On the eve of her execution...
The Tower of London.
The Tower of London.
The 12th Day of February,
the Year of our Lord 1542
My Dearest Husband,
There is still time for you to show a little mercy. Think, my Love, of all we have been to each other these past three years. Please, I implore you to reconsider, before there is no going back.
My fate is wholly in your hands.
If, on the morrow I am to depart this world, then your decision will reside in your conscience for the remainder of your days.
Henry, I AM INNOCENT of these despicable charges against me.
I have NEVER, EVER been unfaithful to you – not once – and have certainly not had intimate relations with my own brother, as I now stand so unjustly accused. How could you even begin to believe such ugly rumours as these mine enemies have concocted against me?
You know me, Henry, better than anyone.
You must believe in your heart of hearts that you are and always have been my only love. Archbishop Cranmer is a gullible man if he has been taken in by these vile lies. If he really cannot see that I have fallen victim to jealousy and spite, then he must be a weak and piteous man who is unfit for such a position of power as he presently holds.
Please stop and consider for a moment:
I am 39 years your junior – of course there are those who may be envious, but surely that does not compel you to believe their slander, and even worse, take their side against your wife?
Oh Henry, how such vivid memories this evening rise up to torment me!
I have never before confessed to you how, on the morning of our wedding day whilst my ladies-in-waiting were dressing me, I could think of nothing but lying in your bed later that night and feeling those Royal Hands roaming all over my eager young body. I am certain they must have interpreted my tell-tale blushes and read my mind, for I noticed the knowing smiles they exchanged.
So, My Love, how have we come to this?
I have witnessed the desire in those beloved brown eyes gradually turn to disgust – and certainly due to no act of high treason on my part whatsoever.
Oh Henry, I can barely believe how callous you have become.
How could you ignore my screams of despair when I broke free from the Yeomen of the Guard as they arrested me, and ran to your chapel where you were at your devotions?
How I banged on that door in utter torment –
I know you could not have failed to hear my desperate plea – and yet you allowed my captors to drag me away, still screaming, and incarcerate me here in this God-forsaken place.
But I still have not lost hope. My faith in you as my Husband and King is all I have left now.
Please Dear Henry, I beseech you – please do not abandon me here to die.
I have only seen nineteen summers.
If you no longer want me, then why not simply divorce me?
I am reduced to begging you now.
Please, please my Love, can you not find it in your heart to at least spare my life?
If, by some miracle, you can, then I hereby give you my word that you shall never set eyes upon me again and so will be free to remarry whomsoever you choose.
Whatever decision you come to,
Goodbye my Dear Heart, my Noble King,
And God Bless You.
Your ever loving wife,