Chapter 26 #2
The mood there was ugly. They knew this from the reports of their friends.
The machinery of government had come to a standstill as a result of the Queen’s prolonged confinement.
The people were still expressing their anger at the sickening spectacles at Smithfield.
Scurrilous placards attacking Mary had been posted in the streets, and rumors abounded that she had died in childbirth and that the hated Spaniards had concealed her death for nefarious reasons of their own, or that she was not pregnant at all, but mortally ill.
There were also wild claims that Edward VI was about to emerge from seclusion and return to the throne.
Many were speaking with deep affection of the Lady Elizabeth, and a printed prayer to be said at her accession was being circulated.
Hope sprang anew in Kate’s heart. It was late June now, and still the heir to England had not made an appearance—and maybe he never would.
She could not think why there should be this delay.
Maybe the rumors were correct, and the Queen was ill.
Yet at this late stage of pregnancy, as she knew herself, the signs were unmistakable.
Over the next week, they avidly devoured the letters they received, reading them together.
“Thank God we are away from London!” Francis exclaimed.
So angry was the mood of the people that the Council had sent troops to keep order in the capital.
At court, the atmosphere was tense. With so many people packed into Hampton Court Palace, the air was becoming fetid and tempers short.
The animosity between the English and Spanish courtiers was tangible, and fights and squabbles erupted at the slightest provocation.
There was even bloodshed. The worst moment had come when a mob of hundreds of young Englishmen had marched on Hampton Court and camped menacingly outside the main gates, swords at the ready to slay any Spaniard who dared to venture forth.
The palace guards had driven them away, but the resultant fighting had left six men dead.
Everything was in suspense and dependent upon the Queen’s safe delivery.
But that, Kate thought, was looking less and less likely each day.
By her reckoning, Mary had been pregnant for eleven months, way beyond the normal course of nature.
“I am beginning to believe that she is not with child after all,” she confided to Francis in bed one night, lying there with her own infant lustily kicking her.
His voice came out of the darkness. “If that is the case, then the monarchy cannot but suffer ridicule and loss of face. It seems that the Queen’s enemies agree with you, though.
They think she is practicing an elaborate deception, possibly to keep Philip at her side for as long as possible, since he is keen to go and fight his wars against the French. ”
“I don’t know the Queen, but from what I have heard from others, she is not capable of such a deception. No, I think there is something very wrong with her. As a woman, I sympathize, for I can imagine what she is going through. She must long for the waiting to be over.”
“I heard that the royal physicians claimed to be two months out in their calculations, and that the child is still not due.”
“But the pregnancy was announced in November! That’s nearly nine months ago.”
“Then you’re right, there has to be something wrong.”
—
July came in, as wet and dismal as June.
Their friends at Hampton Court wrote that the palace was now stinking and filthy, and people were scared of plague breaking out.
More ominously, despite reports that the Queen had muddled her dates and the birth might not now occur until August or September, few still believed that there would be a child.
The Queen, despite remaining in confinement, had resumed attending to official business.
She had been seen taking the air in the gardens, looking her former slender self.
In London, some Protestants were saying she had declared that the baby would not be born until every heretic in the kingdom had been burned.
“That’s plain silly,” Francis scoffed.
“I think that her baby was born dead, and that she fears to announce it,” Kate said.
“You may be right. At her age, I doubt she will ever bear an heir,” Francis opined. “Then the way will be clear for Elizabeth.”
—
They received a letter from Will. He had written several times to tell them about the new life he and Dot had made for themselves in Geneva, where they had been welcomed into the life of the English community.
Now he wrote that they were not to worry, but there had been an uprising against Calvin’s rule, and although it had been speedily suppressed, he himself had nearly been killed in the fighting; but he was all right, barring a few scratches.
“He shouldn’t be fighting at his age,” Kate muttered.
“He’s only forty-seven,” Francis reminded her. “And he’s fit and strong after all those years of soldiering.”
“But he’s very dear to me!”
He took her in his arms. “If you women ruled the world, there would be no wars!”
—
There had been no further news from court when Kate went into labor. Painful though it was, at least her child was on time, unlike the Queen’s. Then she forgot about making comparisons and focused on the pressing task of bringing it into the world.
“A fair maid!” the midwife announced.
“Praise be!” cried Lettice, who had come, as usual, to be with Kate for the birth.
Kate lay back, exhausted. “May God protect her,” she murmured.
Francis was thrilled. “Our eleventh child! What would you like to call her, darling?”
She took the baby from him and kissed her.
“I would like to give this little one a name that conveys our solidarity with the Lady Elizabeth. We already have her namesake, little Beth, so we could call this one Anne, after her mother. The Lady Elizabeth will get the message, if she hears.” And she would hear, she vowed.
Soon, she would write to her. Surely there was no reason not to now?
“I like the name,” Francis beamed, nodding at his mother. “Anne it is.”
—
The news from court was odd. No child had been born—at least, there had been no mention of one. The Queen had emerged from seclusion, looking as slim as ever, yet sad and drawn. No explanation had been offered. She and the King had moved to Oatlands Palace.
“I’ll wager the babe died at birth,” Kate said, still lying in, with tiny Anne sleeping in the cradle beside her. “The Queen will not lose face by admitting it because people will say she is incapable of bearing an heir, and that will give heart to the Protestants.”
“Maybe she is incapable,” Francis said, looking hopeful. “And as the King is now leaving these shores and going to war, there’ll be no other child for some time.”
“And she is not getting any younger. She’s, what, thirty-nine? And not in the best of health, we’ve heard.”
“Well, I, for one, am praying that the King stays away for a long time,” Francis declared.
“I’m glad he’s leaving, and I hope he takes all his Spaniards with him.
My nameless correspondent writes that Elizabeth’s succession is now seen as a near certainty, and that the King has made sure that she is treated with the respect due to the heir presumptive. ”
“Then may I now write to her?” Kate asked.
“I don’t see why not.” Francis smiled. “I don’t need to tell you to be circumspect.”
—
Kate sat up in bed, her little writing desk balanced on her lap, and waited for inspiration. There, she had it!
“Madam, my dearest cousin,” she wrote, “it is long since I heard from you, and I could tarry no longer to ask after your health. I am so glad to hear that you are at liberty and living in your own house.” She told Elizabeth of the arrival of baby Anne and other news, taking care to keep her tone light.
“We do very well here at Greys Court. I think often of the happy days at Hatfield when we were young. I do very much hope to see you again one day soon, which would be the greatest joy to me. In the meantime, I shall pray for your health and happiness and ask God to have you in His protection. Your loving cousin, Kate.”
To her delight, Elizabeth wrote back. She said she had been overjoyed to receive Kate’s letter and wanted nothing more than to see her.
She had thought of her constantly during her recent tribulations and looked forward to embracing her again and talking with her.
She herself was returning to court shortly to bid farewell to the King.
When she moved to Hatfield afterward, would Kate come and visit her?
Kate had hoped that Elizabeth would visit her, but she should have known better, for Elizabeth’s old jealousy of Kate’s other life was clearly lively, and probably always would be.
She wrote back to say that she would gladly come, if Elizabeth would let her know when she was going to be at Hatfield.
In truth, she could not wait to see her.
—
In the autumn, Hal, now a strapping fourteen, was sent to Magdalen College School at Oxford, as Dr. Palmer had recommended, it being his old alma mater.
Even though she was surrounded by the clamor of her other children, and Hal had already been away for a year in Geneva, Kate missed her firstborn.
At night, she would lay her cheek on his pillow and breathe in the scent of him.
By day, she kept busy. Yet she accepted that he had to go out into the world of men—and a good education was the key to success in adult life.
When he left, she had hugged him tight—but not too tightly, because he was clearly uncomfortable with it, being at that difficult age—and begged him not to betray by any hint or gesture that he and his family were secret Protestants. “It’s for the safety of all of us!” she emphasized.