as I pulled the bedclothes straight ready for her to climb in, I posed the question foremost in my mind.
‘You have not asked me for a napkin lately, Mademoiselle,’ I remarked, crossing my fingers among the sheets. ‘Should I be drawing any conclusions from this?’
There was a pause. ‘Perhaps,’ she admitted in a very small voice. ‘To be honest, Mette, I do not dare to look.’
I felt my stomach lurch. Dressing herself for her clandestine excursion, she had only managed to pull a woollen kirtle and her fur-lined heuque over her chemise and so far I had only removed the heuque.
‘Do you mean you might be pregnant?’ I gulped, instinctively crossing myself.
Catherine nodded, tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks. ‘Or I may have been – before I fell off the horse. I realise now I have been very stupid, Mette. I was angry yesterday, the men were being so … so male! I wanted to show them that we women are just as spirited as they are; not difficult and “hard to handle”, as they put it.’
Her white face worried me, but I thought it a good sign that she had made no mention of stomach pains and, when I removed her kirtle, I was heartily relieved to find an unblemished chemise beneath. ‘All is well,’ I declared gratefully, ‘so far anyway.’ I had to tell her because she had covered her own eyes for fear of what mine might see.
‘Are you sure, Mette?’ she asked, dropping her hands but still unable to allow herself to believe it. ‘I confess that I have a pain in my back and I feared the worst.’
‘Then you must rest immediately, Mademoiselle,’ I said briskly, dumping the kirtle and moving to pull back the bedclothes. ‘You must keep your feet up for a day and more, until we know if there is definitely to be a child.’ I forced a consoling smile, although I was suddenly very angry with her. She and King Henry had prayed for an heir at every shrine on their progress through the country and yet with one foolhardy action she had risked destroying any new life that might be growing inside her. I now pondered whether I should immediately inform King Henry of the situation.
In the event it was a decision I did not have to make because the king arrived almost as soon as Catherine was between the sheets and once he had satisfied himself about her general condition he asked a very direct question.
‘It is nearly six weeks since we came together at Kenilworth, Catherine, and I have not been kept from your bed by any female effusions. Is it possible that you are pregnant?’
When Catherine confessed that it was possible, he was torn between praise and reproach, elated and exasperated at the same time.
‘I do not know what to say,’ he admitted, somehow managing to smile and frown at the same time. ‘Glory be to God it is wonderful news! But we must pray that no damage has been done by your impulsive action today. I want you to promise that you will take the greatest possible care from now on. I cannot believe that you have risked the safety of our son and heir.’
His pacing brought him to the bedside where he gazed down at her with stern admonition. ‘I have been forgetting that you have still not reached your majority and possess all the headstrong recklessness of youth. To a certain extent, I blame myself for the danger in which you have placed our son, but it must never happen again. I want to be sure you understand that. I need to know if I can trust you, Catherine,’ he added earnestly.
‘I promise to take more care in future, my liege,’ she said solemnly, ‘but I stress that I am not yet certain that I am with child. I beg you to wait before making any announcement. Remember what happened last time.’ She reached out and took his hand, pressing it fervently to her lips. ‘And I beg you to remember, my dearest lord, that any child we have might just as easily be a girl as a boy.’
King Henry gave her a pitying look. ‘Believe me, madam, there is no question of this baby being a girl. God has promised me an heir and I have fulfilled all His requirements to deserve one. You must not harbour another thought that our first child could be female for that will weaken our son’s strength and sense of purpose. Never forget that you are carrying a king, Catherine. We are building a dynasty, you and I.’
His messianic expression brooked no denial and Catherine subsided into the pillows, her face paler than ever. I hastened to intervene, moving forward from the shadows.
‘Forgive me your grace, but the queen has had a bad shock and needs to rest quietly,’ I said hesitantly, anxious not to stir his wrath further.
To my relief he nodded and bent to stroke his wife’s brow in tender farewell. ‘Yes, rest, Catherine. I will send to hear how you are this afternoon. Take care of our son.’ He stepped away from the bed and beckoned me to approach him. ‘Keep a close watch on her, Mette. This time there must be no mistakes.’
A sudden late snow storm laid a slippery cover over the ground and the tournament in celebration of St George had to be postponed once again. The conditions also delayed the arrival at Windsor of the Duchess of Hainault. She and the Duke of Gloucester were forced to wait out the storm at Eltham palace.
‘This weather might well make Duchess Jacqueline regret her decision to come to England,’ Catherine remarked wistfully, trapped indoors with her ladies embroidering an altar cloth when she would have preferred to be playing bowls in the palace gardens. ‘There will be blossom in the orchards at the Hôtel de St Pol by now. Do you not sometimes long for France, Mette?’
Since I was doing my best to repair a delicate Valenciennes lace trimming on one of her gowns and wishing I had my daughter Alys’s skill with the needle, her question brought a sudden tear to my eye. ‘Oh yes indeed, Mademoiselle, quite often; especially when something reminds me of Alys and little Catrine.’
A meaningful glance passed between us at the mention of my infant granddaughter. There had been no announcement of Catherine’s pregnancy yet, but with every passing day we became more certain that there was a child on the way. What I now recognised as King Henry’s rather calculated romancing of his young bride at Kenilworth had reaped its reward and those passionate days spent in the Pleasance had borne fruit. If all went well England would have its heir by Christmas.
‘If it is a boy, of course,’ Catherine reminded me tartly when I mentioned this calculation in private. She was smarting from the king’s abrupt abandonment of her bed the moment he thought she was with child and also from his total denial of any prospect of it being a girl. Poor Catherine; she never quite knew where she was with her enigmatic husband. One day he was the charming lover, another the conquering hero and at present, unable to be either of these, he had transformed into God-fearing King Henry and was closeted with the clergy composing a new set of rules for English Benedictine monks, whom the Pope had accused of losing sight of their vows of work and prayer and, above all, of chastity. Catherine was discovering that she had married a chameleon.
‘But when the snow melts, suddenly spring will be here,’ said Lady Joan brightly. Perhaps as a result of her burgeoning romance with the Scottish king, the Beaufort girl was fast becoming the twinkling star of the queen’s troop of ladies, always ready with a cheerful remark or a distracting riddle. ‘The sun will shine and the flowers will bloom and the world will be a beautiful place.’
‘Oh thank you, Lady Goody Sugar-plum,’ I heard Joanna Coucy mutter. ‘And we can all kiss a May-frog and find he turns into a king.’
Coucy’s remark had not reached the ears of either Lady Joan or Catherine, but I shot her a fierce glare so she knew I had heard. I sighed and bent over the infuriating frill of torn lace, thinking that we could all do with some timely distraction.
We
