Falling For Henry (16 page)

“Oh, my goodness!” exclaimed Kate, feeling sick and leaning back against the straw pillows. “Did they find the cloth?”

“No, but,” said the maid, lowering her voice and crossing herself, “people said they saw him do it.”

Kate thought of the girl she'd encountered in the passage, the one who'd been stealing bread. The bread had been wrapped in an embroidered cloth. Could that have been the missing communion cloth from the church? It might have been here in the palace all along! But it was too late. Someone was dead. How easily lives were taken—and over a piece of cloth!

“Cheerio!” smiled the maid, and she went out with the lantern.

“Thank you kindly,” called Kate, trying to sound dignified. Her heart was beating wildly. This place was dangerous! She had to make sure nothing aroused anyone's suspicions of her, nothing at all. She must present the Katherine that all expected to see. Had she spoken of the girl in the passage, she might have saved a man's life. But what would have become of the girl to whom she'd promised mercy? And even if she had spoken in time, would people think she herself was some kind of cunning woman, and persecute her as a witch? She'd better take care. She'd just better take care or it would be her life on the line. She supposed they hung witches on Tower Hill, too.

After using the garderobe, which was an uncomfortable and smelly stone toilet in one of the bays next to their chambers, she cleaned her teeth with a bit of cloth and then ate the breakfast of bread, eggs, and figs that Doña Elvira provided. She hadn't thought she'd be hungry after eating all that peacock the previous night, but she was, in fact, ravenous.

After eating, she pinched and pulled at the garment Dona Elvira had given her to wear under her gown—a stomacher, it was called. Made of stiff, heavy fabric, it pressed inwards against her chest and stomach and made it very hard to breathe. In order to take her mind off the discomfort, she attempted to keep her spine very straight as she had noticed the other women doing. Posture is dictated by the style of dress, she remembered Willow saying. It was important to fit in here and not arouse anyone's suspicions. The long-skirted, wide-sleeved green gown was bad enough, heavy and hot, even in the cool, damp confines of the castle. Kate suddenly felt the old sensation of panic rising up, and she stood and ran to the garderobe, where she held her breath until the stomacher was torn off and stuffed into a corner under loose straw. Straw was what people here used to clean themselves, although Kate had seen a flattened wooden stick that had clearly been employed for that duty.

“You're not reading in there, are you?” called Doña Elvira. “The gong fermour's here to clean the pipes.”

Hiding a grin at his title, which sounded a lot like
gong farmer
, Kate hurried out of the room and let in the grubby old codger carrying a pail and a sharpened stick. How he was going to clean the toilet she wasn't sure, but she doubted it would be any more sanitary when he was finished. With a small sigh, she went back to the sitting room, wishing that she could wear the jeans and shoes that were decidedly more comfortable but which Doña Elvira had spirited away.

As Kate sat embroidering, she began to relax, entertaining the peaceful feeling that all was right with the world. The fire was snapping in the hearth; Doña Elvira was humming as she bustled around, gathering the right thread from various sewing boxes; and maids were straightening up the bedchamber and the other rooms nearby—their humdrum chatter a soft background for Kate's needle as it darted in and out of the material she was working on. Fitting in wasn't so hard, she thought. You just had to watch and copy what others were doing, not say too much, and then, only say what you knew would be well received. Kate smiled as she threaded a needle, thinking how lucky she was that Gran had taught her a few fancy stitches.

The embroidery they were working on was a large wall hanging that depicted a pomegranate tree, the fruit hanging full and ripe and red.

“Where will you hang this when we're done?” Kate asked.

Doña Elvira looked at her sharply.

“Why, in your bedchamber, when you and Henry are bride and groom, of course. What is the matter with you?”

“I … I—” Kate began. Maybe she wasn't so sure of herself here after all.

“You cannot refuse him,” said Doña Elvira, furrowing her heavy eyebrows. “Spain depends on this match. Your duty is to marry and have children. Boy children, who will be heirs to the throne. And, God willing, Henry will be a better husband to you than Arthur was.” She shook her finger at Kate and her voice rose a notch. “It has already been arranged by your parents, you know this! If you think that you're somehow better than your destiny … I always feared that the schooling you had might spoil you. I said as much!” She had jumped to her feet and was now pacing the small room.

“Schooling spoil me?” Kate echoed.

“Women are not meant to know but to do. Even with your royal breeding, too much learning will addle the brain. Remember that and you will
do
well. Mark my words, trouble will come upon us unless you take care!” The old woman picked up a needle and then, in her haste to thread it, pricked her finger. She wrestled for a moment with the needle and thread, and then stabbed the needle back into the pincushion, looking fiercely at Kate as if she wished she, Kate, were the pincushion.

“Remember that all your blessings you owe to your husband,” Doña Elvira commanded. “He is the gold coin who will shine as our sovereign. Only in your husband's absence will you demonstrate authority, while in his presence, you are as much his servant as I am. I do not know what game you think you are playing, but you have suddenly become much too independent. Be quieter, more polite, bend to his wishes. And if he wants you to kiss him, why not? What is there to lose?” She went on in an impatient mutter, twisting a skein of red embroidery silk in her hands. “Only the crown. Only our livelihood. But of these things you have no interest. You young girls, always the same.”

Kate felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck. Fitting in here wasn't as easy as she had imagined. People's beliefs were so foreign. Women had to do as men desired, without any personal power. It was so unfair! She thought about the man Henry would become. Shaped by this culture that thought boys were superior, how could he help but grow up to be a self-serving bully? And the dominant idea that queens were supposed to produce boy children would certainly make him think his wives were to blame if sons were not forthcoming.

Maybe I can talk him into more modern ideas, mused Kate. Maybe it isn't too late—just as long as I'm careful. She shivered as she remembered the glittering look in his eye as he killed that deer, and the way he'd turned on MacQueen. Henry had a mind of his own and she didn't want to be on the wrong side of him. But if she were careful …

“Finish it,” Doña Elvira snapped, pushing the tapestry toward her. “What are you mooning about?”

“I … well …” gasped Kate. Then she swallowed and said through dry lips, “Actually, it's the remembering part I'm having trouble with. I … I seem to have lost some of my memory.” If she had Doña Elvira as an ally, Kate thought, maybe she could do a better job of being the Katherine everyone expected.

“What? What sorcery is here?” croaked Doña Elvira, jumping to her feet and closing the door to the hall in case any of the maids could hear. “What do you mean?”

“It's not as bad as that. I think I will be well again, and soon, thanks to your good care. But I wonder if you could tell me a few things, just so that I do not make any more errors.”

“You have … you have lost your memory!” whispered the nurse.

“Well, not all of it,” said Kate. “But some. So you must fill in the gaps.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Doña Elvira breathlessly, gathering Kate's smooth hands in her gnarled ones. “What is it you wish to know?”

“Well, why was I sent to Fulham Palace? Was it to avoid the sweating sickness?”

“Oh, God in Heaven, it is worse than I feared,” cried Doña Elvira, bowing and touching her forehead to Kate's knuckles. “Grant me the strength to bring her back!”

“Oh, please don't worry!” Kate said. “Just tell me the answers I require and everything will be fine. Please. I am depending on you!” She tried to will the old woman into answering her questions. After a few moments, Doña Elvira sat up, put her hands to her eyes, and then took a deep breath.

“You were sent to … to Fulham Palace,” she began brokenly, “because there was illness here, and it was feared with your poor constitution you might catch it. I had noticed that you seemed rather distraught, and I was worried about your state of mind, so I supported the journey. I thought a change might be just what you needed. Forgive me if I was wrong, if the move to Fulham created this … this—”

“Not at all. I'm really doing much better,” Kate interrupted. “Just let's finish these few questions. What will happen to me if I am not … not well?”

“Oh, God in Heaven, what could have prepared me for this!” moaned Doña Elvira.

“Please,” Kate said. “Tell me.”

“Well …” the old woman said shakily. “If you are seen to be not suitable for Henry, we will be sent back, of course. That's what will happen.” Doña Elvira wrung her hands. “Not so hard for me, but for you it would be very difficult. Your father would be very angry if you were to go back.”

“Back?” echoed Kate, thinking of London and then, just as suddenly, of New York, of the bed and breakfast and their old life.

“Back to Spain! Oh, Katherine, you've not forgotten Spain!”

“No,” said Kate, forcing herself to speak calmly, “Of course not. But I need you to begin at the beginning, just to make sure. What place is this? And you mentioned my father, but what of my mother?”

“Why, this is the Palace of Placentia at Greenwich, of course! The court of Henry VII! And your mother, Queen Isabella, is dead, you poor, poor—” The old nurse took out a handkerchief and pressed it against her eyes.

Kate drew in a breath. Isabella. Isobel. The connection was simply too eerie to consider. She felt Katherine's pain at the death of her mother as dearly as if she herself were feeling it. But this sorrow wasn't new. This was something Princess Katherine had lived with for some time, and, as Kate explored the thoughts of the princess, she discovered comforting and happy memories blended with sad in a bittersweet mix.

“So it really gets better,” she said softly, thinking about how hard it had been to deal with the feelings surrounding her own father's death. “It gets bearable.”

“Oh, to have misery like this cast upon me at this stage in my life,” moaned Doña Elvira. One of the maids opened the door into the sitting room and the old woman jumped to her feet, throwing off all signs of despair.

“We are without fresh water!” she announced. “Go and fill our pitchers right away. And bring a new mulberry twig for under the bed—the fleas were terrible last night.”

No matter where she was, in whatever time period, Kate realized she would feel the loss of her father. But as she thought about it now, his death didn't seem to weigh upon her as heavily. In fact, as she leaned into Katherine's past, shouldering his death was easier.

Doña Elvira had begun to pace the floor, muttering to herself, and Kate caught the end of what she was saying.

“The long journey here, how we were met at the docks, and Prince Arthur's death …” Kate desperately wrenched herself back into the conversation, hoping to find out all she could. She needed every detail that would help her find a way to survive here.

“No, really, I'm fine,” Kate interrupted firmly. “Sit down please and answer the questions. I recall most things; I just want to be sure. ‘Memory—' she said, remembering something her grandmother used to say, “‘—
Memory depends a lot on one's perspective.
' And you have the ability to fill in a perspective I am lacking.”

Doña Elvira was thus persuaded into a chair and Kate went on.

“The year is—”

“The year of our Lord, 1507,” Doña Elvira obliged.

“And you are …?”

Tears spilled from the old woman's eyes and a deep sob tore at her throat.

“I was … I was your governess when you were small. I came with you from—” she gulped, her voice rising “—from Spain, and I will stand by you if I can, although many times over you have broken my heart. Broken it into a dozen, maybe two dozen, tiny pieces. Maybe”—here she batted at invisible shapes in the air, and her voice cracked in its sorrowful flight—“three dozen!”

This was much harder than Kate had thought it would be, and she would have gladly stopped here except that Doña Elvira continued, much like a draining tub that, once unplugged, gurgles away until empty. She filled in Katherine's past as carefully as she could, telling how the Spanish princess had been brought to England to wed Henry's sickly elder brother—fifteen-year-old Arthur—the heir to the throne.

The marriage. Kate couldn't pick up more than a bewildering train of images: flowers, a white dress, a feast set out on golden plates. Arthur, she remembered, had been such a child, really. Katherine felt almost a sisterly affection for him, as that is what they had been to each other. Brother and sister. Arthur had died six months after the wedding. Sometime after that, Katherine had been betrothed to Henry, but a month ago, the King—Henry VII—had sent her to Fulham Palace to avoid an epidemic of the sweating sickness. Doña Elvira was kept back because she was needed for midwifery—three ladies of court, including the one last night, were soon due to have babies.

“So many babies,” Doña Elvira continued. “Last summer, there was trouble with other babies in Norfolk and I was kept busy all the time. Glad to leave Norwich Castle I was, when we moved along. Anne Boleyn was the last of them, the babies, and what a birth that one was …” Doña Elvira seemed lost in thought.