Margot stayed on Catherine's lap for a while, chuckling and giggling in response to her Italian words. However, after a time, she tired of this game and, with Catherine's help, pulled herself up onto her still wobbly little legs to explore the hut. Henry watched her very closely, which Catherine noted with a slight surprise. He actually seemed interested in what his daughter was doing. While Catherine sat back, Margot had been happily gesticulating and talking wildly in her toddler language, holding a couple of wet straws under Henry's nose.
Somewhat perplexed, he looked at his wife, who finally relented. "It's a gift, Henry."
"Oh," Henry cleared his throat and opened his hand, at which point Margot deposited the straw in it, "thank you."
Catherine thought she saw a tiny smile cross his face as Margot nodded majestically and went in search of new gifts. Giving Catherine a questioning look, the girl continued to put more of the wet straw in her father's hand again and again. Slowly Catherine realised that Henry must be almost a stranger to her. After all, he had never been much involved with his children. Sure, gifts, especially toys, Henry had been happy to give them, but he had never been a confidant to any of his children; Catherine was sure of that. She watched as Margot finally climbed onto his thigh and pulled herself up, curiously touching his beard with her tiny hands. Henry let all this wash over him, even appearing reasonably relaxed to Catherine. He held her with both hands as the little girl lost her balance in her excitement over his nose.
When he screwed up his face, it appeared he had already had enough of her, and Catherine frowned. "What is it?" she asked in a slightly challenging tone. She knew he was aware of how she would react should he decide to say even one bad word about Margot.
Henry looked up. He seemed indecisive but couldn't help himself. "It stinks."
"Excuse me?" this was really not what Catherine had expected. She had assumed that if the slightly musty smell of the hut didn't bother her, that Henry wouldn't even notice.
"It stinks," he repeated indignantly, and Margot chuckled contentedly, her hands still in his face.
Catherine looked at him for a moment, then it dawned on her, and she grinned. The puzzled look on her husband's face almost made her laugh. "This is your daughter," she said at last, and Henry's puzzled expression crumbled into what could well be described as a mixture of displeasure and surprise. While he was still busy setting the little girl down on the floor, Catherine had already found a solution to this awkward situation. "Where are you going?" she asked as Henry rose to quickly find another activity.
"Well, I... well", he rubbed his chin, and Catherine raised her eyebrows as Margot set off in her direction.
"Oh no," she shook her head, slightly amused even, "you're not going anywhere. Time to take up your real duties as a father."
He gave her a grim look, which Catherine dismissed with a slight shrug. "We are only in this situation because of you. So..." she looked around for a suitable place, "we will at least share this exceedingly tedious work."
Indeed, she brooked no argument. When Henry, too, seemed to have come to this conclusion, he sighed and stood beside his wife, who was already kneeling on the floor. God, how she hated it.
True, Catherine had helped change her children in the past for the sake of decency towards the nanny, but there was little she liked less. She knew Henry was watching her and tried to get through the situation without batting an eyelid. The task that would come his way was definitely much more unpleasant. Margot babbled and laughed as Catherine relieved her of the cloth nappy and cleaned her with more or less practised hand movements. Henry stirred beside her. She could clearly feel his relief at not being in her place.
"Now what?" he asked after Catherine had tied the cloth nappy shut, and Margot was already up and away again, exploring the barn further.
"Now?" Catherine rose again and looked at him, the relief on his face not pleasing her at all, "wash it out."
With that word, she gleefully pushed the nappy into his hand. "But where?" the more he asked, the more helpless he seemed, Catherine enjoying having the upper hand for a brief moment before deigning to answer.
"I remember walking all the way here beside a river."
Anger, frustration and resignation alternated in Henry's expression, and Catherine laughed briefly, softly, almost inaudibly, "now go on."
Wordlessly, Henry turned away, oblivious to Catherine's gloating. Few things brought her more satisfaction than the image in her mind of Henry sitting in the rain by a river, washing out his daughter's nappies. After Henry had gotten rid of his shirt and taken only his jacket with him in the rain, she sat down again near the fire to be able to keep an eye on her daughter.
After a few minutes, at least Catherine thought so. Margot had carried her blanket, Henry's shirt and her cloth lamb and placed them in her lap. Catherine picked up the gold bag, thinking about where she could hide it, while Margot continued to pick up straw to throw into the fire. Her mind wandering, Catherine looked at the stuffed animal in her hand for a moment, remembering how Henry had given it to Margot almost as soon as she was born. It had been a strangely peaceful time in their marriage, and now that Catherine looked back, she realised how tired she was of all the arguing. A small hole in the sheep's fur caught her attention. It was ideal. Henry would never think of looking for gold in his daughter's toys. Carefully Catherine removed the stone from inside the lamb and replaced it with gold. The wool as a filling would prevent Margot from finding it or even hurting herself on it.
The little girl had crept up behind Catherine and lunged at her with a sharp scream, whereupon Catherine cried out in fright, "Margot!"
A few seconds later, the door was yanked open, and Henry stood in the doorway, soaking wet and with a worried expression on his face, dagger in one hand, nappy in the other.
"Are you all right?" he asked, breathing heavily, and Catherine realised he must have been running.
"Yes," she looked at him in confusion, the giggling Margot on her lap.
"You were screaming," Henry explained, closing the door behind him, scanning the barn with his eyes. Was that genuine concern on his face? Catherine was... surprised.
"It was nothing," she assured him, still struggling to comprehend that he had not dismissed her cry but must have run the last few yards.
Henry wordlessly brushed off his wet jacket and spread it over the woodpile near the fire, as did his daughter's nappy, allowing both to dry. "Where's my shirt?" he wanted to know, and Catherine realised it was still in her lap.
"Here," she held out the shirt to him, and Henry took it, looking her over.
"What did you do with it?" he wanted to know, and Catherine rolled her eyes. "Margot was carrying it around. I certainly didn't poison it."
He grunted slightly in response to her annoyed tone and sat back down opposite her. Catherine felt Margot turn her head and stare curiously at Henry. Eventually, she scrambled back in Henry's direction and sat on his outstretched legs, waving happily at her mother.
Catherine waved back and laughed softly as she rose to prepare the bed for the night. She spread the blanket carefully on the straw, looking up briefly to check that Henry wasn't messing with Margot. Something about her daughter's face as she sat on Henry's legs alarmed Catherine. She knew what was about to happen and briefly considered whether to warn Henry. After a moment's consideration, however, she decided against it and sat down on the heap of straw, watching them both with a slight grin. A few moments later, an exasperated sound escaped her husband, and he leaned forward, lifting Margot off his leg and setting her on her feet.
"You've got to be kidding me!" he cursed as Margot ran with a soft giggle in Catherine's direction, struggling to pull herself together. Henry stood up, and his wife got confirmation of what she had already assumed; the girl had literally peed on his leg. Cursing to himself, the former king removed his trousers and faced Catherine in just his shirt. She, on the other hand, had risen to fetch Margot's now dry nappy and put it back on the girl.
But instead of an expected rebuke, Henry remained silent, placing his trousers on the woodpile along with his jacket and joining Catherine as she struggled with the nappy.
An unsatisfied grunt erupted from her as she failed even with the third attempt while Henry stood silently beside her. It was better that way because she had no use for her husband's remarks at the moment.
"Catherine..." he began as if he had read her mind, and she closed her eyes briefly to stifle a snarky comment. "Shut up already," she replied as civilly as she could, even if she would have liked to add some of her choicest insults.
"You have to do it like your chefs do," he made a motion with his hand, and Catherine looked up at him, perplexed. "What?"
"Like they do stuffed pastries," Henry tried to explain, and slowly a light dawned on her. "How did you know that would work?" she asked in surprise after she had managed to put the nappy on Margot properly. The little girl climbed onto the pile of straw and clung to her stuffed animal, an abundantly clear sign that she was tired.
He just shrugged but quickly changed the subject when he saw her sleeping place. "Woman," he sighed, and Catherine didn't even raise her head again when he addressed her like that, "what did you think we were going to cover ourselves with? We only have this one blanket, and you want to sleep on it instead of under it?"
She rose from her kneeling position, "Do what you want," she was tired of arguing. It was because of Henry that they were in this position in the first place, and she was too tired, too strained, too worried to give him even another minute of her undivided attention.