9th of August, 1546: This day didn’t go as planned, but it didn’t go bad. It started out good, when a servant woke me up I was not even very sleepy, so I got ready quicker than expected. After I was dressed, which was actually fun as the new clothes I got to wear as mama has ordered them for me before she died; I headed to Father’s rooms.
When I got there I was told that Father was not awake yet, but I was allowed to wait in the rooms adjacent to his sleeping quarters. When I looked around I saw plenty of tapestries depicting his war efforts and remembered the stories that he told me and Edward, though Edward was more interested in them. I preferred to hear mama’s stories of France and Netherlands, those courts sound like the stuff of miracles, though apparently this court trumps them all.
But there was also a large family portrait I hadn’t seen in ages, done after the birth of my dead little sister Anne. It showed us all together informally, as Mister Holbein had suggested to my father. Mama stood with Father holding the then alive baby Anne while Margaret was held by Elizabeth on the other side of Father and I stood inbetween mama and Father was putting his hand on my shoulder. We were all smiling, and the figures of my dead Grandfather King Henry and Grandmother Queen Elizabeth stood to the side smiling also, with Grandfather Duke Boleyn and dead Grandmother Boleyn were on the other side.
The one picture that caught my eye, however, was the painting of Lady Mary done after she was given the title Her Lady the King’s Daughter and also the Duchy of Lancaster, though not the title of Duchess. She look so happy in the picture, but also so sad. I remember she stood at the ceremony and refused to touch my mama, even when offered her hand to help her up after tripping while walking up the stairs. I thought it was rude, but no one said anything at the time.
When my father finally joined me, I was shocked by how tired he looked. The bags under his eyes were the size of my thumb, and he had little wrinkles around his mouth that weren’t there when he gave me this diary. But he looked happy, and I saw a young lady with dark hair walk out behind us. I could tell who it was immediately, as she was one of the reasons I was here. But I decided to wait until the food was served first. Father looked hungry.
When we settle down and started eating, I was surprised Father only was eating some fruit and bread. When I offered him some of my cold meat, he simply shook his head and said that he didn’t want much. That was when I knew how hard mama’s death had hit him.
So we ate in relative silence at first. It was rather awkward, so I started to hum a tune that reminded me of mama, the Volta. Then Father started crying.
His tears were fast, like little raindrops down his face and through his beard. They were bitter and angry, like he wanted to hit something. But when I touched his shoulder, he pulled me next to him an broke down further.
He was so sad; I didn’t want to tell him about Lady Howard and Lady Mary. It seemed silly now, and if I saw anything else happen I would say something then. So instead I gave Father a hug and cried with him, letting my own sadness for mama overwhelm me as well.
After a while we were both spent, and Father called a servant to clean up the table and pulled me along to a room near his bedroom, a small door led us to an enclosed cupboard that was filled with pictures and candles.
I looked in wonder, wondering what this magical room was. Some paintings were of my close family, some of distant relatives and some of people I didn’t know. When I reached a picture of a woman in that ugly house hat that Lady Mary wears (it’s called a gable hood, but I don’t like it so it’s a house hat) and pretty blue eyes Father put his hand on my shoulder.
“That’s your Grandmother the Queen, my Lady Mother. I loved her very much, and I miss her as much as you miss your mama.”
I was curious now, so I leaned further in and stared deeply at the painting, looking to see any similar features between the painting and my brothers and sisters. I saw that Elizabeth had similar eyebrows and skin to her, Margaret had the same hair colour (almost as red as Father’s but slightly more golden), Edward and George had the same nose and little Cecily was the closest in appearance, but with mama’s nose and eyes.
When I said this, Father laughed and said:
“Yes Harry, you all seem to have little bits of my Mother in you, though you all look more like your mother than anyone else. You especially are so like her I sometimes wonder if she didn't forget to put any on me in you when you were being made.”
This made me happy as I wanted to be as like mama as possible, as I could never be like Father. But then I saw another picture, one of an old woman dressed all in black. Her face was very wrinkled and I realized that I had her eyes. They were dark and wide, but not shaped like mama’s.
“She had my eyes.”
“Oh, yes. You and my Grandmother of all people. Only you and my brother Edward took anything from her.”
I sensed that he was getting tired and, scarier, sad. So I offered that I would be late to lessons and asked to be dismissed. He accepted this, and I left to go do my Mathematics and Latin lessons. I may hate Mathematics, but today was money study and I understood most of it as I have been studying the accounts of my household privately for a week now as I heard some courtier say that I was ‘a most expensive child’.
After that, Edward came for a visit and I taught him how to make a deer shadow with his hands and how to throw a ball so it comes back by itself. That last trick impressed him the most, though I thought the shadow was better myself.
I ended the day with reading the bible, in English as mama had given me one for Christmas last year, as she felt I should know it in all languages. It wasn’t as hard to understand as Latin, but I can’t show Lady Mary or else she’ll get angry.