Chapter Twelve
Whose nature is to prey upon no simple food,
As long as he may suck the flesh, and drink of noble blood.
~Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
December 21, 1536
Edward’s father, Sir John Seymour, died early in the morning while visiting friends in London.
The sweat. Likely, King Henry would remove everyone to Greenwich to be away from the city should more illness break out.
I must tell Jane before I leave. I must away to Wulfhall. Even though my lying in wouldn’t begin for another two months, my belly was more than swollen. All of my gowns were too tight, and they’d been let out more times than I could count. I did not think any extra fabric remained. New gowns had been ordered just for this time. I felt like a fat, bloated sow. I’d been keeping to my rooms lately, and when I did walk through court, people had started to stare and whisper, pointing at my increasing waistline. Either they thought me a glutton or they knew the truth.
This morning was no different. Through the throngs of people milling about the corridor, I somehow managed to enter the queen’s chambers without losing my temper. More and more, people were lingering outside the queen’s rooms. Hoping for this favor or that, wanting to sit in the gracious light of her aura, hoping she would pass along a word or two to the king. Jane had become beloved of the people. And, but of course, she was the kindest, most gracious queen they’d had in the past several years. Some said her disposition even rivaled the great late Queen Katharine of Aragon.
I wondered what Jane’s reaction would be to the news of her father’s death. Edward had let out a breath of relief upon hearing the news. I thought he’d been secretly scared for the last few years we’d been married that I would take a liking to his father just as his first wife had done. But I would never dream of doing such a thing. Never.
Thomas had not seemed to care much, either. In fact, he was more than perturbed that Wulfhall was now Edward’s and not his. He was only a second son, and instead of embracing his birth order, he constantly gnashed his teeth at Edward. His sense of entitlement grated on my nerves, but Edward coddled him, stroking Thomas’ ego, and telling him he would gift him with his own manor in the north.
On the heels of the great news of the quelling of the rebellion came a sadness I hoped wouldn’t deter Jane from her agendas as queen. The Pilgrimage of Grace had been dissolved earlier this month, but rumors had been floating around that another round of risings would soon begin. The sorry peasants and lowly gentry weren’t happy with the king’s pardon and grace upon their demands. Ungrateful they were.
The duty had fallen to me to drop both these bits of sour news on Her Majesty.
“Majesty.” I curtsied somewhat awkwardly to Jane, who sat rigid in her chair.
She nodded to me. Her face was pale, hair pulled back severely. Purple marred her perfect skin beneath her eyes. She hardly looked like the woman she’d been—before she was queen and married to Henry. Back when she was carefree and happy. I was haunted, as I pictured another queen who looked just as taxed... Anne Boleyn had been carefree before the queenship sucked any ounce of joy from her.
With a graceful movement of her arm, she offered me the seat next to her. I took it, arranging my skirts in a way to hide my pregnancy as best I could. The babe kicked, as if shouting for me to announce its presence.
“Jane.” I leaned in, whispered, “There is some news I must make you aware of.”
She nodded, not even looking a bit stunned by my statement. News to her must have come in waves, one bad thing after another, and she had no emotion for it any longer.
“Your father, Sir John.” I paused, took a breath. “He has passed this morning.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open, and her hand fluttered to cover it. Tears gathered in her eyes but did not fall on her thin cheeks.
“I am so sorry.” I gripped her hand and squeezed. It was cold, small, fragile.
She only nodded.
“There is more.” This was the worst part, and I had no desire to keep speaking. I wanted to run from the room, for who was I to be the bearer of such news and orders?
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“You are not to attend the funeral.”
She whipped her gaze toward mine, squeezed my hand tight. Anger, hurt, desperation, all flashed over her features. “Why?” Her voice cracked on a sob. Pain shredded my heart for her.
“The king says the queen’s place is here. He believes it as a bad omen. That if you are with child, it could hurt the baby. Something of evil spirits.”
She stood abruptly. “But I am not with child!” she shrieked, her hair falling out of its tight coiffure to dangle around her face. Her once-pale cheeks flushed with color, hands fisted at her sides, then one came rushing to her mouth as she bit her knuckles.
I was startled silent. I’d never seen Jane more than demure, and now she was angry, an emotion I’d never known she possessed. It was shocking. I waved to the others in the room to leave. They filed out slowly, quietly.
“Queens are not allowed to mourn? Was I not a daughter before a wife?” Her voice was soft, and tears did fall this time.
“Your Majesty, I beseech you, come sit.” I patted her chair. I wanted to calm her, stroke her hands.
Jane sat down just as abruptly as she’d stood up. Her face fell, defeated. I stood behind her, fixing her hair.
“How?”
“It was the sweat. They say he passed quickly.”
Jane nodded. She was silent for a long time. When I finished with her hair, I sat beside her.
“Shall I read you a passage from the Bible?”
But she did not answer my question. Instead she spoke of her father. “He was a good father. He had his faults, as any man does, but in the end he was still my sire.”
“And he loved you.”
“As any father does a daughter. Let us pray.” She gripped my hand in hers and urged me toward the door. “The Queen’s Chapel. We must say a prayer for Sir John Seymour.”
I followed her, indicating for her other ladies to join us. On our knees we were for hours. The bells chimed at least four times, but I lost count. By the time Jane was ready to leave I was barely able to make it up off the floor. My back ached, my belly strained.
Jane gripped my arm in hers, and we walked briskly back to her chambers. “I need something good, Anne. I need something happy to hear, something to make me smile.” She bit her lip, her gaze roving over my belly. She raised her gaze back to mine, her eyes begging. “Tell me something good.”
I told her the only thing I knew that would excite Jane, because even if her own womb remained empty, she would be pleased to hear mine grew. She was unselfish in that way. “Edward and I are… expecting.”
A smile broke out on Jane’s face. “I thought as much! I wish you well.”
King Henry burst into our interlude, and we stopped in mid-stride. “Away we go, my queen.” His speech was hurried, and he held out his arm. His guards stood behind him, all grim-faced.
“Where are we to go?” Jane asked.
“Greenwich, away from the city. We shall spend Christmas there, and away from… illness.”
Jane bowed her head in acquiescence.
“I am…sorry for your loss. My prayers are with your father’s soul.” The king sounded almost awkward, as if he were not used to comforting others.
“My thanks, Majesty,” Jane whispered.
“Now, we must away.”
Moments later, I watched from the window as the king and queen took off with great haste on their horses, their breaths coming out in steaming bursts from the cold. Jane was swathed in black sable furs, as was the king. A majestic pair they made. From my position I watched them journey to the Thames, and instead of climbing upon a barge—I gasped—they rode their horses straight across the frozen river. All the more magical and kingly they appeared, dressed out in finery that would cost a lowly man a lifetime to afford, as they walked on water.
December 23, 1536
A cold blustery wind whipped at my black ermine-lined cloak. Small flakes of snow dusted the ground. They landed, and just as quickly melted, on the neck of my saddled mare. Edward had boosted me onto the beast’s back, and for a moment I almost lost my balance. My stomach looked like I swallowed a goose, and for as thin as I’ve always been, having the bubble on my belly had thrown my balance off kilter.
Edward would escort me to Wulfhall, but he must return to court to attend the Christmas and New Year festivities. I would be spending the holidays alone, servants my only company. Why should I have to suffer without his company? Why must a woman bear all the burdens of carrying a child and be ousted from the world? I should be bored to tears, and loneliness would fill my moments. It was unbearable to think on it, let alone know I shall endure it!
Edward shouted orders to one of the servants, and then stepped around the baggage wagon to make certain everything was in order. I peered up at the castle, which had been my home for some time, the people inside my constant company for days on end. Now, I had to leave it all behind for several months.
A shadow crossed over a chamber window, and I squinted my eyes to get a better look.
Anthony.
He pulled back a curtain and gazed out at me through the frosted glass. I chewed the inside of my cheek. The king had sent him on many errands since our last encounter. He’d yet to call on me as he’d promised. Was it only a threat to keep me on my toes, or would he wait until I returned? What a game we played. Despite the disgust and anger I had for myself, for him, on most days, I found myself hoping that he would come to me soon. I could not seem to let go or live without him. I missed his arms and the touch of his lips on mine, as brief as our encounters had been. I even missed the fire in his eyes as he shouted at me. Even though I refused to admit it, his love and our limited time together had affected me. It was different than Edward, who I felt more and more alone with. He’d barely touched me since learning I was carrying our babe. Perhaps protecting himself. I don’t know.
Anthony inclined his head. I returned the gesture, ignoring the fluttering of my stomach. ’Twas completely dangerous to let his charms overwhelm me again. And his threats had only been those of a spurned lover. I knew in my heart, Anthony was different than Surrey—not violent or hateful but full of hunger and determination.
The baby kicked violently at the change in my body as my heart skittered and my breathing increased. I rubbed a soothing hand over the swell in my gown. Baby Seymour would be with us soon, and I prayed fervently it was a girl. I fingered my arm, where I had sewn my rosary into my gown—this I did each morning. I never left without it. My prayer beads. My salvation.
Without faith, I was not certain I could endure all that I did. Nor trust Edward to remain in contact with all of our allies, see that certain information was gained or passed, for that was a duty I’d not shared with him. I’d been the sounding board, the mastermind. His brother Tom would do all that he could to usurp his brother, of that I was certain. I should remind Jane of her promise to encourage King Henry to send Tom abroad.
“My lady?” Edward called to me.
I turned around in time to see him looking up toward the castle where I had been staring. He flicked his eyes away and beckoned to me. Had he seen Anthony? Were thoughts of the babe in my belly and my almost-lover flitting through his mind?
I hoped not, for as much as I cared about Anthony, I would remain by Edward’s side, for we’d married before God and it was my duty. I urged my horse into a slow walk, the clopping of hooves on cobblestone a comforting noise. The creak of the wagons rocking behind me, the occasional crow of a bird and the wind whipping by were the sounds of my journey.
My months of isolation were about to begin.
January 18, 1537
Elizabeth Seymour, Edward’s sister, arrived today to keep me company for my lying in. Although at five and twenty, she’d been widowed once already, no children had come of her short marriage to a knight. We should see about getting her married again, and once we did, with God’s blessing, she would go through the labors of childbirth herself. Already, Edward sought a mate for his sister. The poor girl was as of yet unaware that she too would be made a sacrificial lamb for the Seymour family rising. The groom was my idea altogether, and I was quite proud of my choosing—none other than Gregory Cromwell. Son to the Thomas Cromwell—secretary to the king—the very man Edward hoped to replace. A genius plan it was, too, for not only would we infiltrate Cromwell’s circle of family and comfort, but strengthen the Seymour name and prosperity by further linking ourselves to the king’s Privy Seal. And soon, Edward could have the means to obtain the coveted position of Secretary and keep of the Privy Seal.
I’d been stir crazy with little company. My back ached, and I paced the length of the great hall, my hands rubbing the aching spots around my hips and spine.
“When is the babe due to arrive?” Elizabeth asked. I was so glad of her company and that Queen Jane let her out of service for a few weeks to visit me. Although the trek from court to Wulfhall was not far, I’d had little to no visitors—mainly to keep the news of Edward’s own heir a secret.
“Perhaps a few weeks longer. The midwife says the baby’s dropped onto my spine, makes me waddle, but I can breathe easier now.” I waved my hand in the air. I did not want to talk about the baby anymore. I did not need any more reminders of why I was here, the boredom I was enduring, the isolation. I did not want to think about what Edward was doing, and who was warming his bed.
“Tell me news of court. How is Queen Jane?”
Elizabeth smiled and launched into a litany of comings and goings. Chapuys was solicitous as ever to Queen Jane and His Majesty. He visited with Lady Mary almost every other day.
I waited eagerly to hear if Jane Rochford had been caught in a compromising position with Surrey, but no such words were uttered from Elizabeth’s lips.
“His Majesty is having pounds of ginger, peppers, oysters, almonds, artichokes and the likes shipped in. I think he’s grown impatient of Jane not producing an heir. Someone must have told him that those items would help to bring forth conception.”
I turned my head and snickered. Jane must have told him that herself.
“He is remaining kind to her?” I asked, worried for Jane.
“Well, there was one incident.” Elizabeth took a sip of mulled cider as I waited on bated breath for her to continue.
“Do go on.” I lost my patience, and Elizabeth looked at me over the rim of her cup, her brows furrowed slightly.
“Ornery when well into your pregnancy, are you not?”
Elizabeth was so much like me that it was sometimes comical. “Yes,” I muttered. “Now complete your rendition before I take to my bed and cannot hear the rest of it.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “They were at dinner, and Jane commenced her usual barrage of uninteresting but sweet and na?ve small talk with His Majesty.”
The corner of my lip curled with humor. How much I missed court, and why hadn’t I spent more time with my sister-by-marriage? She was quite a character.
“He grew quite bored and even irritated, which is not like him at all when in his wife’s company. He tossed down his napkin—” Elizabeth flung her hand just as Henry would have. “Shoved back his chair and stood, hands on his hips. Jane, he said in a raised voice, not quite a yell, but definitely startling, why is it you are not with child? I’ve spent months laboring over your body, stuffing my face with this delicacy and that, and yet there is no life in your womb!”
I was struck speechless. My heart raced as I waited to hear how Jane got out of this mess, and without me there to comfort her! A twang pierced the side of my belly, and I took a seat, lest I bring on labor with my worry. Oh, Jane! To have had to endure His Majesty’s wrath. Did he suspect she might be barren? She could not be! It was impossible! Yet… married for over seven months now…
“What next?”
Elizabeth tucked a hair behind her ear that had fallen from her hood. “Jane, my stoic, queenly sister, folded her hands in her lap, back rigid, and looked His Majesty in the eye. Gracious Majesty, a babe will follow soon, I feel it in my bones. It is God’s will that the child should not come so soon, so we might come to love one another with so great a passion that nothing could tear us apart, not even those rebels in the north. The Lord, and you, must have wished that the child be born when we can devote so much of our time to growing a healthy babe, and not one steeped in war and rebellion.”
“And the king?”
“He broke into laughter, threw his arms around her and swung her in the air, lamenting, God’s will be done! God bless Queen Jane!”
“It worked?” I whispered. Jane was learning so well how to deal with her husband, Henry VIII, the most volatile man alive.
Later that evening I received a letter from Lady Exeter, whom I missed dearly, but did send me almost weekly correspondence. She wrote about Bigod’s Rebellion. The rebels had once again taken up arms, as they weren’t impressed with the king’s keeping of his promises. This time, Norfolk would show no mercy.
February 5, 1537
“Hell and damnation!”
Pain seared through my belly before wrapping its way around my back and radiating down my legs. Sweat dripped from my forehead, over my cheeks, down my neck, before seeping into my nightgown.
“My lady, please breathe, deep breaths.” The midwife breathed in and out, showing me how she wished for me to emulate her, but the only thing I wanted to do was rip the babe from my belly to stop the pain.
“Stop breathing like that, you wench!” I yelled at the elder woman. My head fell back, and I half moaned, half screamed as another torrent of pain pummeled my body.
My hands fisted into the folds of the blankets on the bed, soaked with blood and clear liquid from my womb. Elizabeth stood to the side of the bed, praying, as did Jenny and several other maids.
“His lordship is arrived,” came someone’s voice, but I could not begin to think who it was. The black fog of pain was fully encompassing me now. I could no longer talk, no longer hear, no longer scream. I felt like the pain was taking over, yet somehow it was focusing me at the same time. The opening of my birth canal stung with an intensity I never wanted to feel again. Pressure built within me, and I closed my eyes. I pushed hard, bearing down with all the strength I could muster. Some of the pressure released, but the stinging grew far worse, I opened my mouth to whimper, but no noise came out.
Instead I opened my eyes and focused on the door, willing Edward to come into the room and see what he’d put me through. I bore down again, and this time when I was finished, relief, sweet pure relief, filled me. The cry of the babe filled the room, and I fell back against the pillows, spent, exhausted, no longer in pain.
“It’s a boy!” the midwife shouted.
I turned to look at the squirming pink child, slick with goo as the midwife swaddled him up. No! Not a boy! It was supposed to be a girl…
“Edward,” I murmured.
“A fine name, my lady.”
I did not bother trying to correct the woman. I had only been asking after my husband, but I supposed she was right, it was a fitting name for Viscount Beauchamp’s son. He was a beautiful baby, and I smiled as a tiny fist came out to wave haphazardly in the air, almost as if the child were triumphantly saluting his own arrival.
At that moment, Edward rushed into the room. He beheld his child, and a look of horror crossed over his face seconds before one of elation took precedence. I knew the feeling, for I, too, had been filled with dread at first. A son and not a daughter. But when one saw one’s own child, it was hard to remain filled with anything but joy.
“His name is Edward. We shall call him Eddie,” I murmured.
Edward turned to me, the little babe in his arms. I did not think I would ever forget the look on his face. Such love for the wee thing, such love for me. I was more in love with him at that moment than any other, and the little tiny blond-tufted head—gold, like mine—made it all the more spectacular.
“The king and queen are with me.”
Fear punched my gut. “They are?”
“Do not worry so, my Anne.” Edward came over and sat beside me, kissed me on the forehead and laid Eddie in my arms. “They are both pleased.”
Two days later, Eddie was baptized, Jane standing as his godmother and King Henry as his godfather. King Henry titled our little Eddie, Baron Beauchamp.
At the feast following Mass, King Henry stood and gave a speech, which Edward later came up to tell me about, as I was confined to my room until I could be churched. His last words haunted my dreams for weeks to come.
“Boys must run in the Seymour family. My Jane will soon deliver me of a prince. I can feel it.” Conviction had filled Henry’s voice, his eyes challenging anyone who would naysay him.
March 24, 1537
Norfolk had begun executing rebels in the north. Even children.
My babe was nearly seven weeks old, and I had been churched earlier in the week. Free to leave Wulfhall when I pleased. But I was not ready… and now this news. The rebels should suffer the consequences, but the children?
For as much as I had abhorred children before, looking upon my own little Eddie now, I could not imagine his sweet little feet dangling from the end of his body, lifeless from the hangman’s noose.
Anthony had written me a cryptic note—the first since I’d left for my confinement. Cromwell would be inviting the leader of the rebels, Robert Aske, to court again in just over a week, under false pretenses. Henry had had enough. He would no longer stroke the egos of men who wished to defame him and his reformation.
I must say that I agreed, and I was surprised that he had let it go on as long as he had. Perhaps Jane had been a sort of peacemaker for the English court. Good for those who wished to rebel, but bad for those who must remain in power.
I crinkled up the letter that Anthony had sent me and tossed it into the fire. No need for anyone to find out that we’d been in communication regarding politics.
Nor for anyone to read his post script.
I miss you, dearest Anne. My promise of one night has not been forgotten.
No flowery words, only a reminder of his desire to spread my legs. I huffed an irritated sigh and paced before the warm, crackling fire. I was disappointed. Wished he would have said something more about the heart. But, then again, that might have pushed me over the edge. An edge I knew to cross would mean certain ruin. And yet, if I did not cross it, what would he do? There’d been plenty of spurned lovers and quarrels at court, but to do so would only put shame on our family. Make Edward hate me.
The sooner I was able to return to court and refuted Anthony’s insistence on bedding me, the better. I needed to put my relationship with him behind me. Any whispers in my mind of a reconciliation were only the product of an emotional woman. A lonely wife.
Anthony was a distraction. The emotions and sensations he elicited from me would only cause pain—to me, him and any number of other people. I was a mother now. I could not leave my babe, for that was what would happen should Edward find out about my straying heart. He’d send me to a convent or worse. I reached up toward my neck, the familiar choking sensation poignant. I had taken my black choker off since giving birth, but perhaps it was a good reminder of what was at stake, and I should don it once again.
Perhaps the solution to my problem lay with the young and sensual Anne Bassett. So far she’d kept a low profile as I had asked, but having her woo Anthony would be good practice for the time when Jane would be indisposed to His Majesty. It would get him off my case if I could help him become infatuated with someone else… And if he weren’t paying attention to me, mayhap some of my own interest in the man would abate.
“My lady, this has just arrived for you.” Jenny swept into the great hall, curtsied and handed me a pack of parchment. Jane’s royal seal was melted in the wax.
Without hesitation, I cracked the seal and opened her letter, reading it as I walked toward the hearth.
My dearest sister Anne,
I wish for you to return to court and join me by Easter. I hear you have been churched. I have missed your company dearly, and wish to make merry with you, for I have great reason to be happy.
Yours in truth,
Jane the Queen
That was in one week’s time! I had much packing to do, and I had not thought to leave little Eddie quite so soon. But I supposed he would be in good care. I had taken the time since his birth to arrange his household, as a baron in his own right, son of a viscount, and nephew to the King and Queen of England. He would be well cared for by his team of nursemaids and nearly thirty servants.
I looked away from her letter, my eyes caught by the flames in the hearth. Embers glowed red, and orange licked over the logs. Herbs that had been strewn inside left a sweet earthy scent.
I had grown fond of rocking the little cherub to sleep at night. Becoming a mother had changed me a great deal. I cherished my child as I’d never thought I would. Mayhap Edward would allow Eddie to remain with me at court?
I turned away from the fire. Servants began setting the tables for our next meal. I chewed on my lip. Taking Eddie from palace to palace would have been wholly unfair to the child. Court was no place to raise a babe. Even the princesses never lived at court. A visit now and again would be fine, and Wulfhall was not so very far away that I could not visit often enough. Still, my heart was breaking.
Such feelings had to be banked. Just as I could not let my feelings for Sir Anthony get in the way of the Seymour objective, I could not let my love and infatuation with my son interfere either. Was not all of this for him? The boy was heir to the Seymour family seat. I sucked in my breath, turned back toward the hearth and tossed Jane’s letter into the fire with a long sigh. We must pave the way for his future.