Chapter 17 #3
“I don’t think he ever realized. The King is nothing if not discreet, for he is the most prudish of men.
When he gives way to lust, he is ashamed of it afterward, for he likes to think of himself as the epitome of knightly virtue.
” She laughed mirthlessly. “He made me feel that I was enjoying his special favor. I believed all the gallant things he said to me. And then I found that I was with child. That child was you. The dates were right, and I knew you were his the moment you were born. You looked so like him. And your father didn’t see it, or gave no sign that he did. ”
“But the King. Did he—does he—know?”
“I told him. As soon as he knew, he withdrew his love from me, and that was the end of it. He’s like that. He will not touch a woman when she is with child. That was when he strayed from his wives.”
Kate felt anger rising. “But he had a responsibility.”
Mother slowly shook her head. “In law, no. I thought he would acknowledge you and make provision for you—a good marriage, a dowry. Yet he told me he would not court scandal, especially since I was a married woman. Owning up to a bastard born in adultery, and the betrayal of a gentlemen who was close to him, would have undermined his kingly reputation and his view of himself as a virtuous prince with a conscience. And he said he had no need to acknowledge my babe, for there is a presumption in law that any issue born to a married woman is the child of her husband.”
“That was an easy way out for him,” Kate said bitterly. “But he still had a moral responsibility.”
“And he has honored it,” Mother said. “There were grants to your father and grandfather; nothing that they could not have deserved on their own merits, but timely, and generous. And after I was widowed, I was granted an annuity. Who do you think preferred you to the Lady Elizabeth’s household and then Queen Anna’s?
It was the King, who also attended your wedding and insisted on giving you away.
And Will tells me he often asks of you and shows concern for your health and happiness. ”
Kate got up and went to the window. In the garden below, Will was seated on a bench, deep in thought. She had always looked up to him, but now she saw what a remarkable man he was, for he had dared to take the mother of the King’s child to wife, not caring about the consequences.
“You can begin to understand now why my family despised me,” Mother said weakly from the bed. Kate turned around and sat beside her, taking her hand.
“That was unkind of them,” she observed. “And unfair. If they despised anyone, it should have been the man who put you in that situation—and the French King for destroying your reputation to begin with.”
Mother smiled. “Ah, but the Boleyns were all about self-interest. They cared less for the loss of my reputation than for my failure to exact more by way of reward or compensation from the King. I was the reason why Anne, in her turn, refused to become his mistress. She would not let herself be left with a baby and no money or grand marriage in sight. She aimed for the crown, almost from the first. I may sound bitter, but all I can feel for her now is pity, for much good it did her. I was the family failure, but I was also the sister who ended up happily married. I had riches far beyond everything she had. She never truly forgave me for it.”
The effort of talking had exhausted Mother. She closed her eyes and Kate stood up.
“I will leave you to sleep,” she whispered. “There is no more need to worry. Be of good cheer.”
The eyes opened. “Come back later, child. I have more to say.”
More? What more could there be? Kate was reeling. She had had shocks enough today, and she still needed to ingest them.
She walked back to her chamber and peered into her mirror.
Yes, she could see the resemblance, which had always eluded her.
It was in the eyes, the arched brows, and the determined chin, even the shape of her face and her red hair.
She was the King her father to the life.
Others had seen the likeness, too, she was sure; that was why people had stared at her, why that monster had eyed her closely.
She shuddered. She did not want anyone to know that she was connected to him by blood, did not want to admit to herself that she was his.
She wanted to go on believing that Mother had made a mistake and that William Carey had been her true father.
How she envied her brother, Harry, for he would never have to question the roots of his existence, whereas she…
Her letter to Elizabeth lay on the table, where she had abandoned it.
Elizabeth, whom she now knew was not just her cousin, but her half sister.
No wonder there had always been a close bond between them.
And she, Kate, was half sister too to the Lady Mary and Prince Edward.
Royal blood ran in her veins, blood going all the way back to the Norman Conquest and beyond.
Blood that she had unwittingly passed on to her children—and to the little one who lay in her womb.
It was incredible, and some would be glad of it, but it was a burden she did not want.
In fact, it horrified her. She could not bear to think of that gross lump of lard doing with Mother what she and Francis did in joy, could not accept that that was the reason for her being.
And, she vowed, none but those closest to her should ever know the truth; she and her children must never be the objects of scandal, and Mother’s secret must be preserved at all costs.
But who could be trusted to keep that secret?
She knew she could rely on the King to stay silent, but apart from Mother and Will, she could think of only Francis.
She could tell him. In fact, she could not wait to unburden herself to him.
But should she tell her children when they were old enough?
Had they a right to know? Or was it best to leave them in blissful ignorance?
Oh, the ramifications of Mother’s dreadful revelation were going to be endless…
She sat down, took up her pen, and wondered what to say to Elizabeth, beyond the usual domestic news and asking after everyone at Hatfield.
Had Elizabeth any idea that they were sisters?
Dare Kate ever tell her and explain why she loved her so dearly?
Much as she wanted to keep her secret, a part of her yearned for the bond between them to be acknowledged by Elizabeth.
But now was not the time. The child was too young.
And it was not Kate’s place to tell her.
—
She returned to her mother’s room after supper, when the trees outside the open window were silhouetted against a glorious sunset.
She closed the window, for the evening air was growing cooler, and sat down by the bed.
Mother opened her eyes and smiled at her uncertainly.
“I hope you don’t think badly of me,” she whispered.
“Not at all,” Kate said fiercely. “I will not have anyone despise you. The fault was not yours, and it grieves me that you have carried the burden of this knowledge for all these years and felt unable to tell me, who loves you so much!” She felt the tears stinging.
“Will said the same,” Mother told her. “But I feared to upset you, for I know you have no love for the King. Yet now that I know my time on this earth is short—no, do not try to contradict me, for it is the truth—I feel that you have a right to know.”
Kate stood up and embraced her, weeping, shocked at how light and skeletal her body was. “There is nothing to worry about, dearest Mother. All I want is to be with you at this time. Be at peace.”
“I cannot until I have told you everything,” Mother said, letting her go. “Sit down. Let me collect my thoughts. My mind is hazy these days. It is the poppy syrup they give me for the pain.”
“Is there much pain?” Kate was all concern.
“Not too much,” Mother replied. It was plain that she was lying.
“Now, where was I? Oh, yes. I am sure you have wondered about the grounds on which Anne’s marriage to the King was annulled.
Well, it was because of his affair with me, because it placed him within the forbidden degrees of affinity to Anne, which meant that any union between them was as incestuous as he believed his marriage to Queen Katherine, his brother’s widow, to have been.
In fact, it was more so, because I had borne him a child, whereas the Queen never had any children with Prince Arthur.
I am sure this was another reason why the King never acknowledged you, as he did Henry Fitzroy, his bastard by Bessie Blount; because you, my child, are the living impediment to his union with Anne.
If that had got out, it would have fatally compromised the nullity suit he was pursuing in Rome, which turned upon the fact that Katherine had been his brother’s wife and was therefore forbidden to him. ”
“So he knew that Anne was also forbidden to him—and yet he still married her?” The sheer hypocrisy of it was breathtaking.