Philippa Gregory 3-Book Tudor Collection 1 (158 page)

‘Are you ready?'

She nodded and went to the closed door. In the new gesture her shoulders went back and her chin went up, she smiled, her dazzling assured smile, and nodded to the maid to open the door and she went out to face the gossip mill of her own rooms, shining like an angel.

I saw that the family had turned out in support, and knew that my uncle must have heard enough to be fearful. My mother was there, and my father. My uncle was at the rear of the room in amicable conversation with Jane Seymour which gave me pause for a moment. George was on the threshold, I caught his smile and then he went forward to Anne and took her hand. There was a little murmur of interest at her fine gown, at her defiant smile, and then the room eddied as the groups of talkers moved away and re-formed. Sir William Brereton came up and kissed her hand and whispered something about an angel fallen to earth, and Anne laughed and said that she had not fallen but merely arrived on a visit, so the suggestive imagery was neatly turned. Then there was a rustle at the door and Henry stamped into the room with the rest of the court, his lame leg giving him an awkward gait, his round face scored with new lines of pain. He gave Anne a sulky nod.

‘Good day, madam,' he said. ‘Are you ready to go to dinner?'

‘Of course, husband,' she said, as sweet as honey. ‘I am glad to see Your Majesty looking so well.'

Her ability to flick from one mood to another was always baffling to him. He checked at her good humour and looked around at the avid faces of the court. ‘Have you greeted Sir John Seymour?' he asked her, picking on the one man she would not want to honour.

Anne's smile never wavered. ‘Good evening, Sir John,' she said, as mild as his own daughter. ‘I hope that you will accept a little gift from me.'

He bowed a little awkwardly. ‘I should be honoured, Your Majesty.'

‘I want to give you a little carved stool from my privy chambers. A pretty little piece from France. I hope you will like it.'

He bowed again. ‘I should be grateful.'

Anne slid a sidelong smile at her husband. ‘It is for your daughter,' she said. ‘For Jane. To sit on. She seems not to have a seat of her own but she must borrow mine.'

There was a moment's stunned silence and then Henry's great bellow of a laugh. At once the court learned that they could laugh too and the queen's rooms rocked at her jest against Jane. Henry, still laughing, offered his arm to Anne, and she peeped up at him roguishly. He started to lead her from the room and the court took their usual places behind them, and then I heard a gasp, and someone say quietly: ‘My God! The queen!'

George cut through the crowd of them like a scythe through grass and grabbed Anne by the hand, pulling her away from Henry. ‘Your pardon, Your Majesty, the queen is unwell,' I heard him say swiftly. And then he bent his mouth to Anne's ear and whispered urgently to her. Through the avidly turning faces I saw her profile, I saw the colour drain from her face, and then she pushed her way through them all, George hurrying before her to fling open the door to her privy chamber and pull her in. The people at the back were craning forward, I caught sight of the back of her dress. There was a scarlet stain, blood-red against the silver-white of her gown. She was bleeding. She was losing the baby.

I dived through the press of people to follow her into her room. My mother came behind me and slammed the door on the avid faces staring inwards, on the king who was still looking, bewildered, at the sudden rush of Anne and her family into hiding.

Anne stood alone, facing George, plucking at the back of her gown to see the stain. ‘I didn't feel a thing.'

‘I'll get a physician,' he said, turning for the door.

‘Don't say anything,' my mother cautioned him.

‘Say!' I exclaimed. ‘They all saw! The king himself saw!'

‘It might still be all right. Lie down, Anne.'

Anne went slowly to the bed, her face as white as her hood. ‘I don't feel anything,' she repeated.

‘Then perhaps nothing is happening,' my mother said. ‘Just a little speck.'

She nodded to the maids to take Anne's shoes off, and her stockings. They rolled her on her side and unlaced her stomacher. They peeled off
the beautiful white gown with its great stain of scarlet. Her petticoats were drenched in blood. I looked at my mother.

‘It might be all right,' she said uncertainly.

I went to Anne and took her hand since it was clear that she would be on her deathbed before our mother would lay a finger on her.

‘Don't be afraid,' I whispered.

‘This time we can't hide it,' she whispered back. ‘They all saw.'

We did everything. We put a warming pan to her feet and the physicians brought a cordial, two cordials, a poultice and a special blanket blessed by a saint. We leeched her and put a hotter pan at her feet. But it was all no good. At midnight she went into labour, in the real struggle and pain of a proper labour, hauling at the sheet knotted from one bedpost to another, groaning at the pain of the baby tearing itself from her body, and then around two in the morning, she gave a sudden scream and the baby came away and there was nothing anyone could do to hold it in.

The midwife receiving it into her hands gave a sudden exclamation.

‘What is it?' Anne gasped, her face red from straining, the sweat pouring down her neck.

‘It's a monster!' the woman said. ‘A monster.'

Anne hissed with fear, and I found myself shrinking from the bed with superstitious terror. In the midwife's bloody hands was a baby horridly malformed, with a spine flayed open and a huge head, twice as large as the spindly little body.

Anne gave a hoarse scream and clambered away from it, scrambling like a frightened cat to the top of the bed, leaving a trail of blood over the sheets and pillows. She shrank back against the bedposts, her hands outstretched as if she would push the very air away.

‘Wrap it up!' I exclaimed. ‘Take it away!'

The midwife looked at Anne, her face very grave. ‘What did you do to get this on you?'

‘I did nothing! Nothing!'

‘This is not a child from a man, this is a child from a devil.'

‘I did nothing!'

I wanted to say ‘Nonsense,' but my throat was too tight with my own fear. ‘Wrap it up!' I heard the panic in my voice.

My mother turned away from the bed and headed rapidly for the door, with her face as stern as if she was walking away from the executioner's block on Tower Green.

‘Mother!' Anne cried out in a little croak.

My mother neither looked back at her nor checked her step. She walked from the room without a word. When the door clicked behind her I thought, this is the end. The end for Anne.

‘I have done nothing,' Anne repeated. She turned to me and I thought of the potion from the witch and the night that she lay in the secret room with a gold mask over her face, like a bird's beak. I thought of her journey to the gates of hell and back to get this child for England.

The midwife turned away. ‘I shall have to tell the king.'

At once I was between her and the door, barring her way. ‘You are not to distress His Majesty,' I said. ‘He would not want to know this. These are women's secrets, they should be kept among women. Let us keep this between ourselves and deal with it privately and you shall have the queen's favour, and mine. I shall see that you are well paid for tonight's work and for your discretion. I shall see that you are well paid, Mistress. I promise you.'

She did not even glance up at me. She was holding the bundle wrapped in her arms, the horror of it hidden by the swaddling bands. For one dreadful moment I thought I saw it move, I imagined the little flayed hand putting the cloth aside. She lifted it up towards my face, and I shrank back from it. She took her chance and opened the door.

‘You shan't go to the king!' I swore, clinging to her arm.

‘Don't you know?' she asked me, her voice almost pitying. ‘Don't you know that I am his servant already? That he sent me here to watch and listen for him? I was appointed for this from the moment that the queen first missed her courses.'

‘Why?' I gasped.

‘Because he doubts her.'

I put my hand to the wall to support me, my head was whirling. ‘Doubts her?'

She shrugged. ‘He did not know what was wrong with her that she could not carry a child.' She nodded to the limp huddle of cloth. ‘Now he will know.'

I licked my dry lips. ‘I will pay you anything you ask, to put that down and go to the king and tell him that she has lost a baby but she is able to conceive another,' I said. ‘Whatever he is paying you, I will double it. I am a Boleyn, we are not without influence and wealth. You can be one of the Howard servants for the rest of your life.'

‘This is my duty,' she said. ‘I have been doing it since I was a young girl. I have made a solemn vow to the Virgin Mary never to fail in my task.'

‘What task?' I demanded wildly. ‘What duty? What are you talking about now?'

‘Witch-taking,' she said simply. And then she slipped out of the door with the devil's baby in her arms and was gone.

I shut the door on her and slid the bolt. I wanted no-one to come into the room until the mess was cleaned up, and Anne fit to fight for her life.

‘What did she say?' she asked.

Her skin was white and waxy. Her dark eyes were like chips of glass. She was far away from this hot little room and the sense of danger.

‘Nothing of importance.'

‘What did she say?'

‘Nothing. Why don't you sleep now?'

Anne glared at me. ‘I will never believe it,' she said flatly, as if she were talking not to me, but to some inquisition. ‘You can never make me believe it. I am not some ignorant peasant crying over a relict which is chipwood and pig's blood. I will not be turned from my way by silly fears. I will think and I will do, and I will make the world to my own desire.'

‘Anne?'

‘I won't be frightened by nothing,' she said staunchly.

‘Anne?'

She turned her face away from me, to the wall.

As soon as she was asleep I opened the door and called a Howard – Madge Shelton – into the room to sit with her. The maids swept away the bloodstained sheets and brought clean rushes for the floor. Outside in the presence chamber, the court was waiting for news, the ladies half-dozing, their heads in their hands, some people playing cards to while away the time. George was leaning against a wall in low-voiced conversation with Sir Francis, heads as close as lovers.

William came towards me and took my hand, and I paused for a moment and drew strength from his touch.

‘It's bad,' I said shortly. ‘I can't tell you now. I have to tell Uncle something. Come with me.'

George was at my side at once. ‘How is she?'

‘The baby's dead,' I said shortly.

I saw him blanch as white as a maid and he crossed himself. ‘Where's Uncle?' I asked, looking round.

‘Waiting for news in his rooms like the rest of them.'

‘How's the queen?' someone asked me.

‘Has she lost the baby?' someone else said.

George stepped forward. ‘The queen is sleeping,' he said. ‘Resting. She bids you all to go to your beds and in the morning there will be news of her condition.'

‘Did she lose the baby?' someone pressed George, looking at me.

‘How should I know?' George said blandly, and there was an irritated buzz of disbelief.

‘It's dead then,' someone said. ‘What is wrong with her that she cannot give him a son?'

‘Come on,' William said to George. ‘Let's get out of here. The more you say, the worse it will get.'

With my husband and my brother on either side of me we pushed out through the court and down the stair to Uncle Howard's chambers. His dark-liveried servant let us in without a word. My uncle was at the big table, some papers spread out before him, a candle throwing a yellow glow all around the room.