Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey

by Adrienne Dillard

  Francis sighed as the children scattered into the hallway looking for their uncle. “I feel terrible. I have not seen them in so long.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “No. Don’t do that. Rest first. You have been on the battlefield. The children will understand.”

  We climbed the stairs to our room and for a passing moment I wished I had laid fresh rushes, but we had no warning when he would arrive so the ones out would have to do. The fire was roaring and the heat filled the room. A tub full of boiled water waited for Francis and he smiled in anticipation when he saw it. I helped him untie his doublet and remove his hose, pausing to look him over for wounds. I breathed a sigh of relief when the only mark I saw was a scabbed over cut on his shoulder. I traced the raised line with my finger and then kissed it. I stood behind him with my arms wrapped around his waist, my belly pressed into his back. I laid my cheek on his shoulder and breathed in the scent of his skin.

  Francis placed his hands on top of mine and we stood there in an embrace until a movement from my belly startled him.

  “She kicked you!” I laughed.

  Francis turned to me and grinned. “How do you know it is a she?”

  I led him to the bath. “I don’t know. It is just a feeling that I have.”

  He climbed in carefully, favouring his right leg. As he slid into the water, he closed his eyes and gave a groan of pleasure. I set to work scrubbing his back and arms, massaging them as I went along. The muscles had grown tense and firm, his skin browned from the sun.

  “Tell me of the battle,” I asked after he had finally relaxed.

  He kept his eyes closed while he recounted his journey.

  “When we got to Scotland, we occupied Fawside Hill. The Earl of Home led a small army of men to our encampment and challenged an equal number of us to fight. Somerset did not want to engage him, but eventually he gave in and allowed Lord Grey to lead our men. We defeated them in the skirmish and pursued them for three miles. That wiped out most of the Earl of Arran’s cavalry.”

  He paused for a moment and then went on as if he were reliving the experience. “Somerset sent a group over to the slopes to monitor the Scots’ position. During the night, Arran not only challenged Somerset to a duel but when he was rebuffed he proposed that twenty of our champions fight twenty of his to settle the matter. Somerset refused. In the morning we regrouped with the detachment at the slopes and learned that Arran was advancing towards us. Our ships fired on them from the left and our cavalry attacked on the right. The Scottish pikemen were skilled and inflicted many casualties. Poor Lord Grey was stabbed with a pike in his throat, but we got him to the surgeon in time and he was saved. Unfortunately for the Scots, we had them surrounded on all sides and they began to retreat. Many who were not felled by our weapons drowned in the Esk in their haste to abandon the battlefield.”

  Francis shook his head at the memory of it. His face crumpled. I laid his head against my breast, the water from his hair soaking my bodice.

  “The river ran red with blood. I had seen nothing like it before in my life. Not even in Boulogne. We lost few men, but the Scots lost many and all for their pride. It makes sense for the king to marry their queen. It would unite our kingdoms. But they refuse to give in.”

  We stared at the fire, watching it dance in the hearth, the silence heavy between us. I ran my fingers through his hair and then kissed him softly on the forehead.

  “Your water is getting cold. Let’s get you dried off before you catch your sickness.”

  Francis nodded his assent and stood up, gingerly lifting his foot out of the tub. He stood still as I dried him off. After a moment, he tipped my chin and kissed me deeply. I could feel him growing against my thigh.

  I quivered. “Francis, the baby...”

  He pulled back. “You’re right. I am so sorry. I just missed your touch.”

  I pulled him back to me. “I want more than anything to lie with you.”

  “Soon my love. You must keep my little girl safe.”

  He leaned down and kissed my belly just as the baby decided to kick again.

  “See, Maude agrees,” he laughed.

  “Maude?”

  “It just fits. Do not ask why, a father just knows.”

  I playfully swatted his arm, “I think it is time for that nap.”

  The afternoon sun bathed the nursery in a warm orange glow. I sat in the rocking chair, Edward wedged in the crook of my arm. I brushed his silky hair with my hand, coiling a ringlet of his fawn coloured hair around my finger. I leaned forward and breathed in the scent of warm milk and that sweetness that seems to emanate from all babies. I rocked Edward back and forth in time to his rhythmic breathing. He was lost in the land of dreams. He pursed his red rosebud lips and sucked for a moment, as though he was taking nourishment from an imaginary breast. I stared at him in wonder.

  The sound of boots disturbed my maternal bliss. I looked up to see Francis and Henry standing in the doorway. I raised my finger to my lips and gave them both a warning look. Francis nodded and led Henry out of the room. Within moments, Edward’s nurse was bustling in, untying her bodice as she made her way towards me. She bent over to lift Edward out of my arms and one of her bulbous breasts escaped its moorings. It swung like a pendulum before my face. In one swift movement she lifted Edward and latched him on to her breast. She gave me a small curtsey and sat in the other chair.

  I walked into the hall and saw Francis and Henry leaning next to each other against the wall, matching grins on their faces.

  I was surprised at the change in Francis’s demeanour and relieved that his nap seemed to have restored his good humour. “You two look rather pleased with yourselves. May I ask what was so important that you felt the need to burst into the nursery?”

  Francis stood up straight and beckoned Henry and I. “I have news.”

  We followed him to the hall and Henry and I sat at the great table looking at him expectantly.

  Francis looked at me, then at Henry. Finally, with a great flourish, he announced, “I have been knighted.”

  I leapt out of my chair and threw my arms around him. Henry slapped him on the back.

  “That is wonderful news, husband,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  Francis flushed. “I wanted to tell you and Henry together.”

  Henry grinned. “Well, tell us about it!”

  “It was after the battle in Scotland. The lord protector, Duke of Somerset, knighted me in front of the whole company for my bravery. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.”

  His eyes were shining and I sensed he was trying to contain his emotions.

  “Well then, henceforth you shall be Sir Francis,” teased Henry, falling into an exaggerated bow.

  Francis shook his head, but he was still grinning. “All right brother, time to get back to work. Catherine, my love, please see about dinner. I would like to celebrate with a stag tonight.”

  I kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

  Francis stayed at home for another month to ready the property for winter and then headed back to London before the weather turned bad. By the first snow-fall, my belly had outgrown my skirts and we decided that it was best I stay at home until the baby was born. Christmas was quiet as Francis was gone to Court, but we tried to muster as much cheer as possible for New Year. We sent a gold cup to the young king. After the festivities I took to my bed in my confinement. I spent the time enjoying the warmth of the fire, reading and sewing by its light. I found myself exhausted with this pregnancy. No matter how much I slept I was still drowsy, often nodding off with my needle in my hand.

  In the middle of March my labour began. This labour was different from any other. The pains were not nearly as strong, but it seemed to go on forever. After two days, the midwife determined that this baby, like Lettice, was breech. She reached in to try to turn the baby while I writhed in pain. After a few tries, she sighed and sat back on her heels.

  “I
am sorry, my lady, but the cord is wrapped around your baby’s neck, I cannot turn it.”

  My panic threatened to overtake me. “Are you certain? What can we do? Is my baby all right?”

  The midwife sounded defeated. “I don’t know, my lady. All you can do is push. I need you to bear down and push with all of your might.”

  The midwife and my maid, Matilda, helped me into a crouched position. I held on to Matilda for stability and pushed as hard as I could. After an hour, I felt the baby’s foot emerge. I gritted my teeth and gave another push. My groin was on fire and I was certain I would lose consciousness. One more push and the baby’s limp body slithered out. The midwife tried to turn from me when she lifted the baby from between my legs, but I caught a glimpse of her blue face. I snatched my baby from her arms and unravelled the cord from her neck.

  “No!” I screamed. “No! You cannot die!” I began slapping the baby’s bottom and after a few dreadful moments I heard the sharp intake of breath and then a wail. I groaned and then fell back onto the birthing mattress, cradling the baby against my bare chest to bring warmth to her skin. Only after the child stopped crying did I look to see the sex. Francis had been right, she was a girl.

  “Oh Maude,” I let out a relieved sigh. “You frightened me.”

  The last thing I remember is the freckle-spotted milky white face of Meg, our newest wet nurse, coming towards me to take Maude, her curly chestnut hair forming a halo around her head. Her eyes, blue as the sea, were the last thing I saw before I was back in my dream of so long ago.

  I was running barefoot in the gardens at Hever. This time I was not looking for Henry, I was just lost. I could not find my way back to the manor because the tall grass was blocking my view. I burst through the hedges and there was Anne and her scaffold.

  Instead of running away, I inched closer. A warm, sticky river of blood poured from her neck and ran over my feet, I blanched in disgust. Her lips were moving just as in my previous dreams.

  “What are you saying?” I called out. The executioner threw his head back in a terrifying laugh. I strained to see the words on her lips. Casting aside my fear, I stepped, one foot at a time, delicately through the crimson life that poured out of her. Just before the executioner tossed her head to the ground, I made out the word she was mouthing and my own blood ran cold. She was whispering “Maude.”

  “My lady.”

  Someone was shaking me.

  “Mistress Catherine,” the voice said more urgently.

  I struggled out of the cobwebs of sleep. My eyes flew open to see Edward’s baby nurse Alice sitting in a chair next to my bed. Her hand was on my shoulder. Seeing the panic on her face, I scrambled to sit up.

  I plied her with questions. “Alice, how long have I been asleep? How is Maude?”

  Alice took a deep breath before she answered. “My Lady, you have been asleep for nearly a day. We knew how exhausted you were so we let you rest, but we need you now. Maude needs you now.”

  With terror rising in me, I tried to swing my legs around to get out of bed but it took enormous effort to move them and I fell back, breathing heavily.

  Alice stood up and put her hand on my knee, I could feel the weight of it through the thick counterpane. “You have had a very rough birth and we had to bleed you while you were asleep. Please just lie back and I will bring Maude to you.”

  Breathless from my exertion, I settled back against the headboard. I winced in pain when the bleeding wounds on my back touched its hard surface. Alice scurried from the room. Moments later she re-emerged with a bundle of blankets in her arms. She sat down in the chair and said, with tears in her eyes, “Maude will not feed. Meg has tried to get her to latch on, but she refuses. She will not latch to me either. We have tried everything we know. You will have to feed her, my lady. It is the only way. She will not even cry for her milk. She just lies there whimpering.”

  She bent over and nestled the bundle of blankets in my arms. Carefully, I pulled aside the blanket covering my baby’s face. It was so pale and translucent I could almost see the tiny thread of veins running through it. Her deep brown eyes were rimmed red and stared off into space. I brushed the soft down on her head and planted a light kiss on her forehead. She whimpered in response. Tears began to stream down my hot cheeks. None of my children had ever been so weak. They were all born with lusty screams and flailing fists. Maude was so delicate and fragile, I worried that one light touch would harm her.

  Alice pushed me forward and opened the front of my shift. She instructed me on what to do. I took out my swollen breast and stroked Maude’s cheek with my hardened nipple. Maude gave no response. She only lay there in my arms staring out at nothing. After a few failed attempts, Alice moved to the other side of the bed. Hiking up her skirts, she climbed up and scooted on her knees towards us. She pulled the blanket aside revealing two miniature feet. She scraped her nail across the bottom of Maude’s left foot. Maude let out a wail and instinctively turned her face towards my breast for comfort. I quickly shoved my nipple in her mouth and she latched on, gulping hungrily.

  Alice let out a sigh of relief and a grin broke out on her tired face. “Oh, praise the Lord!”

  I lay back and let Maude feed until she was content. It was a strange feeling, breastfeeding. Painful yet pleasurable at the same time. Not an intimate pleasure of course, but a feeling of overwhelming love. I felt a rush of affection for the child in my arms. I held her closer, never wanting to let go.

  I continued to feed Maude in the following weeks. Francis was at Court so there would be no coupling between us. I was the only person she would latch on to and her health was far more important to me than the frowns of disgust I would get if the women at Court found out I was eschewing the wet nurse. Unfortunately, even though she was feeding, she was not gaining any weight. All of the milestones my other children passed in their early weeks failed to happen for my little Maude. I felt my time with her was limited so I spent most of my days in the nursery, rocking her in the chair and singing lullabies. Mary would grab her wool blanket and curl up at my feet, humming along with me.

  The weather began to change and it seemed like the warmer it got outside, the further Maude slipped away. She stopped crying altogether and no longer even whimpered for her milk. She slept much of the day and even when the nursery was flooded in warm sunlight her tiny body felt chilled to the bone.

  The day she left us was a bright, beautiful spring day. I stood at the window cradling her in my arms, basking us in the warmth of the sun, and I swayed back and forth humming. I saw the rose buds in the garden outside. The violets and lilies were in bloom. I wished I could open the window and let their musky sent in, but I did not dare for fear of Maude taking sick. I looked down into her placid face. Her eyes were closed, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks.

  I bent down and nuzzled the soft spot behind her ear. I whispered, “Go if you must, my sweet, but know how much we love you and will think of you always.”

  I pulled my face back in time to see her eyes open. For the first time, she looked deep into mine. I felt a wave of sadness as I kissed her pale, cool cheeks. As I exhaled, she slipped away quietly. Her body was lifeless in my arms, but I held her close, taking in my last breath of her baby sweetness.

  “Meg, will you please open the window?”

  Meg gave me a puzzled look, but when I nodded, she complied. I stood in the sunlight and let the scents of the garden surround me as I hugged Maude close and prayed for her soul.

  I carried on as best as I could after Maude’s death, but the loss of a child was almost too much for me to bear. Francis was tending to matters at Court and unable to come home, so I buried our child alone. I took my meals in my room, ate what little I could stomach, and then went to the chapel to pray. One morning, after a month of grieving, I stood naked before the mirror in my bedchamber and marvelled at the changes my body had gone through in the last eight years. I was no longer the young naïve girl that left Calais. My body now bore the
marks of womanhood. My once flat stomach had been replaced by a soft round belly embroidered with the white puckered stretch-marks of all my pregnancies. My breasts were now larger than they had ever been thanks to Maude’s feeding and it was a struggle to lace my stomacher in the mornings. Matilda had to brace herself against the tester bed just to pull the strings tightly enough. I sighed and laid my hand on my belly, remembering how it felt when Maude was kicking inside of it. I had been blessed with five healthy children and it was time that I rejoined them.

  A bead of sweat slid from behind my ear down my neck on to my bare shoulder where it trickled down into the crease in my bust. I groaned in disgust, but I continued through the garden plucking flowers with Mary and Lettice. The hot August sun burned our backs, but we were intent on harvesting a beautiful bouquet to brighten the hall. Harry played in the dirt while Alice and Meg looked on, their faces flushed from the heat. Matilda was fanning herself with her hand. A plume of dust rose in the distance and the sound of hooves thundered closer.

  Harry caught my eye and grinned. “Father!”

  He jumped up and took off running towards the gate. I gathered the girls next to me, my hands on the back of their dresses damp with sweat. After a few moments, the sound of hooves quieted and the horse came into view. Francis was on the ground leading the horse towards us. He held the reigns in one hand and Harry’s hand in the other. I smiled at the sight of father and son walking together, their steps in synch, a mirror of each other.

  After the children had gone to bed, Francis and I sat before the fire in our room and indulged in some wine and cheese.

  Francis took a swig of his wine. After he swallowed, he turned to me. “Well,” he sighed. “Your little sister has been shamed.”

  “My little sister?” I asked in confusion.

  “The Princess Elizabeth. She has been sent to live with Anthony Denny after her behaviour with the lord protector’s brother, Thomas. The dowager queen refuses to see her and the king is in a rage that she has forsaken her good sensibilities to play the harlot to his uncle.”