Chapter 15 #2
Kate liked the idea of having them both with her.
She did not know much about birthing a child, yet she had heard that it was both painful and dangerous, and was consequently a little fearful.
She wrote back to say yes, please come, and got to work preparing guest rooms in the tower, setting the servants to dusting, airing beds, and washing the windows.
Of course, her guests would not be arriving until late January, but she might be too ungainly then to arrange the transformation.
Once the rooms were ready, they could be locked up until they were needed.
As the weeks passed and her belly swelled, she continued to feel well and was untroubled by sickness or fatigue, which Lettice had written was normal in the early months. Kate was praying that her robust health augured well for the day when she would be delivered.
—
As the New Year of 1541 arrived, and she celebrated quietly with the household of Greys Court, Kate felt lonely and a little anxious.
She had been deeply disappointed when Francis could not get leave at Christmas.
“I would ask you to court,” he had written, “but it would not do for you to be seen here enceinte.” She had to smile.
He was always so proper, despite being inventive and daring in bed, although he’d usually been shamefaced afterward.
He would get away as soon as he could in the new year, he promised, and was true to his word. When he arrived in a blizzard in early January, he was proud to see Kate’s high belly and the nursery she had prepared.
“I’ve interviewed Mother Ash, who seems very competent and will move in when I take to my chamber in March,” she told him over supper in the solar.
“She thinks the babe will be born early in April. Our mothers are arriving in March, too. Francis, you will get home for the birth, please? I need you to be here.” With the time approaching, she was becoming a little frightened, especially after the priest at the church had urged her to make a will. “Just in case,” he had said.
“I will do my very best,” Francis promised. “It’s easy to catch the King in a good mood these days. He’s utterly besotted with the Queen.”
“Ah, but is she besotted with him?” Kate countered.
“That’s almost treason!” Francis grimaced. “She seems happy. She’s always wearing new gowns and jewels, and he indulges her every whim. But there’s no sign of her bearing a child.”
“I wonder if he can do it.”
Francis raised an eyebrow. “There is talk. But who knows? Maybe she has rejuvenated him.”
“Ugh.” Kate shuddered.
“Why do you hate him so?”
“Because he is cruel and selfish, and because I saw what he did to my aunt. I witnessed it, Francis. How could a man do that to a woman he once loved?”
“Because he believed that she had betrayed him. Twenty-seven peers found her guilty, not to mention the dozens of others who saw the evidence and decided that there was a case to answer.”
“And all of them must have known what verdict they were expected to give!” Kate was passionate. “It was hardly a fair trial. I was there! By all that’s holy, Francis, tell me you don’t believe all the lies about her!”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, coloring a little. “I don’t want to believe them. No one would want to believe that a woman could do such things.”
“She was innocent! I’m telling you. She was foully wronged. Yet no one dare speak in her favor, even you.”
“Darling, calm down.” He rested his hand on hers across the table.
“You should not dwell on such things in your condition. I assure you, if you believe her to have been innocent, then I do, too. I trust your wisdom. But what we think must never be voiced outside these four walls. It is so easy to commit a treasonable offense these days. It’s treason even to imagine anything to the detriment of the King, let alone criticize his justice.
Be guided by me. I know the court better than you do. ”
Kate subsided. She just wished that the rest of the world could see King Henry as he really was. But maybe they did. Maybe there were many like her, nurturing their hatred and resentment, but afraid to speak out.
“Do you hear news of Queen Anna these days?” she asked, changing the subject.
“She was at court for the New Year celebrations. She and the King are great friends these days, and she gets on well with Queen Katheryn. The two of them even danced together before the court.”
“I liked her. The King made a mistake when he set her aside.”
“Well, by all accounts, she’s done well for herself.”
Kate sighed. “Yes, I heard that she was given Hever Castle. I don’t begrudge it to her, for I hated the place, yet it seems strange to have someone else living in my family home.”
She reached for the ewer. “More wine?”
Francis nodded. “Thank you. But you should not drink too much, sweetheart.”
She made a face. “I do declare, Francis Knollys, that you are like an old mother hen, fussing over a chick!”
“I care for you, Kate. You mean everything to me.” His face was serious, intent.
“I know,” she capitulated. “And I appreciate it.”
She rose and sat on his lap. They stayed there by the fire, arms around each other, lost in contentment.
—
Late on a Sunday afternoon in April, Kate felt the first pangs.
Well, this is bearable, she told herself. It’s nothing!
The pains continued all evening. Mother Ash prodded around, nodded happily, and said that all was progressing normally.
First babies could take a long time. Mother and Lettice agreed.
They had taken to each other instantly, united by the common bonds between them, and were both eager to see their grandchild.
But Kate had been upset to see Mother so changed. She had lost flesh and looked more than her forty years. When asked, she said she was well. Kate had not liked to probe further.
Banished to the solar—Mother Ash was mortified at the idea of a man in “her” birthing chamber—Francis kept calling through the door to ask if Kate was all right.
“Of course, Sir. Now go and get some sleep!” was the reply.
Kate did not think she would sleep that night, but she did, and when she awoke in the morning, the pains had subsided, much to her disappointment.
She rested all that day, with Mother and Lettice sitting beside the bed, then at suppertime, her womb began to contract again, more strongly this time.
By eight o’clock, she did not know what to do with herself, the pangs were so great, and by ten, she was crying out for relief. It was the longest night of her life.
“Hold your breath!” Mother Ash enjoined. “It helps to thrust the infant downward.”
“I found that pepper worked,” Mother suggested. “Make her sneeze, then the babe will come more quickly. I hate to see her like this.”
Kate was thrashing on the bed, almost oblivious to what was being said. They tried pepper, they tried poppy syrup, they continually exhorted her to draw in her breath, and then they heaved her into a groveling position, on all fours. None of it did any good.
In the small hours of the morning, the pains became even fiercer. “I can see the child’s head,” the midwife announced. “Push now, Madam! Push!”
Kate was beyond heeding her. She was saving her strength for screaming. Every time the agony gripped her, she yelled as loudly as she could, calling upon her mother and Jesus to take the pain away.
“Push!” they cried. “For God’s sake, push!”
Somehow, the message got through, and she learned that when she did push, the pain decreased. Galvanized by this knowledge, she pressed her chin hard on her chest and strained with every muscle in her body to expel the child, for at last she remembered that she was birthing her baby.
It was some time before things finally began to happen, and then she felt as if she were being torn asunder as the infant was pulled from her. Exhausted, barely able to move, she waited for the joyous cries of welcome. But there was a brief silence, followed by a burst of activity.
“Let me in! I demand it! I must know what is happening.”
Suddenly, Francis was there, standing at the end of the bed, shaking his head.
“What is it?” Kate murmured.
“A boy.” But there was no elation in his voice.
“Quick! Quick!” the midwife was saying. “Clear its nose. I’ll rub its chest.” Kate was on another plane, barely conscious of what was going on.
And then she heard, “Yes, yes, he’s breathing, he’s all right,” and a tiny white bundle was thrust on the pillow beside her.
She could make out a distinct profile; he had his father’s nose.
“Our son,” Francis breathed, tears streaming down his face. “My darling, how can I ever thank you sufficiently?”
But Kate was sound asleep.
—
She awoke to bright sunshine streaming through the window.
So she was alive. She had survived the birth.
And she had borne a son and heir. Pride and relief filled her heart.
She tried to raise herself to peer into the cradle by the bed, but felt a sharp knife of pain down below.
And here was Mother, lifting the child into her arms.
“Don’t try to move too much. You tore during the birth, but only a little. It will heal. The midwife washed you and put on a clean clout and night rail. We’re all very proud of you. And he’s a gorgeous little boy.”
Kate looked down. Her son was a joy to behold, with red down and big blue eyes.
“He looks two months old!” observed Lettice, appearing on the other side of the bed. “All of my newborns resembled wrinkled prunes!”
“He’s so tiny,” Kate marveled, gazing at him in wonder. “He’s a miracle.”
She kissed his brow and marked how well swaddled he was. She wanted to call him Francis after his father; he looked like Francis and the name suited him.
Francis himself came to see how she was doing and was delighted to find her propped against the pillows, suckling their son. He bent and kissed her.