe she could join Sister Mary's nunnery; lock herself away until she forgot all about pretty gray eyes or gummy smiles. Then again, Mother Margaret had called her a heathen that one time. ‘Guess she knew before I did.’ Anne thought angrily.

Anne had come to the conclusion that she hated it here. She probably should have realized that early but the circumstances had changed for the worse. Henry was angry with her and apparently had his own problems. Katherine, dearest Katherine, would never speak to her again if she knew how deeply Anne cared for her. Katherine had a son, a husband, a life she needed to get back to.

Anne imagined little Prince James’ face. He was so small and barely two months old. She could remember holding him, his little fingers wrapping around one of hers while Katherine slept away. He had been freshly born and washed. The wetnurse had stood to the side and glared at Anne but she barely noticed her, eyes locked onto his squished round face. She had never described herself as wanting children but, in that moment, she couldn't look away from him. She couldn't take his mother from him. James needed Katherine.

A plan formed itself. It would be hard to do but death was merciful. Anne was a lady in waiting and she would be damned before she let James be motherless.

The room was dark. The ladies lay sprawled on the floor. Katherine was spread on the bed in all her glory, hair surrounding her face like a halo. She had long since knocked Anne off the bed, although their hands remained intertwined. It left a funny feeling in Annes stomach. Lady Anne was sleeping in a chair next to the door, her back stiff with a trained posture.

Anne slipped from the bed, pausing when the princess gave a snort. When she didn't wake up, Anne stood and crept between bodies. She made it to the door before a delicate hand lightly grabbed her wrist. The two Annes stared at each other. They had so little in common but, in that moment, they understood one another. They were both devoted to Katherine, before the Crown, before their families, perhaps even before the Lord. Love of all kinds surpassed all else. With practiced skill, Lady Anne slid a small, cold, metal object into Annes hand. The woman nodded and shut her eyes, letting her hand fall down into place. Silent approval. ‘Don't fail.’

The door wasn’t locked and the guards were asleep. It was so easy to slip past them and disappear into the night. Anne walked between houses, letting shadows shield her face. The moon sat high in the sky, just as it had when Henry had shut her out. Lady Annes stolen meat knife burned with the weight of what she was planning. She grasped the hilt tighter.

Little James needed a mother more than Katherine needed Anne.

The house ahead, despite only properly seeing it once, was so familiar. The small stable tucked beside the house called to her. There were no guards, nothing to stop her. Anne entered Henry's house, shutting the door without a peep.

‘It would be quick’, she assured herself. ‘Stab and get the carriage. Get Katherine out.’

Everything fell apart when she turned to see the blind man sitting at the table. A sword sat onto the table, his fingers tapping the hilt.

“Hello,” he said in a sweet French accent. “May I ask who you are?”

Without thinking, Anne blurted out “No you may not.”

He laughed. It was like bells.

‘Not unlike Henry’.

“I suppose you are allowed to do that,” the man said. “I should have worded the question better. I apologize, miss.”

Anne let out a huff, then a giggle, then fell into sobbing laughter. Tears ran down her face, blurring her vision. The knife slipped from her hand with a clatter as she slid to her knees on the floor.

“Oh my dear,” he said soothingly. “What happened?”

She opened her mouth but couldn't speak. There was so much and Anne was so very done. Another wave of tears hit her body and she sank lower into the cool wood panels. Never before had she been so lost, so overcome with the sense of not knowing what to do.

There were footsteps and then a rough hand attempted to brush back her hair from her face. “May I assume you are Anne then?”

She gave a soft nod as a sob pushed her chest down into the floor. She wanted to sink into it, to melt and never reform, to become a part of the wood.

Anne didn’t know how long she sat there, sprawled on the floor crying. The hand never stopped petting her head but now it gently felt her face, deftly wiping tears with a soft cloth.

“How do you know where my face is?” Anne asked in a whisper.

The man chuckled. “You are far from quiet, dear Anne. If I know where your mouth is, it's not hard to guess from there the other features.”

Her face heated up with embarrassment. “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s been awhile since I could assist a fair maiden such as yourself.”

A beat. Then Anne said, “I feel awful. I never asked your name.”

The man smiled, the edges of his mouth ever so slightly lopsided. “Introductions are in order. I’m Claude Garnier. And you?”

Anne sat up and pushed her shoulders back, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach. “Anne Rolfe.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Anne Rolfe,” Claude said, holding out his left hand. When he kissed her hand, he was offcentered but Anne ignored it.

With a hum, Claude knocked on the floor. Anne heard the knife jostle. “Oh. I forgot about that,” she said. He laughed but gently reached towards the clatter. He felt around and grabbed the sharp knife. Claude quickly flipped the knife around and grabbed the hilt.

“You are quite skilled with a knife. Were you born seeing?” Clearly Anne had still not learned how to hold her tongue but he laughed again.

“Complete vision until I was 28. It quickly died out I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault. Not anyone's fault really.”

An awkward silence filled the room.

“Claude, I-” The door whipped open and Anne watched in horror as Henry and Arien walked inside.

Well. Walk was a strong word. Henry was leaving heavily on Arien, who didn't so much walk as stumble. The tall man had a large smile and both their faces were flushed.

They were incredibly drunk.

Henry's glazed eyes locked onto Anne. “ANNE!” He yelled. “I missed you…”

He threw himself off Arien and onto the floor by Annes feet. Henry's head laid itself next to her legs as he curled up like a cat.

“Ah Henry. He’s always been a happy drunk,” Claude chuckled.

Anne watched in horror as Henry turned his face into her sprawled thigh and giggled.

“He certainly seems less angry,” she said, pushing his head gently away when he got too close to the less dignified part of her body. ‘Funny.’ she thought. ‘I feel less angry too. And to imagine what I had planned.’ The more she thought about it, the less her plan had made sense. What had she planned to do once she had killed him? How would she have grabbed the carriage without anyone noticing? How would she have known where to go? Still, the thought of James still made her heart ache.

“I suppose Arien and I will be taking our leave.” Only once he had spoken, did Anne recognize that Arien had encircled himself around Claude, broad arms wrapped in what must have been a too-tight hug.

Anne could only watch as Arien practically carried Claude out the door, the blind man hanging like a limp cat. He haphazardly waved at her, the tips of his shoes dragging into the dirt outside.

“Anne…” Henry whispered. “Anne, guess what?”

“What?” she asked, voice soft as she slowly began to come to her senses.

“I’m-.” He giggled, beautiful and high. “I’m not actually Henry~.” He curled into himself further, laughing and rolling on the ground.

Anne slowly looked down to him. “Who are you then?” she asked tentatively.

“My name is Elizabeth,” he (she?) said.

Annes skin felt cold but her heart was beating out of her chest. After a moment, she said, “Hello Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “Nooooo. That's too long.” She sat up, nose pressed up against Annes. “Call me Eliza.” She started laughing again and fell to the floor.

“Of course. Sorry, Eliza.” Anne was so lost and so confused and why was her face heating up?

“Psst, Anne. Guess what?”

“What?”

Eliza sat up again, flushed and smiling. Moving far too fast for someone so wildly drunk, she smashed her lips into Annes.

Silence.