Welcome to new reviewers Audriel, XUnFoRgEtTaBlEbAbEX, sonotalady, pamy, Arlad, lexi, ladyinwaiting2005, TheGrandDuchess, mississippigirl, Becky, munchausen, Becca07281 and Genie05 the second and thank you to everybody who reviewed.
Author's Note: To lexi: For this story, I'm going with Anne's canon year of birth, which I've estimated as 1509, rather than picking one of the historical dates suggested.
Happy Valentine's Day, everybody, and I hope you enjoy this update in honour of my favourite Tudors couple.
Chapter Thirty-Five
12th September 1541
In the almost two months since she was recruited to tend to Anne for the duration of her pregnancy, and to assist in the delivery of the royal child due in the spring, Mistress Porter had ensured that, despite the fact that she was a commoner, even the highborn ladies who attended Anne did not dare to defy her when she gave them an instruction. Dr Linacre had, with the permission of the King and Queen, given her leave to issue directions as she saw fit in order to ensure the survival and health of the royal mother and baby, and she was not shy about exerting her authority, especially as she was aware that she could be blamed if something went wrong. Those who were part of Anne's household when Harry was born remembered what it was like then, and had not even tried to argue with her, and any more recent arrival who balked at taking instructions from a woman whose birth was so much lower than theirs was swiftly put in her place.
Mistress Porter behaved respectfully towards Anne and towards Henry at all times, showing them the deference they were due as King and Queen, but she did not pander to any of Anne's ladies. She made her expectations known to them and expected them to obey the instructions she gave them to the letter, without complaining or arguing if they disliked the task she assigned them. She knew that she had no need to worry about the consequences of displeasing one of the ladies. She had helped bring the Prince of Wales into the world and, as a result, earned the gratitude of the royal couple, who had amply rewarded her for her assistance, and now they were counting on her to repeat her success by helping the Queen deliver another healthy child.
If one of the ladies complained that her manner was overbearing, Mistress Porter would not be the one dismissed, and they all knew it.
The health of the baby Anne carried was of far more importance than the pride of a lady-in-waiting who felt slighted to think that a midwife was allowed to tell her what to do.
For her part, Mary did not object to following Mistress Porter's instructions, and even if she had, she would never have said a word, as she had no wish to attract any additional attention, much less to incur her father's anger. A time might soon come when she would need to have his favour, which could easily be the only thing standing between her and utter disgrace. He had shown her more kindness of late, and she hoped that, if she could continue to win his approval, gradually reminding him, by her presence and by her agreeable behaviour, how much he loved his pearl, there might be a chance that, should she be unable to conceal her condition, he would stand by her and help her and her baby rather than washing his hands of them both.
She was well aware of the fact that her father was a proud man and he would resent anything he felt set him at a disadvantage in the eyes of his subjects or his fellow monarchs. He certainly wouldn't be happy to have his first grandchild born under such circumstances but maybe she could hope that his love and concern for her would outweigh his anger over her pregnancy.
Even if he was unwilling to send for Charles so that they could be married – or so angry that she would warn Charles not to return to England, for fear that he would be arrested as soon as his ship docked and committed straight to the Tower, to be tried and executed for dishonouring a daughter of the King – there was still a chance that he would find her another husband, one who would be willing to pretend that her child was his so that he or she would have a name, at least.
In any case, her time at Hatfield had accustomed her to injuries to her pride.
When she was first told that her father had ordered that her household at Ludlow Castle was to be disbanded and that she was to live at Hatfield as a member of her young half-sister's household, she had not believed it. She had anticipated that she would have to leave Ludlow Castle if Anne bore a son, as her father would not want to allow her to continue to reside at the residence associated with the Prince of Wales, for fear that some of the people might take this as evidence that she was still his first choice as heir but she did not want to believe that her father would ever be willing to order that she should endure such humiliation, especially for the sake of another girl.
When she first heard the news, she was amused to learn that she had a new half-sister, amused to think that, after her father's efforts to rid himself of her mother and his willingness to see Mary branded a bastard, all he obtained by his efforts was another daughter. Little did she realize what Elizabeth's birth would mean for her, that her father would punish her for the disappointment he suffered when his new wife bore a girl instead of the boy he wanted, knowing that Mary did not want him to have a son by Anne and that she would have prayed that he would be disappointed.
For all Anne's confidence that she would bear a son, as the soothsayers had predicted and as she had hoped, her child was a girl and, given the choice between a daughter nearing womanhood, one who was the granddaughter of the great monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, and who was beloved by the people, who willingly accepted her as their Princess and future Queen, and a daughter who was just a baby, and the child of a commoner the people of England plainly did not want as their Queen, Mary was hopeful that her father would choose her.
Before they were told that Anne had borne Elizabeth in place of the confidently expected and eagerly anticipated Prince, Lady Salisbury warned her that, if Anne's child was a boy, the King was sure to view this as proof that he was right to annul his marriage to Mary's mother, and that it would mean that he would never entertain the idea of sending Anne away so that he could reinstate Mary and her mother. She also warned her that it was very possible that many of the people would come to share his view, accepting his reasoning that, since God had withheld the blessing of a son from Mary's mother yet blessed Anne with a son, He viewed the latter as the King's true wife, and that they would therefore transfer their loyalty to Anne's son.
Mary reluctantly accepted that this might be the case but she had not anticipated that, when Anne gave her father a daughter rather than a son, he would choose Elizabeth over her.
She was so sure that he still loved and cared for her and that he would not willingly set out to deprive her of her rights as Princess in order to set his new daughter in her place. A son would be another matter; he had already tried to advance his bastard son, the Duke of Richmond, as heir to the throne ahead of her before the little boy died and she believed that his fears for the fate of the country if he could not leave a son to rule after him were genuine but she had not allowed herself to anticipate that he would favour baby Elizabeth as his heir ahead of her, the pearl of his world.
If he had no choice but to have a daughter as his heir, he would surely want Mary.
How wrong she was!
Chapuys related that Anne was distressed to have borne a daughter – which was understandable, as her future depended on her bearing the King the heir he wanted – and he viewed it as proof that God had abandoned her but, if God had abandoned Anne, the King did not seem to have entertained the idea. A second girl might have been a disappointment for him but he had still ensured that Elizabeth had a magnificent christening, a more splendid one than Mary had had, that she was proclaimed Princess of England and that her place as his heir, pending the birth of a son, was enshrined in law, with those who refused to accept her as such punished. Her household at Hatfield was far larger than the nursery household supplied for Mary when she was a baby, and in order to bolster the position of his new daughter, he was prepared to make Mary her servant, intending to send a message to her, to her mother and to the people that she was just a bastard.
She wanted to believe that Anne was the one who encouraged her father to do it but she couldn't make herself believe it and she couldn't absolve her father of responsibility, not entirely.
Even if Anne requested it, her father should have refused.
At Hatfield, she was obliged to obey Lady Bryan. As offended as she was that she, the Princess of Wales, should have to act as a servant, answering to a knight's wife – and a kinswoman of Anne's, to add insult to injury – her mother insisted that she should obey her father in all things, except when obeying him would mean going against her conscience, telling her that it was her duty to be obedient to him both as her father and her sovereign. She hated having to act as a servant and even hated baby Elizabeth, whose birth put her in this position and whose mother had caused Mary's mother such pain, but she couldn't deny that her father was entitled to decree that she should live in Elizabeth's household and to order her to serve her baby sister, if that was his wish.
She had served a hard apprenticeship at Hatfield, one that helped prepare her for Anne's service.
At Ludlow Castle, she was Princess of Wales, even if her father had never formally bestowed the title on her, and she was accorded all of the honours due to her royal rank.
The Welsh people were delighted to have her among them, proud that the future Queen of England was going to learn of government by ruling the principality, once she was old enough for her role to be more than a nominal one and could begin to give directions to the Council that governed Wales on her behalf. She missed her mother but she had Lady Salisbury with her, and her governess cared for her devotedly and loved her almost as much as her mother did. Her household, from the highborn officers to the lowest of the servants who cleaned the castle and laundered her clothes and cooked the meals for the three hundred inhabitants of the castle, along with any guests, were loyal to her and served her diligently.
Many of the members of her household wept when they were told that the establishment was to be disbanded, and their Princess sent away and, although few had dared to protest when, several months earlier, they were told that they must not refer to their mistress by the title of Princess, as the Archbishop of Canterbury had declared that she was illegitimate and it was the King's wish and command that she should be known to all as Lady Mary, she was certain that they were indignant on her behalf, angry and dismayed that the King could treat her thus.
At Hatfield, she was not only a servant, she was treated worse than any of the other maids who attended Elizabeth. Her chamber was the smallest and most dismal in the manor, she was certain of that, and it was plain that Lady Bryan was not happy to have to deal with her, knowing that she could expect trouble from the King's disinherited eldest daughter, who was distressed by her father's decision to downgrade her and who did her utmost to make it clear to all that she did not accept her demotion or her illegitimate status, whatever her father might say or do.
Her servants at Ludlow might have addressed her as Princess from time to time, when they were confident that they would not be overheard and reported for defying the King's express commands, but nobody at Hatfield would use the forbidden title, even when Mary demanded it. To them, she was the Lady Mary, the King's disobedient and ungrateful bastard daughter, while baby Elizabeth was the Princess. Most of them did not seem to give a thought to how distressing her demotion, as well as her estrangement from her father was for her, and even those who were aware of her feelings seemed to think that she had only herself to blame, as she could secure a return to favour in exchange for her cooperation, not recognizing that she couldn't do that.
She wondered if any of those who scorned her for defying her father, despite the consequences, and who had no sympathy for her plight would have been as quick to repudiate their mothers.
If she had been able to write letters to her mother, and to receive letters from her, Hatfield might have been more bearable but that was forbidden.
All she had to sustain her was her hope that her ordeal at Hatfield would not last, that her father would come to his senses and send Anne away, declaring that she was not and could never have been his wife because he was already married to Mary's mother, the finest wife a man could ever have, and that Elizabeth was therefore a bastard while Mary, his pearl, was the true Princess.
How many hours had she spent on her knees praying for that day, a day that never arrived?
She would never have been able to bring herself to believe that her father would leave her to languish in Elizabeth's service for two and a half years, that he would refuse to allow her to see her mother, even when her mother lay dying, that he would be willing to condemn her for a crime without even taking the time to meet with her in person so that he could ask her if she was involved, to give her a chance to deny it and persuade him of her innocence, and banish her to the More, just as she would never have believed that, when her father finally deigned to allow her to return to court, he would oblige her to serve as a lady-in-waiting in Anne's household, one of the few fates that she would have deemed worse than life in Elizabeth's service.
Had she known, she would not have been able to guard against despair.
She felt her stomach churn as she watched a small procession of servers enter the room, laden with trays of food, which were set up on the side table. The table by the fire was already laid for two, awaiting Anne and her father. The smell of the food made her nauseous and it was only by taking slow, deep breaths that she was able to keep herself from vomiting.
Ordinarily, if she felt unwell, she would absent herself from her duties in Anne's household, asking Kitty or one of the others to let Anne know why she wasn't there, if she asked. She knew that some of the ladies, like Nan Saville, didn't believe her claims of illness – or at least did not believe that she was ill as often as she claimed to be – but she also knew that they would dare to suggest that she was lying. She was still the King's daughter. However, under the present circumstances, she deemed it best to keep working as long as she could, even if she felt sick.
Once her condition advanced to the point where she could no longer conceal it, she would have to withdraw from the court as much as possible, pleading illness and trying to balance seeming to be ill enough to ensure that she would not be suspected of shamming and commanded to return to her duties yet not seeming so ill that her father would insist that a physician examine her. She would have a better chance of avoiding Dr Linacre if she did not give Anne or her father cause to think that her illness had persisted too long and was serious enough to endanger her life.
Even the strife of the past would not keep them from sending a doctor to her if they thought that she was seriously ill, and the last thing Mary wanted was to be examined.
So far, even Joan had not commented on the fact that she was ill so frequently in the mornings, and did not seem to have noticed that her laces could not be drawn as tight as they once had but Dr Linacre was no fool, he was a well-trained physician who would be able to put two and two together and recognize her pregnancy as soon as he examined her, so she had to avoid that.
If she was lucky, concern over Anne's condition would lead others to forget about her.
18th September 1541
"You'll never guess what has happened, my lady!" Kitty's face was aglow with joy and she was practically bouncing as she skipped over to Mary's side, smiling beatifically.
"What is it?" Mary asked, trying to return Kitty's smile, as though she was as carefree as the younger girl instead of burdened with cares. Despite having every intention to report for duty in Anne's household every morning without fail as long as her belly was still flat enough to allow her condition to go undetected, she had been far too sick to contemplate attending her stepmother today, not when she feared that there was a very real risk that she would not be able to keep herself from vomiting in front of Anne, and when she felt dizzy enough to be afraid that she might faint if she had to go about her duties. She felt better now, as she always did in the afternoons, but she was worried about how long her sickness was persisting, afraid that it was not just ordinary sickness but that something might be wrong with her, or with the child in her womb.
Much as she would have liked to, she could not quiz Mistress Porter directly on the subject.
She was still unmarried, as far as most matrons were concerned, it would not be fitting for the maiden they believed her to be to be told too much about the trials of pregnancy and the risks of childbirth, for fear that she would be frightened so badly that she would be left in terror of the prospect of doing her duty by her husband – if her father ever allowed her to marry – and bearing his heirs. Even if she asked questions of Mistress Porter or of Anne's married ladies-in-waiting, she knew that they would fob her off with vague responses and reassurances that carrying a child wasn't as difficult or as dangerous as she believed, giving her no useful information, as though she was a child who might have nightmares if the stories they related were too gruesome for her.
However, if she could not use her tongue to ask questions, she could use her eyes and her ears, to watch how Anne, who was about as far along in her pregnancy as she was, was faring so that she might have a point of comparison, and to listen to everything the midwife said about her, when she and the lady she was speaking to did not realize that Mary was listening avidly to their every word, eager to hear anything she said about Anne's symptoms and what they could expect.
Anne started out by being sick every morning, often so sick that the King would insist that she should stay in bed until her sickness subsided, eating her breakfast in bed and only rising when she was sure that she could keep it down, and then being well enough to go about most of her usual activities in the afternoon and evening, even able to attend all of the celebrations in honour of Elizabeth's birthday last week, but it was rare for her to be sick at this stage, and Mistress Porter seemed to believe that this was normal… so why was Mary still so sick?
She knew that it would distress her mother if she knew that her daughter had conceived a child outside wedlock, both because she was worried about the damage that such a sin would do to Mary's soul and because she would be upset to think of her grandchild being born burdened by the handicap of bastardy but Mary still wished that she could confide in her about this.
Her mother would forgive her, she was sure of it, as she loved her too much to ever turn her back on her daughter, and her mother also knew what it was like to have a difficult pregnancy, as she had conceived seven times but was only blessed with one surviving child. Mary would have given almost anything to be able to speak to her mother now, to ask if she too had suffered the same symptoms and to find out if this was a sign that she too would have trouble bearing living children, a sign that her baby was already struggling to cling to life, a thought that frightened her badly.
She was realistic enough to know that it would be easier for her to conceal a miscarriage or even a stillbirth than to decide what to do about a living child but she did not want her baby to die.
This baby was hers, and she wanted to be able to love him or her, even if it meant trouble for her.
Kitty had not related her news yet and, when Mary glanced at the other girl, she could see that the usually good-natured Kitty was looking rather irritated with her.
"You have to guess." Kitty insisted, hugging herself and bouncing from one foot to the next, as though the effort of keeping her secret was too much for her.
"Have you had a letter from your brother?" Mary asked, seizing her opportunity to speak of him. Charles didn't write to her, and she could understand why he did not, but she knew that he wrote to his sister from time to time – not that it ever occurred to Kitty to tell her about it, even though they were friends, so that Mary only learned of the existence of a letter if Kitty mentioned it in passing, usually weeks after it had arrived. Even if Joan was not completely opposed to the idea of helping her send secret messages, something she had made clear from the day she first began to serve her, she knew better than to think that she would be able to send a letter to Charles undetected but she still wanted to hear that he was well and happy in Padua.
Lady Salisbury's son, Reginald, had attended the university there and found it excellent, so she hoped that, even if Charles was not the scholar that Reginald was, he would still enjoy his studies.
"No… I mean, yes, I got a letter earlier this week – Charlie asked me to tell you that he hopes you are well, by the way," Kitty added carelessly, far more interested in the news she wanted to share with Mary than in the letter her brother sent her from Padua. "But that's not the news."
"Then what is it that you want to tell me?" Mary asked, disappointed that Kitty wouldn't say more about Charles of her own volition and knowing that she could not press her on the subject, as even Kitty might wonder why she was so interested, and remember if Mary's pregnancy was discovered, and concealing her feelings with smile, in case Kitty noticed and asked what was wrong.
For a moment, Kitty looked as though she was torn between insisting that Mary should keep guessing before she told her and wanting to be able to share her news. The latter option won, and her eyes shone as she spoke. "Thomas has asked me to marry him!" She declared gleefully, giddy with excitement and delight. This morning, when he and I were out walking." She was almost dancing on the spot. "Even my Uncle Norfolk will have to agree that it's a good match, so he's not going to try to stop us, I'm sure of that, and Thomas says that his parents will be glad."
"That's wonderful news." Mary said, feeling genuinely happy for Kitty but, at the same time, wondering if Culpepper's belief that his parents would be glad about the match might be overconfident. Like all parents of the nobility and the gentry, the question of who their son would marry would be one of paramount importance to them and, while the fact that Kitty was Anne's cousin might work to their advantage, and while Anne was certain to supply her with a dowry, the Culpeppers might be hoping for an heiress for their son, and think that he could do better. "I hope that you and Master Culpepper will be very happy together." She said sincerely. She knew from observing them that they loved one another, and would be happy together, given the chance.
"Thank you, my lady." Kitty beamed at her.
"Has he spoken to the Queen, to ask permission to marry you? And to the King?" Mary asked, as casually as she could.
As Kitty's parents were both dead, Culpepper would need to approach either the Duke of Norfolk, in his capacity as head of the Howard family, or else Anne, who was responsible for the unmarried girls in her service, for permission and there was no doubt in her mind that it would be better for the couple if they approached Anne first. The Duke of Norfolk was unlikely to refuse such a match, as it was about as good a match as Kitty could hope for, even with his patronage and that of Anne, and once she was married he would be able to wash his hands of her and assure himself that he had done his duty by his dead brother's child by seeing her safely settled with a good husband.
However, he would not be as generous with them as the King, at Anne's urging, could be, as he was not a generous man and was likely to insist that Kitty could expect no more from him than his help in finding her a place in her cousin's household, but the Culpeppers might need to see that their son would benefit from the marriage if they were to be persuaded to give it their blessing.
"Not yet – he said something about speaking to Uncle Norfolk first, but he hasn't said anything to him yet." Kitty said, her brow furrowing in a frown. "Do you think that we should speak to the Queen first, my lady?" She asked, thinking that Mary must know more about the proper way to do this than she did. She was not married yet but she had still grown up at court, and the Princess Dowager of Wales must have been involved in arranging marriages for her ladies-in-waiting when she was thought to be the Queen, so Mary would know what was best. She didn't want to do anything wrong, and she was very frightened that her secret about Dereham might be discovered. "My uncle brought me to court, so we thought that we were supposed to ask him first."
"I think that the Queen would like it if you spoke to her first." Mary said steadily, inwardly both impressed and dismayed that she was now able to refer to Anne as Queen without flinching or giving some other sign that she did not truly view Anne as having a right to her mother's title. "She's fond of you, so I'm sure that she'll be very happy to hear your news."
"Oh." Kitty considered Mary's words before smiling, evidently pleased by the idea of the cousin she idolized being the first member of her family who was told the news, rather than the uncle she could never feel at ease around. "You're right, my lady, I should tell the Queen first. There's Thomas – Thomas!" She called his name, bobbing a quick curtsey to Mary before hastening to the side of the young man that she hoped she would soon be able to call husband, threading her arm through his and speaking to him in whispers, telling him what Mary had said.
Mary watched them heading back towards the palace, knowing that they were going to Anne and hoping that it would all go well for them.
Even if her life was in turmoil, and her future uncertain, she wanted to see Kitty and Culpepper be happy together, without their happiness being spoiled by the ambition of their families.
They deserved to be happy.
"I think that I can see a bit of a bump, sweetheart." Henry said playfully, reaching out to cup Anne's belly with one hand, stroking it gently with his thumb. It was far too soon for him to be able to feel the baby kick, or even for Anne to feel it quicken but he was sure that he wasn't just teasing his wife when he told her that he could feel a bump. There was definitely something there.
His son or his daughter, a new prince or princess for England.
Anne stuck out her tongue, giggling when Henry pulled her onto his lap – gently, so as not to take any chance of hurting her or the baby. Mistress Porter had absolutely forbidden her to wear a corset or stomacher, warning her that she could not expect her baby to grow strong if she insisted on constricting the space he or she needed to grow, and had even commanded Madge Shelton to go through Anne's wardrobe with her, so that she might choose the loose gowns she approved of. Any new gowns Anne ordered would also have to be loose, to accommodate the baby.
While it was a relief not to be tightly laced into her gowns, her stomach flattened and her waist cinched as tightly as possible, the loose gown she was wearing now did nothing to conceal the changes to her figure, so it was no surprise that Henry could see that she was showing already. The fact that Mistress Porter insisted on her eating large meals to feed her growing child, whether she was hungry or not, also meant that she was putting on a bit more weight than she had with Elizabeth or Harry or with the baby she lost seven years ago.
By the time this baby was born, it would take her months to regain her old, slim figure!
"You look absolutely beautiful, my love." Henry assured her, as though he could read her mind. "Besides," he touched his somewhat expanded waistline with his own hand, grinning wryly. "I'm putting on weight myself, and I don't have your excuse for it."
Although his tone was teasing, and although he was glad to see Anne smile at his jest at his own expense, he sternly reminded himself that he was going to have to spend less time eating and more time exercising from now on, however difficult it was to drag himself away from Anne during the day. When Elizabeth and Harry next came to court, he wanted to be able to take them riding without becoming too tired from the exertion, just as he wanted to be able to take the baby Anne was carrying riding when he or she was old enough for their first pony, and to swing it up into the air and give it piggy-back rides without becoming out of breath lifting a small child.
He was past forty now, and other men his age were grandfathers by now, but he was determined to stay young enough to be able to play with his coming child, instead of being like his father, who behaved like an old man long before he was old in years and who would never have dreamed of coming to the royal nursery to play with his children, even when they were small and had not yet become so overawed by their father that they would not greet his arrival with delight. This child would have an affectionate and playful father, a father they could adore without ever being intimidated by him, the kind of father he strove to be to Elizabeth and Harry... the kind of father he once strove to be for Mary, years ago when his eldest daughter was still a little girl.
"How is Mary faring in your household these days, sweetheart?" He asked, his thoughts of Mary making him curious about what she was doing these days. "Is she still missing so many days?" In deference to Anne's wishes, he had not taken Mary to task over the number of days she missed, claiming illness, but he would be lying if he said that it did not make him impatient with her.
"No." Anne answered at once. "She reports for duty nearly every day – and I saw her on one of the days she missed, she really did look like she wasn't well. She's been very well-behaved, never complaining about anything and she and Kitty seem to have become friends." She said, hoping that her praise of Mary would be enough to lead Henry to remove his daughter from her household. No matter how well Mary behaved and how cooperative she was, Anne found the situation uncomfortable and there was no doubt in her mind that Mary felt the same way.
She no longer viewed Mary as a threat... in fact, in recent months, after observing Mary's kindness towards little Edward Fitzroy and the way that she seemed to be genuinely interested in her pregnancy and relieved when she was no longer as sick in the mornings, she couldn't help but wonder if Brereton might have exaggerated Mary's involvement in the poisoning... and, considering that her stepdaughter had spent almost two years in her service without causing any trouble, if they couldn't trust her now, they would never be able to trust her.
"I'm very glad to hear it, sweetheart." Henry said, smiling and feeling relieved to hear that Mary was behaving so well. If she had truly learned to accept her place in the world and could now recognize that Anne was her Queen, then maybe the time had come to soften his treatment of his eldest daughter. There were countless young women of noble birth who would be only too glad to take Mary's place in Anne's household, honoured to have the chance to serve their Queen, but a King's daughter deserved more, at least if that daughter was obedient and loyal. "How would you feel about us reconsidering Mary's place at court, once the baby is born?" He asked. "She's served you well for nearly two years now, so maybe it's time for her to enjoy a more honoured place."
He didn't want to disrupt Anne's household before the baby was born, as she would need to have as quiet and peaceful a time as possible during her pregnancy so that their child would continue to grow healthy and strong but once Anne was safely delivered, he could make arrangements for Mary to move to a larger and more comfortable apartment, assigning her more servants to tend to her needs. He could imagine how delighted his daughter would be when he told her that he no longer wished for her to act as a lady-in-waiting to Anne and that, instead, she would preside over her own little household, enjoying the comforts and honours he had intended that Mary should enjoy when he first annulled his marriage to Katherine, before Mary proved to be so difficult.
That was in the past now. Mary had repented of her obstinacy and he could forgive her.
"I think that it's a wonderful idea." Anne said, her tone sincere. "I'm sure that she'll be delighted."
"I know that she will." Henry said, the mere thought of Mary's pleasure and gratitude when he told her of the change in her circumstances making him smile. Few daughters could have a father as loving as he was, he was sure of that, a father who was willing to forgive disobedience, disloyalty and even an attempt to harm the person closest to his heart when he knew that she repented. "The next time we speak with the Cleves ambassador, we might even be able to resurrect the idea of a betrothal between Mary and the Duke," he added, "or, if he's promised, I believe he has a cousin who is close in age to Mary. He might be suitable."
Katherine had wanted a Spanish match for Mary, complaining when he betrothed their daughter to the Dauphin of France, and complaining even more when Mary was betrothed to the Duke of Orleans, who did not have the saving grace of being his father's heir to compensate for the fact that he was a member of the Valois family, whom Katherine viewed as her family's enemies, but Katherine was gone now and, even if she was not, it was for him to choose Mary's husband, and he was hopeful that he would be able to make a more splendid match for her than the natural daughter of any other monarch in Christendom could expect to make.
He would ensure that Mary would have no reason to complain of his choice of a husband for her.
She would be the next lady at court after Anne and their daughter – daughters, if the new baby was a girl – and all of the courtiers would treat her with the honours she was due as his daughter.
His happy musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, and he could hear it creak slightly as one of Anne's ladies went to open it to admit the visitor, approaching them a moment later and dropping a deep curtsey. "Master Culpepper and Mistress Howard are here, Your Majesties, and have asked if they may speak to you." She said.
Anne rose, not wanting to be sitting on Henry's lap when Kitty and Culpepper were ushered in, in case they felt embarrassed for interrupting them. As soon as she had taken her seat on the couch by his side, Henry motioned for the lady-in-waiting to admit the couple. She watched them make their bow and curtsey and a smile slowly spread across her lips when she saw that, once they rose from their obeisance, Culpepper took Kitty's hand in his, without seeming to realize it.
"What can we do for you?" Henry asked, in too good a humour to be annoyed at the interruption, even if he preferred that he and Anne should be left in peace when they were alone together.
"Your Majesty, I..." Culpepper's voice cracked and he swallowed audibly, his nervousness plain.
"What is it, Tom?" Henry asked encouragingly. He liked the young man, who was one of his favourite grooms, and if Culpepper had come on the errand he suspected he had come on, he would be only too happy to be able to accommodate him, and he suspected that Anne felt the same way. "I'm not going to bite you, you know." He teased.
"Yes, Your Majesty... I mean, no, Your Majesty." The flustered Culpepper said, his face reddening. He squeezed Kitty's hand lightly, as though her touch gave him courage, and he spoke more steadily. "I have asked Mistress Howard to marry me, Your Majesties, and we would like to ask for your blessing, if it pleases you." He said, his posture relaxing ever so slightly once he had finished voicing his request, although his tension was still palpable as he awaited their response.
Kitty was not as tense as he was but she didn't take her eyes off the King. She had no doubt that her cousin would give her blessing for the asking – and it was unlikely to come as a complete surprise to Anne that Kitty loved Culpepper, she saw them together too often for that – but it was on the King that her hopes rested. Not only did he have the power to grant or withhold a blessing that would mean that nobody, from the Culpeppers to her uncle, would dare to breathe a word against the match, he would also ensure that Dereham would never trouble her.
He was not devoid of courage, something she usually admired and that had once caused her to love him... or believe that she did... but even he was not so brave, or so foolish, that he would try to lay claim to her on the strength of the games they played years ago once she was safely married to another man, in a union blessed by the King and Queen of England.
She would be able to forget Dereham, and she thanked God for it.
She would be able to marry the man she truly loved, knowing that she would rather be the wife of Thomas Culpepper than any other man. Even if the King himself was free to ask for her hand, she knew that she would rather be Mistress Culpepper than Queen of England.
The King addressed her next but, although he adopted a mock-gruff tone as he spoke to her, she could see that his eyes were kind, and twinkling with amusement, so she felt no apprehension. "And what of you, Mistress Howard?" He asked her, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Do you want to marry young Culpepper here?" She nodded eagerly. "Are you sure?" He teased.
"Yes, Your Majesty, more than anything!" She insisted, her vehemence making the King's smile widen and the Queen cover a small laugh. Culpepper's smile was the widest she had ever seen and she wasn't sorry that he was there to here her speak her feelings. "I love him."
"Then there's no more to be said, is there?" Henry asked briskly. "You have my blessing and my best wishes for your future happiness together. Do they have yours too, my Queen?" He asked Anne, although he already knew her answer. It was plain that she was delighted for her young cousin, and even though Kitty and Culpepper would be able to marry on the strength of his blessing even if Anne objected, he suspected that for Kitty, Anne's blessing was the one that truly mattered to her, the one that would make her happiest, and Anne would never withhold it.
"Of course you have my blessing." Anne told them, happy and relieved for Kitty. She had no regrets about granting Kitty a place in her household when her uncle asked it of her, as her cousin was eager to please and had never given her cause to wish that she had said 'no' to her uncle's request, but she was not unaware of the penurious state of her Uncle Edmund's children, who had inherited nothing from their father but a legacy of debts. Under ordinary circumstances, even the Howard name and Kitty's own prettiness and charm would not be enough to secure her a worthy match and even her patronage could only do so much. If Kitty and Culpepper could be happy together, how could she ever begrudge them that happiness, much less seek to thwart it?
"Thank you, Your Majesties." It was clear that Kitty was doing her best to behave soberly, as befitted one who would pass from maiden to matron in the near future, but although her tone was grave and her curtsey stiffly correct, she could not hide the vitality that was so much a part of her nature, and it exuded from her in the same way that a flame cast out light and heat.
"Thank you, Your Majesties." Culpepper echoed Kitty's thanks and stood, holding his fiancée's hand, waiting to be dismissed. He could not leave the presence of his King without permission.
"Of you go, you two." Henry ordered them genially. "You have a wedding to plan – and you can take it from me that there's a great deal of work involved in that." He chuckled good-naturedly but he could see the bitter side to his own joke and, once the young couple had taken their leave, he turned to Anne with a wry smile. "It's so easy for them, isn't it? He asked her, she said 'yes' and then they came to us and we gave them our blessing for the asking. Why couldn't it have been as easy for us?" While he had been quite a bit older than Culpepper when he first saw Anne, when he first knew that she was the only woman in the world with whom he could be truly happy, Anne was only a couple of years' Kitty's senior, yet they had to wait years to be married.
Even when they were finally able to be married, they were obliged to do so in secret, knowing that if the Bishop of Rome knew of the wedding ceremony that was conducted in the dead of night in a quiet corner of Whitehall Palace, there was no way that he would ever be persuaded to send the bull that would confirm Cranmer's appointment as Archbishop of Canterbury, the appointment that had allowed Cranmer to rule, once and for all, that Katherine's claim to be his wife and the Queen of England was utterly without merit and that Henry had only one true wife: Anne.
If Katherine could have seen reason, if Warham could have died just a few months earlier so that his Great Matter could be sorted out before Elizabeth was conceived, necessitating a hurried ceremony lest their coming child should be called a bastard, then maybe they could have had a wedding in Westminster Abbey, as he hoped when he first asked Anne to be his wife, a magnificent ceremony and even more spectacular celebrations that would put the festivities in honour of his so-called marriage to Katherine in the shade. With hindsight, he felt that it was hardly surprising that some of the people had trouble recognizing Anne as his wife when they were never able to witness the wedding or the celebrations marking it, as they had with Katherine, but the only reason he was prevented from giving his people a show that would leave them in no doubt as to Anne's place in his life was Katherine's obstinate refusal to accept the truth.
If she had seen sense in the beginning, when he first went to her and told her why their marriage must be considered invalid and dissolved as soon as possible, instead of betraying him by sneaking letters to her damned nephew behind his back, encouraging the Emperor to use his clout in order to try to cheat Henry of justice and his chance to be happy with the woman he loved, it would have been so much easier for all concerned, as Katherine must have known when she first decided that she was going to do everything she could to cling to her pretended title.
He would not have had to banish Katherine from court, or forbid her to see Mary, it would not have been necessary to pass the Act of Succession to clarify the issues of Katherine and Mary's false claims or to execute those who believed Katherine's lies, and he would have been able to be relaxed and happy with Anne, instead of so worried and so angry that he vented his feelings on Anne, even though it was no fault of hers that Katherine was so determined to mar their happiness together for the sake of her stubborn pride and her refusal to accept the truth.
Katherine had claimed to love him but that had not stopped her doing everything in her power to keep him from being happy with Anne, when she knew well that Anne was the one he wanted.
It wasn't fair.
"You know why it couldn't be as easy for us." Anne pointed out gently, her slim fingers wrapping around his as she held his hand in hers. "But we're happy now – happier than most couples ever have a chance of being, I think," she added, thinking that, now that they had overcome their past difficulties, their relationship was stronger than it would have been if their love was never tested. "And that's what really matters, isn't it?"
"It is." Henry agreed, leaning towards her for a kiss and marvelling at her ability to put everything into perspective. She was right that it was their happiness now that mattered, not the means by which it had been delayed in the past.
Katherine may have believed that the power of her nephew would ensure that she got her way but Katherine was dead now, and she had died knowing that, despite her obstinate refusal to accept that she was not his wife, despite her conviction that she would be reinstated as Queen if she clung to her lies long enough, she had lost. He did not come running to her when she lay dying, so that she could manipulate him into saying what she wanted to say in order to comfort a dying woman for whom he once cared a great deal, tricking him into telling her that she was his true wife and into making promises to restore Mary as Princess and as his heir, promises that he might feel honour-bound to keep, even when he knew that it would be wrong to do so.
Katherine was buried as the Princess Dowager of Wales, Arthur's widow, not by her pretended title as Queen of England, and even Mary now accepted the truth.
He was married to Anne now, and would stay married to Anne until the day one of them died, and it was his son by Anne who would succeed him, not Katherine's daughter.
"I love you." Anne told him, and he felt as though his heart was swelling with joy.
"I love you too."
14th October 1541
In a another week or so, perhaps a fortnight if she was able to muster her strength enough to continue to serve Anne that long, Mary was going to send Joan to Anne's apartment bearing a message that she was ill and would not be able to attend her today, and also requesting permission to take her meals in her chamber rather than dining in the Hall with the court. She didn't expect that Anne would cause her any trouble, she had never objected to her absences in the past, or refused to allow her to dine privately in order to force her to eat in the Hall.
With her baby due in the spring, she knew that it would be difficult for her to manage to conceal its existence until then, but she had to try. If there was any way in which she could keep her secret safe from her father and from the court, she would do so, and deal with the problem of what to do with the baby after it was born when she had to.
She wished that Chapuys was still at court.
She did not know the present Imperial ambassador, Mendoza, well enough for her to be able to trust him with something like this, as she had not wanted to approach him, even after she was allowed to return to court, knowing that her interactions with others would be under close scrutiny and that her father would not be happy if he saw that she was establishing a friendship with her cousin's ambassador. He had hated the way that Chapuys always championed her interests and her mother's, urging the Emperor to intercede on behalf of his wronged aunt and cousin and to do everything in his power to see to it that they were restored to their rightful places.
He would not tolerate the same from Mendoza, especially when he had Harry and was determined to protect his son's place as his heir.
Chapuys would have been dismayed if he knew that she had fallen from grace, as he had held a very high opinion of her, so high that he was willing to risk death in order to try to remove Anne and the son she carried as obstacles to her succession, believing that it was absolutely essential for England that she should be its Queen one day, but even if he was disappointed to learn of her condition, he would not have abandoned her. He would have done all he could to help her conceal her condition, perhaps pressing the King to allow her to remove to a country manor so that she might recuperate from her 'illness' – at this point, Mary would welcome a return to the More if it helped her keep her secret – so that she had a better chance of her condition going undetected.
When the baby was born, he would be able to find people who would take it in and raise it, perhaps a nobleman or gentleman who was sympathetic to Mary's cause or who had been loyal to her mother and who would be prepared, for her sake, to offer a home to the baby and see to it that it was brought up properly, even if its royal heritage could never be acknowledged.
If she was unable to keep her condition from her father, Chapuys would be quick to advocate that Charles should be brought back so that he might marry her before the baby was born, allowing the King's first grandchild to be born to a married couple. Even if her father was furious with her and disinclined to do anything that would improve his daughter's lot, Chapuys would brave his anger to remind him that the Emperor would prefer it if they could pretend that the child was conceived in lawful wedlock and would take it amiss if his kinswoman was left shamed before the world.
With Chapuys gone, there was nobody to whom she could confide her condition, much less trust to help her hide her baby once it was born, so that her father never learned of it.
She had not even been able to tell Joan, though that had not stopped her maid from figuring out what was going on, and revealing her knowledge this morning, leaving Mary's head in a whirl.
Mary sucked in her breath, pulling her stomach muscles as tight and as flat as she possibly could before gasping the word "Tighter!" at Joan, who was lacing the stomacher of her gown. It was fortunate that Mary was skilled with a needle, as that skill had allowed her to loosen her gowns slightly, not so much that anybody would take note of it or put it down to anything other than her having put on a bit of weight but enough to allow her to be more comfortable in her gowns when her waistline first began to expand a little in order to accommodate her growing child.
Now, however, her first four months of pregnancy were over and the tiny bump was noticeable, although she tried to conceal that from Joan by keeping her back turned to her maid when Joan helped her into her shift, smock and petticoats, and holding the stomacher in front of her while Joan laced it at the back, pulling the strings as tight as they could be pulled before tying them.
"I can't lace it any tighter than it is already, my Lady Mary – you're too far along for that." Joan stated bluntly.
Mary was so astounded by this that, for a moment, she could not say a word. She had spent the first months of her pregnancy in terror, knowing that she could not conceal her morning vomiting from Joan and spending each morning feeling nervous, terrified that today would be the day that her maid revealed that she knew of her condition. Joan wasn't the type of servant who would demand a bribe in exchange for her silence on the matter but, even so, Mary had not wanted her to know, even though she knew that, sooner or later, the truth would come out.
She lived at too close quarters with Joan hope to keep her secret for the full nine months.
At the back of her mind, she toyed with the idea of reproving Joan sharply for daring to suggest that it was possible that she would do such a thing, brazening it out with denials and hoping that Joan would think that she had been mistaken and would subside, for fear of dismissal if she persisted, but there was no point to that. Even if she could convince Joan now, within a matter of weeks, a month at the most, she would not be able to hide her bump from her maid and then Joan would know that her first suspicions were correct. There was no sense in lying to her now.
"How long have you known?" She asked in a small voice.
"I've had my suspicions." Joan said, her brow creased with worry for her mistress. "When you first started to be sick, I didn't think anything of it because you're sick so often, but then you'd seem fine in the afternoons and be sick as a dog again the next morning. Then you never needed cloths for your monthlies," she remarked indelicately, making Mary blush slightly, and curse herself for not thinking to continue to ask for cloths, in order to avoid Joan's suspicions a bit longer. "And over the past month or so, you've put on weight, but you're not eating enough for that." She sighed. "If you'd told me sooner, I could have spoken to a wise woman – there are ways to get rid of it, but you have to catch it very early, before two months, or it's very dangerous."
"Oh." Mary said faintly, sickened by the idea of deliberately getting rid of her baby but, at the same time, unable to be certain that she would not have seized the chance to do so, if she had known it was possible when it was still early enough for her to try it.
"You have to tell your father, my lady." Joan told her, looking concerned. "You're not going to be able to keep it hidden much longer, and it'd be better for the King to hear it from you that from somebody else." She didn't say it aloud but they both knew that there were some at court who were no friends to Mary, and who might enjoy being the ones to expose her shame to her father, eagerly anticipating that he would be furious with his daughter and punish her severely, ensuring that there was no chance that she would ever enjoy his favour again. They might even be rewarded for it, if the King felt that they had spared him the shame of his daughter's condition becoming known by letting him know in time to make arrangements to conceal it.
"I can't." Mary said, squaring her jaw in determination, unwilling to allow Joan to coax her into going to her father to tell him of her condition. "He's been kinder to me of late," she added wistfully, remembering the way he had smiled at her and called her his pearl. She couldn't bear to lose his affection now that she had finally regained a measure of it. "He'll be so disappointed."
"And angry too, I dare say, but he'll be angrier and more disappointed if he has to hear this from somebody else. No father would want to hear news like this from an outsider, my lady."
"I don't want my father to hear about this at all." Mary said, inwardly praying that she would be able to manage this. "I don't want anybody to know. I'm going to keep working in the Queen's household as long as I can, maybe another week or two, and then I'm going to tell her that I'm sick and can't continue my duties until I'm better..."
"You're planning on telling the Queen that you're too sick to work for months?" Joan interrupted sceptically. "You'll never get away with that, my lady!"
"Has she ever insisted that I come to her apartment to serve her, or that I see a physician any time that you've gone to tell her that I was too sick to carry out my duties?" Mary challenged.
"No, my lady," Joan allowed, acknowledging that Anne was always very tolerant when Mary sent her to Anne to plead illness on her behalf. It was true that she never questioned her, but that might change if Mary insisted on going through with this plan. "But that was when you were missing a few days here and there, and then returning to duty. If you want to pretend that you're sick now – not that there'd be much pretence," she added, looking worriedly at her mistress' drawn face, "you'll have to keep up the pretence for at least another four or five months before the baby is born, and what do you plan on doing with it once it comes?"
"Foundlings have been left at the palace before." Mary pointed out.
It was rare, mostly because it was so difficult for anybody to gain access to the palace without being detected by guards but there had been times when infants were found abandoned in the courtyard or in the Chapel Royal or even in a deserted corridor. Considering her own condition, she wondered whether some of those found in the past might have been born to highborn young ladies who, having managed to conceal their pregnancy through various means, needed only to ensure that the infant could not be connected with them in order to be able to take their secret to their grave and move on with their lives. Such children were usually put out to nurse, and, when they were old enough, the boys were placed as apprenticeships and the girls were trained for service.
She knew that Anne had sponsored at least two foundlings during her time as Queen, and it was likely that her mother had done the same, pitying the abandoned little ones.
It was not the fate she wanted for her baby but it might be the best she could manage.
Joan said nothing to that, and Mary didn't want to give her a chance to say more. "Nobody needs to know about this, least of all my father." She insisted. "I can keep this a secret, I know it."
"I don't think you can, my lady."
As she went about her duties, Mary tried to forget Joan's last comment but she couldn't.
She hadn't managed to keep her condition a secret from her maidservant so could she really hope that she would be able to keep it a secret from the rest of the world? Was it inevitable that she would be discovered, sooner or later, and her shame left exposed to an unsympathetic court? Even those who pitied her for the way she was cast out of her father's life for so long, and for the way in which she was robbed of her title as Princess would not be able to condone her current condition. Would her few remaining supporters view this as proof that she was unworthy of the title of Princess and that, all questions of legitimacy aside, her father was wise to disinherit her?
What would her father say about this? Would his anger settle on her head or would he try to convince himself that his daughter was more sinned against than sinning, blaming Charles?
Would Anne, who tried to preside over a virtuous household and who did not want any of her attendants, from her ladies-in-waiting to the grooms of her chamber down to her laundresses to behave in a manner that disgraced her or the royal family, be mortified to think that something like this had happened under her nose, or would she be gleeful at the thought that her rival's daughter had found herself in such a predicament, wishing only that Mary's mother had lived to see her daughter's downfall?
"I don't think you can, my lady."
What did Joan know about court life? She had entered Mary's service when Mary was at the More, and she had not served in a royal palace, or even the residence of a high-ranking nobleman before she was engaged to serve Mary. At court, she served Mary and was the only person in her service, spending little time mingling with other palace servants, so she could not know what court was like, or give Mary a realistic assessment of her chances of keeping her secret.
Maybe, if neither of them panicked or did anything that would draw unwanted attention to Mary, she would be able to carry the baby to term without Anne thinking anything was amiss or looking into it when Mary told her that she was too ill to work. Anne had her own pregnancy to deal with and, with a potential Duke of York on the way, every lady in her household would be focused on her, doing everything they could to ensure that she would have a peaceful, easy pregnancy and a safe delivery. They would not bother to give Mary's 'illness' a second thought.
Even the King was likely to be far more concerned with his coming child than with his eldest daughter, as much as it pained Mary to think of her father paying more attention to her younger siblings, especially her younger siblings by Anne, than he did to her. As long as Mary's baby was born before the time came for her to attend the christening of her young half-brother or half-sister – which she could not miss, for fear that her father would view her absence as proof that she did not truly accept Anne's baby as a Prince or Princess of England – she could be safe.
"I don't think you can, my lady."
Joan's words reverberated in her head, which was already aching. Her stomach churned in a combination of nausea and fear as she imagined possible scenarios if her father learned of her condition and refused to support her, each possible outcome filling her with dread, for herself and for the baby. What if there really was no hope for them?
Her vision blurred and she recognized the beginning of one of her severe, debilitating headaches, but before she could ask Anne, who was resting on the couch at Mistress Porter's instructions, if she might excuse herself to lie down, the world began to spin around her and she felt herself falling as her vision faded to blackness.
Anne, feeling rather bored today as Henry was at Eltham visiting their children and she couldn't accompany him, for fear that the journey would prove too taxing for her in her condition, was paying little attention to what she was reading and, when she saw her stepdaughter collapse, with only Madge Shelton's quickness in catching her saving her from falling facedown on the floor, she was on her feet in an instant, worried about what might be wrong with her.
"Sit back down, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter instructed her at once, her tone brooking no argument. She waited until Anne had complied before turning her attention to Mary. "By your leave, Your Majesty, we should bring her into the bed." She said, moving to help Madge support Mary's weight and leading the way into the bedchamber before Anne could say anything.
"Of course." Anne agreed at once, standing and following them into her bedchamber, watching as they set Mary gently on her bed and took off her shoes. Mistress Porter frowned at her, clearly displeased to see her standing instead of resting on the couch, as she had instructed her to, but she didn't say anything. "Is she sick?" She asked, taking in Mary's pallor and feeling frightened. If Mary was seriously ill, she needed to send a messenger to Eltham to tell Henry to get back as soon as he possibly could. He would not want to be away if Mary was sick.
"She's fainted, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter, although she was paying less attention to Anne than to Mary, prying open one of her eyes to examine them before feeling her pulse with her wrist and frowning. "Get me a scissors." She told Nan Saville in a brusque voice. "Her stays are so tight that it's a marvel she can draw breath – and clear the room, let her have a bit of air." As was usually the case, the ladies responded to her commanding tone and, once Nan Saville had returned with the requested scissors, they left the room, leaving Mistress Porter and Anne alone with Mary. "I need to cut the laces, Your Majesty," she explained as she carefully cut through them to allow her to remove the stomacher. "The poor girl can't breathe, trussed up like this – it's why I said that you shouldn't wear anything too tight until the baby is born. There!" She said, once she had cut through the laces. "At least now she can draw breath... my God!" She couldn't suppress a gasp.
"What is it?" Anne asked, alarmed by Mistress Porter's reaction, especially since the midwife was usually so unruffled, but before the other woman could say anything, she saw what had prompted her exclamation. On a plumper girl, it might not have been as apparent, and could be put down to nothing more than a little weight gain but, with Mary's slender figure, the swelling of her belly was unmistakable, and there was only one explanation for it. "How did this happen?"
"The usual way, I imagine, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter replied dryly.
When Mary began to stir, she could hear the sound of their voices, but she couldn't make out what it was they were saying but her heart was full of dread when she took a breath and realized that she wasn't constricted by her tight stomacher. She opened her eyes to see two very unwelcome faces looking down at her; the midwife, who was the most likely person in the palace to recognize her condition for what it was, and Anne, the last person she would want to discover her secret. She would have liked to be able to faint again, to slip away, but she remained conscious, unable to seek refuge in blackness and hope that, before she woke up, her world would set itself to rights.
When Anne spoke, her voice was surprisingly gentle. "How far along are you, Mary?"
TBC.