Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey (9 page)

In July the turmoil peaked. After a secret courtship, Thomas Seymour and the dowager queen were married at her home in Chelsea. The king and Somerset were enraged. “How dare she marry? My father is hardly cold in his grave!” I heard the young king shout as I passed by his presence chamber.

I too believed she may have married in haste, but secretly I was pleased for her. It had been obvious to all of us that she had been in love with Seymour for a very long time. Her marriage to my father had been fraught with danger and I hoped she had finally found happiness.

Soon enough, all was forgiven. England was going to war with the Scots and Seymour was a gifted soldier. His skill and experience were desperately needed.

As Francis and I lay side-by-side, I gazed lovingly into his eyes. I cupped his cheek in my palm and kissed him. “Are you ready for another child, my love?” I asked him.

He pulled me closer to him and kissed my shoulder. “My home is blessed. I am so pleased to hear you are with child. It makes the news I had earlier so much easier to take.”

I pulled back in alarm. “What news?”

“I am to go with Somerset’s army to Scotland. They will not agree to the marriage treaty between our king and Mary Stuart. The king is sending Somerset to bring them to heel. Our army departs next week.”

I raised his hand to my lips. “I trust in God to keep you safe and will pray for you and your success on your journey.”

Francis raised his eyebrow. “No tears this time?”

I closed my eyes and shook my head.

“I am slightly disappointed,” he said, chuckling.

I snuggled into him. “I shall make it up to you upon your return.”

The carriage ride back to Greys Court was miserable. We had an early autumn rainstorm only an hour into our journey. Fat, cold droplets of water pounded the wooden plank roof of the carriage and seeped into the cracks on the floor. The roads were filled with ruts and every time the wheels hit one, I bounced against the seat. I had yet to be sick with this child and was relieved to think I would get away this time, but the ride proved me wrong and before long we were stopping at the side of the road until I could control my heaving.

The driver came around the back to check on me. I was bent over spitting out the last of supper from last night.

“My lady, are you sure you can continue in this condition?”

I looked up, wiping my mouth. “Thank you for your concern, but I am desperate to see my children. I will be fine. We can continue in just a moment.”

He gave a small nod. “As you wish, my lady.”

We arrived at Greys Court a few hours later and after a small ale and some sleep, I felt much better. I awoke to the patter of tiny feet running past my closed door and for a moment lay awake in my bed listening to the giggling of my children. I felt so content to be home again.

I got out of bed and tiptoed quietly across the room. I threw open the door and shouted, “Caught you!”

A little voice squealed with delight. I stepped through the doorway. “Where have my lovely children gone?” I called out.

More giggles and then Lettice’s golden red curls bobbed in the doorway down the hall. She peeked out. “Mother!” She broke into a run and slammed head first into my waist. I wrapped my arms around her and lifted her to my hip.

“You are getting entirely too big for me to lift, young lady!”

She wriggled around. “Then put me down!” she cried indignantly.

“As you wish,” I said, lowering her to the ground.

She turned to blow me a kiss and then scampered off in search of her brothers and sister.

I slipped my shoes back on, adjusted my hood and made my way downstairs. Two of my children were sitting before the hearth with their tutor. Harry was hunched over his work. His hair was falling into his eyes and I had to restrain myself from brushing it away. Mary sat curled up in the chair, dozing. Her thumb was wedged in her mouth and every time it slipped out she would startle and push it back in. Lettice had not yet returned. She was probably off causing trouble for her nurse. I hung back and watched this domestic scene.

I prayed nightly for my husband’s success in Scotland, but I secretly hoped that the Scottish queen would not be sent right away. I had been home only hours and was already dreading my return to Court.

I waited on edge for word from Scotland. Each time a visitor rode up on horseback I anxiously paced by the door waiting for Henry to come in with news, and each time Henry shook his head I went back to fretting. Finally, near the end of the month, Henry came back in with a smile. He held up the wrinkled roll of parchment for all of us to see. “We won! We defeated the Scots! God save King Edward!”

I lunged at Henry and wrapped him in a hug.

“My lady!” he called out, shocked.

Quickly I stepped back; I could feel the heat rising to my face.

“My apologies,” I said, mortified. “I was just so relieved for Francis’s safety that I did not think.”

Henry broke into a laugh, “Oh why not? We are both relieved.” He wrapped his arms around me and we both breathed a sigh of relief.

Francis arrived home a week later. He was caked in mud and though he got off his horse easily he was walking with a slight limp. I ran out to greet him. Not caring about the mud, I threw myself into his arms and plied him with kisses.

“Sweet Francis, I am so glad you came home to me. I prayed every night for you.”

He squeezed me tighter and I smelled the smoke and dirt seeping from his skin. I pulled him into the house and, while the children attacked him from all sides, I called for a tub to be set before the fire in our room so he could bathe. The children chattered excitedly, shoving each other aside so each could be the centre of his attention. Francis, trying so hard to be gracious and show interest, gave me a weary look.

I clapped my hands together. “All right children. Let’s give your father some room to breathe and a chance to get cleaned up. I am certain he will be most happy to spend some time with you all once he has had a bath and a nap. Now, run along and let Uncle Henry know that your father is home.”

Francis sighed as the children scattered into the hallway looking for their uncle. “I feel terrible. I have not seen them in so long.”

I put my hand on his arm. “No. Don’t do that. Rest first. You have been on the battlefield. The children will understand.”

We climbed the stairs to our room and for a passing moment I wished I had laid fresh rushes, but we had no warning when he would arrive so the ones out would have to do. The fire was roaring and the heat filled the room. A tub full of boiled water waited for Francis and he smiled in anticipation when he saw it. I helped him untie his doublet and remove his hose, pausing to look him over for wounds. I breathed a sigh of relief when the only mark I saw was a scabbed over cut on his shoulder. I traced the raised line with my finger and then kissed it. I stood behind him with my arms wrapped around his waist, my belly pressed into his back. I laid my cheek on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his skin.

Francis placed his hands on top of mine and we stood there in an embrace until a movement from my belly startled him.

“She kicked you!” I laughed.

Francis turned to me and grinned. “How do you know it is a she?”

I led him to the bath. “I don’t know. It is just a feeling that I have.”

He climbed in carefully, favouring his right leg. As he slid into the water, he closed his eyes and gave a groan of pleasure. I set to work scrubbing his back and arms, massaging them as I went along. The muscles had grown tense and firm, his skin browned from the sun.

“Tell me of the battle,” I asked after he had finally relaxed.

He kept his eyes closed while he recounted his journey.

“When we got to Scotland, we occupied Fawside Hill. The Earl of Home led a small army of men to our encampment and challenged an equal number of us to fight. Somerset did not want to engage him, but eventually he gave in and allowed Lord Grey to lead our men. We defeated them in the skirmish and pursued them for three miles. That wiped out most of the Earl of Arran’s cavalry.”

He paused for a moment and then went on as if he were reliving the experience. “Somerset sent a group over to the slopes to monitor the Scots’ position. During the night, Arran not only challenged Somerset to a duel but when he was rebuffed he proposed that twenty of our champions fight twenty of his to settle the matter. Somerset refused. In the morning we regrouped with the detachment at the slopes and learned that Arran was advancing towards us. Our ships fired on them from the left and our cavalry attacked on the right. The Scottish pikemen were skilled and inflicted many casualties. Poor Lord Grey was stabbed with a pike in his throat, but we got him to the surgeon in time and he was saved. Unfortunately for the Scots, we had them surrounded on all sides and they began to retreat. Many who were not felled by our weapons drowned in the Esk in their haste to abandon the battlefield.”

Francis shook his head at the memory of it. His face crumpled. I laid his head against my breast, the water from his hair soaking my bodice.

“The river ran red with blood. I had seen nothing like it before in my life. Not even in Boulogne. We lost few men, but the Scots lost many and all for their pride. It makes sense for the king to marry their queen. It would unite our kingdoms. But they refuse to give in.”

We stared at the fire, watching it dance in the hearth, the silence heavy between us. I ran my fingers through his hair and then kissed him softly on the forehead.

“Your water is getting cold. Let’s get you dried off before you catch your sickness.”

Francis nodded his assent and stood up, gingerly lifting his foot out of the tub. He stood still as I dried him off. After a moment, he tipped my chin and kissed me deeply. I could feel him growing against my thigh.

I quivered. “Francis, the baby...”

He pulled back. “You’re right. I am so sorry. I just missed your touch.”

I pulled him back to me. “I want more than anything to lie with you.”

“Soon my love. You must keep my little girl safe.”

He leaned down and kissed my belly just as the baby decided to kick again.

“See, Maude agrees,” he laughed.

“Maude?”

“It just fits. Do not ask why, a father just knows.”

I playfully swatted his arm, “I think it is time for that nap.”

The afternoon sun bathed the nursery in a warm orange glow. I sat in the rocking chair, Edward wedged in the crook of my arm. I brushed his silky hair with my hand, coiling a ringlet of his fawn coloured hair around my finger. I leaned forward and breathed in the scent of warm milk and that sweetness that seems to emanate from all babies. I rocked Edward back and forth in time to his rhythmic breathing. He was lost in the land of dreams. He pursed his red rosebud lips and sucked for a moment, as though he was taking nourishment from an imaginary breast. I stared at him in wonder.

The sound of boots disturbed my maternal bliss. I looked up to see Francis and Henry standing in the doorway. I raised my finger to my lips and gave them both a warning look. Francis nodded and led Henry out of the room. Within moments, Edward’s nurse was bustling in, untying her bodice as she made her way towards me. She bent over to lift Edward out of my arms and one of her bulbous breasts escaped its moorings. It swung like a pendulum before my face. In one swift movement she lifted Edward and latched him on to her breast. She gave me a small curtsey and sat in the other chair.

I walked into the hall and saw Francis and Henry leaning next to each other against the wall, matching grins on their faces.

I was surprised at the change in Francis’s demeanour and relieved that his nap seemed to have restored his good humour. “You two look rather pleased with yourselves. May I ask what was so important that you felt the need to burst into the nursery?”

Francis stood up straight and beckoned Henry and I. “I have news.”

We followed him to the hall and Henry and I sat at the great table looking at him expectantly.

Francis looked at me, then at Henry. Finally, with a great flourish, he announced, “I have been knighted.”

I leapt out of my chair and threw my arms around him. Henry slapped him on the back.

“That is wonderful news, husband,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Francis flushed. “I wanted to tell you and Henry together.”

Henry grinned. “Well, tell us about it!”

“It was after the battle in Scotland. The lord protector, Duke of Somerset, knighted me in front of the whole company for my bravery. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.”

His eyes were shining and I sensed he was trying to contain his emotions.

“Well then, henceforth you shall be
Sir
Francis,” teased Henry, falling into an exaggerated bow.

Francis shook his head, but he was still grinning. “All right brother, time to get back to work. Catherine, my love, please see about dinner. I would like to celebrate with a stag tonight.”

I kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

Francis stayed at home for another month to ready the property for winter and then headed back to London before the weather turned bad. By the first snow-fall, my belly had outgrown my skirts and we decided that it was best I stay at home until the baby was born. Christmas was quiet as Francis was gone to Court, but we tried to muster as much cheer as possible for New Year. We sent a gold cup to the young king. After the festivities I took to my bed in my confinement. I spent the time enjoying the warmth of the fire, reading and sewing by its light. I found myself exhausted with this pregnancy. No matter how much I slept I was still drowsy, often nodding off with my needle in my hand.

In the middle of March my labour began. This labour was different from any other. The pains were not nearly as strong, but it seemed to go on forever. After two days, the midwife determined that this baby, like Lettice, was breech. She reached in to try to turn the baby while I writhed in pain. After a few tries, she sighed and sat back on her heels.

“I am sorry, my lady, but the cord is wrapped around your baby’s neck, I cannot turn it.”

My panic threatened to overtake me. “Are you certain? What can we do? Is my baby all right?”

The midwife sounded defeated. “I don’t know, my lady. All you can do is push. I need you to bear down and push with all of your might.”

The midwife and my maid, Matilda, helped me into a crouched position. I held on to Matilda for stability and pushed as hard as I could. After an hour, I felt the baby’s foot emerge. I gritted my teeth and gave another push. My groin was on fire and I was certain I would lose consciousness. One more push and the baby’s limp body slithered out. The midwife tried to turn from me when she lifted the baby from between my legs, but I caught a glimpse of her blue face. I snatched my baby from her arms and unravelled the cord from her neck.

“No!” I screamed. “No! You cannot die!” I began slapping the baby’s bottom and after a few dreadful moments I heard the sharp intake of breath and then a wail. I groaned and then fell back onto the birthing mattress, cradling the baby against my bare chest to bring warmth to her skin. Only after the child stopped crying did I look to see the sex. Francis had been right, she was a girl.

“Oh Maude,” I let out a relieved sigh. “You frightened me.”

The last thing I remember is the freckle-spotted milky white face of Meg, our newest wet nurse, coming towards me to take Maude, her curly chestnut hair forming a halo around her head. Her eyes, blue as the sea, were the last thing I saw before I was back in my dream of so long ago.

I was running barefoot in the gardens at Hever. This time I was not looking for Henry, I was just lost. I could not find my way back to the manor because the tall grass was blocking my view. I burst through the hedges and there was Anne and her scaffold.