Catherine turned her head toward the older woman and seemed to examine her. “Do you truly think so?” Her eyes were swimming with tears, this time for her disappointed husband rather than her dead daughter.
Margaret wished that she could take some of her pain onto herself, but she could only reassure her, “He loves you more than anything in this world.”
She held Catherine until she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Turning to take one last look before leaving the room, Margaret was struck by how young and innocent Catherine appeared with her cares removed by dreams. A few reddish blond locks trailed across her forehead and down her cheek, her soft breathing disturbing a few strands. Margaret took a deep breath and pulled at the heavy door, praying that she was right about Henry.
~~~~
Margaret was not present during the private moments shared between Henry and Catherine after a carefully chosen lady had been sent to him with the news of his daughter’s death. She was fidgeting outside the door to Catherine’s chamber when Henry strode out with his chest thrust forward in confidence though no smile lit his face.
“Please see to my dear wife, cousin,” He requested as he lifted Margaret from her expertly performed curtsey. “I know that she still grieves, but I wish for her to be healthy enough for God to bless us with another child. I have no doubt that your attendance will help her.”
He was already carrying on his way when Margaret managed to weakly respond. “I will do my best, your grace.”
Waiting for Henry to be out of sight in case he should decide to call her back, Margaret tapped her foot until she could spin around and enter Catherine’s room. She released the breath that she had been holding when she saw a look of contentment, if not happiness, on Catherine’s face. Forcing herself to a more casual pace, Margaret went to the edge of Catherine’s bed and waited for her to speak.
“You were right. He is not angry and only wishes to have me back in his bed.” The rosy glow of her cheeks gave deeper meaning to the slight lift of the corners of Catherine’s lips. “Maybe I will be able to do better than that.”
Margaret’s brow furrowed, but before she could pose a question Catherine continued. “I do believe that I may have been carrying twins.” Catherine’s smile broadened, but Margaret was reluctant to encourage false hope.
“What causes you to believe that?” she asked softly as she stroked the young queen’s hand.
Catherine peered around the room before answering, though both knew they were alone. “Look, and see if you do not agree.”
The bed coverings were swept away, and Catherine framed her small hands around her still bulging belly. “Another child remains in my womb, Margaret. I am almost certain of it.”
Catherine nodded to encourage Margaret’s touch, and so she did. “I should caution you that many women experience a swollen womb for many days beyond childbearing,” Margaret said as her fingers gently prodded and searched for evidence that life thrived underneath. “I will call for a physician to evaluate your condition, but you should remain in bed in either case. You must recover, especially if a child continues to grow within your womb. Did you mention this to Henry?”
Catherine’s lashes concealed her eyes as she slowly shook her head. “Not yet,” she admitted. “I did not want to be the bearer of false hope.”
Margaret tried to stifle her sigh of relief and hide it behind a smile. “That was wise. Let’s see what the learned physician thinks before we inform the king.”
Busying herself with unnecessary tidying of the room, Margaret awaited the physician’s arrival. She had once again sent Catherine’s other ladies and servants from the room. Whether Catherine was right or wrong, this needed to be a private moment. After adjusting the fall of a tapestry across the window for the fifth time, Margaret forced her hands to be still. She closed her eyes for a moment of silent prayer before fetching a dish of sweetmeats from a small table. Offering one to Catherine, she said, “You must build your strength.”
“Ah, you do know my weaknesses,” Catherine said as she eagerly swiped several of the sugary tidbits from the plate.
The sweetness seemed to melt across Margaret’s tongue, and she savored this simple pleasure before the disappointment that she was sure was about to come. Soon, a man was bustling into the room surrounded by an air of self-importance. Margaret tried to keep the smirk from her face that this man would demonstrate such confidence in the company of the queen as she licked the last of the sweetmeat from her lips and brushed her fingers on her skirt. She needn’t have concerned herself, because the arrogant man did not even glance her way.
“Your grace,” he said dismissively, placing his instruments upon a table that had been moved to the bedside for his use. “I have been called to examine you once again.”
Margaret bristled at his tone that inferred his opinion of this feminine silliness, and she moved forward to defend Catherine, almost forgetting that she did not believe her either. “Sir, I remind you that you address the queen,” she said as she placed herself at the opposite side of the bed and took Catherine’s hand.
The physician simply raised a bushy eyebrow at her and murmured, “Indeed.”
Margaret contented herself with silent support of her friend as the humiliating examination took place. How she wished that Catherine’s suffering would have worthwhile results. Could she trust this haughty physician to break the news with compassion?
With quick, precise movements, he took measurements and evaluated Catherine’s bloated womb. A few questions were asked in a clipped tone, the answers recognized by a single nod. Before she knew it, he was closing his case and offering Catherine a shallow bow. “It appears that you are correct, your grace. I believe a living child remains in your womb, and you can expect to deliver it this spring with proper rest and God’s blessings, of course.”
Words of comfort were already forming on Margaret’s lips when she realized what he had said. She looked to him with widened eyes, a silent question within them. He gave her one of his curt nods in response and strode from the room without another word. Margaret realized she was still staring at the door where he had disappeared with her mouth fallen slightly agape when the pressure of Catherine’s hand dragged her from her shock.
“You see, Margaret! God is with us, and he protects my remaining child.”
Catherine’s beauty shone once again in her joy, but Margaret could only manage a forced smile before she excused herself to visit the chapel. She would praise God for his mercy and beg his protection over the child that she was still not quite convinced existed.
As the days passed and Catherine’s body continued to show the symptoms of pregnancy, Margaret began to believe that she could have been wrong. Why was she so cynical regarding the physician’s diagnosis? Surely, he would receive no reward for false promises that demonstrated a lack of skill. She allowed herself to be caught up in Catherine’s joy. Despite the fact that they looked forward to weeks in the confinement quarters, both women looked at Catherine’s bulging stomach and saw a miracle.
March 1510
“I think we should have the king’s physician return.”
Catherine words were barely louder than a whisper, and Margaret had been expecting to hear them for days. Throughout the month of February, they had been filled with excitement for the coming child. In their cozy rooms, Margaret stitched tiny clothes while Catherine worked on new shirts for Henry. They had shared secret smiles and calm contentedness while they patiently waited for the babe to grow strong. However, as more time passed and Catherine’s womb started to shrink rather than grow, Margaret’s doubts returned.
“Have you felt the babe’s movements?” Margaret asked, remembering her own children making their presence well known at this stage.
“I’m not sure,” Catherine admitted, her voice even lower than before.
Margaret clamped her lips together as she turned away to put away her sewing before addressing the queen’s concerns. “I will see that he attends
you as soon as one of Henry’s men can have him here.” Not feeling prepared to offer continued false hope, she quietly left the room without saying more.
When he arrived, his posture was slightly stooped and the lines seemed to be more deeply engraved on his face. He did not address the queen with any more respect than in his first visit, but exasperation replaced the confidence he had exuded. After a brief examination and a few questions that he appeared to not need the answers to, he stood to his full height and arranged himself into a confident stance.
“My apologies for being the bearer of unfortunate news,” he began, and tears were already streaking down Catherine’s face. “I believe that your grace has lost the second child as well, or there is a possibility that it never existed.”
As sobs shook Catherine’s shoulders, Margaret was rooted to her seat. She couldn’t take her eyes off this man who refused to take responsibility for his part in her grief. She knew there was no point in asking him why he had given the favorable news in the first place. He would find a way to blame it on Catherine. He did not glance at either woman again as he packed up the tools of his trade and left the room. His job was done, and the aftermath was not his problem.
“Margaret, I don’t understand! Wouldn’t I know if I had lost another child?”
Watching tears roll down Catherine’s blotchy skin and hearing her innocent inquiry, Margaret’s heart softened. The doctor no longer mattered. Her task was to comfort this woman who was both her friend and her queen.
~~~~
Henry accepted the news with only a hint of frustration. Whether he was upset over the time lost as Catherine laid in pointless confinement or the failure of the physician serving him to provide him with what he wanted, Margaret was not certain. Catherine was hurriedly churched so that she could return to his bed, and the child, or children, were not mentioned in Margaret’s presence again.
After the ebb and flow of the past months’ emotions, Margaret was relieved to obtain leave to see to her own estates and her children. She left feeling confident that Catherine’s healing would continue in Henry’s capable hands.
May 1510
Not only was Margaret thankful to be away from court for a time, but she had the added joy of preparing for her son’s wedding and the accompanying celebrations. Negotiations with the Nevilles had gone as expected, with the match between Henry and Jane pleasing all parties involved. After her own traumatic childhood, Margaret was determined to provide well for her own children. She had little to leave them, but her Plantagenet blood still made her children an attractive possibility to those with family details other than money to worry about.
It also pleased her that the young couple appeared to enjoy each other’s company. While it was not a requirement for the marriage to be successful, Margaret did hope that her children would also have the opportunity to enjoy the kind of love that she had shared with Richard.
Henry would be well placed within the king’s circle, or so she hoped. Surely, the distrust and fighting for position that had been part of his father’s reign had no place in the court of Henry VIII. He was quite secure upon the throne, and, though Margaret wanted great things for her children, the crown was not one of her objectives. She had seen what that ambition had done to her father and what the threat of it had done to her brother. No, her family’s noble blood would be respected but never suspect. She could count on her close relationship with Catherine to ensure that Henry never doubted her loyalty.
Preparations for the upcoming nuptials were organized and carried out with precision by Margaret alone since Jane’s mother had recently died. This arrangement suited Margaret just fine, since Lord Bergavenny would still be paying for half of the cost of the celebrations. The guests were chosen with care, and the event would embrace simple elegance rather than gaudy opulence. This fit both Margaret’s taste and her household budget.
Bergavenny had offered a generous jointure to seal the union, once it was complete, which would increase if his daughter gave birth to a son and he continued to have none of his own. Margaret was confident that Henry would eventually inherit half of the Bergavenny estates through his wife, since the almost fifty year old nobleman was now without a wife and in possession only of two daughters. She felt she had provided quite well for her oldest son, and was already making plans for the others in the back of her mind.
She was not anxious to see her children married off, but she knew it was the way of the world and would rather see things done on her own terms. None of her children would be married to a relative stranger at the innocent age of fourteen, as she had been, but she also would not wait until the best opportunities had passed them by. Henry’s proposed match appeared to be all she could have hoped for him.
As she considered the vast swirling mists of the future, Margaret thought of Reginald. Of all her children, he had somehow found favor with Henry Tudor. She had no marriage plans to make for him because he was firmly entrenched in the scholarly life at Sheen’s Carthusian Monastery. Whether the current king’s father had made the appointment out of obligation to Richard Pole, guilt toward Margaret, or love for Reginald, Margaret would never know. What she did know was that Reginald thrived in the austere environment and had a great love of learning. Not many young boys would appreciate the setting of seriousness and devotion, but she had seen for herself that Reginald adored living there.
The new King Henry had confirmed his father’s commitment to supporting Reginald’s education, and Margaret knew that he would have a bright future without an heiress for a wife.
Margaret was hesitant to place her hopes on England’s new king, but Henry had provided evidence of his intent to raise the Pole family from the impoverished obscurity that his father had left them in, much as he had lifted Catherine from widow and displaced princess to queen. Margaret’s oldest son had a place in the king’s household, and, she hoped, he would soon also be given a title. She felt that it was only natural for the king to impart one of her family’s titles upon Henry, even if his father had never been more than a knight.
Leaning back in the chair that used to be Richard’s, Margaret stretched and looked toward the study’s large windows. Instead of bright sunlight streaming in, the purple of night gazed blankly back at her. She blinked as she realized how cold and dark the room had become. Still, she rose with a smile, well pleased with her day’s work and planning. When she reached the door, she paused, remembering all the times she had entered the room to see Richard. She hadn’t believed that she could survive without him. Her fingers lightly touched the worn wood as though some essence of the man who had made the imprints upon it was still present, but the smile did not leave her face. She could look back with happiness at what she had with her husband, but she was also proud of herself. She was head of the Pole family now, and she would serve with a fervency that would make Richard proud of her.
Returning to the study the next day, Margaret had mixed feelings about a message that had been delivered. The seal, ribbons, and quality of parchment told her who the sender was without reading a word. After breaking the seal, her stomach began to churn uncomfortably. She was summoned back to court to wait upon the queen as soon as Henry and Jane were reasonably settled.
Her peace within the refuge of Bockmer would soon be at its end.
January 1511
Margaret had monitored Catherine with more care than she would deem appropriate for a small child through the months since her return to London. If it were at all within her power, this child would be healthy and robust. She spent her days tempting Catherine with sweet, exotic oranges and wine spiced with ginger, as well as praying for the safe delivery of England’s next prince. Catherine’s other ladies were strictly ordered to keep to themselves any rumors about where Henry was finding his satisfaction while his wife was unavailable to him.
“You will not upset the queen, or I will see that you are sent home to your families in disgrace,” she had informed them. Each of the younger ladies quickly d
emurred to this cousin of the king, while those who were older smiled as they saw a little of the Plantagenet fire in Margaret that she rarely demonstrated.
By the time January arrived, Margaret felt that her efforts had been worthwhile. Catherine was in full bloom and had encountered no problems. Both women thanked God daily for her good health, and Henry showed no signs that he was concerned about the risk of a second tragedy. Everything went according to Henry’s plans, why should the birth of his son be any different?
Thankful to be in confinement rooms warmed by the rosy glow of a roaring fire instead of part of the New Year festivities, Margaret relaxed her watch. Catherine could safely deliver any time now, and Margaret felt tension leave her shoulders that had been building there throughout the previous months. She had to laugh to herself, thinking that she was likely more nervous than the child’s father.
The women who had been carefully selected to attend the queen at this time were relaxing in the cozy room. Catherine was working, as she often seemed to be, on a new shirt for her husband. Although he could easily have them made anywhere, it was a task that she felt strongly should be put to her own wifely hands. Margaret was moved by the idea that only fabric that had gone through Catherine’s hands would touch her husband’s chest, even if her hands were not the only ones to caress his skin.
There had been no discussion of Henry’s wandering eye, and Margaret felt she had scored a minor victory. She had no doubt that Henry had found a buxom companion to keep him warm and that Catherine would have guessed as much, but keeping names and details from her had helped ease the queen’s suffering. Little enough was within Margaret’s control, so she accepted her success where she could.
Faithful Traitor: The Story of Margaret Pole (Plantagenet Embers Book 2) Page 5
