Agatha nodded her head. “Aye, Reverend, I cannot promise ye he will make it through the night.”
She guided me to the door, coaxing me to leave Isobel in her care. However, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my exhausted wife. She had fallen asleep after speaking to me of the babe, yet she did not sleep peacefully. Her legs thrashed about and she rolled from side to side as though she was in great discomfort.
“Is she still in pain?” I inquired. Anne was preparing Isobel to be bathed and simply waited for me to depart to remove her garments.
“She has lost a lot of blood, my lord. She bleeds still. We will clean her up and do the best we can to keep her comfortable, but there is not much we can do about the bleeding.”
I looked at Isobel again. “Is she sleeping, or…?” I paused not knowing how to proceed with my questioning.
“Aye, she sleeps,” Agatha responded, once again pulling me toward the door in haste. I took one last look at my wife then turned and carried William to the other room, in anticipation of the wet nurse’s arrival. I asked Anne to assist me with getting the supplies I needed to baptize William.
I walked and talked to little William, rubbing him gently all the while. Anne quickly grabbed a small pot and filled it with water from the bucket. She meant to warm the water slightly, but I told her there was no time. I wanted to ensure the deed was done should he happen to pass before the night was over. She took a small linen towel, poured the water from the pot into a small bowl and set the items on the table. I walked to the table and carefully unwound the cloth that William had been wrapped in. Anne bowed her head with me as I prayed a blessing over the babe then gently scooped the water into my hand and poured it over his head. A small gasp escaped his mouth, but only a faint, wispy sound came forth. He had not the strength to voice his disapproval of the cold water upon his head. I patted the excess water from his head, wrapped him back up and continued to pace the floor with the tiny bundle in my arms as Anne returned to the bed chamber to assist with Isobel. Within the half hour, Agatha came to check on the babe and instructed me to rub the babe’s limbs every quarter hour, then tuck him inside my doublet, close to my skin to keep him warm in between times. She showed me how to swaddle William so that his arms and legs were bound tightly, then I tucked him into my chest.
“What of Isobel?” Though I was consumed with care for the babe, she never left my thoughts.
“She still sleeps. I have begun the opium doses again. She appears to be numb to the pain, but we cannot stay the flow of blood. I think perhaps it is time we call the physicker. Perhaps he will know of something to do.”
I immediately stood to hand William to Agatha when Anne entered the room. “Reverend, you stay and wait for the wet nurse. I will return home and send a footman to call on the physicker. I want to freshen up and gather a few things to bring back with me.”
“But surely you are exhausted. You have striven with Isobel all night. You need to rest.”
“Nay, I will return shortly. I cannot leave Isobel’s side until I know that she is out of danger. I shall return within the hour.” She donned a whey-colored shawl, then dashed out the door in haste.
Do you mean like I left her side when I ventured to Edinburgh? I chastised myself for the thought yet knew that my conscience was never going to let me forgive myself for my indiscretion. I sat down in a chair and continued to rock William, holding him tightly to my chest and rubbing his back softly. I looked down into his tiny scrunched face, checking to see if he was still breathing. He was surprisingly quiet for a babe so sickly. I looked closer at him for the first time. His skin was starting to take on a more natural color. His tiny face was framed in soft, black curls that hung over his forehead and ears as if it had been growing for years. The dark hair was mine, but the curls most definitely came from Isobel. He had her eyes too, big, and blue and round as baby birds. He looked at me with those big, blue eyes and opened and closed his tiny little mouth as if he wanted to speak. Somehow, he had freed one hand and that tiny little fist had found its way back to his mouth.
I heard the clock tower chime the seventh hour then lowered William to my knees. I unwrapped his swaddling cloth and rubbed first his arms and hands, then his little legs and feet. I turned him over gently and rubbed his back as well, even though Agatha had not instructed me to do so. He began to squirm and let out a faint croak. I quickly wrapped him up again and tucked him back against my chest. “Nay, little man, do not cry. You must be brave and strong for your mama’s sake.” I ran my hand over his small head then down his back to resume rubbing and patting.
Within the hour, Maggie had returned with Mrs. McInnis. She swiftly removed William from my arms and tucked him beneath her plaid. I watched in amazement, trying not to stare, as she situated him beneath her arm and began to feed him. The babe did not make a sound and within minutes she pulled him free and pounded him on the back. I watched, eyes wide, as she switched arms, tucked him in again and began the process all over.
It was during this rote, that the physicker, Martin Harris arrived. An elderly man with stray wisps of white hair standing out about his head, he ducked his tall, thin frame through the door then looked about him for the patient. “Through here, Harris,” Agatha called as she stood in the doorway to the bedroom. No other words were spoken, no fresh news of Isobel’s condition had been shared, and I was left, empty-handed, standing in the middle of the room.
Soon, Mrs. Spottiswoode returned. She had instructed the footman to wait outside, should we need anything further. “Has the physicker arrived?” she inquired. I nodded, and she quickly slipped into the sick room to offer her assistance.
Maggie and Mrs. McInnis busied themselves with caring for William. No one came to report to me of Isobel and soon I grew weary of waiting. Around mid-day I opened the door seeking news of her condition. Agatha shewed me away, promising she would come and get me the moment Isobel could receive visitors. Frustrated, I closed the door and sulked away.
Maggie offered me some broth again, and this time I accepted. I sipped the hot liquid, watching William sleep as Mrs. McInnis sang a soft melody in his ear. He had eaten three more times since she had arrived and seemed to be perfectly content in the experienced woman’s arms.
The hands of the clock had made a complete revolution, for I heard the clock tower ring out the seventh hour once again. Finally, the door to the sick room opened and Harris stepped out, wiping his hands with a soiled cloth.
“Mrs. Broune is awake, although I’m not sure how coherent. She is fevered, but she is asking for you and the babe. Do not tax her. She may hold the babe for only a few minutes. You may stay a few minutes longer. She needs to rest.”
I ran and scooped up William from Maggie’s arms and hurried to her side. However, I was not prepared for what I saw. There, lying on a bed of rumpled bedclothes, was a woman I barely recognized. Her fair skin had turned the color of ash, her rosy cheeks and once-crimson lips devoid of color. Her eyes were sunken, accented by deep purple smudges beneath them. I laid the babe gently in her arms and the warmth of him must have revived her for a moment. A spark lit in her eyes as she looked at his little round face. She did not speak but rubbed the top of his head with her hand, over and over again. A tear slipped down her cheek as he lie sleeping sweetly in her arms. After a few moments, Anne bent and took the babe away, even against the protests and the soft anguished cries of his mother.
“Please,” she rasped. “Let him stay in the room a little longer.”
Anne flashed a look at Harris, who nodded his assent. She turned and placed William in my arms, and I stepped closer to Isobel, turning the babe so she could see his face.
The three others stepped quietly from the room, leaving Isobel and I alone with our son for a moment. I laid my hand upon her cheek, brushing her matted hair away from her face. A lump in my throat prevented me from speaking, and it was she who finally broke the silence.
“I do not want William raised in the queen’s court.” Sh
e stopped and licked her dry lips. I laid William carefully at the foot of the bed for a moment. Grabbing a cup from the table, I filled it with water then lifted her head to drink it. She swallowed several times before I put the cup down and took the babe back up in my arms.
“I do not mind if ye want him to follow in the path that was chosen for ye. The path of your own father. But wait, please, dear husband.” She paused again, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Keep him close to ye for a few years. When he is older, then take him to the king’s court and ask for favor.”
The king’s court? What king is she referring to? She could not know of Mary’s decision to make her new husband a king. The fever must have her talking out of her head.
“I shall do my best,” was all I could promise her. She closed her eyes and nodded her head as if that were good enough. A moment later she opened her eyes again.
“Thank ye for marrying me. I always loved ye, Thomas,” she spoke quietly, but her words were clear and distinct.
“I love you too,” I said, but my voice caught, and I could not go on. The words meant nothing when she knew my heart belonged to another. This wasn’t fair to Isobel. She shouldn’t have to suffer because of my wrongdoings. Why would God do this to her when it was clear He was angry at me?
I wanted to promise her that she would be up and about before long, washing William’s soiled cloths and bathing him in the creek down the little path that led from our cottage. But I knew I could make no such promises. Against all commands, I laid the babe in her arms once again, and she bent and kissed the top of his head. She closed her eyes once more, and her breathing became shallow and labored. I took the cloth from the basin and wiped her brow once again. Talking to her of William, I wiped the cool cloth across her cheeks and down her neck. I turned away for only a moment to freshen the cloth, and William began to cry.
“He hardly ever cries,” I explained. I turned back to her to tell her what a good boy he was, but her hold on William had slackened. I grabbed the babe from her arms and seized her hand. “Isobel!”
I placed William in the box that had been fashioned for him as a gift from our neighbors, then laid down beside her on the bed. Laying my head upon her chest, I did not breathe for what felt like an eternity. A searing pain ripped through my chest making it even harder to catch my breath. “Issy, forgive me, my love.” I wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly to my chest, stroking her cheek, and repeating my apologies over and over until my voice had lost its strength.
The tears had only just begun to fall when I heard the door open, shuffling across the room, then the door closing again. Someone had retrieved William, but I paid them no mind. I would never forgive myself for not being here for Isobel the whole time. She hadn’t wanted me to go, but out of my stubbornness, my selfishness, I did not take heed.
“I’m sorry, Isobel. I am so sorry.” I sobbed until I had no strength left, then I must have fallen asleep at her side. It was dark when Anne came to me.
“Reverend, come, we must prepare Isobel’s body for burial and William needs his father.” I rose with a heavy heart from the bed. A candle had been lit in the chamber, and it was just enough to see her peaceful face once more. I said a prayer over her and breathed another for William and me.
Did the Almighty hear? I did not know.
~28~
July-November 1565
The bell tower in St. Andrews did not keep silent for two hours. Mary’s wedding to Darnley was celebrated, if only by the ringing of the bells and the drinking of whiskey, in every burgh from Hadrian’s Wall to the Highlands. From what we were told, coins were tossed to guests of the wedding feast in Edinburgh, but the queen’s generosity did not reach so far as St. Andrews.
It was a cool July morning when I imagined the vows being read and the merrymaking that would ensue. I had not, nay, could not attend the wedding. It had been my hope that Isobel and I would attend together with our son if he were strong enough. However, things did not go as planned. I never would have imagined that Isobel would be dead, and I alone would be left to care for our sickly, premature son.
William was gaining strength, yet he had a persistent cough and kept indoors for most of the summer.
Soon after his birth, Anne Spottiswoode had offered to take William into her household and care for the child until he was old enough to be weaned. She offered to employ a wet nurse who would live in their home, and I must admit I was relieved to know that he would be in such good care until the time came that he could once again live with me.
In early November, I was surprised to receive a letter from Mary. She had some news to share with me, and she wanted to meet William, so she was coming to visit. I had sent her a short note a few weeks after Isobel’s death, sharing the news and notifying her that I would regrettably not be able to attend her wedding. She had written back to me, but I had been unable to get myself to respond. It was a penance, of sorts, I supposed. A punishment on myself for having left my wife in a time when she was truly frightened to follow after the woman who held my heart captive. I would never be free from her.
I was thankful that I had been awarded a fine place closer to town and to the Spottiswoodes and William. I was told it was offered for my unwavering service to St. Andrews, even in a time of great personal loss. However, I believed that John Spottiswoode had a hand in the decision, and for this I was truly grateful. The cottage that Isobel and I had shared would never have been large enough, or grand enough to receive the King and Queen of Scotland. At least now I could receive my guests with dignity.
But it was not the king and queen who greeted me a week later. For only Mary arrived, riding in a fine carriage with a lady’s maid in tow.
She stepped from the carriage gingerly and with great care. Her maid and man servant assisted her, then she sent the servants on to the inn to get settled in and with instructions to return in two hours. She was breath-taking, as usual. Her hair appeared a darker auburn and her eyes burned a glassy, emerald green. I’ve seen that color before; it is the color of contentment. She wore a matronly color of deep burgundy with the slits in the sleeves showing a soft, gold satin underlay. Her overskirt was decked in tiny pearls and the soft, gold satin that peeked through her sleeves also made an appearance beneath the underskirt. Over her arm hung an intricately woven shawl trimmed in fringe that matched the burgundy and gold of her dress. I bowed politely then ushered her into the sitting room where my maid was ordered to bring refreshment immediately.
“You have a maid!” she exclaimed. “I am so pleased to see that you are doing so well here in St. Andrews.”
“Aye, and I have a man servant as well. I have been given a handsome salary, and this fine house in exchange for my services. I only wish that the success could have come while Isobel was alive so that she could enjoy it also.”
Mary’s eyes fell, and she stared at her hands lying gracefully in her lap. The merriment in her voice shifted to a low, soft tone.
“I am terribly sorry to hear of Isobel’s passing. You cannot know how heartbroken I was to learn of it from your letter.” When she lifted her eyes to meet mine, I could see the tears that pooled at the corners of her eyes, ready to spill down her face.
“Do not cry. You barely knew her,” I tried to comfort.
“Nay, but…,” she swallowed hard before continuing. “If something hurts you, it hurts me. I cannot stand to see you in pain.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I had determined to be as formal to her as I should. I could not let my heart run away with me again. But when she spoke such words all my resolve melted, and I was in danger of losing my heart to her once more.
“Do you remember that time when we were children and we were playing tipcats in the great hall at Sterling Castle? You struck the cat so hard with your stick that it sailed through the air with such force, cracking the monstrous mirror that hung on the wall,” she said with a laugh.
I smiled as the lost memory surfaced in my mind. �
�You mean the mirror that had been a gift from some great and influential nobleman to your great-grandfather? Aye, I remember.”
“Your mother was so angry with you that she took your tipcats and sent you to bed without supper. You looked so forlorn, and I, of course, was devastated. I cried so hard to my mother that she finally convinced your mother to allow you to come down and eat.”
“Aye, but I still didn’t get my tipcats back. I think my mother threw them away, for I never saw them again.”
We chuckled over the incident for several minutes until finally I said, “You were always sticking up for me. You were my greatest advocate.”
“You were always in trouble,” she said with a smile.
“Maybe that is why I always felt so obligated to protect you. I am beholden to you.” I stared at the fire that had been burning in the grate, but when I looked up, her gaze was fixed on me.
I could not pull my eyes away from hers until my maid, Suzanne, entered with tea.
“Thomas, I want to meet your son.”
“Aye, I have sent Gibbs to fetch him. He resides with the Spottiswoodes for now. I am, uhh, unable to feed him.” I felt the color rising in my cheeks, but Mary moved on, choosing to ignore my embarrassment.
“Aye, I understand. Does he look like you? Does he have your dark hair and piercing blue eyes?”
“His hair is dark like mine, and curly like Isobel’s. His eyes are hers too. They are her shade and shaped like hers.”
“He sounds beautiful. I cannot wait to meet him.”
“While we wait, you said you had some news to share with me.”
“Aye.” Her face lit up and the golden flecks in her eyes flashed with excitement. “I am with child. I believe he will arrive next June.”
The news was like a blow to my head, but I had to share her excitement. Of course, I knew what would ensue from the marriage bed, but the thought of another man touching her bothered me more than I cared to admit.
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