“Have a seat, Your Grace, do rest,” little Lady Jane Grey said to Kate one late August afternoon whilst we walked around the fountain in the garden near the west wing of the castle. I handed the queen a fine linen cloth with which she wiped her brow before reposing on a cool stone bench. Thomas’s ward, Lady Jane, was a delightful child of nine who, if given leave, would spend every minute of the day that she was not with her tutors with the queen. Jane’s mother, Lady Frances Grey, was especially aware of her royal standing as the daughter of Queen Mary of France, King Henry’s younger sister. I knew that connection made Kate attend even more closely to Jane, though the child was so sweet one would care for her even if she were a lost waif—which she oft seemed to be.
The mist of the fountain carried on the breeze and refreshed us; I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment but then I felt Kate take my arm.
“I feel the lightest of pangs,” she said. “Mayhap it be time to find the midwife and Lord Thomas. For precautions.”
Lady Jane helped the queen into the castle and I set off to find the others. The midwife was sent for and left immediately to Kate’s chambers. I passed the baby’s nursery suite—recently done in Kate’s favorite colors of crimson and gold with summer light streaming in through the window that overlooked the gardens and the chapel. Fitting, I thought, for Kate’s babe. Mrs. Marwick had a room next door to the baby’s so that she could attend him in the night and nurse him if need be. There were several other rooms in the suite for the baby, though many of his attendants would be scattered through the house at large. Presently, I came to Thomas’s chambers. I knocked upon the door and one of his men appeared almost immediately.
“Yes?”
“I’m here to speak with Lord Thomas,” I said. Because I was close to the queen, he nodded, and I was let in immediately.
“Juliana!” Thomas stood from his desk, drew near to me, and took me in his arms for a moment, then held me at arm’s length. “How come you to me this afternoon?”
“’Tis the queen,” I said. “Her pains have begun and she sends for you.”
His face grew bright with enthusiasm. “I shall take my leave immediately to greet her afore her lying-in,” he said. He motioned to some letters he’d left on his table. “Could you please see that my page takes these for delivery?”
I nodded and he departed immediately. I took in hand the letters, which were already sealed. One was to Sir Paget, who Kate had told me had written to Thomas to tell him that the council remonstrated with Edward Seymour’s arrogance and unwillingness to take direction or counsel from others. I wondered what mischief Thomas had replied in return. One letter was to one of the king’s servants, by whom all knew Thomas sent small bits of spending monies to the king with which he might reward his servants or gamble. King Edward had been given no such funds by his uncle Edward Seymour, the lord protector. The last letter, I saw to my dismay, was addressed to the Lady Elizabeth at Hertford.
After delivering them to the page, who gave them to a messenger, who set out immediately, I returned to my lady’s chamber to find her abed. Lady Tyrwhitt, her closest lady in waiting, was at her side.
“Can I assist in any way?” I asked Lady Tyrwhitt.
“You may read aloud, to distract her,” she said. “And I’ve sent for cool drinks to help soothe her.”
I read aloud for some hours from Tyndale, from Erasmus, from the queen’s own books, and from such other stories and poems as would help her to better pass the time. After some hours the daylight waned and the babe still did not come.
My reading voice sped up with my agitation over her situation, and I had to force myself to speak slowly and steadily. I stopped as the midwife attended Kate.
“Here, now, I’ll just massage your belly and tissues and see if that helps the babe along,” the midwife said. She reached her hand under the sheets and when she made contact Kate screamed in agony.
The midwife pulled her hand out. “The babe is closer, and he’s turned properly. He will come.”
Night settled into day and early on the morning of August 30, my lady’s child was born with a lusty call from the lungs, upon which we all clapped and laughed with delight. ’Twas a girl and the queen held her to her bosom with delight touching upon ecstasy. I shed not a few tears, thanking God that my lady was safe delivered of the child she’d wished for these many years.
We hurried to get the queen cleaned up whilst she held the babe. The babe was then cleaned, too, and given to Mrs. Marwick to quickly suckle her before she was handed back to Kate.
“She shall be named Mary,” the queen dowager declared.
“Mary?” Lady Tyrwhitt inquired. “Are you sure? Not Maud after your mother nor Margery after Thomas’s?”
Kate shook her head firmly and insisted, “Her name shall be Mary.” It put me in mind of Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, insisting for mysterious reasons that his child should be named John.
Later, Thomas was brought into the room, and though he had hoped and presumed upon a son, he seemed delighted with both the babe and his wife.
The next day a messenger arrived with a letter from his brother, Edward, congratulating him on the birth of so pretty a daughter and encouraging Thomas that sons would soon follow. He signed the letter, “Your Loving Brother, Edward,” which brought Lord Thomas great pleasure as he read it aloud for all to hear.
Perhaps the child would be the soft yarn that knit these hearts together and I had a hope, watching Thomas and the babe and Kate in her birthing chamber, that the worst days were behind us and the best days lay ahead.
The very next day Kate was still abed, not unusual for a new mother, but her face was more flushed than when she’d delivered. I brushed out her hair and noticed that the back of her neck was burning. The day after, it was worse.
“Do you want to sit up or take a walk about the room?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “When I sit up I become faint and weak and must immediately lie down.” This worried me. I had seen Kate ill but a few times in the six years I had been in her household.
“Should I call Dr. Huicke?” I asked.
She appeared to contemplate the idea. “No,” she finally said. “I am not fully dressed. Mayhap we will wait but a while. You can bring me some cool watered wine.”
I left to fetch it and when I returned, Lady Tyrwhitt was attending upon her in my place. I then walked past her chamber and toward the baby’s rooms, where Mrs. Marwick rocked Mary and caught my eye as I went past her. She smiled, but wanly. Something was amiss.
Two days later, when I made my way to Kate’s chambers to help her dress, she was still in bed and unwilling to get up. “My throat is fair parched and chafed. ’Tis difficult to swallow at all.” That evening, the midwife insisted upon Dr. Huicke tending to Kate.
“I think this shall pass, madam, as you take your leisure and allow the body to recover,” he said. But when he turned to leave the room his face had a look of stark terror and I saw him turn left down the hallway toward Lord Thomas’s chambers and not toward his own.
Kate asked for Mary to be brought to her and so she, with the wet nurse, soon arrived behind Lady Tyrwhitt. Kate cooed to the child and kissed her and held her close, breathing in her powdery newborn perfume afore falling back into her cushions. Lady Tyrwhitt dismissed us all, but the next morning, one of her servants came to knock upon my chamber door. It was September fifth, six days after the birth.
“The queen wishes to see you,” she said. “Immediately and alone.”
I made my way to her chambers down the long, bright gallery of Sudeley Castle; dawn had brightly broken like an egg yolk tilting out of its shell, but the light did not spill into my lady’s chambers, as her draperies were still drawn against disease. One of her menservants stirred up her fire afore leaving the room, making the hot September morning unbearable. When he finished, we were alone.