Thankfully, his attention was quickly drawn away by the next poor soul to kneel before him. He never glanced at her again, and she felt like a dead mouse that a cat had grown bored of.
Once in Catherine’s rooms, she knew that she could relax for the first time since arriving at Penshurst. The idea made her laugh to herself. The presence of the queen was not where most people would say one could be themselves, but that was what it meant for Margaret.
“My dear friend, how have you been?” Catherine asked, sighing as she lowered herself to a cushioned chair.
“All is well. Ursula is married and happy. Henry and Jane have two little girls now.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the familiar scent of Catherine’s rosewater and fresh summer air washing away her tension. Catherine would not badger her about Arthur or tease her about Jane’s potentially lost inheritance. “And our Princess Mary?”
Catherine had arrived looking tired and worn, the years separating her from her husband more evident than they had ever been before. At the mention of her daughter, the fine lines and shadow seemed to disappear to reveal the still young woman underneath. In her passion, she reached out and gripped Margaret’s arm. “She thrives and is beautiful. You were right about everything. God rewarded my perseverance and gave me the child I had prayed so fervently for. Henry will name her as his heir.”
Margaret was too relaxed to control her reaction and saw the dismay on Catherine’s face. “My apologies,” she stuttered. “I had not expected this news, but am happy that the king sees his daughter as a fitting queen.” Catherine looked only partially mollified, so she added, “As he should.”
“Yes, he should,” Catherine said, her face hardening into aged lines again. “And he will despite his efforts to get a son through any method required.” Seeing Margaret’s confusion, she continued. “Elizabeth Blount will soon give birth to a child that Henry has already confessed is his.” With a sigh, Catherine settled back into her chair, excitement gone.
“I’m so sorry,” Margaret said. It was her turn to reach out as she remembered consoling her friend the first time she had realized that Henry would not be a faithful husband. She could not fathom what else she should say. Many men have bastards, but that was no consolation when you were picturing your own husband ravishing another woman or watching her hold a baby that he seemed to conceive with ease in another womb. Queen or not, that was a wound that never healed completely.
The women sat in silence, each lost in their private thoughts about the hands that God had dealt them. Suddenly, Catherine brightened.
“Speaking of my Mary, I have a request for you.”
“Anything,” Margaret said without hesitation. “I would fulfill any request for you or my goddaughter.”
“I pray that it is a commitment that you will find a joy nonetheless,” Catherine gushed, and Margaret watched the years miraculously fall away from her face once again. She wondered if she should inform her friend of the beautiful effect that happiness had on her features.
“No doubt, I will,” she said. “As soon as you tell me what it is you require.”
“Of course,” Catherine laughed, shaking her head. “I am getting ahead of myself.” She moved closer and grasped Margaret’s hands. “I would like you to serve as Mary’s governess. There is nobody else that I would trust with the most precious gift that our Lord has given to me. Please, say yes.”
Margaret was speechless. The long awaited princess, the heir of England would be entrusted to her care, just as Prince Arthur once had been. Gazing deeply into Catherine’s eyes, Margaret understood that this was why she had been chosen. With her from the beginning as they both fought for Arthur’s life, Catherine understood that Margaret’s family were neither traitors nor schemers. Margaret would trade her own life for that of her charge if that was what was deemed necessary.
“I am humbled and honored, your grace,” Margaret whispered. “And I accept, though I have a feeling that your husband may have instructed you to phrase it as an order.”
The serious moment broken, both women laughed and embraced one another.
May 1520
Fortune’s wheel had done Margaret Pole quite a few good turns in recent years. Having undergone extensive rebuilding and improvements under both Tudor kings, Greenwich was breathtaking. Margaret could not ask for a more suitable and enjoyable appointment than to be the governess of the four year old Princess Mary within such a beautiful setting. It was a position that placed her high above most others while, at the same time, keeping her from the dramatics of court life.
With Margaret’s forty-seventh birthday close on the horizon, this assignment gave her life renewed purpose. Her own children were established on their own, with the exception of Geoffrey, who at sixteen was happy to be out from under his mother’s thumb as well. Ursula was carrying her first child. That somehow made her even more Harry’s and less Margaret’s, but she supposed that was as it should be. Not having grown up with a mother, she was constantly faced with confusing and conflicting emotions when it came to her relationship with her daughter.
Arthur had been invited to return to court, just as she had suspected he would be once the king’s anger had the opportunity to cool and he realized how much he missed the younger man’s charm and company. Arthur was thankful for the opportunity, the environment appealing much more to him than it ever had either of his parents. As Margaret took up her duties as caretaker of England’s next queen, Arthur accompanied the king once more to France, where an unprecedented meeting was to take place between the rival kings.
The Palace of Greenwich was a sprawling, yet somehow still comfortable, estate. Spring gardens that would be perfect for taking the young princess for walks beckoned to Margaret with their fresh scents and peeking buds. She had already toured the rooms that would be utilized for tutoring Mary on the skills most necessary for her education. She would be given a broader range of coursework than many girls because she would not only need to be a wife, she would be a queen. Embroidery and music would still be a part of her lesson plan, but so would be writing, philosophy, and diplomacy, as her age and maturity allowed.
Margaret felt recharged by the challenge and the faith that her friend was placing in her to put England’s next monarch under her care. She knew that Catherine, and to an even greater extent Henry, continued to hope for the birth of a son. While Margaret would not naysay them, she knew that Mary stood a very good chance of being their only child. Margaret would raise her to rule.
The courtyard where she stood was only a backdrop as her mind was wrapped up in visions of the future plans and occasions that included her and the child together.
“Lady Salisbury, do the accommodations suit your purposes?”
Catherine had approached unseen and addressed Margaret formally as an example to the Greenwich staff. Margaret was in charge. That must be clearly established.
“Perfectly, your grace,” Margaret agreed, greeting the queen with a casual curtsey.
“Princess Mary is eager to see you,” Catherine continued as the two women walked a bit beyond those who had accompanied them.
“She must not be aware of the strict schedule I am preparing for her.”
They laughed together before Catherine became more serious. “I am glad. I know that you will be firm yet loving with her and ensure that she is prepared for what is to come.”
Margaret gave her friend a quizzical glance at her choice of words.
“Blount has given birth to a son, as I am sure you’ve heard.” The words were out of Catherine in a rush and she did not wait for Margaret to respond. “Apparently, the boy is thriving.” She could not keep the bitterness from her voice. None of her sons had thrived. “He will someday challenge Mary, and she must be ready.”
The idea that she must prepare a four year old for battle with an infant made Margaret’s stomach turn and her mind drag out memories of deadly family feuds, but she only nodded in agreement. “You need not worry, my dear friend
. Mary will be as intelligent as she is beautiful, with an unshakable faith that includes the knowledge of what God has created her to do.”
Catherine pressed her lips together and nodded once. Margaret had a feeling that she knew what men felt like as they prepared for battle.
They strolled back to their waiting ladies to see that an addition had arrived. Lovely little Mary was presented to her new governess dressed in an elaborate gown that must have weighed almost as much as she did, but she curtseyed expertly in it without losing her balance. Her light auburn hair gleamed in the sun, reflecting shades of gold and bronze that combined her parents’ coloring.
“I am pleased to welcome you, Princess Mary,” Margaret greeted her in a firm yet friendly voice. “Our time together will be well spent and you will make your mother proud,” she added with a glance at the queen.
“And my father!” Mary exclaimed, suddenly appearing much more like a typical four year old.
Margaret smiled and leaned down to place her hand gently under the child’s chin. “And your father,” she agreed.
November 1520
“I am so happy that you are here with me, mother,” Ursula attempted to speak lightly, but Margaret could detect the fear behind her words. I’m so glad you will be with me in case I die, was what she was really thinking.
“All of God’s angels and all of the devil’s demons could not keep me from your side,” Margaret said with her voice infused with love. She had grown better than her daughter at keeping fear from her voice, but she, too, was terrified. She had lost so many people she loved. If God took Ursula . . .
No, he couldn’t.
“Harry must be setting the whole household on edge,” Ursula attempted to joke.
It was true. Harry Stafford was polite, kind, and everything a mother could hope for in her daughter’s husband, but he was nervous and demanding right now. He was not accustomed to major events that were beyond his control.
Margaret gave Ursula an unconcerned smile. “Harry is telling anyone who will listen that his son is to be born within the week. He is as proud as a rooster.”
This succeeded in earning a bit of laughter from Ursula as she tried to picture her husband regaling the staff with stories of his unborn child’s pursuits. Her rounded stomach bounced as though her child were laughing at his father as well. The young woman placed her fine, white hands upon her voluminous skirts, eager to hold the hidden child but scared of the process that must bring it about.
“Thank you for choosing him for me, mother.” Her eyes had a faraway look as she focused on secret moments with Harry. “So many daughters are not as fortunate in their parents’ choice of husband for them.”
“That is because they are counting on fathers to choose,” Margaret snapped. She had seen too many men make matches for their children with nothing besides riches in mind. Buckingham’s match with his daughter Mary to lord Bergavenny came to mind. “Do not misunderstand,” she continued. “I have worked to ensure a future and position for each of my children, but not at the expense of happiness, or at least contentedness,” she added, thinking of Arthur and the bride he would soon acquire.
“You are a most loving and considerate mama,” Ursula said dreamily, making Margaret snap to attention. She peered at her daughter’s face, but Ursula merely seemed sleepy and content.
“We should get you to bed so that you may rest more comfortably.”
Margaret directed her daughter to the ridiculously grand bed that Harry had furnished her lying in rooms with. Ursula and all her attendants could likely sleep in it together, Margaret had joked when she first saw it. Taking the mockery in stride, Ursula had simply said that it was her husband’s way of demonstrating his love for her and making her think of him when he could not be there.
Now, Ursula melted into the thick covers and was asleep before her mother could even finish the thought that she seemed too young for what she was about to go through.
Harry turned out to be correct. Ursula’s labor started without mercy less than twenty-four hours later. Margaret’s skill in remaining calm in a storm were harshly tested. No confinement prepared you for watching your daughter go through more pain than she believed was possible. Every time Ursula screamed or moaned, Margaret’s insides twisted and she vowed to God that she would never forgive him if her daughter did not survive.
Even the cry of Ursula’s newborn son could not distract her from her anxiety. She finally understood how Richard had felt each time she had given him a child. The baby was a blessing, certainly, but it was the mother he could not live without. For the first time she wondered if it was cruel that men were kept from their wives as they brought new life into the world, possibly at the cost of their own.
That made her think of Harry. Dear Harry would have heard his wife’s cries, for Margaret knew he could not be persuaded to go far from Ursula’s chamber. She must go to him soon.
“Ursula, dearheart, how do you fare?” she asked, gently pushing loose hairs from her daughter’s face.
“The baby, I must see him,” Ursula said without concern for herself.
Margaret satisfied herself that Ursula’s color looked healthy, and she was exhausted but not delirious or ill. The baby was brought to her.
“He is a strong son, milady,” the midwife announced as she presented the bundle to his mother.
Tears of joy streamed down Ursula’s face, freeing the tears in Margaret’s eyes as well. Thank God, she thought. Thank God. She felt that he would forgive her for threatening him. After all, he knew a mother’s love.
“Is he not the most beautiful baby you have ever seen?” Ursula asked, her face full of pride and her pain forgotten.
“Second only to his mother,” Margaret said in a quiet voice that was almost drowned out by the praise of the surrounding ladies, but she could tell that Ursula had heard. “I will bring the news to your long suffering husband.”
“He is long suffering? Men do not know the meaning of suffering!”
The ladies laughed obediently at Ursula’s words, while Margaret wondered just how true they were. She did not have to go far to find Harry. He was more disheveled than she had ever seen him, and her heart ached with love for this man who so clearly adored her daughter. When he saw Margaret, he cringed as if he was sure that she brought bad news, but he stood firm as he ran nervous fingers through his hair and down his wrinkled clothing.
“She is well,” Margaret soothed, taking one of his fidgeting hands between hers. “Ursula has endured God’s work for her and given you a wonderful son.”
Harry’s eyes widened as if he had forgotten that he would have a baby when all was said and done. “A son?”
Before she could stop herself, Margaret had taken him in her arms. He looked so young and lost. “A perfect son,” she assured him when she released him a moment later.
He giggled like a schoolboy and ran his hands through his already thoroughly tussled hair again. “A son! I have a son!”
“Yes, I know,” Margaret said, laughing with him.
His feet moved as if he would break out in dance, but instead he grabbed Margaret and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, mother! It is a boy!” he shouted to nobody in particular. He took a few steps to go share his news but turned back looking serious. “And Ursula,” he said in a low voice. “You are certain that she is alright.”
No, she could not be certain. “Absolutely,” she said before watching him practically skip away to tell the household of the birth of his firstborn son.
~~~~
A few days later, Margaret wondered if she would ever see that raw joy on Harry’s face again. The baby, who had seemed so perfect from his dusting of copper hair to his tiny, pudgy toes, had died in his mother’s arms. As is often the case in such matters, nobody could offer an explanation to the grieving woman who had given so much to bring the small life into the world. It simply was not God’s will.
Margaret loved her God, but she hated those words. She had heard them too m
any times, and would have given anything in her power to save Ursula from having to hear them. But nothing she could do would achieve that desire. The baby, who the proud parents had named Henry after his father, had gone on before them into heaven. Knowing they would see him again offered poor comfort to those who wanted him in their arms now.
Ursula had cried in her mother’s arms in the moments before Harry was informed. A piercing ache filled Margaret’s chest, she so wished that she could take away this hurt the way she had once mended Ursula’s dolls or kissed a scrape. Margaret knew from experience that there was nothing she could do or say, and so she said nothing but offered her companionship and understanding.
When Harry arrived to take Margaret’s place, she was both touched and slightly jealous. It was only right that he should do so, but she wanted to hold her daughter in her arms forever. She made herself useful by sorting household issues that neither had thought to attend to. How many mothers in the course of time had offered their love through useful deeds that nobody noticed were accomplished?
Before long, Margaret knew that she must return to Princess Mary. Ursula continued to grieve and would for years to come, but Harry would share that pain with her. It was Margaret’s role to give a mother’s love and discipline to the heir of England instead.
“Thank you,” Ursula said when Margaret’s trunks were packed and her caravan was prepared to return to Greenwich. It may have seemed an odd thing for the mother of a dead baby to say, but Margaret understood. She could only bring herself to leave because she knew that Harry would understand Ursula’s deepest feelings as well as she could.
She embraced her daughter fervently, not loosening her hold until Ursula did. “Send for me if ever you need me, and I will steal the king’s fastest courser.”
Faithful Traitor: The Story of Margaret Pole (Plantagenet Embers Book 2) Page 12