Another Family Meeting

Mary dreaded family meetings, and she especially dreaded the one that was coming. Sir Thomas would certainly announce her pregnancy and she would be put on display like a prize cow at a county fair. There would be discussions regarding whether she would continue to occupy the king's bed, or would he take precautions and avoid sleeping with her so that he might not endanger her pregnancy.

She had not yet informed William that she was pregnant and hoped the news would not come from one of her family members. She didn't know how to tell William, what could she say to him? How do you tell your husband that you were expecting a child was not his?

What would he do? Would he strike her? Lock her in the rooms they no longer shared? He was her legal husband, he could treat her however he wished unless Henry stepped in and put a stop to it. Only he could prevent William from sending Mary in disgrace to his parents' home in Wiltshire. Henry was the only card she could play to protect herself.

William would be rewarded for his silence with more lands and offices, if not, the title he craved so badly. Her father would rake in his rewards, reveling in the fact that he was now the most influential man in the kingdom, surpassing every Cardinal Wolsey. The prospect of an excellent match for Anne now seemed certain, if only Sir Thomas would put his mind to it.

Anne. What about Anne? Would her father bring her back to court or would she remain in disgrace at Hever. Mary dreaded the thought of Anne's returning, she had grown more confident away from her presence. She did not yet know if Henry would continue to summon her to his bed or if he would avoid relations with her as a matter of caution. The success of the pregnancy was essential but what if he set her aside like he did Bessie Blount?

This morning had brought an unpleasant surprise in the form of morning sickness. She was approaching her third month and her maids could no longer lace her gowns so tightly. She did not like her thickening waist, but her hair was full and glorious and fell in golden waves about her shoulders. Her fair skin suffered seemingly no ill effects and the image reflected to her in the mirror showed a woman healthy, glowing, and beautiful.

Gemma pinned her hood to her head and fluffed out the folds. "You look wonderful, madam, the king will be pleased with your good health."

Mary smiled her gratitude, but she could not bring herself to voice the words "thank you". She would give anything to not have this child. She and Henry had grown close and now the baby might come between them. She was afraid of who would next share Henry's bed, would it be one of the Seymour girls or, even worse, would Anne her parents bring Anne back to court?

She did not want to lose Henry, but worse than losing him to a Seymour girl would be losing him to Anne. Was Anne a virgin, she did not know. Few young women left the French court with their virginity intact. She did not know how closely Margaret of Austria had guarded her young ladies, but Henry XII had sent Mary's older, more experienced English ladies from his court, leaving Mary, like other young girls vulnerable. Mary had fallen prey to Francis Valois because Mary Tudor had no control over her ladies.

Mary knew that Henry loved her for her beauty, her sweet nature, and her gentle temperament. She was not slow, but she did not possess Anne's wit or fierce intelligence. Intellectually Anne would suit him better, but Anne had a volatile temper and Henry preferred gentle, patient women. Mary had never heard Katharine of Aragon raise her voice to Henry. The queen had endured the way her husband treated her with her quiet dignity and grace.

Mary turned back to the mirror. Of the two sisters, she was the beauty, but she had to admit that Anne possessed an allure that combined with her wit easily attracted members of the opposite sex. Anne had had her own small court within the court. Sometimes Mary wished she possessed some of Anne's mystique but then again Anne had not attracted the king.

There was a gentle tapping at the door, the distinctive knock of Jane Seymour. Her knock was like her, delicate but determined. "Mary, are you there? You are going to be late."

"Thank you Jane," she called out, but did not open the door. She did not like Jane Seymour. Jane seemed like she always had a secret she was keeping. Mary had her suspicions, perhaps not totally unfounded, that Jane was set upon gaining the king's affections for herself. You can't have the king, not yet, Mistress Seymour, she thought, and you and your family will have to live with that.

"I'm coming," Mary called out and opened her door, her nausea now under control. Jane turned to follow the queen's train and Mary hurried to catch up to her.

They helped the Queen dress then followed her to chapel for the morning mass. Mary noticed that the queen appeared sad, as if she was feeling the burden of trying to hold onto a husband who was not faithful to her. When mass was over she sat there for a few minutes as if lost in thought before she summoned her maids to follow her to the dining room for the first meal of the day.

Eating settled Mary's stomach and the nausea was gone for the moment. The first two months had not been so bad, but she had been active, riding with the king, taking walks, playing bowls out in the fresh air and her appetite had been good. Now she was back in the castle and although there would be hunts and outdoor entertainments, the court would take most of their amusements inside instead of out in the cold weather.

After dinner a page gave her a note and she recognized her father's handwriting, and she knew what it said without reading it. She tucked the note into her bodice and increased her pace as she went to her father's rooms.

When she went inside she looked around and noticed that the rooms were more luxurious. The beams had more gold and the bed furnishings looked more expensive. Sir Thomas still saw himself as a man on the rise and the rooms he occupied showed it.

The reason for his recent ascension was given a chair instead of being made to stand, was this a sign that her pregnancy had at last granted her her father's approval? She doubted it, perhaps the chair was there simply for show. Either way, Mary was grateful for the opportunity to sit.

Uncle Norfolk was there, as he was for all of the family meetings. "I hear you are expecting the king's child, Mary, congratulations are in order, especially if it is a boy."

She saw the look of shock on William's face and her lovely face flushed an unflattering shade of red. She had meant to tell William, and had good intentions of doing so, only she could not find the right time or words. No one had schooled her for this, she felt awkward and ashamed at the same time.

"Is it the king's?" Norfolk asked, as was usual with him he lacked tact. Mary was expecting the king's child, that was all that mattered. It mattered little to him whether Mary had the chance to tell her husband or not. This child was more important than her marriage to her nobody husband.

"Yes, Uncle," she replied, "I have not been in William's bed since you set me at the king. I think I conceived while we were on progress."

"When is it due?" Norfolk asked, pressing onwards and Mary replied, "In seven months, I think. I am not sure. This is my first child I am no experience in childbearing."

"That is no worry, we will see that you have the finest midwives, and they will make the determination. In the meantime you to go to Henry's bed if he asks, but I assume he will be finding another to serve his desires in the meantime. He may not put you aside like he did Bessie Blount, he appears to be fond of you, so say nothing to him about gossip regarding a new mistress."

Norfolk's words stung her. She had known him all of her life and disliked him. Were he not in a position of influence and her mother's brother, she would go out of her way to avoid him. She decided she would give him only the briefest of answers.

"Do you mean that my wife is bearing the king's child and I have no say in it?" William spoke for the first time. Mary could see that he had grown pale, and angry, a vein beating in his temple betrayed him.

Norfolk turned to him. "No say whatsoever, Carey. The child will have your name for you are the legal father. You have already received rewards from the king and are a richer man for it. Mary is obeying the wishes of her family, as she should. You are a second son, you will inherit nothing from your father, you should be grateful for the advantages this will bring you. The king will not acknowledge the child, that is the part you will play. The Boleyns are a family on the rise, be grateful that you are a part of it."

William turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Mary watched anxiously, wanting to comfort him, not sure if she should follow him although she wanted to try and comfort him.

"Go to him, Mary," said her father, "Try to talk some sense into him."

Mary rose and curtsied, then hurried to catch up with her husband. "William, William," she called out, "Please, let me talk to you."

He surprised her but halting, holding out his arm and waiting for her. "Mary, I ought to be angry with you, but you are as much a pawn on the Boleyn chessboard as I am. I am sorry for you, for myself, for the treatment you receive from your family and the king." He paused and Mary could see tears forming in his brown eyes. "I had thought myself well regarded by the king, I was one of the king's favorites and I thought he was my friend. I never thought…"

"Nor did I," she answered him, "I know my family is ambitious, but I never thought they would throw me at the king. I do my duty to them but in doing so I have neglected you. I belong to the king now until he sets me aside, and William, he will. I don't know when but eventually he tires of his mistresses. I can only hope that he will treat you as he should and give you your knighthood, you deserve it." She laid a tentative hand on his arm, "I am sorry you found out the way you did, I wanted to tell you, but Uncle took it upon himself. I wish this were your baby, I wish we were the parents."

"I suppose I cannot blame you, Mary, for your infidelity has reaped rewards for me. I hope this is a girl, I would hope that someday you could give me a son, a son that I fathered. In the meantime, I can only hope that you are returned to me and we can resume our life together, if that will ever be more than a dream."

In the meantime, a silent plague crept into England, a sweating sickness so deadly that it often killed within twenty-four hours. The disease began abruptly with fever, extreme aches in the neck, shoulders, and extremities, and abdominal pain with vomiting. Intense chills were followed by a hot phase involving sweating so profuse that the disease soon became known as, simply, "the Sweat." Death came swiftly after profound weakness and agonizing shortness of breath culminated with chest pain, rapid pulse, and cardiac palpitations. And it would soon hold England in its grip.