The Other Henry VIII

Faith and Loyalty

Part Four

8 June 1530
Clara ran the folded edge of her handkerchief over the rosary again, and smiled faintly as the polished features of Christ gleamed back at her. Then she placed it back into the drawer of her dressing table, savouring the touch of the smooth beads as they slipped through her fingers. It had been her mother's, once upon a time. From the age of eight, Clara had worn it every day; in the days when doing so was permitted. The cool sensation of it around her neck had always been comforting, as if it were a connection to her mother that none other knew of. There would always be remnants of those other, better, times, she thought, no matter what her father said.

"My Lady?"
Clara instinctively pushed the drawer shut. "Yes?"
"It is time for you to dress, My Lady, if you please."
"Thank you, Mary." She rose to her feet, still hesitant to turn around. Had Mary seen the rosary? She could not be certain. "I shall come in a moment."
"Pardon, My Lady," stammered the other girl, "But would it not be wiser to carry your beads with you? Anyone could happen upon them while in your chambers."

Clara exhaled with relief as she withdrew the rosary beads and tucked it inside the bodice of her undergarments. The young Duchess of Buckingham could always be relied upon to hold her tongue, no matter what she had observed. In the four years of knowing her, Clara had never found a lady-in-waiting of greater loyalty than Mary. The others were all spies for their families, worms in her ear planted for the sole purpose of furthering their positions at court. No wonder her stepmother was so careful with her trust.

As her ladies scurried about the chamber, piecing together each element of her gown, an invisible cloak of melancholy seemed to clasp itself around Clara's shoulders. Every seam they fastened, every jewel they clasped, felt like a costume. Today she would be playing the part of a model princess, one who supported her father's decisions without question or hesitation. This was a role she had been rehearsing for eighteen years.

Just as Clara was casting an indifferent eye over her reflection in the mirror, there was a knock at the door of the next room. Likely a serving boy, she thought unflinchingly, come to remind her not to tarry a moment longer.
"My Lord Surrey is here to accompany you to the celebrations, My Lady," said Lady Oxford. She received nothing more than a nod in response. "I believe His Majesty is awaiting your arrival."

"Very well. His Majesty shall have his wish," replied Clara with a note of bitterness in her voice. She swept across the wooden floor, hands clamped together in front of her, and her ladies fell into formation in her wake. The sight of the Earl of Surrey outside her door cheered her somewhat, for he appeared to understand her state of mind with one glance as he offered his hand.

"How do you fare, Your Highness? Are you ready?" he asked in a low voice. They began to walk alongside one another, aware of the listening ears behind them.
"I suppose I am as ready as I shall ever be," replied Clara ruefully. "How do you like my mask?"
"Your mask, My Lady?"
"My mask of serenity."
The Earl stifled a chuckle, though his eyes were just as solemn as her own. "I think it needs some improvement, My Lady."
"I agree," nodded Clara discreetly, taking advantage of their momentary freedom as they turned a corner. "Perhaps one day it shall be as convincing as yours, My Lord."

They were approaching the grand staircase now, where two dozen servants were awaiting their arrival. Clara shuddered at the thought of all those eyes upon her, studying her expression for any signs of weakness. Her grip upon the Earl's hand stiffened like a shackle; the atmosphere at court had not been so fractious since Queen Diana's love letters were found. Would her father understand if her rosary were discovered? If her whispered Latin prayers were heard? There was no choice but to remain impassive, for these days the King was more easily riled than a bear.