Threads: The Reincarnation of Anne Boleyn Read Online Free PDF Page A

instructions to the nurses on
how to handle us. Then they retreated, leaving the care and
handling of the three of us to others. However in secrecy, the
nurses disobeyed orders that they should distance themselves from
us as well, so they held and snuggled and nurtured us without our
parents ever suspecting. It was the scoldings Mother and Father
saw, never the hugs.
    I was too boisterous for a girl, tumbling
down the stairway with my brother George, while our shrieks rang
out in the hall. I often hurled myself into cartwheels, even
attempting flips behind garden hedges, tearing my skirt on thorns
and having to account for it later. “Pure wickedness,” I was told
with clucks and fiery glances. “A lady doth not fling her skirts to
the breeze with her limbs in full view of God and man! Thou art
tempting Satan! Such sinful immodesty!”
    From the moment I toddled upright, I was
drilled for hours in walking like a proper lady, and so I walked as
a proper lady walks. “A lady doth not gallop; she doth glide. Head
erect, chin proud, small steps— small ones, Mistress Anne.
Move only the lower portion of thy limbs as much as thou mayest.
Mother of God! Heed me, thou wicked girl. Straighten thy
back. Arms bent up at the elbow lest the blood move to thy hands
and make them as pink as the hands of a kitchen maid. Up! Up and stay up!” The words were punctuated with smacks from a
wicked long switch. Two steps out of view of anyone, however, I
broke into a giggle and a giddy run.
    I liked games that called for movement and
running. I also liked games of pretend, and played the beautiful
maiden while George harassed me as a fearsome dragon or a highway
robber. When Mary joined our play, she would insist upon being the
beautiful maiden herself, and my role became that of the handsome
prince who would save her. George was ever the villain, for he
loved to roar and make noises to frighten us into scrambling out of
the nursery and into the hall. I would cast magic spells on him to
make him die upon the floor where he would twitch and moan in
gleefully dramatic agony. Always, the nurses would scurry toward us
scolding and upset that Father or Mother should hear us outside the
boundaries of our playrooms. We slid down the banisters, and ran
from room to room to escape them, hiding in wardrobes or under
bedsteads in dusty, muffled concealment while they called to us and
threatened us in dangerous tones. Once found, we were separated and
spanked, or punished with isolation, or denied treats or, in
particularly bad instances, turned over to Father whose punishment
was more severe.
    If he was at home and not traveling in
service to the King, Father always came with his whip when I
misbehaved or threw fits of temper, lifted my skirts and thrashed
me.
    I see Father now, sweeping into the room with
iron fury, larger than life, made larger by rage, voice booming,
eyes coldly examining me upon his approach. As he draws ever
closer, I grow ever smaller, weeping, contrite and terrified, too
frightened even to beg for mercy knowing I would receive none from
my father or his whip.
    Frequently berated for “wickedness” and
“willfulness”, I routinely confessed myself to be “wicked and
willful” when I asked forgiveness from the priest. There,
admittedly, were episodes of violent emotion if I did not get my
way. I believed from my upbringing that I should have my way, and
so I demanded it. However, mine was frequently less a display of
will than of volatile temperament, and my demands often less
self-centered than a manifestation of strained nerves. I grew
ill-tempered when excitement or pressure stretched me past a very
tenuous endurance.
    I was forced to test that endurance daily.
Both our parents and the nurses made it clear that none of us was
ever to draw attention in public. They warned and forbade us, but
the strong desire to appear in control and to please was within me
as well, so I obliged. I was aware of always being watched