The 7th Wife of Henry the 8th: Royal Sagas: Tudors I

by Betty Younis

  In the household’s fixation on Consuelo, Elizabeth’s frequent bouts with a morning stomach flu passed unnoticed, as did her loss of appetite. Only Prudence noticed the change, and morning after morning, she would quietly visit Elizabeth in her room, taking her broth, making sure she was warm and comfortable. Mid-morning, when the flu had passed, she would take her plain soda bread with a bit of cheese or boiled egg. Consuelo fell onto what was happening next, and she began accompanying Prudence on her trips upstairs. She would sit before the fire, doing the household’s mending or looking at her account books while Prudence fussed about her patient. Elizabeth would eventually feel well enough to sit with them before the fire and nibble on the food Prudence brought her.

  “My sisters, I would be lost without you.”

  The words were frequently on Elizabeth’s lips.

  “‘Tis three ducks we are,” Prudence would chime in happily. “Waddling about our pond.”

  “Aye, but I must tell my father and Agnes,” Elizabeth once replied. “I know not how.”

  Consuelo patted her hand and giggled.

  “Elizabeth, they will be onto it before much longer.” She looked knowingly at Elizabeth’s middle.

  “Yes, well, ‘tis done and I do not regret it. But we must keep it amongst the family, for a king’s child would not be allowed to remain here for long, should it be found out. We must vow to keep it secret.”

  A vow was taken and as the months passed, the rest of the household gradually became aware of Elizabeth’s condition.

  “Tell me, child,” her father asked one day as they sat alone in the library, “How shall we manage our new line? For I believe you are to give birth.”

  Elizabeth began to cry.

  “Father, I know you must be embar…”

  He waved her silent.

  “‘Tis not true, Elizabeth. If this had happened before we went on our journeys together, I would have been, oh, I know not what. Angry? Frightened? Truly, I know not. But now, having seen a bit of the world, ‘tis a natural state. I am proud and happy and we must plan for our young charge’s future, do you not agree?”

  Elizabeth smiled in relief and her tears flowed freely.

  “Thank you father, thank you.”

  He patted her hand.

  “But child, you must tell Agnes, and I want no part of that conversation.”

  “How, father, am I to do that?”

  “You will think of something. Shhh! I hear her coming. I will leave and you will tell her now.”

  They sat quietly in front of the fire. Agnes knew what was about to be said but was uncertain how to react.

  “My Lady Agnes, my own mother, I must tell you that my relationship with Prince Henry was not chaste, and that I am with child and that is why I miss breakfast so many mornings and I know I should feel shame and confess but I am not ashamed and if I confess the good father might feel the need to spread the word abroad and that cannot happen and I know not what to do and so I tell you everything.”

  She literally gasped for breath.

  Agnes remained silent.

  “Lady Agnes, do not deprive me of your company and your wisdom, I beg you! You are my rock and I have great need of your counsel.”

  Still Agnes said nothing but stared into the fire.

  Elizabeth began crying and Agnes gently passed a rag from her pocket to her. She leaned over and hugged her tightly. In turn, Elizabeth clung to her as if her very life depended upon it. Agnes finally spoke.

  “My child, ‘tis not what I would have wished for you, but ‘tis done, and I love you as much as ever. Do not forget that. You can do nothing, now or ever, that would cause me to believe bad about you or lose faith in your goodness.”

  Elizabeth sobbed louder and Agnes sat her in the chair before closing the library door.

  “Elizabeth, child, it was meant to be. I knew this would be your path, but I could not accept it. Now that it has happened, I am relieved, for we may plan. You know that the knowledge of the child’s father must never leave this house. Otherwise, we will lose the babe. I am certain of this.”

  “Yes, Agnes, as am I. But how do we go about protecting the child, and our home?”

  “We must think,” Agnes told her. “And we must limit those who know of your condition.”

  “‘Tis better if I stay indoors until I deliver,” Elizabeth said, “And we limit the number of servants about the house.”

  Agnes nodded and called Prudence and Consuelo into the library, and the four women talked until nightfall formulating a proper scheme to protect them all.

  One week later, Prudence gave birth to her second child, a girl she named Mary.

  Elizabeth never left the house, and only Consuelo and Agnes were allowed to roam freely about the manor. It was put out that Elizabeth was having bouts of a mysterious malady and that no one save family should be exposed to such a risk. But rumors began regardless, and when Prudence began taking her baby Mary to the great manor with her each day despite the risk of the sweating sickness, the servants became curious. Agnes and Thomas would have none of it. Overhearing two scullery maids discussing Lady Elizabeth one day in the kitchen, they confronted them.

  “So you treat the hand that feeds you in this manner, do you?” Agnes was almost screaming. They cowered before her and the old master.

  “What is your name?” she asked the younger girl.

  “Milly, my lady.”

  “Tell me Milly, do you like food in your mouth and a warm bed at night?”

  Milly nodded, terrified. Her companion stood mute and still as stone.

  “The Lady Elizabeth travelled far and wide. Did you not know that?”

  Milly nodded.

  “And tell me, you nits, do you not know that various and sundry maladies are contracted by maids when travelling thus? Their constitutions are not as strong as those of men, and you may be certain that is why young maids normally do not travel – else they would not survive. ‘Tis a miracle that Lady Elizabeth did, and if you treat her poorly because of her foreign malady, I shall turn the two of you out of this house quicker than you can move. Do you hear me?”

  Violent nodding from both girls ensued.

  Thomas shook his cane.

  “If I hear such nonsense in my home, Coudenoure will no longer be yours. Now go back to your work, and if you choose to huddle together again in some dark corner where you exchange lies, you will be turned out with no compassion.”

  Later that afternoon, Milly whispered to her friend.

  So the lady doth have some frightful disease from a far away land.”

  Looking about in fear, her friend nodded.

  “Perhaps she is disfigured and ashamed.”

  “That must be why. We must avoid her lest we catch the same. And do not mention such things again,” whispered Milly as she crossed herself, “Lest God punish us with it for even knowing of it.”

  From then on, Elizabeth’s name was never mentioned in the kitchen.

  Six weeks later, as Agnes snuffed the candles, Edward appeared in the great hall with Consuelo.

  “Lady Agnes, ‘tis time.”

  The midwife was sent for, and Prudence knocked softly on Elizabeth’s door.

  “Consuelo is giving birth,” she said simply. A frightened look crossed Elizabeth’s face.

  “Are we certain?”

  Prudence nodded in the candlelight.

  “My good lady and friend, we are. It may not work but it will do no harm either.”

  Elizabeth opened the door to let her in, bolting it behind her. From her pocket, Prudence pulled a large clove of garlic.

  “So I am to eat this raw?”

  Prudence nodded.

  Elizabeth commenced eating, washing down the clove with copious amounts of cider.

  A minute later she was done, and burped loudly.

  “Well, Prudence, we shall see.” She rubbed her belly and began pacing in front of the fire.

  Whether it was the tension, the stress, the ga
rlic or nature, Elizabeth went into labor one hour later.

  Just before dawn, the word rang out across the estate.

  “Consuelo, wife of Edward, has given birth to twins!”

  Elizabeth lay exhausted with her child in her arms. Beside her, Prudence kept watch.

  “And the name, my lady?”

  Elizabeth smiled blissfully.

  “Constance. Her name shall be Constance.” She smiled at the tiny bundle in her arm.

  “And Consuelo?”

  Prudence smiled.

  “‘Tis a healthy girl as well, my lady, and she is to be called Agnes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  July 8, 1515

  A lone figure rode slowly up the long drive of Coudenoure. Occasionally stopping, the man on the horse seemed to be inspecting various aspects of the great lawn which stretched forward to the meadow and the parterres which separated the house from the great lawn. From a distance, he heard the familiar tolling of the household bell, indicating the arrival of guests. Lady Elizabeth stepped through the front doors and waited patiently for him on the step.

  “King Henry! You honor us with your presence.”

  The man before her was so much different from the boy she had once known.

  She bowed deeply as Henry threw his reins to the servant boy.

  “And where is our fine daughter?” his eyes twinkled merrily.

  Before Elizabeth could speak, a wild band of tiny ruffians came screaming around the far corner of the house. A small boy, barefoot and with holes in his breeches, was being chased by three little girls. He held tightly to a butterfly net made of white linen looped to the end of a small stick. The boy sailed past, and Elizabeth grabbed the first girl.

  “Young Agnes, do you not see who is visiting? You must curtsey, child, and show civility.”

  Henry bent over and smiled at the girl.

  “And young Agnes, how are you this fine day?”

  Agnes nodded, her blond curls bobbing. With a look at Elizabeth, she continued her chase.

  “And let us see, um, next we have Mary.”

  The second little girl stepped forward and curtsied politely. Her large green eyes fixed on Henry while her wild brown hair blew in the breeze.

  “Please, sir, if you do not mind, my brother must be taught a lesson and Agnes needs my help.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she too ran in hot pursuit of the brother. Only one small girl remained, and Henry and Elizabeth turned their attention to her. There was no mistaking whose child she was. Flaming, curly red hair fell in ribboned cascades down her back. Even at such a tender age, she was square-jawed, like her father, and when Henry looked into her eyes, it was if he was looking into his own. They were the color of a thousand blue gray oceans, deep, large and intelligent. His paternal pride was evident, and he held Constance in her arms.

  “So tell me, have you been a good girl?”

  She looked at Elizabeth, who nodded for her to talk to Henry.

  “Well,” she began, “Mostly, sire.”

  “I see,” Henry laughed, “And why mostly?”

  “The Lady Agnes caught me pilfering sweeties in the kitchen.”

  “Indeed.”

  “She said I must confess but I feel I only must confess to only one, Sire. I took the others because of my good and kind heart.”

  “Is that so?”

  Constance nodded.

  “They were for Mary and Agnes, sire, for I was the only one brave enough to snatch them.”

  Henry laughed and put the child down.

  “I agree with you. Now go play.”

  The library was empty and Elizabeth closed the door behind them.

  “So what brings my king to Coudenoure?”

  “Ah, Elizabeth, ‘tis a day, a week, I am having. I am on my way from Greenwich to Richmond and wanted to see you and Constance.”

  He sat in front of the fire and stretched forth his long legs. Elizabeth looked at him lovingly. Gone was the gawky and awkward teenager. In his place sat a king, one who wore his leadership carelessly as one born into it. His physique had filled out and his full beard and significant height gave presence to his bearing. She sat in the chair opposite and waited.

  “My wife has miscarried again.”

  “My lord, you have my heartfelt sympathies, but you must be patient, for you will have the son you yearn for.”

  “Elizabeth,” he spoke as though he had not even heard her, “I must have a son! I am the King of England and my line depends upon it. Why is this happening to me? What sign from God have I misread?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “No sign have you misread,” she reassured him, “But patience is a difficult virtue to learn, even for a king.”

  He nodded and remained silent.

  “Tell me, have you had visitors of late?”

  “‘Tis an odd question.”

  “Well, there was an uprising in the north, which has been put down, but some of the villains escaped to the south.”

  Elizabeth smiled uncertainly.

  “They would have no reason to know of Coudenoure.”

  “‘Tis right you are, Elizabeth.” Henry rose suddenly.

  “I must go.”

  Through the library window she watched him depart as he rode away. He had been at Coudenoure no more than an hour. Why had he come? His visits were usually two to three days, carved out of his normal schedule and secreted within this or that progress from one palace to another. Coudenoure had grown accustomed to his random stays and Henry had grown dependent upon them. Elizabeth and he had transitioned gracefully from lovers to friends. Their connection was made stronger by their lack of physical intimacy, for it forced them back onto their common interests to sustain their relationship and their passion. While everything had changed, nothing had changed.

  All afternoon, Elizabeth continued to puzzle over the brief visit. What had been Henry’s purpose? He would normally travel from Greenwich to Richmond by barge, yet he came on horseback to Coudenoure. There had been some reason for his visit, for his questions about guests and the matter of a son, but she simply could not fathom what it might be. Henry had developed the habit, or some might say the knack, of burying his true interest amid idle talk. Had he needed reassurance about a son, or was there danger from some far away uprising? Unease settled in her breast as she went about the remainder of her day. She needed more information, and it soon came.

  Towards sunset, a sweet and gentle rain began to fall. As Elizabeth hurried back to the manor house from Agnes’ nearby cottage, another figure made its way up the drive. This one, however, rode hard, and she recognized Charles Brandon.

  “Elizabeth, I must talk to you.”

  They hurried into the library and waited impatiently as a servant stoked the fire. Thomas stirred in his chair.

  “Young Charles, is it? What brings you hence?”

  As the servant pulled the door, Charles spoke in a quiet and concerned voice.

  “Where is the king’s child?”

  Elizabeth felt her heart beat faster.

  “Constance is about the estate somewhere with her friends. I imagine they are in the kitchen for it has begun to rain.”

  “You must find her now, Elizabeth.”

  Thomas was alert and standing.

  “What is it?”

  Charles looked at the two of them as if trying to decide how much to say. Elizabeth spoke hurriedly.

  “King Henry was here earlier and asked about visitors – are you here on the same business?”

  Charles nodded.

  “A rumor started at court some months ago about Constance.”

  Elizabeth sucked in her breath.

  “They say she is the king’s daughter. King Henry ignores this rumor and rightfully so – it will fade like a morning fog if given no credence. But there are reports of some rebels about who escaped the king’s wrath in the north. They may have heard these rumors at court as well. He means to send a proper guard, but i
t must be done with discretion lest he confirm the child’s paternity thereby. Meantime, I am here.”

  “Speak quickly, son, for I hear horses upon the drive.” Thomas hurried him along and moved to the mantel. As Charles spoke he reached high above it and grasped the sword he had proudly displayed there since the day of Bosworth Field.

  “Those horses must belong to our enemies. They have come south after all and intend to take Constance. Their plan will be to assassinate Henry and put her on the throne in his place. They are here to abduct her without doubt!”

  Elizabeth flew out the library door.

  “Prudence!” she screamed. “Consuelo!”

  “My lady, what is the matter?” Prudence came running from the kitchen and the three little girls stood in the doorway.

  “They are here to take Constance. Help me!”

  Before she had finished speaking Prudence had turned to the children and gathered them together. Charles and Thomas joined them as a great jostling was heard beyond the front door, followed by an incessant and urgent pounding. In his hand, Thomas held his sword. Grabbing up Constance, Charles he ran for the back door, screaming orders over his shoulder.

  “Thomas, you must defend long enough for me to get away with Constance!”

  Thomas followed him.

  “Your horse will still be in the stable. Ride man, RIDE!”

  As Charles disappeared, Thomas placed himself at the back door. Prudence grabbed hold of Mary and Agnes and half dragged, half carried them after Charles and Constance.

  “We will hide in the forest!” She screamed to Elizabeth as she ran past Thomas.

  Elizabeth composed herself and hastened to the front door. The rain was heavier now, and directly as she opened, a man with a drawn sword pushed past her into the hall.

  “Where is the lord of this manor?” he spoke loudly as others followed behind him.

  “My father is the Baron of Coudenoure, sir, and pray you…”

  The man, unshaven and disheveled, moved closer to her, his armed companions, wet and equally unkempt, crowding in behind.