Chapter 38 #2
She functioned. She ran her household. She cried in private, in the arms of Francis, and then Thomasina, when he had to return to court. But her heart was in that vault, with the precious dust that lay therein.
Elizabeth wrote, sending heartfelt condolences.
“I desire to give all the comfort I can to you, but was loath to have written at all because the offering of sympathy can be but a fresh occasion for sorrow. Yet I wish to assure you that whatever comfort I can minister to you, I shall not fail to give.” It was one of the most moving letters the Queen had ever sent Kate.
But the court and all its intrigues seemed far away.
Kate could not stop tormenting herself. Again and again, she went over Dudley’s last hours, asking herself if she should have known what was about to happen.
She tried to remember the last time she had kissed her baby, the last words she had said to her, but the memories eluded her.
What was almost worse was thinking that Dudley had lived in vain.
What had it all been for, those months of pregnancy followed by the pain of her birthing?
No! she told herself. I will not believe that she had no purpose in this world.
Children bring love, and if that is all they do in the short time allowed them, then they have lived worthwhile lives.
Another letter arrived from the Queen, saying that it would do Kate good to return to court, take her mind off her loss. But Kate could not face returning.
Francis had had to resume his duties. He had been elected Knight of the Shire for Oxfordshire and had to sit in Parliament, too. He found solace in his work, but he had been loath to leave Kate.
“I will be all right,” she assured him, and kept herself busy.
Music was her salvation. She had always loved it, but after Dudley died, she could not face playing a note.
Then one day, she took up her lute and made herself strum it.
It was easier than she had anticipated, even if the melody brought tears to her eyes.
That day, she realized that she would heal.
It would be a slow process, and she was not yet ready for the outside world, but she began to give her attention to her children again and was rewarded by seeing them happy and loving toward her, relieved to have their mother back.
God, she told herself, had been good to her.
He had sent her sixteen children and taken only three to Himself.
She was blessed indeed, for she knew of other mothers of large families who had fewer than half their broods left to them.
Elizabeth bestowed several more grants of property jointly on Francis and Kate, in reward for their good service.
It was an inducement to go back to court.
Certainly, it was an honor for her, as the Queen’s kinswoman (as she was styled in the documents), to be included in grants to her husband.
She wondered if it was a tacit recognition of the secret bond between her and Elizabeth, but Francis thought it was largely a reminder of where she ought to be and that the Queen was prepared to be generous to get what she wanted.
It did not matter. Kate still could not face the court.
Grief made her feel fragile. She found that she was living as two people.
One was outwardly carrying on with life, finding pleasure in things and even laughing; the other was mired in sadness, longing hopelessly for that which she could never have again.
Elizabeth sent increasingly impatient letters demanding that Kate return to court, but Kate repeatedly sent her excuses, pleading that she was not yet herself and that she was struggling to face life. She prayed that her dearest cousin would understand.
The next she heard was that Elizabeth was ill.
“It is smallpox,” Kat wrote. “We are all praying for her recovery.”
Kate’s instinct was to go to Elizabeth, but Francis forbade it. “Are you mad?” he wrote. “Smallpox is highly contagious, and it can kill. At the very least, it can leave you scarred for life. You must think of yourself and the children. The best you can do for the Queen is pray for her.”
Kate prayed. She went to the church and told the vicar to ask for the prayers of the congregation.
She knelt, alone in the nave that evening, begging God to spare Elizabeth.
And all the time, she was aware of those two sleeping angels lying only feet away, and that other little one, at rest in the churchyard.
She kissed her hand and laid it on the cold stone that covered them before she began the walk home.
“Your brother has wrought a cure,” Kat wrote.
“He called in a German physician, and when that physician had given up hope, he made him persevere; Blanche says he showed him the point of a dagger. And now the Queen is recovering. She is weak, but she will soon be well and is planning to depart for Windsor when she is strong enough.”
Kate was relieved to hear it. She could not have coped with another bereavement.
—
It was true what Mother used to say, that when the good Lord closed one door, He opened another.
Kate was thrilled to receive a letter from Chartley in which Lettice confided that she was shortly to give birth to her first child.
“I wish you could be with me,” she had written.
“I would give much to have you here. Do come to Chartley for Christmas.”
Kate was torn. Francis was expected to be at court for the Yuletide season, but their other children would be at home and looking for her to make Christmas merry for them after all the sadness.
Yet Lettice needed her. How would she feel if anything ill befell her and she had not gone to her?
It was that which decided her. She would not fail another child.
She explained her position to the nurses and the tutor.
Could they make a happy Christmas for the children in her absence?
She herself would order the feasts, but could they lay on games and mummings?
Yes, of course they could, and willingly.
Thomasina immediately began gathering greenery for a kissing ball to hang in the hall. The children could help her to make it.
It pained her to say goodbye to her darlings at such a precious time of year, yet Chartley was calling. She set off two weeks before Christmas to give herself time to cover the hundred and twenty miles to Staffordshire at a steady, undemanding pace.
It was a long journey, and it took her through Oxford, Banbury, and Coventry. Mercifully, the weather was kind, if cold. She spent the nights at inns or great houses, the owners of which were glad to open their doors to the Queen’s beloved kinswoman.
Christmas was approaching when Kate sighted Chartley at last. The timbered manor house lay near the massive ruins of the abandoned Chartley Castle, and was adorned with battlements and surrounded by a moat.
Lettice came hastening out to welcome her. It was unsettling to see her daughter, her baby, heavily pregnant. But the girl was radiant with health and happiness. “How are you, Mother? I am so sorry about Dudley. This must have been a terrible year for you.”
“It has been hard,” Kate admitted, as they went into the hall and servants ran to bring in her luggage. “But it gives me joy to see you, child. Tell me, are you liking married life?”
“Mostly,” Lettice said, giving Kate that little-girl sideways glance that had always got her out of trouble when she was younger. “I miss the court—and Walter, er…Well, he’s a good husband.”
Kate was quick to pick up on the pause. “He is attentive?”
“He was. But once he knew I was with child, he backed away.”
Kate smiled. “He will return. And you’ve not got long to wait now.”
“I know. The waiting seems endless. Walter is out hunting at the moment, but you will see him when he gets back.”
They spent a pleasant Christmas. It was quiet because Lettice did not feel up to entertaining, but Kate relished the peace. The change of scene had done her good. There were no memories of Dudley here, only in her heart, and those she tried to keep buried for her living daughter’s sake.