Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 (142 page)

Anne did not get her royal christening gown. They wrote to the queen with proposals for her separation from the king. They addressed her as
Dowager Princess and she tore the parchment of the declaration with an angry pen-stroke when she crossed through the title. They threatened her that she would never see the Princess Mary her daughter again. They moved her to the most desolate of palaces: Buckden in Lincolnshire. Still she would not recant. Still she would not admit the possibility that she had not been the king's lawful wife. In such an impasse, the christening gown seemed to matter very little and after she refused to part with it, saying that it was her own property brought from Spain, Henry did not insist.

I thought of her, in a cold house on the edge of the Fens. I thought of her, separated from her daughter as I was parted from my son by the ambition of the same woman. I thought of her unswerving determination to do right in the sight of God. And I missed her. She had been like a mother to me when I had first come to court and I had betrayed her as a daughter will betray her mother, and yet never stop loving her.

Anne's pains started at dawn and the midwife called me straightaway into the birthing chamber. I had to half-fight my way through courtiers and lawyers and clerks and officers of the court in the presence chamber outside the room. Nearest the door were the ladies in waiting assembled to assist the queen in her confinement, in fact doing nothing but frightening each other with nightmare stories of difficult births. Princess Mary was among them, her pale face screwed up into her habitual scowl of determination. I thought Anne cruel to make Katherine's daughter a witness of the birth of the child that would disinherit her. I gave her a little smile as I went past her and she gave me that curious, half-hearted curtsey which was now her trademark. She could trust nobody, she would trust nobody ever again.

Inside the room it was like a scene from hell. They had rigged up ropes on the bedposts and Anne was clinging onto them like a drowning woman. The sheets were already stained with her blood, and the midwives were brewing a caudle on the fire which was stoked high with logs. Anne was naked from the waist down. She was sweating and crying out with fear. Two other ladies in waiting were reciting their prayers in an irritating anxious drone and every now and again Anne would let out a shriek of renewed pain.

‘She must rest,' one of the midwives said to me. ‘She's fighting it.'

I stepped up to the bed and waited. ‘Anne, rest,' I said. ‘This is going to go on for hours.'

‘It's you, is it?' she said, throwing back her hair. ‘Thought you'd get up, did you?'

‘I came as soon as I was called. Do you want me to do anything for you?'

‘I want you to do this for me,' she said, her wit as sharp as ever.

I laughed. ‘Not I!'

She stretched a hand to me and when I held it, she clung on. ‘God help me, I am in terror,' she whispered.

‘God will help you,' I said. ‘You're having a Christian prince, aren't you? You're giving birth to a boy that is going to be the head of the church in England, aren't you?'

‘Don't leave me,' she said. ‘I am ready to vomit with fear.'

‘Oh you'll vomit,' I said cheerfully. ‘It gets an awful lot worse than this before it is better.'

Anne was in labour for all of the day and then her pains grew faster and it was clear to us all that the baby was coming. She stopped fighting and went vague and dreamy, her body doing the work for her. I held her up and the midwife spread the cloth for the baby and then gave a shout of joy as the head broke out of Anne's straining body, and then with a slither and a rush the whole baby was born. ‘God be praised,' the woman said.

She bent her head and sucked at the baby's mouth and we heard a choking little cry. Both Anne and I strained to see.

‘Is it the prince?' Anne gasped, her voice croaky with screaming. ‘He is to be Prince Edward Henry.'

‘A girl,' the midwife said, determinedly cheerful.

I felt Anne's full weight as she slumped with disappointment and I heard myself whisper: ‘Oh God, no.'

‘A girl,' the midwife said again. ‘A strong healthy girl,' she repeated as if to reconcile us to our disappointment.

For a moment I thought Anne had fainted. She was as white as death itself. I lowered her back against the pillows and stroked the hair back from her sweating face. ‘A girl.'

‘A live baby is the main thing,' I said, trying to fight my own sense of despair.

The midwife wrapped the baby in the cloth and patted her. Both Anne and I turned our heads at the wailing penetrating cry.

‘A girl,' Anne said in horror. ‘A girl. What good is a girl to us?'

George said the same when I told him. Uncle Howard swore out loud and called me a useless jade and my sister a stupid whore when I took the news to him. The whole fortunes of the family had depended on this small accident of birth. If Anne had given birth to a boy we would have
been the most powerful family in England with a stake in the throne forever. But she had a girl.

Henry, always the king, always unpredictable, did not complain. He took the baby on his lap and praised her blue eyes and her strong sturdy little body. He admired the little details of her hands, the dimples of her knuckles, the tiny perfection of her fingernails. He told Anne that next time they should have a boy, that he was happy to have another princess, and such a perfect little princess, in his household. He ordered that the letters which were to have gone out announcing the birth of a prince should have a double ‘s' added to them, to tell the King of France and the Emperor of Spain that the King of England had a new daughter. He gritted his teeth and tried not to think what they would say in the courts of Europe. They would laugh at all of England, for going through such an upheaval in order for the king to get a girl on a commoner. But I admired him, that evening, when he took my sister in his arms and kissed her hair and called her sweetheart. I understood him: he was too proud to let anyone know that he had been disappointed. I thought that he was a man of intense vanity, of dangerous whims, and despite all of that – or perhaps
because
all of that – a great king.

I got to my bedroom after thirty-six hours without sleep, and with the anger and despair of my father, my uncle, and my brother ringing in my ears, and found William there with a little meat pie on the fireside table and a pitcher of small ale.

‘I thought you'd be tired and hungry,' he said by way of greeting.

I fell into his arms and buried my face into the comforting smell of his linen. ‘Oh William!'

‘Trouble?'

‘They are all so angry, and Anne is in despair, and no-one has looked at the baby but the king and he held her for a few moments only. And it all seems so dreadful. Oh God, if she had only been a boy!'

He patted my back. ‘Hush, my love. They'll all come round. And they'll make another child. A son next time, perhaps.'

‘Another year,' I said. ‘Another year before Anne is free of fear and before I can be free of her.'

He drew me to the table, sat me before it and pressed the spoon into my hand. ‘Eat,' he said. ‘Everything will seem much better when you have eaten and slept.'

‘Where's Madge?' I asked fearfully, looking at the door.

‘Roistering in the hall like a drunkard,' he said. ‘The court prepared a feast to welcome the prince and was going to eat it whatever happened. Madge won't be back for hours, if she comes at all.'

I nodded and ate my dinner as he bid me. When I had finished he drew me onto the bed and kissed my ear and my neck and my eyelids very gently and very tenderly until I forgot all about Anne and the unwanted baby girl and turned in his arms and let him hold me. I fell asleep like that, fully dressed, lying on the covers of the bed, torn between sleep and desire. I fell asleep and I dreamed of him making love to me, even as he held me and stroked my face, all the night long.

As soon as Anne recovered from the birth she was engrossed in arranging for the care of the little Princess Elizabeth at Hatfield Palace, where a royal nursery was to be established under the charge of our aunt, Lady Anne Shelton, Madge's discreet mother. The Princess Mary, who had been seen to smile behind her hand at Anne's discomfiture in having a girl was to go too, far away from her father and her proper place at court.

‘She can wait on Elizabeth,' Anne said carelessly. ‘She can be her maid in waiting.'

‘Anne,' I said. ‘She's a princess in her own right. She can't serve your daughter, it's not right.'

Anne gleamed at me. ‘Fool,' she said simply. ‘It is all part of the same thing. She must be seen to go where I bid her, she must serve my daughter, that way I know that I am queen indeed and Katherine is forgotten.'

‘Can't you rest?' I asked. ‘Surely you don't have to be always plotting?'

She gave me a bitter thin smile. ‘You don't think that Cromwell rests, do you? You don't think that the Seymours rest, do you? You don't think that the Spanish ambassador and his network of spies and that accursed woman are all resting, saying to themselves: “Well, she has married him and given birth to a useless girl so although we have everything to play for we'll rest.” Do you?'

‘No,' I said unwillingly.

She looked at me for a moment. ‘One might better ask how you manage to look so plump and pleased with yourself when according to reason you should be struggling on a small pension and wasting away.'

I could not hold back a choke of laughter at her gloomy vision of me. ‘I manage,' I said shortly. ‘But I should like to see my children at Hever now, if you would let me go for a visit.'

‘Oh go,' she said, weary of the request. ‘But be back at Greenwich in time for Christmas.'

I went to the door quickly, before she could change her mind. ‘And tell Henry that he is to go to a tutor, he must be educated properly,' she said. ‘He can go later this year.'

I stopped, my hand on the door frame. ‘My boy?' I whispered.

‘
My
boy,' she corrected me. ‘He can't play for all his childhood, you know.'

‘I thought …'

‘I have arranged for him to study with Sir Francis Weston's son and William Brereton's. They're learning well, I'm told. It's time he was with boys of his own age.'

‘I don't want him with them,' I said instantly. ‘Not the sons of those two.'

She raised one dark eyebrow. ‘They are gentlemen of my court,' she reminded me. ‘Their sons will be courtiers too, they might be his courtiers one day. He should be with them. It is my decision.'

I wanted to scream at her but I pinched my fingertips and I kept my voice soft and sweet. ‘Anne. He's only a little boy still. He is happy with his sister at Hever. If you want him educated I will stay there, I will educate him …'

‘You!' she laughed. ‘As well ask the ducks on the moat to teach him to quack. No, Mary. I have decided. And the king agrees with me.'