The Tudor Bride (39 page)

On my return from Paris the previous summer it had been no surprise when Catherine had confided that she thought she was
enceinte
. She and Owen had both been thrilled and excited about the prospect of a child, perfectly confident that they could easily keep the fact hidden from the rest of the world. ‘And if anyone from the court should bother to come visiting afterwards, we can pretend the child is Anne’s, or even yours, Mette, since you are both married women.’

I had to bite my lip to refrain from remonstrating with her for thoughtlessly even considering using my still sadly childless stepdaughter Anne Roke as a putative mother in order to preserve her secret and merely prayed that the necessity would never arise.

The biggest surprise had come when I discovered my own condition towards the end of that summer. I had just celebrated my forty-second birthday and had thought when I married Geoffrey that my childbearing days were behind me, but it seemed I was mistaken. He, however, was not only delighted but also confessed that he had secretly been hoping for it and strutted proudly about the chamber we now shared on his regular visits to Hadham.

I gave a derisive snort. ‘That is all very well but what will you do with this autumn leaf of a child when its mother withers away under the strain of bearing it?’

He laughed, saying, ‘Take another wife to look after it, of course. I have it all under control.’ But his next words were more serious and conciliatory, ‘Truly, Mette, I pray that you carry this child without mishap. You must take every care and not allow your concern for Queen Catherine to take precedence over yourself and our child. I fear the queen mother is apt to forget the difference in your ages.’

I recalled this conversation as I whacked away at the carpets. In fact I had fared well over the past six months and felt perfectly able to keep up my household duties. But Catherine had suffered a prolonged period of sickness and now, in the later stage of her pregnancy, she was plagued with persistent back pain. As I hefted another hanging over the line, I caught sight of her waddling across the bailey on Owen’s arm, her swollen belly a very obvious burden. She was wearing a loose woollen smock and was wrapped for warmth in a thick peasant shawl, her hair tied in a kerchief rather like my own.

They stopped beside me and Owen helped her to perch on the step of a nearby mounting block. ‘I do not think you should be doing that, Mette,’ Catherine said with a worried frown. ‘You will bring your baby early. Let one of the girls take over and come and sit with me in the sun.’

She patted the step beside her and I reluctantly abandoned my carpet beater and joined her. ‘I will finish them later,’ I said. ‘I find the act of beating quite curative.’

Catherine laughed. ‘It is rather too late to cure your condition now!’

‘I mean that the exercise of wielding a beater cures the winter dismals. We spend so much time sitting around, do we not?’

Catherine shot a look at Owen who had picked up the carpet beater and was now trying it out on the next tapestry. ‘That is what Owen says and why he spends so much time attacking the pell-post.’ She coughed as dust clouded around us. ‘Agh! Why do you not go to the practice ground, Owen, as you said you would?’

He stopped beating. ‘Because I hesitate to leave you, cariad, when you are so near your time.’

I caught Catherine’s eye and she laughed. ‘Despite what I keep telling him, Owen truly believes that the baby will pop out the moment my pains begin and if he is not at my side at the time, he will miss the big event.’

Owen scowled at her teasing tone. ‘I think no such thing, but I have caught you from a faint before and it is even more important that I do now, should the need arise.’ He put down the beater. ‘However, I will go and join Hywell and John at the butts if you will promise to stay with Mette and call for a strong arm when you wish to go back inside.’

Catherine acquiesced with a nod and reached up to stroke his leather-clad arm fondly as he departed. ‘I wanted to speak with you privately, Mette,’ she said as soon as he was out of earshot. ‘I did not want to alarm Owen, but I believe my baby may be coming a little earlier than we thought.’

I looked at her sharply. Her pregnancy had rounded all her features for she had put on a great deal of weight, but I could see no anxiety in her face. ‘What makes you think that, Mademoiselle?’ I asked. Although our shared condition had rendered us even closer than mother and daughter, if such a thing were possible, I found it hard to address her any other way than by the title I had used since her girlhood. ‘Your waters have not broken, have they?’ I asked this although I did not know how she could have kept such an occurrence secret.

She shook her head. ‘No, no. But there has been blood on my chemise – not a great deal and I do not think there is anything to be alarmed about. That is what happens, is it not, when the process begins? I was so alarmed when the king was born that I cannot remember much about it. But perhaps we should send word to the midwife.’

‘There is time for that. First we will go inside and I will take a look.’ I stood up, massaging my own stiff back, and as I did so the bell rang on the gatehouse, signalling an arrival from outside.

A look of alarm spread over Catherine’s face. ‘Who can that be? We are not expecting visitors. I do not want to be seen!’

She struggled to stand up and I pressed her to sit down again. ‘Have no fear, Mademoiselle. Agnes is in the dairy. Wait here and I will fetch her to help you inside. Meanwhile I will tell the gatekeeper to hold whoever arrives for a few minutes.’

But it was too late. At first I was unconcerned when I saw a rider in royal courier livery trot under the gatehouse and into the courtyard, for couriers came once or twice a month with letters and documents for Catherine. I was fairly confident he would not recognise her in her present garb, but nevertheless I stood in front to hide her from his sight as he swung down from the saddle and handed his reins to the stable lad who had run out at the sound of the bell. But when he turned to look around, my heart sank for despite the unaccustomed livery I instantly recognised his face, which broke into a smile as soon as he saw me. Lord Edmund Beaufort, Earl of Mortain, began striding across the courtyard towards us.

‘There is trouble, Mademoiselle,’ I warned. ‘Lord Edmund is here.’

Force of habit made me step aside and bend my knee as he approached and I do not know who flushed the deeper red as he and Catherine set eyes on one another. Certainly, for several seconds, neither of them could speak; then she held out a shaking hand to him.

‘My lord Edmund, you are well come – but an unexpected visitor. We do not receive many these days.’

Recovering his manners, he went down on one knee before her and kissed her hand. ‘Catherine – your grace – forgive me for intruding. The Bishop of London told me in confidence of your whereabouts so I borrowed this livery to come undetected. I wanted to ensure that you were well situated.’

Catherine laughed. ‘As you see, I am blooming! But I would rather that, too, went undetected. Please rise, Edmund. I would offer you a seat but there is only this mounting block.’ As he stood, she held out her hand again. ‘Actually you could lend me your arm, for Mette and I were about to go into the house. We can talk inside and I will attempt to satisfy your understandable curiosity.’

Placing his calloused sword-hand under her elbow, the young earl helped her to her feet. ‘I do not believe I have any right to curiosity,’ I heard him say as I followed them across the courtyard, watching anxiously for any further signs of Catherine’s imminent labour. So far she seemed to be relatively unaffected, or else she was disguising her pain very effectively.

At that moment Owen Tudor, no doubt alerted by the sound of the bell, came striding swiftly into view through a sally gate in the curtain wall, beyond which lay the practice ground. I veered off to intercept him and explain who the visitor was.

He was not in a mood for delay, however, and brushed me aside. ‘I do not care if it is the pope, Mette; I am not having her upset.’ Then, giving me no chance to warn him that Catherine may be in labour, he hurried to catch her up.

Breaking into a run, I was just close enough to hear his tight-lipped greeting to Edmund; ‘God give you good day, my lord Mortain. Let me relieve you of my wife’s arm.’

Taken aback, Edmund’s jaw dropped and he released his hold on Catherine, who smiled at Owen and laid a gentle hand on his cheek. ‘There is no need to worry, Owen,’ she said, visibly grateful for the supporting arm he immediately wrapped around her waist. ‘Lord Edmund will understand when I explain. But first I must sit down.’

As she staggered a little, Owen swept her up and carried her swiftly into the house, leaving me to follow with Lord Edmund. ‘Are they married, Mette?’ he asked me in astonishment. ‘But how? When?’

I shrugged. ‘You heard the queen, my lord. She will explain.’

Owen carried Catherine into their bedchamber off the central hall and I followed them, leaving Edmund to kick his heels and wait. Earl of Mortain he may be but I could not consider his rank when I was so concerned about Catherine’s condition.

‘It will be all right, Owen,’ Catherine was saying. ‘Edmund will not betray our secret. I must tell him the truth and I am sure he will be sympathetic.’

Owen placed her tenderly on the bishop’s great bed. ‘Never mind about Lord Edmund. It is you that matters. Has it started? Is the babe coming?’

‘Yes, but it will be hours yet. Leave me with Mette now and I will join you presently.’

As he backed away, looking a little crestfallen, I said, ‘Perhaps you could send someone to the village to get the midwife. She will be needed come nightfall I expect. Childbirth is women’s work.’

As soon as he had left, I laid my hand on Catherine’s swollen belly and felt it hard and tight. ‘There is something happening, Mademoiselle. Have you had any sharp pains?’

She shook her head and to my surprise started to heave her legs over the side of the bed. ‘No, Mette. There is time yet. I just wanted a chance to think about what I am going to say to Edmund. And I would like to make myself more presentable and visit the guarderobe.’ She gave me a mischievous grin. ‘I will need all my faculties and guile to sweeten the gall he must feel that I rejected him in favour of a Welsh squire!’

I had to smile, reflecting that you might remove a queen from the court, but you could not entirely remove the courtier from the queen. There were times when I recognised that Catherine was very much Queen Isabeau’s daughter, with many of her mother’s wiles and stratagems.

A few minutes later we had swapped her loose country smock for one of the elegant tailor-made houppelande gowns acquired for her first pregnancy and I had dressed her hair into a gold circlet so that she more closely resembled the royal lady with whom Edmund was familiar. When we re-entered the hall we found him at the hearth, both hands braced on the chimneypiece and staring disconsolately into the fire. There was no sign of Owen but someone had placed a jug of wine and some cups on a buffet board. Catherine seated herself in one of the chairs by the fire and indicated that Edmund should take another.

‘Mette will pour us each a cup of wine, my lord, and then I will tell you all that you want to know,’ she said with a smile.

Edmund did not wait for the wine. ‘But Owen Tudor has told me already.’ His expression was mutinous. ‘You married him only weeks after refusing me! Is he the real reason you turned me down?’

‘No! You must not think that.’ Catherine looked genuinely shocked. ‘Marriage between us would have ruined you, Edmund. That is why I refused your offer. I did not even know then that Owen loved me.’

‘Practically every red-blooded male in the royal household loved you, Catherine! Did you have to marry the first one who told you so?’

Edmund flung this reproach at her like a Greek fire cracker and Catherine flung one straight back. ‘I said Owen loved me, my lord, not lusted after me! There is a difference, if you have not yet discovered it.’

I did not like the way this was going. Surely Catherine could not gain Edmund’s cooperation by shouting at him?

‘And you think that I would have married you for lust? How little you think of me!’ Indignantly Lord Edmund took the cup of wine I offered and quaffed a huge gulp.

Catherine took a small sip of hers before replying. ‘No, we would have married for the reason that all noble families inter-marry – for affinity and dynasty. And I would have done so gladly and honestly, but the council of regency – well, the Duke of Gloucester in particular – ensured that marriage to me would bring you only dishonour and disgrace.’

Edmund stared pointedly at her protruding belly. ‘And what else has marriage to Owen Tudor brought you, Catherine?’

I braced myself for an indignant outburst, but all she did was smile benignly at him. ‘It has brought me love and happiness, Edmund.’

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a shadowy movement at the door and saw that Owen himself was there, half hidden by a tapestry hung to exclude winter draughts. Catherine could not see him, but I knew he had heard her words.

Edmund dropped his head into his free hand and meditatively rubbed his brow. When he raised his eyes he looked calmer, even resigned. ‘Well, long may it last, Madame Tudor. Far be it from me to deprive you of it.’

Catherine gasped and laid her hand on her heart. ‘You mean you will not betray us? You will keep our secret, Edmund?’

He nodded. ‘For as long as you wish me to. When I left you last time I swore I was your knight to command and I will not renege on that oath. Very soon I will be going back to France anyway. I am taking an army of reinforcement to the siege of Orleans. Our cause has been proceeding well up to now under the Duke of Bedford and when we take Orleans the whole Loire valley will be ours. But I suppose you have heard that some farm girl from Lorraine called Jeanne d’Arc has bewitched your brother Charles and promised to regain his crown for him? She is a fraud, of course, but incredibly for some reason people believe her. Suddenly the Pretender’s forces show a new vigour. We need to nip it in the bud.’