Unable to think of any more arguments, Kate wiped away her tears.
Catherine gripped Kate’s hand. “Believe me, I find it hard enough to witness your aunt’s grief.” She sighed. “I was with her when she birthed her dead son. Since then, she speaks little. Most of the time, it is like she doesn’t know we are with her. I tell you true, you are fortunate to be a maid and out of it.”
Leaving her aunt’s chambers to sit again on the bench, Kate found herself wishing she was brave enough to beg to speak to the King, but her fears whipped her into a struck dog with its tail between its legs. I am a coward. A coward. She hated herself for it.
Wanting to distract herself, she took the book from her pocket, and became aware that Francis stood close by. He appeared abashed, smiling with uncertainty.
“'Tis the third morning in a row that I have found you here, lurking outside the Queen’s chamber. If I did not know better, I would think you’ve found employment as the Queen’s guard.”
Kate smiled a little and shook her head in answer. She sighed. “They will not let me see her.”
Francis sat beside her. “You are young—”
She rounded on him in fury. “Young! Why is that always the excuse of the world and its dog to leave me out in the cold? Mayhap I am young, but does that mean I am fool—or useless? I could be in there playing to my aunt the songs you have taught me.”
“Forgive me. I did not mean to offend you. I commend your loyalty to your aunt, Kate, but you must realise that 'tis not likely they will allow you admittance. Putting aside your youth, you are unwed.”
Hearing Francis echo Catherine’s words wounded her. She bowed her head, hiding tears of frustration. At home, she had been allowed to visit her mother short hours after childbirth, but a Queen of England lived by different, stricter rules. Once again, it came home that courtly protocol guarded—no, not simply guarded, but imprisoned the Queen, just as much as the two guards who stood outside her doors.
Kate turned to Francis. “Forgive me for my anger. 'Twas wrong to lash you with my tongue when you only spoke the truth.” The book blurred in her hand. “I know you offer only kindness, like Madge, who wants me to find other ways to spend my time here.” She considered him. “I just wish I did not feel so helpless.”
Francis clasped her hand again, but this time did not let it go. “We all feel helpless at times like these. I know it must be hard to know your aunt is ill and you are forbidden her presence.”
Kate swallowed. The closed doors of her aunt’s chamber seemed to speak of everything in life that shut her out. “'Tis not knowing that I find so difficult to bear. For days, I’ve been closed out in the dark with only my thoughts for company.” She shifted closer to Francis. “What if she dies?” she whispered. “What if she dies and I am out here? I should be with her; my place is with her. I belong with her.” Tears fell down her face. “I do not want her to think I have forsaken her.”
Francis gazed at her with compassion. “You love your aunt. Why?”
Shrugging, Kate tried to collect her thoughts. Memories of Aunt Nan came to mind. The first one was a blur, but it possessed the sheen of sunlight and shimmer of rainbow. In this shimmering light, Aunt Nan stood, a giant adult, carrying Kate in her arms. She put Kate down, then held out her hands to dance with her. They spun around and around until Aunt Nan fell on her knees before Kate, gathering her into her arms. That was not her only treasured memory. Every visit had meant a warm, loving welcome—a sharing of books, songs, and stories. Kate could not remember a time when she did not adore her. She cut the thread of reminiscence, and brushed away her tears, aware of her hand in Francis’s.
“She has always loved me,” Kate answered. “'Tis easy to love when you are loved in return.”
Francis tightened his grip. “The Queen is fortunate to have your love. In the coming days, she will need not only to know of your love, but also that others love her. It might strengthen her against the tide of hate.”
Pity? Why does he seem to be offering me pity? She pulled away, taking her hand from his, shifting into the shadows of the embrasure. Leaning against the wall, she shivered. “Even our uncle of Norfolk hates her. Madge told me that he was almost merry when he heard she lost her son. He said the Queen had miscarried her saviour.”
“The Duke and the Queen have long been at loggerheads with one another. The Duke desires a Catholic England. The Queen works against this. She is also a woman who is unafraid to speak her mind, or speak up to the King, the Duke—indeed, all men. Norfolk does not forgive the times she has cut him down with her tongue. He believes she has betrayed him.”
Kate sighed. “He is not the only one. The King thinks this, too.”
Francis sat back. Half his face was in shadow, half in light. “Because she bore him another dead son?”
Kate nodded. “Aye, because of that. Why else would he act as he does?”
Francis turned to the light. “You’re changed, Kate. You’re not the young maid I first met two months ago.”
“Two months ago—did I only come to court two short months ago? It feels a lifetime.” She drew and let out a breath. “I was different then. I know now I never had real cause to be heartsore.” She swung around to the shut door. “I will never feel so young again.”
There was one other who gained admittance to see the Queen. The next day, Kate escaped from Madge’s surveillance, hoping to see her grandmother. While her grandmother didn’t emerge from Aunt Nan’s chamber, another woman came out, the hood of her black cloak drawn over her head. Kate did not recognise her until she moved in her direction.
“Mother!” She ran into her open arms. Mary Stafford hugged and kissed her, while Kate fought back her distaste at the smell of stale milk. She scolded herself. Am I not a woman now? One day, I, too, will hold my children to my breast and thank God for it. She took a deep breath and killed the last remnants of her jealousy. Still in her mother’s arms, she asked, “Is my little brother with you?”
Her mother sighed. “Nay, we had to get here in all speed, and the little one is safer at home.”
Releasing Kate, she smiled. “My girl has grown.” She touched the pearl-encrusted gable and sighed. For a breath, Kate returned to the morning she had left home. Then her mother had sighed in exactly the same way, holding her new girdle—regretful, but also resigned.
“My sister cares well for your needs, I see,” her mother said.
Kate clasped her hand. “But, Mother, why did no one tell me you were here?” She reached for her mother’s other hand. “Do you stay long?”
Shushing her, Mary Stafford looked over her shoulder and then the other way. “Quietly, child.” She leaned towards Kate. “Where can we talk in private?”
Without a moment’s thought, Kate knew. Still holding on to her mother’s hand, she took her straight to her brother’s chambers. Fortune smiled. Harry was alone, quill in hand, mouth and shoulders drooping, with a half-written parchment riddled with corrections before him. At their entry, he paled, but then his eyes lit up to match his wide smile. He stood.
“Mother,” he said softly.
Mary stepped closer. Tears fell down her face unchecked. “Oh, Harry. Oh, my beloved boy.”
She held out her arms, and he ran into them. They laughed, and cried, turning to Kate to include her, too. Kate’s happiness overflowed.
At last, Mary Stafford pulled back, wiping away fresh tears. “My children, I can’t stay long. My husband waits in the stables to take me home before the King discovers I am here without his permission.” She lowered her head, clasping and unclasping her hands. “I had to come to my poor sister when our mother wrote to me about what had happened.”
Kate glanced aside at her brother. She said sadly, “We are refused admittance to her chamber.”
Her mother rested a hand on Kate’s arm. “Sweetheart, even your grandmother does not know how to help her, and she has lost many babes. Nan is in despair. For the last two hours, she wept and wept in my arms.�
�� Her mouth pursed, she drew a breath. “She was better when I left, worrying that the King would find me here. Pray to God this day marks the turning of the tide, and my sister will regain her strength and be ready to fight again. She needs to fight again.”
As if determined to change the subject and shake away her worry, Mary stepped over to Harry’s desk and picked up the parchment. “And what have we here, Harry?” Her brows furrowed together. “'Tis not Latin or French.”
Kate remembered that day not too long ago when Harry seemed so much older than her. Today she resumed her rightful place, content to watch her brother and mother make up a little for all the time they had lost.
Harry stood next to their mother and grinned. “'Tis Greek, Mother.” Reddening, he shifted one foot and then the other. “'Tis not likely to please my tutor. I am too slow, he says, and make too many mistakes. But Greek is hard.”
Mary beamed at him and put her arm through his. “I know you, my son. You will not give up.” Her smile embraced Kate, too. “We are not a family that is easily defeated.” Cocking her head, she inspected him. “The last time we were together, I could still put you on my knee. Now you’re taller than me by two fingers at least.” Mary bit her bottom lip. “Do you forgive your mother that she has missed these last years when you grew from boy to youth?”
Harry hugged her tight. “There’s nothing to forgive, Mother. I understand how it has been with you, and that you walked the harder road.”
Mary started. “Harder road? Sometimes I wonder if those are the roads where we truly find our lives, especially if we walk roads mapped out by our hearts.” She touched his cheek. “Oh, it has cost me—cost me dearly. I did not know when I married William that the King would punish me through you. I have begged him to let me come to you, but always his answer is nay. Methinks he fears I will take you from him—that love will win out in the end.” Mary swallowed. “I thank God for your letters. I take them from my writing desk to kiss them over and over. They make you seem close to me, and I know from them your love.” She stroked his face and stood on tiptoes to kiss his face. She grinned. “No manly bristles, yet, my boy. Next time we meet, I suspect you will be taller yet and you’ll likely call me your little old mother.”
She glanced towards the window and frowned. “The day is darkening. I must be away and return to your stepfather.”
Harry embraced her again. “Can you not stay, Mother? Just for one night?”
She shook her head, her face lined with grief. “Nay, my Harry.” She gestured to her full breasts with a small smile. “Your little brother will be sorely missing me by now, as I am him. Besides that, I must think of the King.” She stroked his face again. “He lets you write letters to me. The longer I stay, the more chance I have of being found out. If word comes to him that we have seen one another, he might forbid you to even write to me. I could not bear that.” She pulled her hood over her head. “Stay here, my children, but let me bless you before I go.”
Kate and Harry knelt at her feet and bent their heads. Kate would never forget the light touch of her mother’s hand, and the love that radiated its warmth from the top of her head to her heart.
After farewelling her mother, it became time for another farewell. Kate found Elizabeth Boleyn in her chamber, sitting close to the fireplace. Cloaked, gloved, dressed for travel, she got up and held out her arms when Kate came into the room. After receiving her grandmother’s kiss and blessing, Kate sat in the chair across from her. Grandmother is old. Even her dark eyes, once bright and lively, seemed dull. Surrounded by wrinkled skin, they sunk deeply into her skull.
“Granddaughter, we have not had much time to speak together in the last sennight or more. And now your grandfather has summoned me home. But I wished to see you before I left.”
Kate bent towards her. “How is Aunt Nan?”
Elizabeth Boleyn plucked at her cloak and frowned. “Still weaker than I’d like her to be.”
Kate wilted and moved uneasily on her chair.
“Take heart, child.” Her grandmother smiled slightly. “I would not be leaving my daughter if she was not improving. The best thing she can do now is to rest.”
“And her melancholy, Grandmother? I heard from Mother and others how broken-hearted she is.”
Half shutting her eyes, Elizabeth Boleyn pursed her mouth, winkles webbing on either side. “Is that of any surprise? Can you not imagine what it is for a woman to lose her babe—a babe wanted and prayed for as much as your aunt wanted and prayed for this one?” Elizabeth Boleyn sniffed and wiped away tears. “’Tis no wonder it has struck her down soul and heart.” She considered Kate. “When she comes out of the birthing chamber, you will find her changed. Help her, Kate.”
She stared at her grandmother and licked her dry lips. Days ago, she had told Francis she would never feel young again. Now charged by her grandmother to help her aunt, it came back to her how young she really was. She couldn’t even bring herself to ask her grandmother about her brother, the Duke of Norfolk. Life not only weighed down her shoulders, but clearly her grandmother’s, too. “Pray, Grandmother,” she said slowly, “how can I help her?”
Her grandmother bowed her head and brought together her gnarled hands on her lap. “By doing what I cannot do. Stay by her side no matter what.”
Blinking away tears, Kate squirmed. “I do try, Grandmother. I am but a maid—”
Bitterness pulled down her grandmother’s mouth. “You may be but a maid, yet you are of our blood and soon enough will be a woman. You can start acting it in this, Kate. Just be there for your aunt! I wish it could be me, but Grandfather commands me to return to Hever and care again for our estates. If I was strong in body, I would refuse his command, but…. I am too weak and old to withstand his anger.” She swallowed. “To my shame, I have always given in to him. God knows I will regret that to my dying day. I lived in fear of his hand and rod, but now find the cost of that fear a far greater one. If only I could have been as strong as my Anne and your mother. Mayhap then I would not now be fearing for my children’s safety.” Elizabeth Boleyn straightened, then bent over again, as if fighting pain. “Your grandfather, too, will one day regret what he set in action so long ago. Even he can no longer deny that the wind has changed, and not for good.”
17
KATE ALWAYS THOUGHT OF FEBRUARY as the month of transition, the month that brought her closer to spring. Despite the days of slate-coloured sky, rain came now, not snow. The white shroud of winter melted into the earth, turning the ground soft and soggy. When sunlight burst through the clouds, its light jewelled to emerald green the lush, fast-growing grass. Spring was almost here, but she took no joy in it because her days grew increasingly darker. Winter imprisoned her spirit.
Two days after Elizabeth Boleyn left, Aunt Nan finally left her sick chamber. Followed into her garden by a group of her ladies, she cradled a white terrier puppy. Breaking away from Madge, Kate halted a step or so before her aunt and curtseyed. How she wished to embrace her, but such shows of affection must be kept for moments of privacy.
Aunt Nan smiled. It was a brittle smile, more a distortion on her too-white face. She looked aged, haggard. “I am sorry it has been so long, niece, since we last met.” The puppy squirmed in her arms. She firmed her hold, stroking the dog. “Look what Sir Tom has sent to me. She is my Purkoy’s granddaughter.” She tossed her head and tightened her lips. “'Tis time for Bella to greet the new day, as it is for me. Come, Kate, join us.”
Lifting her skirts to free her feet, Aunt Nan strode quickly before her women, so quickly it became almost a race to keep up with her. They arrived at a secluded part of the garden, Aunt Nan still at last, and out of breath. Meg Lee curtseyed. “My Queen,” she said softly, “pray, remember this is your first true day out of sickbed.”
“Leave me be, Meg, just leave me,” Aunt Nan snapped, waving her away. Gracefully, Aunt Nan sat on a bench underneath an oak tree, putting the puppy on the ground beside her. Her women found their own places cl
ose by.
Taking in her aunt’s miserable face, Kate decided family ties called for her to be closest of all. Without waiting to ask permission, she sat next to her aunt. The puppy rolled on the grass, then curled itself into a ball of white fluff. Aunt Nan’s laugh little resembled her bell-like laughter of old; it sounded shrill and cracked.
“Think you, will Bess like Bella?” Aunt Nan patted the puppy.
Kate petted it; the little dog felt so warm and soft, she couldn’t resist picking it up and putting it in her lap. It licked her hand, its rough tongue tickling her.
Aunt Nan laughed again. This time, her laughter rang with brittle gaiety. “I should warn you, Kate. Bella has yet to learn that our garb is not to make water on. I have only just started to teach her.” Her shoulders drooped. “Once she has learnt her lessons, I shall give Bella to Bess.”
Startled, Kate shifted closer to her aunt. “But Bella was a gift to you.”
Aunt Nan frowned and held out her hand for the puppy to lick. “Bella would be better off with Bess.” She turned, the spreading oak dappling its shadow on her face. “Bella will be safer with Bess.”
Kate’s heart beat faster. Surely I misheard her? Pray she doesn’t mean what I think she means.
Bella, hearing her name, tumbled off Kate’s lap to the ground and waddled back to her mistress. Aunt Nan held the dog against her heart. For a long time, she cuddled Bella, her face like one haunted.
Finally, Aunt Nan spoke. “You know Jane Seymour has been placed in one of Cromwell’s rooms? One where the King can visit her privately if he so wills?” She smiled cynically and drew a letter from a side pocket in her gown. “I received this from a friend today. My friend writes that our Mistress Jane is also receiving lessons, lessons of behaviour much like my little bitch here.” She laughed. “Shame she did not learn behaviour in the past, rather than soil my chamber with her disloyalty and ambition. My friend writes that Jane is being schooled to take my place, and that she tells the King how much his subjects hate his marriage to me. She tells him our marriage is no true marriage. She learns her lessons well, I hear.”
The Light in the Labyrinth Page 17