The Other Henry VIII

Desperate Measures

"Your Royal Highness,"said Rebecca Cavill, curtseying low. "It is an honour to serve you."
Margaret smiled. She needed a new friend and companion, someone unbiased who she could share secrets with. Life had been dreadfully lonely for the last few weeks and she was beginning to think it would never get better.
"Thank you,"she replied, rising. "I hope that you will remain as loyal as you seem to be, Lady Cavill. Your cousin did not exactly make a good name for herself." Rebecca didn't look as perplexed as Margaret thought she might. In fact, the girl was close to laughter.
"No, My Lady,"she said. "But I am not Sorrel. I am Rebecca."

Margaret took in the young woman standing before her carefully. She was slender and petite, like Sorrel had been, but her face was fuller and a great deal prettier. Her eyes were the warm, welcoming brown of burning firewood, beckoning you to come closer. Margaret took a few steps forwards, but she couldn't help sighing.
"I also hope I will be able to trust you. When we go back to Kent, you will be one of my close companions. Tell me, Lady Cavill..." She stared into Rebecca's eyes. "...will you be good enough for me to trust you?"
"I'd like to think so,"replied the girl immediately. She glanced at her feet. "I do try. My family want me to marry, so I want to make a good impression." Margaret stretched out her arm and stroked Rebecca gently on the cheek.
"I can assure you, you have. And after all the scandal we've had recently, it will be nice to have someone honest in my vicinity."

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20th July 1522
Catherine's POV
I cannot believe that my grandfather has called a family meeting. After all that we have lost, what can we possibly do to get it back? My cousin John is content with his wife and nephew, so he doesn't need this. My sister Jane is living in between court and caring for her daughter, but she's always had a hard life so she doesn't need much to be happy. Diana is dead and lies in the cold ground; she died an adulteress who never spoke her secret. So what need have we for a family meeting?
I enter the chamber and stop instantly. They are not seated at the long table in the middle of the room, as I expected, and it shows just how broken we are as a family.
The Duke of Norfolk, my grandfather, is sitting at the head of an almost empty table, a large sheet of parchment out before him framed by his cracked hands. From what I can see, there is something on it, but he is bent too far over for me to properly tell.
James Starling, my cunning uncle, is sprawled across an armchair next to the fireplace. He is—was—engaged in conversation with Grandfather, face bored and dull. He probably thinks that having two healthy sons means he can lord it over us here at court, though I think he is so involved because he didn't contribute any young girls to our cause.
John Westerly, like I predicted, is as happy as could be. He sits on a chair removed from the table and put opposite my uncle's armchair, our nephew baby John on his lap. I have to say, I am surprised that he managed to get the baby out from under the Princess Margaret's nose, but he's John so there's a possibility.
I see a stool on the other side next to Jane, and sit down awkwardly with everyone's eyes on me. Jane puts her hand on mine comfortingly.
"Well now that we are all here..."begins my Grandfather. "We have matters to discuss."
He places one hand flat on the parchment and the other pointing at it. "What is that?"I whisper to Jane. She glances over.
"A family tree. See the names crossed out? Those are everyone we've tried." What does she mean?
"Gather 'round,"says Grandfather demandingly, and for some reason we all do so. I stand myself next to him, so I can see the family tree.
It is widely spaced out, drawn in black ink, but has been annotated in red. Several names are crossed out harshly; I almost wince at the sight of 'Diana Westerly, B: 1495 D: 1522'.
"We have tried everyone. Diana was a good shot, but..." here, he paused. "We all know how that ended up. The Starlings need a Queen, and there is only one person left to take that spot." The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as everyone in the room turns to face me. Me. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face, my hair becomes hot under my heavy French hood. They want me?
"But I can't!"I reply frantically. "I'm twenty-six years old! I'm half a commoner! I have been at court for twelve years and he hasn't so much as glanced at me! Why should I be Queen?"
My family's eyes move to the family tree next to me, and I finally I realise where my Grandfather is pointing.
Catherine Starling, B: 1496. It is circled in red ink, heavily, like he was desperate. My heart skips a beat as it dawns on me just down dire my family's situation. I turn to Jane.
"I don't want to be Queen,"are the soft words tumbling out of my mouth. She takes a deep breath, and addresses the whole room:
"She is right. Catherine and I are getting older, it is better that she stay at court and educate the next girl on how to get on the throne."
"And who shall the next girl be? An invisible child?"asks James Starling, who I am surprised hasn't spoken yet. Jane smiles.
"Something like that. My daughter shall be trained for the throne, and when she is ready she will take it with ease."
"Who, Anne?"questions John. He looks like he just wants to take the baby back before his wife notices, so I wouldn't be surprised if he dislikes this idea. Jane nods while Grandfather and Uncle James whisper to each other, weighing the probabilities. Anne's only ten, and the last time I saw her she was small and scrawny. But if you compare her to me, then...
I lean across to Jane. "Why would you suggest Anne? She's so young, and I'm only your half-sister." Jane's face tells me she was expecting this question.
"Because Grandfather won't let us rest, Uncle James is a sly fox and John has gone cuckoo with his Princess wife. You're all I have left. Anne may be my daughter, but she's half Saxby. I think that you'll appreciate a quiet life more than her, am I right?"
I can't find it in me to answer her. To know that I'm her favourite by process of elimination...well.
I'm used to it.

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Verity's POV
"They're here,"states Marianne sourly. I don't reply. "Verity!"

"What is it?"I ask, still not looking up from my sewing. It took me such a long time to find something to stop me being bored to death, so I should at least finish it. However, Marianne is not so patient.
"Verity!"
"I heard you the first time,"I reply moodily, placing my needlework down next to me. Wait, what did she say again? Marianne rolls her eyes at my slowness and folds her arms. I, curious, stand up and join my sister at the window, taking the moment I pass her to admire her ever-present beauty.

She has large eyes, a wonderful shade of dark blue like a midnight ocean. Sometimes they appear black, sometimes normal blue, but anything is better than my brown ones. Leia's eyes are brown, if we're comparing cousins too, but hers are far prettier: specks of green in them, with a lovely warm mahogany glow. Marianne's have that glint in them, that glint of contempt and the beginnings of a plot. I can tell she's up to something.
I briefly sweep my eyes over my sister's face again, before glancing out of the window.
Sure enough, a carriage is coming into view, with the Westover crest on the side. Another follows behind, probably carrying their baggage and a maid or two. I cannot help smiling; Leia is really here, at court!
"Why are you smiling?"asks Marianne sharply. "It's only Widow Cousin Leia and her sisters Flirty and Soppy." I scowl at her immediately, indignant over my cousins. Realising Marianne doesn't notice, or care, I swallow my feelings down once again and say:
"Shall we go down and meet them?" My sister begrudgingly nods, and we turn towards the door.
I catch my reflection in a mirror along the way. Next to Marianne, my soft cheeks look chubby compared to her structured jawline; my hair looks thin and tightly pulled back compared to her artistically planned curls hanging down at the front. But right now, I don't care because Leia is here and Marianne's beauty won't matter any more.

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While the Starlings were panicking over their lack of eligible girls, Sir Robert Westover stood confidently outside the palace. In the driveway far in front of him was the carriage containing his daughters: Katharine, Cecily and Leia. Verity and Marianne were next to it, greeting them.
All young, all beautiful. All pawns.
Now he, a Westover, father of nine children, was head of the new scheme to put a new girl on the throne of England. He had five pretty young women at court; he could relax.
And for now, all seemed right in the world.