Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey (15 page)

Sadly, Cranmer’s recantations could not save him. In March, he was returned to Oxford and burned in the same spot as his friends, Ridley and Latimer. Francis and Henry were there to witness his burning, but I had seen enough. I stayed home and prayed for Cranmer’s soul. I still have no idea what Cranmer said that day as the flames burned out his life, but whatever it was, it lit a fire in Francis and he was more determined than ever that we flee our home in England. That spring he left us in the care of Henry and began his journey to Basel, Switzerland. He was gone for almost a year before we received instructions to join him, and now we were on our way.

Matilda rose and began to sort through the trunks looking for my night shift. We had a long journey ahead of us and we both needed our rest. She helped me out of my layers of damask and we both settled into bed, I in the big tester with my children, she in the trundle bed on the floor beside mine. In my exhaustion, sleep came quickly.

I found myself in the middle of a town square. The smoke from the fires was so thick I could barely see through it. Keeping my head down and my eyes on the ground, I felt around through the fog of smoke. The smell of roasting flesh filled the air and my ears rang with the screams of the damned. I yanked my hand back when I felt the heat of the flames. The smoke began to clear and as I looked up, I could see the woman tied to the stake, enveloped in fire. My watering eyes blurred my vision, but I could make out her distended stomach, swollen with child. She gave a great scream and a rush of blood splattered on the ground. It was then that I realised, the baby had been born. It was hanging by its cord between the woman’s legs.

I lunged at the fire grasping for the child. The intense heat scorched my skin. A cluster of blisters appeared on the back of my hands, but I reached in further until I had the child. I pulled back, yanking until the cord was free. Before I could tend to the wailing baby, it was snatched from my hand by a dark figure and tossed back into the flames.

A voice boomed beside me, “This child shall share in its mother’s sin!”

I looked up into the mother’s face and my heart stopped when I saw my daughter, Mary, looking back at me. An unearthly scream erupted from the depths of my soul and my world went black.

“Lady Knollys!”

My body was convulsing. Was this the end?

“Lady Knollys!”

Who was calling my name?

“Catherine!”

My eyes flew open. I was not convulsing, Matilda was shaking me awake. I had soaked my night shift in sweat. My hair hung limply over my face.

Matilda brushed my hair out of my eyes and put her arm around me, helping me into a sitting position.

“Please, Lady Knollys, you will wake the children. It was only a dream. You are safe with me and your family.”

I looked around, the familiarity of the room returning to me. Sure enough, the children were asleep next to me. Edward was snoring softly and Anne was sucking noisily on her thumb. I felt so foolish that it did not even offend me that Matilda had chastised me.

“Matilda,” I sighed, and lay back on the bed. “It was terrible. Can you please bring me something to drink?”

Matilda walked over to the table by the fire and came back with a mug of ale. I gulped it down, the cool liquid soothing my dry throat. I handed it back to her. “Thank you.”

She nodded. As she walked back towards the table, a muffled knock sounded at the door. In the firelight I was certain I saw her grimace. She set down the mug and padded over to the door. I watched from the bed, but I could not see who was there. They exchanged low whispers and after a moment, Matilda closed the door and shuffled back to her trundle bed, eyes cast to the ground.

“Matilda, who was at the door?”

In the firelight, I could just make out the crimson flush rising in her cheeks.

“It was Master Henry,” she said quietly. She busied herself with the blankets and settled down into her quilts.

I decided to give her an escape.

“He must have heard my screams and came to see if I was all right,” I said, lying back against the pillow, even though I knew full well that if the children had not heard my screams, there was no way he had heard them down the hall.

“Yes, I assured him you were fine,” she said, pulling her quilts up over her chest and closing her eyes.

I smiled to myself and blew out the candle on the table above her head.

We lay quietly in the dark, neither one of us sleeping, but both trying desperately for that peaceful slumber.

After an hour of restless tossing and turning, I let out an exasperated sigh.

“Lady Catherine?”

“Yes, Matilda?”

“Will you tell me what you were dreaming about?” she asked tentatively.

I hesitated. I did not want to scare Matilda, but I could not get the gruesome scenes out of my head. I knew I had to share them, get them out of my mind before I would be able to sleep peacefully tonight.

“Matilda,” I started. “Do you remember when Francis, Henry and I went to town and returned covered in ash? You asked what happened, but I refused to tell you?”

Matilda rose out of her cocoon of blankets. “Yes, my lady. You went to see the burnings.”

I held out my hand. “Wait, how did you know?” I had never told Matilda about the burnings. I didn’t want to cause her undue worry and I couldn’t bear to talk about the things that I had seen that day.

Matilda shifted uncomfortably, but after a moment she admitted, “Master Henry told me.”

I knew then that my suspicions were right. Henry would never have shared such information with my maid, unless they had a closer relationship than I was aware of.

I sat up and reached for Matilda’s hand. “Matilda, are you and Henry ...?” I could not even finish the sentence in my amazement.

Matilda’s eyes widened. “No, my lady! No! We have done nothing of that sort. Master Henry is nothing but proper. It is just that - sometimes - he confides in me. I think that, with all of the losses you have suffered with your mother and Maude and Mary, he doesn’t want to add to your suffering with worry, especially when Sir Francis is at Court. He adores you and says often that he is closer to you than his own blood sisters. But, like you, he has the scenes in his head of the horrible things he saw that day and has seen in town since. I guess it helps him to talk them through with me.”

I squeezed her hand and smiled, “It is all right, Matilda. I thank you for the comfort you have given Henry. It is true that after watching two men burn to death for nothing other than their beliefs I have been filled with anxiety for our safety. What Henry does not realise is that he is not the only one keeping secrets. I too know what our queen and her ministers have been doing. I’ve heard the conversations between the servants and they make my stomach turn. A particularly wretched story invaded my dreams tonight. Ever since I heard it, I have been unable to banish it from my mind.”

Matilda leaned forward and said quietly, “If it helps Master Henry to talk to me about it, maybe it will help you as well.”

“Sweet Matilda, God bless you for having such a compassionate heart.”

She smiled at me and gave my hand a small squeeze, nodding her head to urge me on.

“Francis had already left for the Low Countries and I was still under the grey cloud of Mary’s passing. I was tired of being in the house so I went out to the gardens to take in the cool autumn air. The leaves were turning these beautiful shades of orange and yellow and I wanted to enjoy the flowers before everything turned brown. I sat down on the bench behind the hedge that faced the clothes line. I could hear the washer-women behind me, chatting as they worked. I was hidden behind the hedge so they did not know I could hear them. I didn’t pay them any mind, I was there to enjoy the sunshine not to chastise the servants, but then I overhead them talking about a woman in Guernsey. Her name was Perotine Massey. That July she had been accused of not attending church and she and her mother and sister had been sentenced to burning at the stake. Word of her story had just reached Greys that week when the butcher’s son came from town to bring us our meat.

Now, after the deaths of Ridley and Latimer, I was not surprised to hear of another burning, but I must admit I was taken aback to hear that it was a woman this time. But that is not the worst of it. No, the worst part was that Perotine was with child. The servants didn’t seem to know whether the bailiff was aware of this or not, but the fact remains that a pregnant woman was burned at the stake. While she was burning she gave birth to a little boy and when a bystander reached into the fire to try to save him, the bailiff ripped the child from his arms and tossed him back into the flames, claiming that the baby shared its mother’s sin.”

Matilda had gone pale, but I could tell she was trying to keep her composure. She had always had such a tender heart with children. I knew that the very idea of an infant being tossed into the fire was too gut-wrenching for her to even fathom. But she had offered herself as a confidante and she appeared determined to hear my story.

“How horrible,” she breathed.

I nodded. It was beyond horrible. It was unconscionable. How could the Princess Mary I knew have become so monstrous that she could allow this to happen? I grappled with this in my heart.

Matilda replied as if she had been reading my mind, “Perhaps the queen did not know that she had sentenced an infant to death. You said yourself that the bailiff did not know. Perotine may not have even been aware of her condition. Perhaps it was truly an unfortunate accident.”

I shook my head, “I have told myself that over and over, Matilda, but I have borne eleven children and I knew that I was with child from the very early stages. For Perotine to have been so far along that she would have actually given birth, she had to know. She had to feel that life kicking inside of her. And what of her belly? How could she hide it? And most importantly, why would she? She had benefit of the belly. I would think that would be her first defence.”

Matilda shrugged. “I cannot tell you, my lady. I too cannot imagine that she would not plead benefit of the belly, but we were not there. We did not witness it first-hand. We have only the gossip of two washer-women who did not witness it either. I think that for your own comfort you must give Queen Mary the benefit of the doubt.”

I sighed inwardly and contemplated Matilda’s words. I knew that she was right, but I was finding her reasoning hard to accept. I had given others the benefit of the doubt in the past and been bitterly disappointed. But in the case of Perotine, it was unlikely I would ever know the truth and I did not want to know that my half-sister was capable of being that cold.

Matilda broke the silence. “Was it of Perotine that you were dreaming of my lady?”

“In a way,” I replied. “I dreamt I was there. That I pulled the baby from the fire and after the bailiff ripped it from my hands, I looked up and instead of seeing Perotine, saw my own daughter, Mary. My beautiful girl... lost to the flames.” I paused. “I know Queen Mary had nothing to do with her death, but I think that because I heard Perotine’s story so soon after her death and deep in my grief, I cannot help but link them together.”

Matilda patted my hand. “Mary is with the angels now, free from pain.”

I raised my eyebrow in surprise. “Matilda, you do not believe in Purgatory?”

She gave a lilting laugh. “Are you surprised my lady?”

I shook my head. “No, Matilda, I suppose not. You have been speaking to Henry after all. He is passionate about the Gospel. I imagine I am the only person left in our household that still questions my beliefs in the old and new religion.”

Her reply resonated in my heart. “Old religion, new religion, does it truly matter? All that matters is that we have faith, the rest are merely earthly matters.”

After my conscience was relieved of its burden I was able to get some sleep. Henry was pounding on the door before sunrise, anxious to be on the way. We rushed about, piling our trunks back into the carts, and continued our journey to Dover.

A fishing vessel would be waiting there for us to take us across the sea to Calais. From there we would travel by coach through France and into Germany. I was not looking forward to the channel crossing. I had almost fallen overboard the last time, but it helped to know that this time Francis would be waiting for me on the other side of this journey.

I was leading the children to our cabin below the deck when I felt a tap on my shoulder. A young sailor gave me a small bow and then held out a letter to me.

“What is this?” I asked, reaching for it.

“It arrived before your party my lady. A messenger from the queen, I believe. He did not say, but I saw her coat of arms on his riding blanket and he was wearing her colours,” he replied and then turned, heading back to work.

I held the letter in my hand and felt the bile rise in my throat. This was it. We were to be burned now. My hands shook as I broke the seal.

I stopped myself from opening the letter. I needed someone to be with me when I read the terrible news. I left the children with Matilda and ran upstairs to the deck to look for Henry.

He was standing at the railing, staring out at the sea.

“Henry!” I called out.

He turned back to look at me, his face darkened with concern.

“Yes, Catherine?”

I called breathless, “A letter from the queen.”

His hands dropped from the rail and he ran to me. “What does it say?”

Shaking I said, “I... I do not know. I have not the courage to open it.”

“You must,” he urged, pushing the envelope back towards me.

I willed my hands to stop their trembling and slowly opened the fold.

I scanned the page and sighed with great relief once I realised the danger was over.

“Well?” Henry asked.

“
Mistress Knollys,

It is with great regret that I must write this letter. It has come to my attention that you and your family fear me and for that reason, have taken it upon yourselves to flee my rule. My heart aches with sadness that someone that has known me for most of my life has such fear for me that they would abandon their home. It breaks even more that this confirms for me that you have turned from the True Religion of the Holy Catholic Church. I admit it does not surprise me much since you are the child of a Boleyn. And possibly - no, that cannot be true - I cannot bear to believe what has been whispered. I am certain my father had no reason to, but he held you in great affection and unlike the rest of the women in your family, you have always shown kindness towards me. For a child of the Boleyns, you had a sweetness I never could decipher. I must assume it came from William Carey, though he never treated me with great respect either. In any case, I know that as a wife, you must follow your husband’s command even if it is incorrect - as Sir Francis certainly is - for believing you are in any danger. Because of your duty and because of the kindness you have shown me in the past, I have written today to assure you of your safety, should you return home. I assume you will, for I have been told that your lovely Lettice is still unmarried and living with my sister at Hatfield and that your sons are in the care of Ambrose Dudley. I will see to it that no harm should come to them, as no child should suffer for their parents’ folly as I have. I pray that while you are in the midst of these heretics, you learn their true nature and return to the Catholic church, urging your husband to join you in its righteousness.