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Apologies for the very, very long delay between chapters. I've been battling major writer's block for this story, and this chapter was a stumbling block. Not too thrilled with the result.
Thank you all for your patience and your reviews.
Chapter Thirty-Six
14th October 1541
Why did it have to be Anne, of all people?
If she was not to be allowed to keep her condition a secret, and to ensure that her child would be smuggled into hiding or left as a foundling somewhere within the palace, without anybody learning of its parentage, why couldn't somebody else, somebody sympathetic, be the one to learn of it?
Anybody but Anne.
She wasn't sure what she expected when she looked up from the richly embroidered coverlet to meet Anne's gaze.
Satisfaction, perhaps, at the knowledge that, by bearing a child out of wedlock, Mary had undoubtedly ensured that the few people who continued to uphold her rightful claim to be her father's true, legitimate heiress, refusing to accept Anne's children in her place, would abandon her cause and pledge their support to Harry once they knew of her fall from grace?
Pleasure to think that she would be able to go to Mary's father to tell him that his daughter would make him the grandfather of a bastard next spring, ensuring that any chance Mary had of regaining his love and a proper place within the royal family would evaporate as soon as she spoke the words that would cause her father to look on her with scorn and disgust?
Fear, in case the King took her to task for the lax supervision in her household, accusing her of not taking the proper precautions to guard the chastity of the unmarried ladies who attended her and holding her partially responsible for his daughter's shame?
Anger at Mary, for putting her in that position?
None of those emotions would have surprised her, and she would not have been able to condemn Anne for them.
Even her sainted mother, who had always done her utmost to maintain order and chastity among her ladies, and who was always very considerate of the welfare of her attendants, could not have failed to be distressed and angry if one of the nobly-born young ladies who were honoured with a place in her household was found to be in such a condition. Even if she felt a measure of sympathy towards them for their plight, even if she believed the father to be more to blame, even if she worried about the future of a child born under such circumstances, she would have dismissed them from her service immediately, knowing that she could not condone their sins, or be seen to do so.
As Queen, it was her duty to preside over a virtuous household, and to set an example.
She did not expect to see compassion or concern, but she saw them both in Anne's eyes as she looked at her, repeating her question gently. "How far along are you, Mary?"
Mary knew the answer to Anne's question, as she knew that there was only one possible date of conception, but she couldn't manage to force her tongue to speak the words.
Mistress Porter probed the slight swell of her belly with practiced hands before she answered the question for her. "Between four and five months, I should say, Your Majesty." She reported. Her tone was brisk but her touch was gentle as she examined Mary, frowning at her pallor and at the deep shadows under her eyes. "Are you often sick in the mornings, my lady?" She asked.
Mary nodded mutely. She was relieved that Mistress Porter was speaking to her as respectfully as ever, betraying no hint of the scorn that Mary expected to see from the lords and ladies of the court, when they knew of her condition. She wanted to sit up, feeling uncomfortable to by lying there while the midwife examined her in front of Anne, but she didn't have the strength to pull herself upright. Her limbs felt heavy, as though they were encased in a suit of armour, and she felt as though she wanted nothing more than to rest on the soft, feather mattress of Anne's bed.
She wished that she could close her eyes and pretend that none of this was happening, as she had the first time she learned of her father's intention to end his marriage to her mother.
But there was nothing she could do to make this go away, no matter how much she wanted to.
"Sickness does not usually last much longer." Mistress Porter told her. She felt sorry for the young woman lying before her. While it was foolish for any girl, let alone one of high birth, to bed a man who was not her husband, the Lady Mary was not the first to make that mistake, nor would she be the last. There was little point in taking her to task for it now, when there was no way to change the past. She had the rest of her life to live with the consequences of her actions. "Have you been eating well? Sleeping?" She quizzed her, not needing to hear Mary's answer to know that she had not. The answer was written plainly on the young woman's face.
She had heard that the Lady Mary did not enjoy good health and, looking at her now, she could easily believe this.
The strain of keeping her condition a secret must also have taken its toll. Privately, she was surprised that she had not miscarried the child before now, especially when she considered how many babies Lady Mary's mother had lost over the long years she had spent as Queen of England, always praying for a Prince. Had Lady Mary inherited her mother's difficulties with childbearing, it was not surprising to see that she was having such a hard time with her pregnancy.
She was roughly as far along in her pregnancy as the Queen but, although the Queen was older and had had a very difficult time with her last pregnancy, coming close to losing Prince Harry, she now looked to be in much better health and spirits than the Lady Mary did.
The Queen's colour was better, she had ceased to be sick in the mornings and she was eating and sleeping quite well, even if she sometimes had to be encouraged to finish her meals or take a nap.
"You must take better care of yourself, my lady, for the sake of your child." She admonished. Mary nodded automatically but she didn't seem to be taking in her words.
"Thank you, Mistress Porter." Anne interrupted. "With the Lady Mary's permission, you may examine her later today but she and I need to speak first, alone."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter curtsied before withdrawing, closing the curtain that separated Anne's bedchamber from the rest of her apartment, to give them some privacy.
Anne regarded her stepdaughter in silence for a few minutes, considering the situation and weighing the varying options available to them.
They did not have many options.
At this stage, it was far too late for Mary to be able to rid herself of her child, as a few of the ladies at the French court had, when they were expecting an unwanted baby and preferred to court the risk of aborting their unborn child in order to protect their reputations and positions. Even if it was not too late, Anne had heard stories of how such operations could end in disaster, with the women who resorted to such measures left incapable of bearing children in the future, if they survived themselves, and she did not think that they should take the risk.
In an ideal world, nobody would need to know of Mary's condition, and arrangements could be made to find a suitable, discreet home for the child, even if they were unlikely to be able to find a noble household willing to take him or her in and keep the secret, but they did not have that luxury. She was astounded that Mary had managed to keep her secret for so long.
In another month, there would be no hiding it and Mary could not simply shut herself away from court for months on end while she awaited the birth of her baby.
Sooner or later, others would find out and the story was guaranteed to spread like wildfire.
The idea that the King's daughter carrying an illegitimate child would be too shocking for people to resist the urge to spread the story to others, wanting to share the scandal.
"Who is the father, Mary?" She asked, keeping her tone soft and gentle. Mary was likely to expect the worst from her, and to distrust any overtures of friendship, something Anne could scarcely blame her for, under the circumstances. If she thought that she detected any hint of anger or reproach in Anne's tone, she would refuse to say a word to her. They would get nowhere in that case. "Is he... is there any impediment that would keep him from marrying you?" She asked, praying that the father was free, at least.
If he was, they might have options available to them, and a better chance of a happy resolution – or as happy a resolution as could be expected under the circumstances – than if he was not.
Henry was still tied to Katherine when Elizabeth was conceived but, thankfully, the bull from the Bishop of Rome that confirmed Cranmer's appointment as Archbishop of Canterbury arrived before her condition was past hiding. With his appointment confirmed, Cranmer was able to confirm that Katherine was not his wife and that his marriage to Anne was lawful. Anne was not unaware of the fact that there were more than a few people at court who mocked her for being visibly pregnant when her marriage to Henry was finally announced but she had not allowed that to upset her.
The marriage was solemnized and confirmed as lawful before her child was born. That was what mattered most, and what she was afraid they might not have been able to manage.
Even though Henry assured her that the Bishop of Rome would not refuse to issue the bull, even though he promised that, should the Emperor persuade him to refuse, he would confirm Cranmer's appointment himself, in his capacity as Supreme Head of the Church, and that they would be able to have their marriage declared valid by the Church of England, it was still a huge relief to her to learn of the bull's arrival. It brought them a step closer to ensuring that the precious child in her womb would not be slandered as a bastard, something she was deeply thankful for.
Had something happened to Henry before he could ensure the legality of their marriage, she didn't like to think of the position that she and Elizabeth would now be in.
At best, she would have been banished from court with her child but allowed to retain her title and estates as Marquess of Pembroke, and pass them on to Elizabeth, ensuring that her daughter would be a wealthy noblewoman if she could not be a princess. Perhaps Mary would not want to draw attention to her father's relationship with her, and of his intention to set her mother aside for her sake, by stripping her of her title and estates, preferring to ignore her entirely, or perhaps Katherine would want to show herself to be charitable to her former rival, and would ask her daughter not to deal unkindly with the woman who might have been her stepmother.
At worst, she would have been imprisoned or even executed on some charge or another under the new regime, with her child abandoned to the care of strangers who would teach her to be ashamed of her parentage rather than proud, telling Elizabeth that she was the daughter of a whore who tempted a God-fearing man away from his true wife, and the product of sin.
Even Elizabeth might not have been safe; she could be murdered if it was feared that she might prove to be a threat to her half-sister's reign.
Mary's supporters would not have wanted to allow a young rival to reach adulthood.
Henry was able to resolve their situation, though it had taken a great deal of time and effort on his part, and she hoped that he could do the same for Mary.
Mary did not answer her immediately and, when she finally spoke, her tone was bitter. "An impediment? I suppose that you could say that." She remarked, a deep frown creasing her brow and her mouth twisting into a grimace.
Anne waited for her to elaborate but she did not say another word. Anne suppressed a sigh.
She could not help Mary if Mary would not confide in her but she couldn't allow herself to become impatient. This was difficult enough for Mary already and, if she thought that Anne was being impatient and unfriendly, or if she believed that she might be gloating over her condition, she would be even less inclined to speak up than she was now.
"If you tell me who it is, I might be able to help." She said kindly, hoping that Mary would believe that she was sincere. A scandal would not benefit any of them – though she could imagine that her own father would be gleeful if he learned of this, delighting in Mary's misfortune and in the fact that no man in England would support her if she was mother to a bastard child – and Henry would be hurt if he learned of his daughter's condition. He loved Mary, even if they had had difficulties over the past years, and would not want this for her. No loving father would ever wish a fate like this on his daughter, and Henry would be more dismayed than most, as all of Christendom would know of any scandal that touched his family, and he would hate to be embarrassed before other monarchs. "If I speak to the father, and tell him that I wish him to marry you..."
Mary scowled at Anne's words, wishing that she could spell out the situation to her.
Did Anne truly think that the only reason why she was not already married to her child's father was because he did not want to do the honourable thing, and marry her?
If Charles was here, and if he knew of her condition, she was sure that he would insist that they find a priest to marry them at once. Even if it meant chancing her father's anger by marrying his daughter without his consent, he would insist on it, rather than leaving her in a position where she would be called a whore, or their child in a position where he or she would be reviled as a bastard.
Anne's uncle was the one who prevented that.
He was the one who sent Charles away, thereby preventing any possibility of a marriage, but Mary couldn't entirely condemn him for it.
His actions might have saved Charles' life.
She was sure that, no matter how angry her father was when he learned of her condition, he wouldn't have her executed for it. Her pregnancy might infuriate him, especially if his pride was offended by the thought of a bastard grandchild, but it was not a crime. He saw to that when he declared her illegitimate, which meant that there was no threat to the succession that might be cited as grounds for treason. It would be different if she was still recognized as a princess... but if she was still recognized as a princess, she would not be in this position now.
If she was still recognized as a princess, she would be the wife of a prince or a King by now and the mother to her husband's lawful heirs. Even if she noticed a handsome face at her husband's court and felt an attraction to him, she would never act on it. She would never betray her marriage vows, or risk conceiving a child who would become a cuckoo in her husband's nest.
If Charles was here, he might not escape so lightly.
Depending on how angry the King was, he could find some reason to accuse Charles of a crime, and condemn him, sending him to the scaffold on some pretext or another, punishing him for the embarrassment that an illegitimate grandchild would cause him, even if he could not find an excuse to call him a traitor.
It could be that Charles was safer in Padua, and she could not allow Anne to write to her cousin, asking him to come back to marry her, if he might be coming back to be conducted to the Tower.
Anne might mean well, Mary was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt in that respect, but her help could do more harm than good.
"I can't tell you." Mary stated firmly. "I won't."
Anne rose from her chair, pacing back and forth for a few moments before sitting down again. She wished that she could know what the best thing to do would be but she didn't know.
Would it be kinder to Henry if she kept this from him?
No, this was not a secret that could be kept, especially when her ladies saw Mary faint.
Even if they had not overheard their conversation with Mistress Porter, even if they moved out of earshot when they were dismissed, as they would have known well was expected of them even if they would rather be close enough to listen, one of them was bound to guess the cause. Even if she swore Mistress Porter and her ladies to secrecy, word was certain to get out. It would hurt Henry more if he learned that she helped deceive him, and if he was hurt, he would become angrier. That anger would hurt Mary and, worse still, the innocent child that Mary was carrying.
There was only one thing that she could do.
"Your father needs to be told, Mary." She told her stepdaughter gently. "This isn't a secret that we can keep from him, and it's better if he doesn't hear about this through court gossip."
Mary nodded, knowing that Anne was right about this.
She wasn't foolish enough to believe that, by confessing to her father, she could ensure that he would take pity on her and promise to aid her in her plight, rather than condemning her, but if she tried to keep a secret, she would compound her wrongs in his eyes. To his eyes, it would be bad enough that she was going to give him a bastard grandchild – something that he would not have objected to if that grandchild was fathered by Harry, in ten or fifteen years time; in fact, he might even be proud at what he would see as proof of his son's virility, happily condoning behaviour in his son that he would condemn in one of his daughters. If she put him in a position where one of his courtiers would be able to come to him to let him know about his coming grandchild, and be privy to his shock and dismay, he would not forgive the injury to his pride.
But the thought of going to her father and confessing her plight was one that sent a shudder rippling through her body and made the blood in her veins freeze with dread.
She badly wanted to regain his love and his good opinion, to be the beloved pearl of his world once more. Now, she was certain that she had destroyed any chance she might have had of a restoration to favour. Even if her father still regarded her as a princess, her pregnancy would cost her place at court and, in all likelihood, her place in the line of succession.
No man in England would want to accept her as his Queen now.
In a way, it was worse than the day she learned of Cranmer's verdict on her parents' marriage, learned that, at her father's command, his marriage to her mother was to be nullified, as though it never happened, and that she was to lose the royal position and honours to which she was born and, instead, to be regarded as nothing but a royal bastard.
She was bitterly hurt by the news but she had her faith, in God and in the love she believed her father still cherished for her, to sustain her. She could believe that, if she was patient, if she refused to take the easy path and renounce her rights, and if she prayed for him, her father would change his mind, repent of his actions and restore her to her rightful place, begging her and her mother to forgive him for his treatment of them. She could blame Anne for bewitching her father and leading him into sin, trusting that when Anne's hold was broken, her world would be set to rights.
Now, she had nothing and nobody to blame but herself and her own choices.
Anne saw her hesitation and spoke gently. "Would you like me to tell your father?" She asked gently. She privately thought that this would be the best thing to do, under the circumstances.
Mary was torn at first.
She felt that she should be the one to speak to her father, that she should show him that she had the courage to face him, and to accept the consequences of her choices, in the hope that, even if he deplored her fall from grace, he would respect her courage, but the thought scared her.
She had experienced her father's anger before, when she refused to accept his decision to annul his marriage to her mother and to rob her of her birthright, and when he thought that she was involved in Brereton's attempt to poison Anne before Harry was born. Even then, she only experienced his anger only at a distance. He never took her to task in person. For the first offence, he commanded that she assume the humiliating role of maid-in-waiting to the infant who supplanted her in order to break her resolve, expecting that she would soon beg to be allowed back into his life, and for the second he banished her to lonely isolation at the More.
Years passed before he was willing to receive her again.
This time, it would be worse because there would be no distance to act as a buffer, shielding her from the worst of his rage. He would not hear of her actions from the lips of another, and have a chance for his rage to cool before he decided how he would deal with her. He would hear it from her, and she would be in front of him when the storm of his anger broke.
God alone knew how he would react, but any fool could guess that he would not greet news like this with any degree of pleasure.
Anne might be the only person who could deliver this news without attracting the King's wrath. No matter how furious he became, he would not forget that Anne was carrying his child, the first child they conceived in five years. For her sake, if for no other reason, he would control his temper when he heard the news, rather than risk distressing her and harming their child.
Mary nodded. "Please tell him." She said quietly.
Henry sprang to his feet as soon as she was announced, hastening to her side and taking both of her hands in his, worried about the grave expression on her face. "Anne?" He tugged her over to a chair, making her sit down, feeling her hands to see if they were too warm or too cold. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked anxiously. "Are you feeling sick? I'll send for Linacre." He turned, ready to order a groom to run to fetch Dr Linacre but Anne laid a hand on his, shaking her head and giving him a faint smile to reassure him.
"No, Henry, I'm not sick." She assured him at once, inwardly wondering if his relief to learn that she had not come to tell him that there was something wrong with her or their child would make him more inclined to receive her news calmly. It was probably too much to hope for. She took a deep breath before speaking. "I have something to tell you, something that you're not going to be happy about." She warned him, taking his hand and tugging him into the chair next to her.
"What is it?" He asked, puzzled. He couldn't think of anything that could cause Anne such distress, except something connected with the children, and he knew from Lady Bryan's last letter that Elizabeth and Harry were both in excellent health, and progressing well with their studies. Even if something had happened to one of their children, she would not broach the subject thus.
He couldn't imagine what would bring her to him now, with such a worried expression on her face.
"It's Mary," Anne began, knowing that there was no way that she could make this news palatable to her husband and thinking that her best course of action was to just tell him.
Henry's expression darkened. "What has she done?" He asked, feeling furious with his daughter.
He had been pleased with Mary's behaviour of late, impressed by the way she greeted little Edward when he came to court, and happy to see that, when she watched Elizabeth and Harry, she betrayed no sign of wishing to see them harmed or of envying them the royal status that was their birthright, no sign that she secretly believed that their royal titles should be hers.
She had not complained about her position as Anne's lady-in-waiting, nor had she made any attempt to plead with him to allow her to enjoy the title of Princess, and the royal privileges such a status would have afforded her, as he had half-expected she would within a few months of her appointment to Anne's household. She had not attempted to curry favour with him, using his fatherly love to better her lot at court. She had not sent any letters to the Emperor asking him to intercede on her behalf, so that she might be accorded honours that her bastard status did not allow her. She had caused Anne no trouble, and performed her duties as lady-in-waiting in a conscientious manner, behaving modestly and respectfully.
He could see for himself that she was conducting herself as well as he could wish, and better than he had expected she would when he first appointed her to Anne's household.
He had thought that, in the coming months, he could reward her for the way she bravely accepted her illegitimacy, something that he knew was difficult and painful for her, especially when Katherine had convinced her that she was of legitimate birth, wanting Mary to believe that he was the one in the wrong and that she and their daughter were being cheated of their rights, unwilling to accept that the titles they claimed were never theirs in truth. He was already making tentative plans for an apartment and attendants for her, wanting her to have her own little household at court, one befitting her near-royal status. He even knew which rooms would be hers, once they were properly refurbished, a suite overlooking the gardens, with separate rooms for her servants.
He thought that, when his newest child was born and all of England rejoiced in the birth, it would be pleasant to be able to tell his eldest daughter that she was to be welcomed back into the bosom of his family and honoured by all as a King's daughter should be, and that they would be able to put the unhappy past behind them at last, in order to make a new beginning, as a family.
He was furious to think that Mary would cause trouble for Anne now, when she knew that her stepmother's delicate condition meant that she needed rest and care, and to be free from worry. The life and health of their unborn child, perhaps even Anne's life and health, depended on Anne being able to have as untroubled a pregnancy as possible, as Mary knew well.
If his eldest daughter had returned to her old ways, he would have to deal with her immediately.
He would not allow her to do anything to upset Anne, especially now.
"Promise me that you won't be angry."
Henry gave her a faint smile. "I could never be angry with you, sweetheart." He assured her, thinking that she might be about to admit that she had responded to Mary's provocation and returned any insults she made in kind. Such behaviour might be undignified in a Queen but Mary could be trying, and in the past, she proved herself to have a vicious tongue when she chose, even daring to call Anne his mistress to her face and to insist that she was no Queen. He couldn't blame Anne if she was goaded into returning Mary's insults, especially in her condition.
She could not be expected to accept rudeness from anybody, least of all one of her ladies-in-waiting.
"Promise me that you won't be angry at all." Anne insisted.
It was futile, she knew that.
There was no father who would be able to receive this news without anger, and no matter what Henry promised, he would not be able to stay calm once she broke the news to him but she hoped that, if he promised, he would at least make an attempt to control his rage, if only for her sake.
"I promise." Henry said, wondering what could lead to Anne being so fearful of his reaction. Surely she knew that there was little she could do that would make him angry with her.
Anne took a deep breath before speaking, keeping hold of his hand. "Mary is with child." She said simply, knowing that there was no pleasant way to break this news to him.
At first, it seemed as though he had not heard her.
His face betrayed no emotion in the first few moments after she spoke but, as the silence dragged on, she could feel the muscles in his hand tighten under her fingers, could feel his fists clench. She winced involuntarily when his hand tightened around her slender fingers and Henry released her but he did not move from his chair. The colour had drained from his face, which looked as cold and as hard as if it had been chiselled from marble. He was facing her but not looking at her, his stare directed at a point behind her as he digested her words.
A long time seemed to pass before he could bring himself to speak, and when he did, his voice was calm but strained.
"Are you certain?" There was no hint of an accusation that she might be leaping to conclusions, believing the worst of Mary because of what happened in the past when there might be an innocent explanation, nor did he seem to hold out hope that this might be the case. He knew her better than to think that she would bring him news like this without being certain.
She would never want him to hear such hurtful news if she did not know that it was true.
"I'm afraid so." His hand trembled slightly, and he tightened his fists at her words. "She fainted, and when Mistress Porter examined her, she could see that she... and Mary confirmed it." She finished softly, hating to be the one to break this news to him but knowing that it was best for him to hear it from her, rather than from a gossiping courtier or his frightened daughter.
"I see." His voice hardened, and his eyes blazed with anger. "Did she tell you who fathered it?" He asked, trying to remember if Mary had spent an unusual amount of time with any of the gentlemen of the court, and to think about which of the men at court would dare to bed their King's daughter. He couldn't imagine who would wish to chance his wrath like that.
Anne shook her head. "She wouldn't tell me."
Henry nodded acknowledgement of her words. "Then she will tell me."
The anger in his voice frightened her. Even when things were bad between them, years ago, and he lost his temper with her, he had never sounded like that when he spoke to her. If she thought that there was any chance that he would agree, she would plead with him to wait before he spoke to Mary but she knew Henry well enough to know that he would not be persuaded to wait.
He wanted to speak to Mary now and he would not be gainsaid.
He rose from his chair, crossing the room swiftly and pulling the door open so violently that it clattered against the panelled wall. "You!" He called to one of the grooms standing outside the door of his Privy chamber, beckoning the man with an impatient gesture. The groom hastened over, bowing deeply. "Go to the Lady Mary at once, and tell her that I command her to attend me without delay." He ordered brusquely, shouting "Now!" when the man did not depart immediately. "And do not return to me carrying excuses on her behalf!" He called to the retreating back.
If Mary dared to send back a message pleading illness, he would go to fetch her himself, even if he had to drag her to his Privy chamber by force.
He returned to the fireplace, and to his chair at her side, stopping only to pour himself a goblet of wine. He drained it in one swallow and refilled it before offering her a drink. Anne declined.
No sooner had he sat down than he was on his feet again, pacing back and forth like a caged lion, casting angry glances at the door, his anger growing more palpable with every minute that passed without Mary arriving. Anne could only pray that her stepdaughter would recognize that she could not afford to delay in responding to the summons, even to make herself presentable.
In Henry's present frame of mind, he was likely to view it as defiance on Mary's part if she stopped to comb her hair or change her gown before presenting herself to him.
To her relief, Mary appeared promptly.
The groom knocked on the door and, when Henry barked at him to enter, he bowed deeply and announced the arrival of the Lady Mary before he bowed a second time, and withdrew.
Anne did not doubt that the man was glad to be away from his obviously angry sovereign.
Mary was outwardly composed as she made her curtsey to them, greeting them respectfully, but Anne could see that her face was pale and that her hands quivered slightly. Her eyes were wide with fear as she rose from her curtsey, venturing to look up at her father, whose glower could have struck terror in the most courageous heart. It was clear from her expression that she could recognize that she would get no sympathy from him but, rather than faltering or bursting into tears and throwing herself on his mercy, in the hope that he would take pity on her, Mary straightened her back and lifted her head to look Henry in the eye, bracing herself for his anger.
"The Queen tells me that you are with child – a bastard child." There was a faint note of challenge in Henry's voice as he spoke the word 'bastard'. Although he would be furious if he learned that his daughter had married in secret, without seeking his permission, he had to admit that, in this situation, it could be preferable to hear Mary tell him of a secret husband. If she did, he could punish the couple with banishment from court for marrying without his permission, perhaps a heavy fine if the man was wealthy, but his grandchild could be called legitimate. "Is this true?"
"It is, Your Majesty." Mary said, keeping her tone calm with great effort. She had to admit that she did not know her father well enough to know whether it would be better for her to give way to the tears she felt welling up within her at the thought of his shame and anger, and at the shame and hurt that her sainted mother would feel if she were alive to know of this, or if she should keep her emotions firmly in check, showing her father that she was no weakling who could not face him with the truth. Her father might soften towards her, even slightly, if she showed him how distressed she was or it might just make him feel angrier towards her, leading him to condemn her for cowardice if she could not face up to the consequences of her actions.
She had had relatively little contact with her father in the past couple of years, and he scarcely ever singled her out to speak with her privately, so she did not know what was in his heart.
"And who got this little bastard on you? Answer me!" Henry barked when she did not speak.
Mary bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Anne watching her, a sympathetic expression on her face, and she saw her nod slightly, encouraging her to speak, but she could not bring herself to speak Charles' name.
To her surprise, her father's expression softened slightly for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was gentler than she expected it to be. "Were you forced, Mary?" He asked quietly. His hand moved slightly, as though he was going to reach out to take her hand in his, but he stopped himself. "Did somebody do this to you against your will?"
If any man dared to harm his daughter in that way, he vowed that he would see the culprit hanged, drawn and quartered for his vile crimes.
Mary knew that, if she said 'yes', it would go easier for her.
Her father's displeasure would still be great, and she imagined that he would suspect that, if a man forced himself on her, she might have tempted him, knowingly or not, but he would be kinder if he believed that she was more sinned against than sinning. She could pretend that it was dark, and that she did not see the face of the man who violated her, so that she would not be asked to accuse an innocent man and see him pay for her lie with his life, and perhaps he would believe it. With her father's help, she might be able to leave court and live quietly in the country until the child was born and could be smuggled away in secret, to be brought up by a suitable family, or perhaps he would find a man to be a husband to her and a father to her child.
It would be easier if she said 'yes' but she shook her head instead.
She would not lie.
"You were willing?" Her father sounded aghast, and Mary felt anger rising within her.
Who was he, who had despoiled so many of the maidens of the court, and who even took married women as his mistresses, as the fancy took him, to condemn her?
Who was he who, when he fathered his first bastard son – or at least the first one that he knew of – insisted that the whole court should celebrate the birth with him, though it hurt and humiliated his Queen to know of it, and who had heaped titles on a toddler for no other reason than that he was the product of a King's lust, to condemn her?
Who was he, who willingly turned away from the best and most loving wife a man ever had in order to marry the daughter of one of his subjects, simply because she was not willing to be his mistress, as other pretty girls were before her, to condemn her? Her father was willing to tear England away from the bosom of the Church and the Holy Father in order to have his way, willing to court the anger of his subjects, to execute good men and to disinherit his rightful heir rather than accept that he could not have what he wanted, yet he condemned her for one indiscretion.
She might have sinned with Charles, but at least neither of them was bound to another.
She held her head high as she answered. "I was."
His expression was one of anger, betrayal and hurt, though Mary suspected that her father's pride was suffering more than anything else. She could imagine the thoughts that were going through his mind, knowing that he must be able to guess what people like King Francis and her cousin the Emperor would say if they learned of her condition, and that he would be furious with her for putting him in such a position, counting it as a betrayal on her part.
Anne reached out to take his hand but he ignored her, focusing his attention on Mary.
"I want the name of the father." He told her brusquely. "I want the name of the man who dared to despoil the King's daughter, and to give me a bastard to call me 'Grandfather'." When she did not answer immediately, his expression hardened even more. Mary took an involuntary step back, and inwardly cursed herself for showing weakness. "Silence will not help your cause. I mean to have an answer from you." He warned her. "I will have it, if I have to order you sent to the dungeons of the Tower until you see fit to answer my question. Who is the father?"
"Mary," Anne's voice was surprisingly compassionate when she spoke. "Please tell your father the truth." She met her stepdaughter's eyes, hoping that Mary would understand that, at this point, silence could only harm her. Henry's anger could be dangerous and she feared that, if he was pushed much further, he would carry out his threat to send Mary to a dungeon, and that he would leave her there. Mary was already having a difficult time with her pregnancy. If she was sent to the Hellish confines of the Tower, Anne was certain that she would not be able to carry the child to term, and she might not survive the ordeal of imprisonment herself. "You must tell him."
Mary could see fear in Anne's eyes and knew that the fear was for her, and for her child.
She did not know how far her father would be capable of going if she pushed him but if Anne feared for her, she must believe that he would be prepared to go to drastic lengths.
She wanted to keep her secret, to keep from betraying Charles, but she could not do it if it would mean being sent to the Tower. She would not survive there, she knew it.
Charles was safe, beyond her father's reach.
She was here, with no defence from his anger.
She could not take the risk of exciting his wrath by refusing to give Charles' name.
"Charles Howard." She spoke the name in a low voice, stealing a glance at Anne to see how she would react to the revelation that her cousin had fathered a child by the King's daughter.
Anne looked troubled. "Kitty's brother?" She asked, knowing that her cousin had befriended Mary but half-hoping that another one of the seeming legion of Howard men was responsible for Mary's condition. If there was another Charles Howard at court, he could be prevailed upon to marry Mary immediately, and they could pretend that a private wedding took place months earlier. Her Uncle Edmund's Charles was so far away that it could take weeks, even months to bring him back. When Mary nodded, she sighed, calculating how long it would take to send somebody to bring Charles back to England and how long they would have before Mary's condition became obvious. "It will be difficult, but we should be able to manage something." She offered tentatively.
Henry stared at her as though she had lost her wits. "What are you talking about?"
"If we send a fast messenger to Charles, he can return before the sea gets worse in winter." She explained. "Mary will have to leave the court. We can say that she is ill, and needs to go to the countryside to recuperate. Maybe she could go to Hanworth." She mused aloud, naming one of the royal manors Henry gifted her with during their courtship. She had never visited it, as it was a comfortable residence but too small to house the royal court, but it was newly refurbished before Henry gave it to her and servants were engaged to see to its upkeep, so she was confident that it would be a comfortable residence for Mary, ready whenever she needed it. "When Charles returns, we can find a priest for the wedding. I'm sure that we will have no trouble finding one who will welcome a fat purse, and be willing to earn it by changing the year on the licence. Later, we can announce that Mary and Charles married in secret, but that you have forgiven them."
She did not mention that, if Charles could not return in time, they had the option of finding another man who could marry Mary, and have the date of their marriage altered to predate the child's conception. She was sure that Mary would be happier married to Charles than to a stranger, especially when another man might treat her coldly for bearing a child who was not his, so, as long as that was an option, they should not look elsewhere to find her a husband.
For the first time in a long time, Mary felt a genuine smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
It seemed so simple, the way Anne put it, and if her plan worked, it would solve the worst of Mary's difficulties.
She did not like the idea of bribing a priest to pretend that her wedding day was the first anniversary of her marriage, and at the back of her mind she thought that she should be indignant over Anne's confidence in her ability to find a corrupt servant of God. However, it was a small price to pay to spare her child the taint of bastardy, a taint she had firsthand experience of, though in her case, the name of bastard was wrongly applied to her. She knew that many of the courtiers would doubt that she was married as long as she claimed to be but they would follow her father's lead in this, so if he professed to forgive her and Charles for their secret marriage, and if he was prepared to welcome his grandchild when the baby was born, they would not gainsay him.
For a few blessed moments, she felt a surge of hope that all would be well but that hope was soon dashed.
"No." Henry said, his tone making it clear that his mind was made up.
"Henry?" Anne was puzzled by his refusal. She truly believed that her plan, while not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, represented the best chance they had to resolve this situation in a way that would allow all concerned to save face, at least in public. She thought that Henry would be relieved to have her present him with a plan that would spare him and Mary public shame.
If he had any better ideas, he had not put words to them.
"She was the one who chose to act the wanton." He spat the words at Mary, glaring at her. "Why should we have to solve the problems she has created for herself?"
"She's your daughter!" Anne protested. She could not believe that Henry, for all his anger, would refuse to accept a solution that would allow him to hide the truth of Mary's situation from the world. Could he really be so angry with Mary that he would rather court the embarrassment that public knowledge of her condition would bring him than help her?
"Then I have a whore for a daughter! A whore who bedded a man who was not her husband and who has his brat in her belly, like some village slut!" Anne stiffened at his words as though he had slapped her but he did not notice her reaction. All he was aware of was his anger towards Mary, and the whole situation. He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Everybody always said that Katherine was such a woman of virtue but she clearly did not teach her daughter how a virtuous woman should behave, did she?" He asked spitefully, watching Mary to see if she would weep.
It had never ceased to irritate him to know of the high esteem in which Katherine was held when he sought to set her aside, even when he made it known that she had duped him into taking her as his wife when she knew that her marriage to Arthur was consummated and that their union would be accursed, their innocent sons born dead because of their parents' sin.
The people took her side then, revering her as though she was a saint and reviling him for wanting to set her aside, refusing to see that it was God's will that he do so.
What would the people think of Katherine now, when they knew what her daughter had done?
"Henry!" Anne did not deny that she had considered Katherine her enemy but there was no way that a woman almost six years dead could reasonably be blamed for this.
"If you wanted my mother to teach me to be a virtuous woman, maybe you should have let us be together!" Mary snapped, goaded into anger by her father's attack on her mother. She could admit that she had made a bad choice and she had not expected her father to receive the news of her condition with anything but dismay but her mother never did anything to justify her father's cruel words, or the harsh treatment he meted out to her in the last years of her life. "You kept us apart for years, you never let us send letters to one another and you wouldn't even let me see her when she was sick and dying. How could she teach me anything?"
"She taught you to be arrogant and disobedient, just like her." Henry growled.
At the back of his mind, part of him thought that he might have been gentler with his daughter if Mary showed by her demeanour that she recognized how gravely she had sinned and how deep her disgrace was, and if she came before him as a humble penitent, knowing that only his mercy and charity could spare her and her bastard child the worst consequences of her disgrace. Instead, Mary came before him with her head held high, as proud as a Queen, reminding him of her mother and the way that she too had held her head high when she walked into the court at Blackfriars, richly gowned and wearing her finest jewels, though he had commanded that she should dress plainly, as befitted a woman who had been exposed as having lived in sin for many years, and then declared that she would not accept the authority of the court to judge her case, daring to say that the court that he had accepted was not good enough to try her.
Mary had all her mother's pride and obstinacy, spending years pretending to the title of Princess before she finally admitted that she was nothing but a bastard, and even now that she had put them in this position, she was still proud, daring to argue with him instead of remaining silent.
"She was a good woman and she loved you," Mary said, forcing herself to keep from adding that her mother was a better wife to her father than he deserved. In his anger, she could not be sure that he would not seize on the word 'wife', call it treason and use it as an excuse to send her to the Tower, perhaps even the scaffold. Her father snorted in derision at her defence of her mother and the sound stoked the fire of her temper. "In any case, you should thank me!"
"Thank you?" Henry gaped at his daughter, incredulous. "Are you mad, girl? Why should I thank you for shaming me like this?"
"You have declared that I am a bastard, and that I am not fit to succeed. Now, you will never need to worry that anybody will think that you were wrong to do this." She was treading on dangerous territory and she knew it, even without her father's reddening face as a warning to choose her words carefully. "Even my cousin the Emperor will wash his hands of me when he hears this."
"That's enough, Mary." Anne's rebuke might have been nominally directed at Mary but the stern glare on her face was for Henry, who subsided with a scowl, unwilling to fight with his wife. "What's done is done. We cannot change it. All we can do is decide what we are going to do now. If I speak to my uncle, he can help me get in touch with Charles, to bring him back..."
"If that boy dares to set foot in my kingdom again, he will meet the executioner's axe." Henry interrupted, glowering at Mary. If she thought that she was going to be able to marry her lover and pretend that all was well, she would soon learn that her hope was a vain one.
"Then do you have another husband in mind, or would you like me to choose one." Anne offered, knowing from Henry's tone that he would not allow himself to be persuaded to relent where Charles was concerned, not in the near future, at any rate. "My brother is a widower." She suggested. The match would infuriate her father, especially if he learned why there was a need for a hasty marriage, but she did not imagine that George would object to it, if she asked it of him. Mary was a beautiful young woman, and a King's daughter, so any children she and George had, once the child Mary carried was born, would have royal blood in their veins.
She also loved children, so she was sure to be a kind stepmother to Nell and Tommy and that, above all else, was something that would endear her to George.
"No." Henry rejected the suggestion outright, appalled by the idea of rewarding Mary's misconduct by marrying her to George Boleyn, allowing her to be a duchess in the future, when his father died, and allowing her child to pretend to be Anne's niece or nephew. And if Mary had a boy, one who could pretend to be of legitimate birth, he would not put it past the Bishop of Rome to urge those who followed him to support the brat as a rival to Harry. "We are not going to find her a husband – she didn't need a husband to get with child, so we are not going to find her one now."
"You want to send Mary away from court to have the child in secret?" Anne asked, thinking that he might prefer to conceal Mary's pregnancy, and see to it that the baby was taken from her to be brought up in secret, by people who could be trusted not to reveal the origins of their tiny charge. It could be done, if that was what he wanted, but it would be painful for Mary to be parted from her child, so she would prefer to persuade him of the merits of finding her a husband. At least that way, mother and baby could be allowed to stay together.
"No." Henry responded immediately. "She will stay here, and she will continue her duties in your household – and without any nonsense about pretending to be ill in order to shirk her tasks!"
"But her condition will be obvious within a month, two at most." Anne protested. Even if Mistress Porter had not forbidden her to wear tightly laced corsets, she knew that her pregnancy would be impossible to conceal before the fifth month was over. The court was filled with sharp eyes and sharper tongues so, if Mary stayed, it would not be long before everybody knew of her condition.
Henry raised an eyebrow in affected surprise, as though he could not understand why she would object to the idea. "I realize that." His voice was calm, but the expression on his face when he looked at his daughter was one of grim satisfaction mingled with his anger.
Mary understood what her father wanted.
For most men, however angry they might be to learn that their unmarried daughter was with child, their first concern would be to ensure that their family's honour and good name was protected. To that end, they would be eager to seize on any suggestion they were offered that would allow them to pretend that their grandchild was conceived in wedlock, and hope that the fiction would convince as many people as possible. Where her father was concerned, however, it seemed that he was far more interested in punishing her for her condition – though she acknowledged that her defence of her mother must have hardened his attitude towards her and her child – than in trying to hide the truth, to protect his pride if for no other reason.
He knew how humiliating it would be for her to have to continue to serve in Anne's household while her belly grew larger and everybody who set eyes on her knew why.
That was what he wanted.
He wanted her to have people staring at her and whispering about her, wanted her to be daily reminded of her fall from grace, and if he was determined to see to it that she suffered, even Anne would not be able to persuade him to relent before her condition was past hiding.
Keeping her head high, refusing to let him see that his order hurt her, she curtsied to him gracefully. "If that is Your Majesty's wish, I will obey." She said steadily, knowing that, while her father probably wanted to see her weep and hear her plead with him not to expose her shame to public view, it would not lead him to soften towards her or to reverse his edict if she did.
There was no point in pleading with him.
It would avail her nothing.
Henry frowned at her, irritated by her dignified bearing. "Leave us." He ordered curtly, watching as Mary curtsied again and withdrew. "How did she dare to behave like that?" He asked Anne, though he did not look at her. His scowl was directed at the door, as though he could see through it and watch Mary as she made her way back to her own quarters. "How did I allow myself to let her fool me? I was so sure that she had learned her lesson and that I could trust her, and welcome her into our family as my daughter, and then I learn that she behaved like a common harlot!"
To his surprise, instead of consoling him for his misfortune in his daughter's behaviour, or reassuring him that what happened was no fault of his and that he should never blame herself for Mary's wrongdoing, Anne's face betrayed her anger and hurt.
"We were not yet married when we conceived Elizabeth." She observed.
At first, he stared at her as though he could not understand what she was talking about, combing his mind to think which of his comments would offend her. Anne could see in his eyes the moment his words on women who conceived children before they were married came to mind and he realized that the condemnation he intended for Mary could also be applied to her.
"You know that I didn't mean you, sweetheart." Henry hastened to placate her. "Our situation was completely different!"
"Was it?" Anne asked pointedly. "We were not married at the time." Technically, as his annulment to Katherine was not finalized, he was Katherine's husband in the eyes of the world on the magical night in Calais when they created Elizabeth. Even after Cranmer investigated the matter and found that Katherine was not and never had been Henry's wife, they could not let anybody, aside from the trusted few who attended the ceremony, know when their secret marriage took place. She knew that her father discreetly circulated rumours of a marriage in the November prior to their union, a date that would allow for Elizabeth to be conceived after her parents married.
"But we were promised to one another, and we would have married years before, had we been able to." Henry maintained. The last thing he wanted was for Anne to be upset, especially in her condition, or for her to imagine that he would ever condemn her for becoming his lover before she could become his wife. It was not their fault that others spent so many years conspiring against them, seeking to prevent their marriage and happiness and trying to keep him tied to Katherine. If anything, he felt that they deserved praise for waiting as long as they had.
Anne did not look convinced. She wondered if Henry's insistence that their situation was different was partly motivated by the fact that he did not view it as wrong for any woman to give herself to him, even without the promise of marriage. She never heard him condemn Lady Blount or Jane Seymour for bearing his illegitimate sons; Lady Blount and her husband were rewarded with an earldom and estates, Jane Seymour was well-dowered when she married, Henry Fitzroy was accorded an unprecedented degree of honour when he was only a toddler and, under other circumstances, she was sure that little Edward would be able to boast a peerage by now.
Henry took her hands in his, kissing them in turn before laying a gentle hand on her abdomen. He could remember the day she confided in him that she was carrying Elizabeth, and of the rush to marry her and to make the necessary provisions to ensure that their child's legitimacy would be recognized. "And we knew that we would be able to be married very soon." He pointed out. "Once we had Francis' support, and we had Cranmer ready to step in as Archbishop of Canterbury. It's no sin for a man and woman who are betrothed to one another to lie together before the wedding. It's different with Mary; she isn't betrothed to the Howard boy, but she was still his lover. She did it to hurt and humiliate me, and for no other reason, I'm sure of it." He added, scowling. Not only had Mary exposed him to ridicule with her behaviour, Anne was also upset thanks to her.
"She's lonely." Anne countered. Until today, she had not realized just how lonely Mary must be.
In a way, her life was almost as lonely as it must have been during her time at the More. She had formed a tepid friendship with Kitty Howard but, aside from Kitty, none of the other ladies of Anne's household paid much attention to her. Elizabeth and Harry were still wary of her and, though Henry occasionally singled her out for attention, he could not be described as a devoted or loving father to her – something that Anne knew could be laid at her door, at least in part; after Mary was implicated in Brereton's attack, Henry would not want to show his daughter much favour for fear of offending her. She should have made it plain to him a long time ago that she would not be angry or unhappy to see him honour Mary as a King's daughter should be honoured, and treat her with love and respect. If she had, maybe none of this would have happened.
If Charles offered her friendship, acceptance and affection, it was not surprising that Mary responded to him, craving love so much that she acted against her better judgement.
God knew that she was not the first person to do so, nor would she be the last.
Henry grunted acknowledgement of her words. He did not argue with her, probably for fear of upsetting her, but he was plainly not convinced, nor was he inclined to soften his view of Mary.
She did not know how she would be able to convince him that his chosen course of action was one that could only bring unnecessary pain to all concerned, especially in time to hide Mary's condition from the court, but she knew better than to think that any attempt to debate the issue with him now, when he was so angry with Mary that he was unwilling to listen to any idea that might help her, could have any hope of success. If anything, it would make matters worse if she spoke for Mary now. As well as that, despite his attempts to reassure her that he did not view Elizabeth's conception before their wedding in the same light that he viewed the conception of Mary's child, she was hurt by what he said, and did not want to be around him at this moment.
"Excuse me." Her voice was colder than she intended it to be, and she could see from the expression on Henry's face that he was surprised and hurt by it, but she could not form her lips in a smile to reassure him. "I think that I need to rest." She motioned towards her abdomen, knowing that Henry would never try to keep her from doing anything that would help safeguard their unborn child.
"Of course, sweetheart." Henry said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "This has been very difficult for all of us, and you shouldn't be worrying about anything in your condition. You rest. I'll come to your rooms later to see how you are. Maybe we can dine alone, if you don't want to eat with the court." He offered, hoping that she would opt for this. The last thing he wanted was to have to sit on the dais, before the eagle eyes of his courtiers, eating and drinking as though nothing was amiss and knowing that they would soon be gossiping about his daughter.
Anne nodded, leaving Henry's apartment without another word.
For the present, she knew that she would not be able to dissuade Henry but, if he was not going to help his daughter and his grandchild, she was going to do everything in her power for them.
TBC.
Time jump of a few months for the next chapter... which will not be taking as long as this one did, if I have to lock myself in a room with my laptop to get it written.