CHAPTER TEN
Autumn 1530
The commoners had flocked to the More again, and this time the crowd included not just their local tenants but villagers from as far as twenty miles away. They had brought flowers, rosaries, offerings, and their well wishes to the Duchess of Clarence who had long been their queen and was now blessed in her twilight years with a child. Mother was now in confinement and permitted few visitors, so the well-wishers were only allowed to come as close as the iron gates. Mary, however, went to greet them herself, with Lady Salisbury, a few guards, and several ladies. She was a familiar face to them, and she and her maids collected as many tokens as they could handle. She smiled and thanked them all graciously for sending their prayers - she had no reason to doubt them, after all - but she could not help but wonder how many of them were secretly malcontents.
It was the common people after all, who the mad nun Eliza Barton and the priest Edward Bocking, who was acting as her sponsor, were trying to enchant. Bocking too was lending his support by preaching that this child was a sign her mother and Arthur should take the throne once more. The recent reforms had only contributed to the anti-Anne sentiment and strengthened their cause.
The thought of her mother being Queen was still glorious enough to give Mary pause. But with Arthur as King? This child as the heir instead of her? Her father, dethroned or dead? Would she even be legitimized? Would she be locked in a battle against her own brother? And what would happen to Elizabeth? The child Anne was carrying?
Intolerable!
Mother had once said not to wish for her to be Queen again, and Mary now thought she understood what she meant. They had wanted to keep the pregnancy a secret from the general population, but word had evidently spread far and wide. Their combined households were so big, and Mary felt guilty at how they had retained so many of their servants; anyone could have given the slip, out of misguided loyalty if not malice.
She shook it off. Among the visitors, more notable ones had included Elizabeth Stafford, the Duchess of Norfolk, and Reginald Pole. Lady Norfolk was a longtime supporter of her mother, and Reginald had brightened Lady Salisbury's spirits immensely. Her mother finally had a chance at a child of her own, son or daughter, and all the signs pointed towards it being healthy.
Arthur was not here; he had been called to court to sort out the rumors. He had left just a few days after Mother went into confinement, which put Mary out of sorts as she had looked forward to keeping them connected while her mother could not be exposed to men. They had reassured her it would be only a few days and that he would be back in time, but still, the More felt wrong without her uncle's presence, somehow. She could only pray he would be here for the birth of his child.
Herbs and spices filled Mary's nose as she and her governess laid out basins of hot water. Behind them, the midwife stoked up the fire while her mother thumbed through a book. The baby had dropped last week, and the labor was due to begin any day or so. Although Mary tried to fight it, almost every other heartbeat was stuttering with fright. This pregnancy had been relatively simple, but her mother had had four smooth pregnancies that ended in stillbirths.
Enough! She was fretting so much, and she wasn't even carrying the child! How was Mother so calm?
A sharp gasp from behind them, and a creaking of the bed as Mother sat bolt upright. She had one hand on her back, and Mary knew her pains had begun.
"Ladies," she said regally. "I think my time has come."
Mary stood where she was, not sure what to do. Lady Salisbury hastened her towards the door with one hand on her shoulder. "Back to your chambers, Lady Mary. This is no sight for an unmarried girl, much less a childless one."
Mother glanced at Lady Salisbury askance, already gritting her teeth in preparation for the next contraction. "Mi cielo, I tell you what, go wait for Arthur in the solar. He's due back at any minute, and you can keep him company for me."
It was a request and Mary would rather stay, but beneath it she heard the order. She of all people would always obey Katherine of Aragon.
"I'll be praying for you both," Mary agreed, and kissed her mother on the forehead.
Then she left. Just as the door was closing behind her, her mother let out a scream, and Mary winced.
Her hands had long dropped her rosary to the ground in favor of clamping over her ears to block out the distant screams. But Mary was still able to hear the heavy oak front door of the More creaking open, and she rushed forward to see Arthur entering, having just gotten off his barge.
"The baby is coming!" she panted, and in an instant his expression transformed from exhaustion to shock.
"Thank you, Mary," he nodded. She sensed he wanted to be alone, and she allowed him his privacy. Now that he was here, she no longer had to wait in the solar and could depart to the chapel, where her mother's yells were even more muffled and she could truly pray in peace. She sank before the altar onto her knees and once again began to wind her rosary through her fingers.
The door clicked open, and she whirled around to see Arthur entering. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said apologetically. "I just needed to come somewhere quiet."
Mary nodded, taking in how drawn he appeared. Had her father ever appeared like this during her mother's pregnancies? She couldn't know. She had been two years old during her mother's last pregnancy, and the King would never have allowed anyone to see his fear anyways.
Arthur was not the king, however, and he had no reason to fear not leaving an heir. But he loved her mother, and was excited for this coming child, and he was terrified that his actions might cost her her life.
"You're alright," she said as she got up and strode down the aisle towards him. "My mother will be alright, too."
It was such a simple sentiment, but Mary felt he might need reassurance. "Do you think so?" he asked her.
"I know," Mary said, smiling. She didn't just believe it - she knew her mother would be lucky this time around.
Moonlight spilled through the stained glass windows, bathing the chapel in shadow and muted color. A chink of light shined on the front row of pews, where Mary and Arthur sat down side by side. "Although, I do not know if you will be alright," she said on second thought, addressing her uncle.
He laughed gently. "Me? Of course I'll be alright."
"You're worried," she insisted. "I can tell. And I think you're worried about more than just the baby."
He had just come back from court to deal with the rumors, and while she knew her father did not resent this pregnancy in itself, Arthur must be worried about stirring up ill sentiment among the population. "The Queen is pregnant now," Mary reminded him. "She will have a boy, and if yours is a boy, it will not matter."
"Mary, if it is a boy," he said, "you must know that you will still be at the center of your mother's world - and mine."
Mary looked down at her lap. They had made great strides in their relationship, but they had never put a name to where they stood with each other. Was it really possible that he would care at all about her, after he had a child of his own? "Even after how I treated you?" she finally dared to ask, her voice choked by tears.
"That was as much my own fault as yours," Arthur said evenly. "There is nothing to forgive."
Mary let out a sigh of relief. Her uncle held no spite against her, and he also did not speak of anything other than peace within the family. He didn't have ambitions for his child, it was clear; she didn't want the malcontents to have more ammunition than necessary.
"Have there been any visitors in my absence?" he asked.
"Doctor Butts came to see Mother. And some villagers as well, to give flowers and their well wishes."
"Has anyone from court been by?"
"Only the Duchess of Norfolk, and my cousin. Reginald Pole came to greet his mother," Mary said absently, fiddling with her rosary. She wondered how her own mother must be faring.
"Thank you, Mary," her uncle said, with such a strange intensity in his voice that she glanced up. But there was no anger on his countenance, only worry. He had gotten up to pace up and down in front of the altar, clearly having given up prayer as a bad job. Mary left him to his musings and resumed her own devotions.
Her mother had a son.
Finally, after so many years of waiting.
Finally, finally.
It was hours before she was allowed to enter her mother's chamber; the baby - her brother - had to be cleaned up and her mother tended to, both of them checked by the physicians. When she finally could enter, her mother was sound asleep in bed, her hair plastered to her head with drying sweat but a faint smile on her lips.
Arthur was sitting in the window seat, a bundle in his arms, and Mary ghosted towards them, glad of her slippered feet and the thick carpet that covered the confinement chamber. Her pace slowed as she neared them, both out of the need for silence and because of a sudden, inexplicable trepidation.
Her uncle turned to see her and smiled, inviting her to come closer. Mary glanced down at her brother for the first time. A faint dusting of red hair on his head, a rosebud mouth, and fair smooth cheeks.
Arthur glanced down at his son with an almost devastating tenderness and awe at holding something so precious, and Mary felt ashamed that she had ever feared he would abandon his child. Owen, he was to be named: a name that acknowledged his ancestry but did not carry any royal connotations. Father would be glad to hear of this; her mother and Arthur having a son meant that their marriage was blessed by God, and therefore the King and Queen's was valid.
She had Elizabeth, and Owen, and in another few months, she would have - perhaps a Henry? No, Fitzroy already had Father's name, and he would want his heir to have a name of his own. Perhaps Edward?
Fear gripped her heart as she took in her mother's slumbering form. She was well now, besides being exhausted, but childbed fever could strike when it was most unexpected.
Arthur passed Owen into her arms, and Mary sat down to hold him properly. He was wrinkly and jaundiced, and for a second, she wondered at the lore that mothers love their children as soon as they hold them. But then he opened his eyes, pale blue, and one arm escaped his wrappings, flailing about and tickling her chin. A living, breathing piece of her mother - and she thought she could understand the legend.
Owen let out a small squall, before beginning to cry in earnest. Mother shifted him in her arms and sent a meaningful glance towards Mary before moving to unlace the front of her gown. Mary looked away, but she knew that her eyes were wide at the sight of her mother breastfeeding her son herself. But then again, she was no longer Queen and had that freedom now. Mary only hoped that Arthur felt just as free, not constricted by this life.
"He has the same eyes as you did, when you were born," Mother murmured.
"But mine are more gray."
"All babies have blue eyes at birth," Mother said, looking critically at Owen as he suckled.
"Nonsense, my love," Arthur's voice broke in. "He'll have your eyes."
Mother and Mary both smiled, before they lapsed into silence.
When Owen was done feeding, Mary and Arthur moved to take him from Mother's arms immediately, almost as though they were anticipating each others' movements. Arthur held him steady as Mary changed him into a gown she had sown herself. Then, gingerly scooping the now sleepy baby into her arms, she carried him into the nursery that connected to her room.
Mary woke suddenly in the early hours of the morning, the time confirmed by a glance out the window at the line of pale green against the horizon.
She wondered if Owen had woken up again. He had gone to bed at about four in the afternoon, only to wake up two hours later, begging to be fed, slept for an hour and a half, then begged to be fed again. Mother had only smiled and joked that he had spent nine months sleeping, so it was no wonder he had to get used to being awake. Mary had been just as similarly fussy in her first weeks of life, before her sleep schedule settled into normalcy.
Still, Mother and Arthur had been so exhausted that they had taken to bed at eight and left Owen in the care of the wet nurse and Mary. Perhaps his cries had woken her? But he was sleeping soundly, and the wet nurse was snoring away, indicating he had been quiet for a good number of hours.
Mary returned to her own chambers through the connecting passageway, intending to read something, since she was now awake. Suddenly, Lady Salisbury came charging into the room, out of the alcove-chamber that served as her own bedroom. Her eyes were haunted and her face panicked.
Mary waited for the bad news. Her mother had taken ill, an army was on their shores, there was a fire somewhere.
Her governess glanced into the nursery, then beckoned Mary closer. "Queen Anne has miscarried her child."
Mary's stomach dropped.
She moved to grab Lady Salisbury's hand, only to realize that her governess had gripped her hand first.
A/N: The dialogue between Arthur and Mary in the chapel comes directly from Velocity Girl1980's story.