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cerenemuxse · 1 year

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An Engine of Many Colors

March 1970 (with a time skip to mid-April 1970)

CW/TW: Panic attack

The story can be found at @eosr-by-muxse for easier access.

After James is hauled to the Steamworks by Edward, the once bright red medium-sized tender engine begins to worry about his paintwork. But should that really be the biggest of his concerns?

The way to Crovan's Gate Steamworks took a while. The silence was tense, even with the occasional humming from the engine hauling him. Said engine tried speaking to James earlier, but the latter stayed quiet. He was deep in his own thoughts for what seemed like the first time in his life.

James didn't like it one bit.

A bright red medium-sized tender engine screeched to a halt at Kildane Station. "Here's James!"

"Jimmy, don't do that!" scolded Emily as she arrived at the station with the Emerald. "You're going to seriously damage your brakes!"

"Oh, relax, Emi," huffed James. "I haven't had any problems with them ever since my wooden brakes were replaced. I'll be fine!"

"They were wooden, James! You're wearing this pair much too fast. Keep doing that if you want to have another crash!" the green medium-sized tender engine huffed. Her crew patted her cab to soothe her anger and worries.

"It won't happen to a splendid red engine like me."

"Mhm…" she hummed, unconvinced. She suddenly perked up. "Now that you mentioned red, did you hear about Rosie?"

"Rosie? What does she have to do with red?"

"You haven't seen her? She was repainted red recently!"

"Repainted red? What red?"

Emily didn't respond as her guard blew their whistle. She began to leave.

"Like red red? James red? Splendid red? Are you teasing?" he exclaimed hysterically.

But Emily left without a response.

"Emi? Emi? Emily!"

"Och, slow down, James! Ye're goin way too fast!" exclaimed Edward in a stern tone as James quickly approached him.

James laughed proudly as he got closer. "I am the fastest red engine on Sodor, after all!" he exclaimed, rushing past the other engine. As he did, he barely caught on to what Edward said.

"Keep goin like thon, and ye're goin tae have another crash!"

"Rosie! Help!"

He passed by extremely fast and could barely hear her gasp and yell, "James!"

"Molly, get out!" he exclaimed. "Get out of the shed!"

"James?"

He snapped back into reality and looked around. He was at the Steamworks, sitting in the middle track directed towards the turntable. He looked to his right to see the blue medium-sized tender engine being turned to the track next to him.

"I'll shunt ye ontae the turntable and intae an open space. Give me a minute," said Edward. He moved back, switched to the track James was on, and carefully shunted the flatbed James was on.

James stayed quiet as he was shunted. His frame creaked and groaned. He braced himself, ready to hear an angry tone of some sort.

But it never came.

"Are ye alricht?" began Edward, "Other than whit happenit, o course." He backed down, giving the red engine some space.

Well, once red engine.

James was covered in dust and his paint was scratched up, with large areas having been stripped off by the collision. Large dents were made in his boiler and firebox from the large chunks of brick and concrete collapsing in him. His funnel was crushed by the same debris. His entire buffer beam had fallen off at the site of the accident, Tidmouth Sheds, with his headlamp and left boiler handrail. His left cab handrail was barely hanging on. His pony truck was ready to break off with the amount of rubble that had gotten stuck in his chassis. His boiler dome was no longer shiny and a chunk of the brass covering was missing. His brass whistle and safety valve were completely destroyed. His running board was crushed inwards, damaging his sandboxes and splashers.

The only color on the engine was his heterochromatic eyes of rich brown and lush green.

He refused to look at Edward, who sat on the turntable. He's so mad, I just know it, he thought to himself. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"James?" he asked once again.

"I'm sorry for what I did. I really am," he muttered quickly. His fear slipped right through. "I should've listened. I should've-"

"Whoa, keep the heid!" interrupted Edward. "We ken ye are. Ye've… apologizit enough at Tidmouth."

"But is it going to fix the stunt I pulled?" yelled James, opening his eyes.

Edward didn't respond.

"Just as I thought."

"But did ye learn?"

James looked at him.

"Did ye learn? Did ye finally learn yer lesson?"

"Of course I did," James replied bitterly. "I'm not that moronic."

"Awbody said ye were," said Edward, with a hint of sternness in his tone. He then sighed. "I need tae leave. Dae ye want me tae brin everyane else?"

"I rather you not," he huffed out. His eyes began to burn so he squeezed them shut. "Just go away." His lips straightened tightly, strained into a thin line.

"Alricht," replied Edward as he was turned around. "Git better soon." With a single solemn whistle, he left.

Once James saw that he was gone, he let those tears of anger go. "I've really messed up, big time." He looked up at the ceiling, or rather the sunroof, of the Steamworks as his vision blurred from the tears trickling down his cheeks. The mixture of coal dust and water began to stain his chubby dusty cheeks, mixing with the dust. "I didn't listen to the two warnings I was given. Two bloody warnings! No, three!" His breath was becoming uneven. Had his fire been lit, his face would've burned and his boiler would've bubbled to a near breaking point. "And not only did I destroy the sheds, but I nearly got one of my friends hurt." James took a deep breath, attempting to recompose himself. "Some friend I am. I can kiss my red paintwork goodbye at this point."

"Ah. Hello to you, too, my friend."

James jerked and looked to his right. Victor was there as Kevin strolled right up to him.

"H-How long have you been there?" he sputtered out. Embarrassed, he tried not to sniffle and immediately looked away from Victor and Kevin.

"Not too long," replied Victor. "Now, what was that about your paint?"

"That I can kiss it goodbye, that's for sure," he huffed reluctantly with a sigh. "Many years ago, the Fat Controller threatened to paint me blue if I ever misbehaved."

"But you've done so multiple times," said Kevin. "Just last year, you were here after pulling that stunt with that heavy goods train!"

"Well, he's definitely not letting me get away with it this time. What I just did tops it all off."

Victor and Kevin could only keep quiet, quickly glancing at one another with a knowing frown.

"When is he passing by?"

"Tomorrow," replied Victor.

"Tomorrow? Why tomorrow? Why not today?"

"He's reassigning all the engines of Tidmouth Sheds to other places. It'll take months to rebuild the sheds."

"Rebuild?" Oh goodness, please don't tell me. Don't let it be, don't let it be! "What do you mean?"

"He was on the phone with one of the workmen when the rest of the sheds collapsed," Victor replied. "Even then, the sheds were going to need to be rebuilt."

""Even then?" Why?"

"When was Tidmouth Sheds built?"

"Uhm, nineteen-thirty-nine."

"Aie, aie, aie. I'm not surprised then."

"What happened?"

"They found a lot of safety violations before the rest of the sheds collapsed," said Kevin, rocking on his wheels. Just staring at him made James feel a bit dizzy. "And if there's one thing they've learned in the past few decades, is that old buildings failing to meet the safety requirements mean a lot of trouble."

"And it's going to take months?" James stared ahead. "Oh, I really messed up."

"Look on the bright side!" exclaimed Kevin. "At least they found this out before anything else happened! Those sheds would have collapsed in the middle of the night if this hadn't happened."

"So it's a good thing I crashed then?" snapped James.

Kevin was stunned.

"We'll leave you be, James," said Victor. He began to usher away the stunned yellow crane. "Get some rest in the meantime! We'll get to your repairs tomorrow morning once we figure out what needs fixing."

James didn't reply as he heard the two machines wander somewhere else. To where? He didn't know. He shut his eyes and eventually fell asleep.

When James opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself going down the Main Line, towards Kildane Station. Jacqueline was there with the branch line coaches, instead of the usual flatbeds of aluminum.

Feeling cheeky, he exclaimed, "Here's James!" and came to a gentle stop.

The large green tank engine looked over and her mouth dropped open.

"Jackie?"

"Votre peinture! C'est bleu!"

"Peinture…?" He paused then gasped. "My paintwork?" he exclaimed.

"Oui! Paintwork, c'est bleu, papa!"

"Bleu?" he exclaimed. He looked around for a reflection, his eyes eventually landing on the glass windows of the station's office building. "Oh no…"

Instead of a bright shining red coat of paint, James had a cerulean blue coat of paint with red lining and boiler bands. The number 6 on his tender was yellow with red lining.

"What happened?" asked Jacqueline.

James would've chuckled at Jacqueline's attempts to speak English if it hadn't been so perfect. Her French accent wasn't bleeding through like it normally did. It was replaced by a thick English accent.

He shook the thought away. "I got what I deserved is what happened."

"Oh… Sir Topham Hatt veut qu'est ce tu tire l'Express."

"Pull the Express?"

"Oui!"

"Pourquoi?"

"Tout le monde est occupé."

"That explains why you're pulling the coaches…"

"Mhm!" Jaqueline's guard blew his whistle. "A plus tard, papa!"

"A plus tard, Jackie!" replied James as he watched his daughter leave Kildane and head to Cronk-Abbey. He sighed, entering Kildane Yards, which was right next to the station and where Kildane Sheds was located.

Or at least that's what he saw before he found himself on the Main Line, passing Vicarstown with the Express. "What in the…?" he said, confused. He noticed he was going incredibly fast, faster than usual. "The coaches are easier to pull this time…" he muttered as he picked up speed. The lightness of the Express coaches made it easier for him as he crossed the viaduct above Vicarstown. He couldn't help but smile proudly. He passed by Molly, who was coming back from the Mainland.

"Oh, it feels wonderful to pull the Express!" he boasted.

"Stop showing off, James!" Molly scolded as she thundered by. "Or you're going to have another crash!" she hollered, her voice quickly fading away.

James brushed it off, but as he did, he felt uneasy. His boiler started to boil rapidly, with anxiety. Steam began to build up in his pipes. He began to worry just as he quickly approached the Vicarstown Drawbridge. He braked when he saw the toll down and the drawbridge going up. But he wasn't slowing down.

The horrible screeching from his brakes snapping hard onto his wheels returned. He winced at the sound, then gasped as he got closer and closer to the drawbridge, not slowing down.

"Wait, no! Stop! Stop!"

No matter how hard he braked, he couldn't stop. Soon, James broke through the toll and-

James screamed as he woke up. He jerked around, becoming aware of where he was at.

He was at the Steamworks but in the air. He looked up to see he was on the lift. Looking around, inspecting his surroundings, he saw Harvey approaching him with the night shift workman, carrying sheets of metal.

"James, is everything alright?" asked Harvey, turning his crane arm away from his view.

James' mouth straightened tightly as he looked away. He stumbled with his words, making frustrated noises. "Everything's fine," he huffed, shutting his eyes once more.

Harvey hummed, concerned. However, he didn't want to prod so he left him alone, going back to work.

Once he was sure Harvey was gone, he opened his eyes, looking around. Just then, he heard Henry's whistle.

"The Flying Kipper," he whispered as he looked to his left. Sure enough, Henry passed by with the Flying Kipper, which James had still yet to grow fond of. He hummed, yawned, and dozed off.

"James? James, wake up!"

James groaned as he cracked open his eyes slowly. He winced as the bright light of the sun startled his vision. "Is it morning already?"

"It's been morning since you got here!" exclaimed the voice.

"Percy?" James asked.

"Yes?" replied Percy.

Once James' eyes adjusted to the change of lighting, he looked around to find Percy shunting a goods train. "Is this Tidmouth Yards?" he asked, recognizing the surrounding area.

"Um, yes," replied the small green saddle-tank engine. "Are you okay? You seem really out of it."

"Huh?" James shook his frame. "I'm fine!"

"Good because your goods train is ready to go!"

"What?"

"Your goods train to Vicarstown. Now hurry up, or you're going to be late!" huffed Percy impatiently before quickly rushing away.

James was left stunned as he moved to collect his goods train. As he did, he caught onto his reflection in one of the windows of a nearby building. He gasped. "Not again!"

Instead of red, he was apple green like Henry, Percy, Emily, and Jacqueline. In fact, like many of the NWR engines. But like Henry, Percy, and Jacqueline, all of his lining was red.

"That's just great," he laughed halfheartedly. "Not unique for my own paintwork anymore. Not like I was before, anyways." He wheeshed heavily as a yardman coupled him to the goods train.

But once again, he found himself already moving, passing by Wellsworth Station. And again, he felt different. The goods train felt lighter than usual, considering it was unusually much longer than what he normally took.

"Huh, everything feels much lighter…" he noted. He thought for a moment. "Those Express coaches felt lighter, and now the goods trains. Maybe it has to do with my paintwork! I was blue like Gordon, and he pulls the Afternoon Express. And now I'm green, like Henry! He's strong, and so are Emily and Jacqueline. Even little Percy is strong, at least on the Ffarquhar Branch Line," he whispered. "Strong and green, that's what I'll be!" he exclaimed with pride as his mood brightened up.

Approaching Gordon's Hill, he thundered up the hill with ease. On the way up, he saw Rosie. The opportunity to be a tease was too good to resist! "Hey, Rosie!" he called out to the struggling red tank engine. “You should be painted green like me! Then you wouldn't be struggling so much!"

Rosie huffed in annoyance as he kept going. "Oh, stop showing off, James or you're going to have another crash!"

James laughed with pride, ignoring the warning and the heavy feeling that loomed over him, as he reached the peak and passed through Maron. Once he did, he reached the east incline of Gordon's Hill and began going downhill. He didn't notice that the incline was abnormally steep, as he was too much in a good mood. "This is easy, easier than ever!" he exclaimed, the euphoria of his dream getting to him.

He had forgotten it was a dream, though.

Suddenly, James squinted when he noticed something ahead. He gasped, realizing what, or rather who it was. Braking harshly, he hollered, "Edward, watch out!"

He couldn't tell if the blue medium-sized tender engine had heard him. It wouldn't have mattered as James quickly got closer and closer to Edward's brake van, attached to the end of his goods train. James screamed in fear-

"No!"

Victor, Kevin, Stafford, and Harvey looked at James on the lift, who suddenly jerked awake. One of the workmen, who had been inspecting James, fell off the ladder. Thankfully, a few other workers caught him before he hit the ground.

"James!" exclaimed Victor, approaching the engine on the lift.

The damaged red medium-sized tender engine opened his eyes, wincing when the bright lights of the Steamworks hit him. "Not again," he muttered.

"James, what's wrong?"

"You woke up with a start!" exclaimed Stafford, as he shunted a few materials to the back of the Steamworks.

James fumbled his words. Not wanting to lose the last bit of pride he had, he huffed. "Nothing's wrong!" he replied, his voice cracking. "It's nothing!" He looked ahead at the dark evening sky. "It's nothing…"

The Steamworks engines weren't convinced but they didn't want to press on. So they continued their work as James dozed off to sleep once more. The light of the moon shined bright through the sunroof of the Steamworks.

When James opened his eyes, he was greeted with the bright light of the sun once again and found himself at the Boxford Summerhouse. He winced as the bright light pierced his eyes, wheeshing heavily.

"James, that's no way to greet anyone!" scolded what sounded like a woman.

James recognized the voice, his eyes opening wide in shock. The Duchess of Boxford! he thought. "Ma'am, hello!" he replied as nonchalantly as possible and looked at the Duchess, who was accompanied by the Duke. "Good day to you, sir!"

The Duke of Boxford chuckled. "Good day to you as well, chap," he replied. "Thank you for filling in for Spencer while he's in for maintenance." He walked up to one of the red coaches that James realized he had been coupled up to.

"I must say," said the Duchess of Boxford. "You are looking quite smart with that silver paintwork," she commented as she got into the coach and her husband offered his hand.

As she climbed on, James gasped. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Silver? Silver?" He flipped his smokebox door open and spotted the glass window of the tiny house on the platform. "Like him?" he exclaimed in horror.

Unfortunately, he was silver with white lining. Just. Like. Spencer. Oh, how much he despised that streamlined silver engine.

James fumed as he closed his smokebox door shut, heavily wheeshing once again. He muttered under his breath, "Him, him! Why him?" Seething through his teeth, steam seeping through them, he whistled twice and moved along.

But this time, the scene didn't change suddenly.

He should be happy, relieved even. But he was afraid and uneasy. The feeling crept through his boiler, and he felt tenser than ever.

Once he reached West Maron Hill Junction, he took the track going east on the Main Line. It was located quite awkwardly, so he was going uphill right as he took that track.

As he did, he heard the Duke speak up, "What's wrong, James? You don't seem like yourself today, chap."

James felt even tenser. "Why is that?" he asked back.

"You're not showing off, and you usually do," replied the Duke. "What's wrong?"

"Did you finally learn your lesson?" asked the Duchess.

James wanted to stop but he couldn't. He just kept going forward. He tried using his brakes but they wouldn't budge. It was like he had no control over himself anymore.

"Did you finally learn that if you keep showing off, you'll have another crash?" she asked again, in a mocking manner.

The words "Another crash" echoed from the Duchess of Boxford, repeatedly. Each time it was said, it drove James further into guilt and fear.

It didn't stop there.

"Keep doing that if you want to have another crash!" he heard someone else say from ahead. When he looked, he realized he was in a place he didn't recognize. The ground was flat and he was on the middle track of three lines. It looked like the rails kept going, but that wasn't what startled him.

Emily was on his right, heading towards him. She said again, "Another crash!" in the same tone she had used that morning as she stormed past.

"You should get your brakes checked or you'll have another crash!" was heard from his left. He looked to see Rosie rush by as well, extremely fast. He swore he felt his frame jostle about. "Another crash!" she exclaimed, repeating with Emily.

"Go, rusty iron! Crash!" was heard from his right again, but this time, it was Diesel. He mocked him as he thundered by. "Another crash!" he repeated. "Another crash!"

Soon, engines of the North Western Railway passed by him, hollering "Another crash!" right at him. The tones of disappointment and anger were there. The words "Another crash!" being repeated over and over again became a muddled mess. His mind became overwhelmed.

And when Molly had said the same thing, the fearful tone was obvious as it screamed and rang in his smokebox. He couldn't blame her. His carelessness would have harmed her as she had been sleeping in the sheds when it happened.

As each engine chuffed by, James' frame kept swaying left and right, the fear of being knocked off his wheels rising. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to go away.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry," he said again, louder, as he shut his eyes, squeezing them tight. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" As he repeated the phrase over and over again, it got louder and louder. Soon, he was screaming, his eyes burning as dirty coal water tears brewed.

But then he heard another voice. One he hadn't heard in decades in his dreams.

"Go on, James. Go on."

That voice, he froze, immediately looking down when he snapped his eyes open. No, no, no, no, no!

"Go on, go on!" The voice said again. James' frame trembled.

You're supposed to be dead! You're supposed to be dead! I saw it, I saw it!

"Look up."

He fell for it, looking up at Jasmine, into her green eyes. She was going backward, right in front of him.

"Go on!" she exclaimed cheekily. "Crash!"

Her sweet laughter echoed all around him as he stayed frozen in place, staring off into space. He was no longer moving, not noticing the disappearance of the coaches behind him or of his surroundings.

Then everything went dark, the pitch blackness of his surroundings only lasting for a moment when a spotlight flashed on, pointing downwards at him. A glow came from below him, making James feel disoriented once he finally snapped out of his frozen state. A circle was what glowed below him, sifting through every single color. The glow lit up his surroundings very slightly but he could tell enough to know that he was in the Steamworks.

The ground shifted. The turntable, he realized. It began to turn slowly but it soon picked up speed, flashing rapidly as it cycled through many colors. His paintwork began changing colors.

He felt uneasy, and the boiling anxiety within him returned. His breaths became short and uneven.

"No, stop! Stop!" he exclaimed. The turntable spun faster and faster. "Make it stop! Someone-!"

"-help!"

"James!"

The once-red engine opened his eyes and winced for what seemed like the infinite time he had done so. It was the morning and the sun had just started to rise, the light striking his vision.

"James," said a voice. It came nearby.

James looked to his right, squinting. Once his vision refocused, he gasped. "Sir! Good morning, sir!" He exclaimed, failing to hide his panic.

Sir Topham Hatt II shifted from where he stood, on one of the platforms within the works. He cleared his throat. "James, I think you and I both know what is to happen next, right?"

"Yes, sir," he replied solemnly.

"Good. Now, once your repairs are done, you will be helping out with rebuilding Tidmouth Sheds," he said sternly. "I don't want to hear a single complaint. Understood?"

"U-Understood, sir. Is that all?"

The Fat Controller sighed. "No, that is not all…"

…

In the middle of April, James was released from the Steamworks, his repairs having been completed, and given a new coat of paint. The moment he left the Steamworks, he headed to Tidmouth to begin his work.

On the way there, James wasn't focused. His mind kept wandering off to places he couldn't describe, leaving his crew, who hadn't suffered any serious injuries, to be in control. They had tried speaking to their engine back at Crovan's Gate, but James stayed relatively quiet.

When they approached Wellsworth, James was startled when he heard someone call out for him.

"James, it's ye!"

He slowly looked up to find Edward, who was smiling at him.

"It's guid tae see ye out o' the works," continued Edward. "How ur-?"

"Can I stay with you tonight?" said James, quickly. His face began to feel hot and cold.

Although a bit thrown off and worried, Edwsrd didn't push it. "O' course," he replied. "But dae ken thon Emily is stayin' here, too."

"...is she mad?"

The smaller blue tender engine hesitated. "...aye. Very much sae." There was a bit of silence. "Ur ye-?"

"Yes, I'm still staying. I'm gonna have to confront her anyways."

"James, ye ken why she gets like thon."

"I know!" he huffed harshly before biting back his tongue. "But I don’t want to lose her because I avoided her. You and Emily are all that I have left.”

“Whit ur ye talkin’ aboot?”

“I lost the branch line, Edward,” James quickly burst out. “And I’m not getting it back soon.”

“You whit?” His shocked face stared at James. “Och, James…”

“I have to go.”

“Naw, wait! James!”

James quickly left Wellsworth Station. “I’ll be back tonight!” The voice of his friend calling out for him quickly dwindled as he stormed down the line to Tidmouth.

He couldn't think straight. He was tired, exhausted from wheel to funnel. He hadn't been able to sleep, not after waking up from those nightmares. Not even chatting with the Steamworks' engines helped. He just couldn't. He was afraid. He was afraid of hearing any more disappointment, any more anger, any more of anything.

James wasn't a blue engine. He was an engine of many colors.

After much consideration, I have decided to upload this rewrite as part of my contribution to 5/5! It's just been sitting there and I'm a bit impatient xd

Thank you so much to Jay for beta-reading! Very much appreciated. <3

34 notes · View notes

fideidefenswhore · 3 months

Note

Could I ask you two questions please?

One, what do you make of Chapuys's report that Anne's aunt praised Mary as such a good girl she deserved total respect anyway? By the sounds of things, with Mary refusing to acknowledge Anne, not wanting to eat meals unless she came above Elizabeth, all that, she sounds as if she gave the servants a lot of stress and difficulty, because Mary was still above them but they couldn't obey her but disobey the King. It sounds more Chapuys's corny spin on things, where Mary's so awesome even Anne's family love her. I don't believe Anne's aunt really would've felt Mary was "good" in that situation, and I don't get who was listening to her say that who then reported it to Chapuys. Are they saying Mary heard it and told him, or he had spies there too?

"[...] nothing is done without the previous consent of the sister of Anne de Boullan's father, the lady to whom the keeping of her has lately been entrusted. I am told that the duke of Norfolk and the brother of Anne had the other day high words with the said governess because, as they thought, she treated the Princess with too great kindness and regard, when she ought to deal with her as a regular bastard that she was. "

So far, so plausible. This seems to fit what we know of both Norfolk and George Boleyn's characters. It is perhaps, interesting, that rather than her most immediate family (which would be, as mentioned above, Thomas Boleyn), the family firm feels the matter is of such great importance that Anne Shelton needs to be counseled and guided by its highest-ranking male member, Norfolk, alongside the male relative Anne was closest to: George.

It's a very high-handed move ('high words', as the report goes); and I don't think it's a bridge too far to speculate that these men were sent by AB personally to exhort Shelton, in person, to follow a stricter policy when it came to Mary, although it does contradict what we know about the supposedly extremely hostile relationship between Anne and Norfolk (because, if Anne sent him, that would suggest a level of trust on a sensitive matter...perhaps George was Anne's choice, and Norfolk, Henry's? Iirc it was Henry that sent Norfolk to Mary's household of Beaulieu to dissolve it and tell her she would be removed to Elizabeth's).

But as always, it's important to be careful when parsing a primary source—what exactly is Chapuys reporting here? Not that they said this, but that they thought this. Chapuys often reports what he believes these players thought:

"The King’s mistress [...] considering that her singular beauty, goodness, and virtue, might possibly induce the King to change his purpose, and that if the Princess were to attend Court, and be seen there continually, she might daily gain the hearts and favour of the courtiers, [will not] allow her to come [attend her at Court]." Jan 1534, Chapuys to Charles V

So, that's become words in her mouth, and/or thoughts in her mind, in fiction, and yet Chapuys cannot read her mind, and he in fact, did not report that this was something Anne said—which isn't entirely obvious, because he's saying this very definitively ('considering that'), but 'considering' is not 'said'. Ergo, this is Chapuys' own speculation on her motivations (the unlikelihood of Anne praising her as she's planning to isolate her, notwithstanding) for the actually definitive part of this sentence: "she has not allowed her to come [to court]".

One might ask why such a long-winded explanation of her motivations would be necessary here, and the answer is that months earlier, he's already rather declaratively informed Charles V that Anne will force Mary to attend her at court:

"I hear [this accursed Anne] has lately boasted that she will make of the Princess a maid of honour in her Royal household [...]"

This has essentially tangled Chapuys within his own cross-hairs: if Anne has a habit of ''boasting" (maybe played that card a bit too early...) that she will take actions that she doesn't actually end up taking, then (which, by his own account, is now apparent—again, depending on how credulous the reader is of his account) why would Charles V take any of her other reported threats seriously? Not to mention, the above was from a dispatch where he also exhorts his master that he can "hardly avoid making war upon this king and kingdom".

He has perhaps accordingly learned the risk of overconfidence on reporting what was said, and retreated into the plausible deniability of speculating the motivations, (ie, what was thought) behind what was said.

Anyway, the rest of the report in question:

"The lady answered that even if [...] she was the bastard daughter of a poor gentleman, her kindness, her modesty, and her virtues called forth all respect and honour. "

Allowing for some possible exaggeration ("I will still accord her the respect owed to the King's natural child", might've been closer to the actual line), I do find this plausible, actually. It's important to remember that most nobles were in a habit of reverence towards Mary; it would be difficult to relinquish that even if instructed to do so. And Shelton was probably not entirely motivated by altruism for saying so— fortune was fickle, HVIII himself had proved fickle, and the Queen, while expecting a son, could just as easily have another daughter, or a stillbirth, or even, as would have been brought home for Anne Shelton, as she reached maturity and heard the news of the (legally considered) former Queen, childbed death. Who was to say Henry would not reverse what he had done regarding Mary, had Anne not had a son? We can look at the timing of this report, as well (February 1534), and place this statement before the Succession Act was passed and before the Pope has declared on the marriage between COA and Henry.

Also, as to why this praise of her in light of the stress and difficulty she caused the servants, Mary has only been in the household for two months. Chapuys will advise her to be more outwardly defiant, and then apologize for having advised her so once Shelton becomes fed up of that enough to forcibly place her into an 'inferior' (leather, not velvet, and in the context of, she had tried to hijack the one set up for Elizabeth, and was refusing to travel in a lesser one— on a future, similar transfer between households, Chapuys reports that Mary "allowed the little one to travel by land", opting to travel by barge, instead) litter (ie, coach):

"Last Thursday, upon the Princess, Your Majesty's cousin, refusing to accompany this King's bastard daughter, who was being conducted to another house fixed for her residence, she was, by certain gentlemen deputed for the purpose, against her will and by sheer force, placed in a chaise (lictiere) with Anne's aunt, being in this manner obliged and compelled to pay her court to the said bastard;—not, however, without her having previously and publicly protested against the violence used with her, and declaring all the time that the act being an involuntary one could in nowise prejudice her right and title for the future. I should never have advised the Princess to go to such an extremity for fear of her over-irritating the King, her father, and giving him occasion and excuse for treating her worse than he is doing at present, and playing her some bad trick, in order to please his mistress Anne, who never ceases day and night plotting against her."

(By then, it seems the blinders have gone down fractionally...it's finally 'for fear of over-irritating the King', not Anne, although of course he still maintains any 'occasion for worse treatment' would mainly be done to please his 'mistress'. Also worth noting, by the date of the above report, the Act of Succession has passed, and Shelton has already been instructed to not afford Mary any precedence over Elizabeth, and, according to the same earlier report, to not allow her any privilege 'without the previous consent of [Thomas Boleyn]'.)

Tl; dr, at the time of the 'bastard daughter of a poor gentleman' report, matters of the succession were arguably still in a state of flux, nothing definitive had been passed besides the annulment (besides which, bona fides was the expected principle of some) as far as English law, and it wouldn't necessarily be politic to alienate a potential future heir to the throne. The world in which Mary was not to be considered such was still a decidedly new one.

It's fair to speculate on the likelihood of whether or not Shelton would've spoken so kindly of Mary had Anne already had a son (although, in those circumstances, Mary surely would not be sent to his household), and/or had the Pope declared for Henry by this point.

To your point, while Chapuys does not name a source ("I am told"); it's fair to assume one (or several) of the servants of Elizabeth's household were paid by him to send him intelligence of visits by significant figures (such as, Norfolk and George Boleyn), and of what was discussed during said visits.

Here it ends:

"The Princess [...] is so armed with patience that she bears her troubles with wonderful constancy and resignation, placing all her confidence in God, the true protector of good, right, and justice, and likewise in Your Majesty, so much so that I doubt whether she would put on a better face in prosperity than she is putting on now in the midst of her troubles. May God grant that such magnanimity on her part do not over-irritate this accursed lady, and prompt her to make haste and carry her detestable thoughts into execution."

The impression Chapuys wants to make here must be that Mary is in danger, whether or not she is outwardly defiant or 'magnanimous'. If she's defiant, she will be punished, and if she's 'magnanimous', she will be baited into being the former.

#anon #tbf? some of anne's family do seem to have supported mary #norfolk's wife supported coa so it's reasonable to assume she was one of mary's supporters asw #and then lady boleyn; her aunt that was hostile towards her; the wife of james boleyn ; fair to assume similar reasons #but yes re: no public figure is universally beloved for as long as mary lived #certainly the line that all her plantagenet relatives revered her; for instance; is not true #thomas stafford literally led a rebellion against her. and was summarily executed for that treason. so......

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