A/N: Thanks Good Work for the original idea for the first part of this chapter, and SSLE (Dani) for the usual and much appreciated brainstorm.
This is utterly ridiculous, thought Mary, sighing discreetly for the thousandth time, while she rode her white horse behind the Royal Carriage, as part of the huge parade his father had organized, on Katherine Howard's behalf. Mary believed huge was not enough to describe it. What was the point, Mary questioned inwardly, to praise the Queen when her child had not been born yet? What was the point of celebrating Queen Katherine – the title made her stomach churn in discomfort – as a goddess of fertility since she had nothing to prove it, other than an enormous, perfectly round-shaped belly? How could Katherine be oblivious to the mindlessness of the event – three hundred men and women marching through London mounted in white horses, servants throwing rose petals painted in gold off the streets, others dressed as angels, singing praises to the Queen and the future Duke of York who was happily resting on her mother's belly, while the Royal Couple paraded themselves in a white and golden carriage, waving to the people who watched with surprise such display of frivolous pride?
I wonder why you still care about being surprised, milady Mary, sounded a small voice inside her head. Katherine Howard loved to be the center of the attentions, and that was why she seemed to be so pleased, much to the dismay of her stepdaughter. If Mary had had something to say on that matter, she would have refused the invitation politely. However, she knew she didn't have a choice other than comply to her father's request to be present in the celebrations of Katherine's… condition, to put it nicely. Only the Lady Anne was allowed to stay in Essex. Henry didn't have the heart to oblige her to be present. She seemed to be so heartbroken, at least from what Cromwell and Mary had told him. If the latter had any right to choose, she would be with Anne now, comforting her over her son's disappearance while cooing her dear Eleanor. Mary smiled, thinking of how, despite that awful situation, she liked to be in Essex, far away from the Court. Everything seemed so easy there: she could go wherever she wanted, talk of whatever subjects she wanted. She could even take a walk in someone's company without being reproached. And by someone she meant… Gregory, Thomas Cromwell's son. He had been a helpful source of kindness and support for everyone, including herself, during the last few days, just before Mary was summoned back to Court. Maybe it was because she felt vulnerable and shaken with her godson's disappearance, but her attitude towards Gregory had changed from mere formality and politeness to a genuine, uncompromised interest and probably the beginning of a friendship, despite their differences in terms of religion and ranking. Some might say it wasn't proper for her to befriend Cromwell's son, but what harm could someone as polite and well-mannered as Gregory bring her, other than proving himself to be a great company in times of need?
- You seem very happy today, my Lady – a male voice was heard behind her, causing her to jump a little on the saddle. It was her uncle, the Duke of Suffolk, who marched beside her.
- Aren't we supposed to be happy in this special occasion, Your Grace? – Mary countered politely, nodding in the direction of the carriage.
- Indeed, my Lady. I am sorry… I didn't mean to… I just thought… - Charles Brandon reddened a bit, cursing himself for being so indiscreet. He and his big mouth.
- You know me well, uncle Charles – said Mary in a lower, informal tone. Am I the only one who finds this event completely unnecessary? – for once she did not suppress the urge of speaking bluntly.
Charles lowered his head for a minute, then he whispered:
- Certainly not, milady, in spite of the wonders this display of… magnificence is doing wonders to your father's mood.
- I do not doubt that. I just hope with all sincerity that God blesses them with a male child – and with that Mary took a few steps forward, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. He knew perfectly what Mary meant with her last words, for they had crossed his mind as well. No matter how splendorous Henry's pleas to the Almighty might be – and, as the Head of the Church and self-proclaimed chosen by God to understand His will and word, Henry's efforts to be in the Lord's good graces were immense – they were no guarantee of a male son. He and his niece had seen an equal – well, maybe not so extravagant – display of luxury and ostentation when Anne Boleyn was carrying the supposed heir of the throne… who turned out to be a girl, Lady Elizabeth, much to Henry's disappointment.
Now it was Anne's cousin who occupied her place, with much credit to be given to their uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, who had become an expert in the art of using his female relatives for favor, and as much as Suffolk despised Katherine Howard, he feverously prayed that, for her own sake, she was carrying a baby boy inside her womb. Otherwise the Howard family would have to hide their heads in shame.
Suffolk was so absorbed in his thoughts that he jumped a little when someone put his hand on his elbow. It was Eustace Chapuys, the Imperial Ambassador. After the usual pleasantries, the Savoy-born politician whispered discreetly in Charles's ear:
- Something is wrong in this picture.
Charles frowned.
- I beg your pardon?
- Look at her – Chapuys stepped aside to give Charles a better view of the right side of the carriage. While the King chatted casually with his Lords, Katherine Howard pretended to fan herself due to the unusual heat of that late March afternoon, while in fact she used the fan to cover her mouth from indiscreet eyes who might otherwise have spotted her whispering something to Thomas Culpepper, one of the King's men, whose eyes left no doubt about the kind of feeling he nurtured towards her.
Oh my, not again, thought Charles, feeling a knot in his stomach. Didn't the Howards learn anything from Anne Boleyn's death? When a woman was chosen to be Henry's consort, she had to be extremely cautious of her relationships, especially with other men. Katherine was literally risking her neck right in front of the whole kingdom. Acting by instinct, Suffolk got closer to the carriage, positioning his horse in order to get a better view of the Queen.
There she was, looking beautiful in a red and gold dress, using her most exquisite jewels. Nevertheless, and although her smile never faltered her, Brandon noticed something very unusual. As a father himself, he remembered very well his wife's pregnancy, as well as he remembered seeing the radiant look on Lady Anne's face during Christmastide. When a woman was pregnant, there was always an air of serenity and joy around her, something everyone could see, something visible from inside out. However, Katherine did not seem affected by the advanced stage of her condition. Any other woman would be nervous, or at least uncomfortable due to the heat and thirst. Nevertheless, Katherine seemed to be her usual self, moving in her seat all the time and chatting merrily with her ladies, her pose way more hassle-free than any woman – let alone a Queen – should be in her situation. Then something very strange happened. When Katherine's eyes met the Duke of Suffolk, a brief flinch of shock and panic went through them, disappearing as sooner as it had appeared. Katherine sat very upright in her seat, her pose now more reserved, as if she was a child who had been scolded for her misbehavior. Brandon took a few steps backwards, until he found himself riding beside Chapuys again.
- Something is definitely wrong, Excellency, and sooner or later we shall know what it is.
Three weeks later
- Please, Your Grace, I beg you…. – Jane Boleyn didn't complete the sentence. Norfolk took a sharp breath.
- Jane, we can't delay this forever! Everything is ready. The fake blood is ready, the midwives are ready, the servants are ready… what else do we need?
- A few more hours – pleaded Jane. – Surely you don't want the child to be born on a Friday 13th!
Norfolk pressed his lips together. Deep inside, he knew Jane was right. Being born in a Friday 13th, even if it was a fake birth, was an omen he didn't want to be responsible for.
- Very well, we shall wait until the break of dawn. Not a minute more nor a minute less. Do you understand?
- Sure – muttered Jane, while he left the room.
Sunday, April 14th 1542
The activity around the Queen's chambers was almost breathtaking. Ladies were in and out, carrying bowls of hot water and towels. Hidden from the Court's eyes, Stephen Cromwell had been brought to the castle early that morning. In that precise moment, he was being cradled by Mistress Catherine Carey, cousin of the Queen, who meanwhile tried to scream as much as she could, while her ladies smeared pig's blood all over the sheets and – much to Katherine's disgust – all over her night gown. However, she couldn't complain: she had to scream, harder and harder, to simulate that a life was being taken from her womb when, in reality, the cotton-pebble womb was long gone in the trustful hands of a Howard lady to be burnt and thrown to the Thames.
- I can't… - Katherine gasped for air, after a period of time who seemed an eternity – stand this… any longer…
Jane Boleyn sighed. They had been there all day, with Katherine screaming constantly, only stopping to regain her breath and sip on a glass of water. Her hair was disheveled, her cheeks bright red due to the effort of screaming for hours, her whole body was sweaty and tense. Jane didn't have the heart to delay this any further. Furthermore, Catherine Carey was having more and more trouble to keep the damn baby quiet. So she took a decision.
- Very well, ladies, you can start changing the sheets clean. Katherine, come with me. Let me change you into a new night gown. In the meantime, you can eat something while they change your bed.
- Thank you – Kitty promptly jumped out of the bed, while one of her ladies offered a bowl of grapes which she practically devoured while they changed her blood-stained sheets into clean ones. Ten minutes later, Jane Boleyn passed her the bundle carrying Cromwell's son… no, her son, he chided herself. He would be her son from that moment on. Catherine stretched her legs under the sheets, while cuddling the baby, who nevertheless kept whimpering softly.
- Shh… shh… my little one. Everything's fine. We did it… we both did it – Katherine whispered in his tiny ear.
- Go and call the King – commanded Lady Rochford. Kitty took a deep breath and smiled nervously. Jane returned her smile. Although they were both visibly tired, she was proud of Katherine, of how she handled their lies until the very end.
Fifteen minutes later the sound of a cane was heard and Katherine held her breath when Henry barged into the room.
- What is it? – he said, stopping at the edge of the bed. – What is it, my rose?
- It's a boy, Your Majesty – Katherine's voice swelled with pride. – A fine, healthy baby boy. – I thought he should be called Henry… if that pleases your Majesty of course.
- THANK GOD! – King Henry cried in delight. – I have a son! Let all England know I have a son! And may the bells of all country announce the birth of Prince Henry Tudor, Duke of York!
Katherine giggled, more relieved than happy. For her it was the end of all the scheming, all the plotting and lies. From now on, her deed was done and she could get back to her normal life. Or so she thought.