Chapter 19
There was a golden haze over the flat Hertfordshire countryside when Kate, Thomasina, and a groom approached Hatfield House in August. Trotting into the courtyard, she saw Elizabeth waving to her from a window.
She waved back, but the girl had gone. She reappeared seconds later, hurrying toward Kate with her long red hair flying and her damask sleeves and skirts billowing in the wind.
“Kate, dear cousin! I am so pleased to see you!”
Kate dismounted and pulled her into an embrace. This was her sister, even if Elizabeth did not know it. She had never felt so close to her. “I am so thrilled that the Queen allowed me to come, with the plague being rife.”
“It’s safe here,” Elizabeth told her. “I’ve been moving about with her, from house to house, trying to escape the contagion, but it’s dying down now, so she let me come back to Hatfield.”
“Is there any news of his Majesty?” He was in France making war on the French, and Francis was with him. Kate had not known a moment’s peace of mind since he had left. She’d not had a letter for a week. The latest she had heard was that the King had laid siege to Boulogne.
Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Have you not heard? Boulogne has fallen! My father entered the city in triumph.”
“Oh, that is good news! Were—were there many casualties?”
“I think not. You are worried about Francis, I see. Well, I have not heard anything, and they say that no news is good news. Try not to worry.”
“I will,” Kate promised, trying not to smile, for Elizabeth sounded like her mother-in-law, not a girl rising eleven.
They entered the palace and found Kat and Lady Troy sewing in the parlor, its windows open to the breezy air.
They jumped up and hugged Kate, thrilled to see her, then detained her by asking after the children, when Elizabeth was clearly agitated to be off on her own with her visitor.
When the others finally let Kate go, Elizabeth grabbed her hand and took her up to the guest chamber that had been prepared for her.
And there, on the wall, was the little portrait of Aunt Anne that Kate had rescued from Hever.
“I had that put there specially for you,” Elizabeth said. “And Will gave me that one to go with it.”
Kate stared at the other portrait on the wall. It was Mother, but a younger Mother, in all her youthful beauty. Tears welled up.
“Will gave it to you? Will Stafford?”
“Yes. He visited me here last year, before he went to Calais. We had several long talks. He wanted me to know about my mother and yours, and the Boleyn family. He said your mother had wanted that.”
Kate had to bite her tongue. Could Will have told Elizabeth that she was her sister?
She nearly blurted it out herself, but held back lest Elizabeth take it as presumption on her part.
She longed for her to know the truth, for the close bond between them to be cemented by their shared knowledge.
But something told her that she might be venturing on dangerous ground.
What if the King found out she had given away his secret?
She decided to wait and see if Elizabeth said something herself.
When Kate had settled in and her maid had unpacked, she and Elizabeth wandered through the gardens, admiring the flowers and catching up on their news.
“I haven’t told you the best thing of all,” Elizabeth said. “Parliament has passed a new Act of Succession naming Mary and me as heirs to the throne after Prince Edward.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Kate exclaimed, painfully aware that Elizabeth’s restoration to royal status would preclude herself from ever being her equal. Yet she was pleased for her. It must have been hard to be deprived of her birthright and her legitimacy.
“Of course, neither Mary nor I have been declared true born,” Elizabeth said airily, tripping along the gravel path.
“I doubt my father will ever change his mind on that. But at least we have been restored to the succession, and I believe we have Queen Katharine to thank for that. Oh, she is a wonderful stepmother!” She chattered on, extolling the Queen’s virtues, her learning, and her warm heart.
“Yet she isn’t in the new painting my father commissioned when the Act was passed.
He had Queen Jane painted in it instead, because she is Edward’s mother.
I’m in it, too, and Mary. I wore my ‘A’ pendant that was my mother’s.
Mary gave it to me. She was given my mother’s jewels, you know.
It’s one of my prized possessions—because she wore it. ”
Kate was touched to hear Elizabeth speak so warmly of her mother.
It was heartening to know that she had come to have such a positive view of her.
She was amazed that she was prepared to wear that pendant publicly, seemingly not caring whether she offended her father.
But clearly, she had not, for he must have seen the picture and noticed the pendant.
Kate surmised that Kat had nurtured this sympathetic opinion of Anne, yet she also suspected that Will had contributed during those talks Elizabeth had mentioned.
Mother would have wanted her niece to know the truth.
—
The fortnight at Hatfield passed quickly.
Kate enjoyed herself hugely, although she missed her children and Francis was never far from her mind.
Elizabeth was stimulating company and always eager to go on to the next diversion.
They were never idle. One day it was a picnic in the park, another a game of hide-and-seek in the rambling old palace.
Often, they rode out, for Elizabeth loved riding and was already an expert horsewoman.
On wet days, they made music or practiced dance steps.
Not once, in all that time, did Elizabeth give any hint that she knew Kate was anything more than a dear cousin.
Disappointed, Kate concluded that Will had not said anything.
All too soon for Elizabeth, it was time for Kate to go home. The girl threw her arms around her as she made ready to leave. “I wish you could stay!”
“So do I, dear cousin, but my children need me.”
“I need you!” It was not the first time that Elizabeth had shown she considered her needs more important than those of the children, and she had never quite got over her initial jealousy of Francis; indeed, Kate often felt awkward mentioning his name.
“I will see you again soon,” she said firmly. “You must come to Greys Court.”
“I will,” Elizabeth said. “But I’d rather you came here.”
“I’ll do my best,” Kate capitulated, sighing inwardly. “When you are married and have children, you will understand that it is hard to be parted from them.”
“Oh, no, I won’t!” Elizabeth retorted. “I will never marry.”
Kate would have liked to talk about that, but her groom was waiting and the horses were becoming restive. “We’ll see,” she said lightly, and kissed Elizabeth, only to find herself enveloped in a fierce hug.
“God keep you, dear coz,” Elizabeth said, sounding as if she might burst into tears.
“May He keep you, too,” Kate said, gently disengaging herself and walking away.
—
When Francis came home, dirty and travel-sore, two weeks after Kate, he was full of the triumph at Boulogne and the part he had played in it. He was clearly exhilarated by the experience of battle.
“Mark me, this victory will be celebrated for centuries to come,” he predicted as he lay in bed with Kate following their joyful reunion. She had never known him to be so ardent. It was as if his success had fired up every masculine instinct.
“And you were a part of it,” she said, lying in the crook of his arm, her hand on his chest.
“We all were. The King was rejuvenated by it. His bad leg seemed of no account. By God, Kate, this is the beginning. France will soon be ours, you’ll see!”
“I hope I will. And Husband, I have news of my own. Have you not noticed that my belly is a little rounded?” She kissed him as understanding dawned.
“Oh, my darling!” he said, and drew her back into his arms. “But we shouldn’t…you should have told me…We might have harmed the babe…”
“Nonsense!” Kate giggled. “I had a very interesting conversation with your mother while you were away. She said it could not hurt the babe—it had hurt none of hers, and she’d heard other women say the same.”
Francis drew back. “You were discussing such things with my mother? I—I don’t think I want to know! I don’t like to think of her in that context.”
“You’re lucky not to have to. I’ve had no choice but to think of my mother in that context, as you put it. I’ve had to try very, very hard not to imagine her with the King.”
“Oh, God.” Francis was laughing and she could not but join in.
“But he was much younger then, slimmer and handsome, I’ve heard,” she said.
Not yet the monster he would become. “It’s the present Queen I pity.
I’ll wager that she struggles to breathe!
” They both fell to chuckling, and then to lovemaking, but it was gentler this time and there was much kindness between them.
Kate fell asleep happy, glad to have her beloved husband home.
—