Chapter Twenty-One
Wherefore I would you know, that for your coyed looks,
I am no man that will be trapp'd, nor tangled with such hooks.
~Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
Although I’d never witnessed a natural disaster myself, word traveled fast from those who had. Volcanoes erupting and hot liquid fire eating the flesh from bones, houses melting into the red, bubbling lava. Avalanches happened in the Highlands of Scotland often enough—entire mountains of snow eating up whole villages. Quicksand beneath a troop of horses’ feet just giving way and eating the living whole. What I felt now was like a natural disaster. I was devastated, lost, unprepared and, at times, hysterical.
When I arrived at Wulfhall, little Eddie was worse off than simply the fever the messenger had warned me of. He was pale, so pale, his lips white as snow. I trembled as I took in his tiny frame upon the large four-poster, white linen sheets up to his chest, his little arms on top of the sheets laid out at his sides. Was he breathing?
My heart physically hurt, and my lip bled from how hard I bit into it.
I walked closer and took hold of one of his little hands. His body was hot and his hand limp. His chest rose and fell, but spastically. A cry fell from my lips, and I dropped to my knees and gathered his limp body into my arms. “Please, God. Please, God, have mercy on my baby!”
The fever had sucked most of the life from him and threatened to take the rest as well.
This was my punishment. God was punishing me for breaking my marriage vows and succumbing to lust. I pray to thee! Never again will I stray! Please, let my baby live! Please!
I did not care that it was nearing on midnight. I woke the house. The servants would not sleep while their young master lay ill. Fires were stoked throughout the manner. Servants brought fresh pitchers of cool water every thirty minutes. A broth and herbal drought were made, and I sat for three days and nights, personally administering to my baby. He lay so weak, unmoving, not even crying out. I was near delirium checking for a pulse and holding a mirror to his nose to check for breath.
One the fourth morning, his little eyes opened. The whites of his eyes were yellow with sickness, the outsides red-rimmed.
“Mama,” he barely whispered.
I squeezed his hand and kissed his little cheek. “Mama is here, Eddie. Mama will make you better.”
But he fell back to sleep without saying anything. I waved to the nurse to get the physician, who entered a few moments later.
“He spoke. He said, ‘Mama.’” I alternated between wringing my hands and rubbing Eddie’s arm. My eyes stung from lack of sleep, and I felt nauseated nearly constantly.
“He is on the mend, my lady. The fever is not quite as hot. You need to rest, else you take ill yourself.”
I nodded. If my baby was on the mend, it would not hurt to sleep a few hours myself. I did, after all, have another babe to think about as well. But I did not care so much about the one growing in my belly. I had yet to see it, the spark of life had yet to make the little thing kick, and Eddie had been my baby nigh on two years. His little cherubic face made my world go round.
The physician was correct, though. If I was going to be any good and continue to nurse little Eddie back to health, I needed to get some sleep. I stood on shaky legs and almost collapsed.
The physician pressed the back of his hand to my forehead. “No fever, thank God above. Go and get some rest, my lady. I will have Cook send you some food.”
“Yes, I will. You have my gratitude for all you have done.” I turned to the nurse who looked just as ragged as myself. “When I return, you may go and get some rest yourself, but if he stirs, come and get me, or if anything else changes, come and get me at once.”
“As you say, my lady. God bless you.”
“And our little Eddie.”
Someone was shaking me.
Hard.
I tried to open my eyes, but they refused. I told the shaker to stop, to let me open my eyes, but they just kept shaking me, kept holding my eyes closed.
“My lady! Wake, you must wake!”
The urgent sound of the woman’s voice woke me immediately. My vision was blurred, but at least my lids had obeyed me.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” I said with authority. How was it this servant thought she could wake me from sleep in such a way? I would need to train these servants better. They’d best not be waking up my own little Ed—
Then I remembered and sat straight up, tossing the covers and jumping to my feet.
“What has happened?” I grabbed the maid by her shoulders, shook her.
Her head flopped back and forth, but she did not speak.
“Answer me!”
“It’s Lord Eddie, my lady. His fever’s gotten worse.”
I threw on my robe not bothering to dress. My feet were bare as I ran from my chambers down the hall to where Eddie’s own room was.
When I entered, the physician had a bowl full of blood, and a small incision was on my baby’s arm.
“What the hell are you doing?” I bellowed.
The physician looked at me like I was a lunatic. “He needed to be bled, my lady. The humours—”
All I could think of was sweet Jane. And the bowl beside Eddie… there was too much blood there. “You’ve bled him too much!”
I rushed the physician and pushed him with all my might. He stumbled backward, the blood sloshing from the pan.
“Out! Out! Do not ever lay foot in my home again!”
He sputtered and glared, but I turned away, no longer hearing what things came from his mouth. All I could do was look at my baby. I thought he had been pale before, but now he looked almost transparent, his skin so thin, all the veins showing through its whiteness.
“Summon the priest,” I muttered to the nurse who sat beside the boy.
“What, my lady?” Her lips trembled.
“I said summon the priest!”
“Yes, my lady.” She rushed from the room.
Eddie looked as sweet as Jane had when laid out in state. So quiet, so at peace. I refused to believe he was going to die. I dropped to my knees and began praying. I offered up penance after penance, if the Lord would just see to it to keep my baby with me.
The priest came in and began to pray and read psalms from his Bible. The servants filed in and prayed. I stayed there on my knees for I did not know how long. The sun was there, then it was gone, and then it was there again. Still nothing changed. I left for only a minute to relieve myself, splash water on my face, but that was it. I refused food, I refused drink. I only wanted to be with my baby boy.
By nightfall, Eddie had not improved. If anything, he grew worse. His once-shallow breaths grew rapid, then slowed again to a rattle. He sounded almost as if he could not get enough air into his chest. He did not wake again. Did not call out, or open his eyes. Did not squeeze my fingers back when I took his hand.
The priest shook his head, prayed and wafted incense around the room. Before I was even aware it would happen, the rattling breaths of my baby stopped. He was breathing normally again!
“Oh, Eddie!” I laid my head on his little chest and hugged him tight.
Something was not right.
No breath blew on my forehead. No little bump, bump, bump of his heart against my ear. “Eddie?” I murmured, lifting my head slightly in horror. “No! No! No!” I screamed, and then could not stop.
October 21, 1538
Edward arrived the next day, but I barely saw him as he walked into the great hall. I stared unseeing at the hearth, only imagining the once-vibrant life of my baby as he’d toddled around the great hall or the gardens. His infectious laugh. Bright blue eyes. Chubby hands and feet.
“Anne,” Edward whispered. He dropped to his knees in front of me and put his head on my lap.
Neither of us spoke, only sat there like that until one of the servants told us our evening meal was ready. Yet, still, neither of us moved.
“I am with child.”
Edward looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “When?”
“Spring. May.”
“We shall have another Eddie, Anne.” Edward reached up and swiped at a stray tear that burned its way from my raw eyes onto my cheek.
“I shall never have another Eddie.” My voice cracked on a sob, but I refused to let myself cry anymore. And I quickly covered my mouth with my hand, so overwrought I might start sobbing again. What good would it do me? My tears up until now had not saved my little boy.
“Come now, let us have some wine.” Edward stood, tears in his eyes, which strangely were also red, as if he too had mourned and cried for our baby. He gripped my hand, gave a little tug, but I did not budge. My grief was too much. It consumed me, ate at me. All my muscles were numb, so even if I did stand as he wished, I was likely to just collapse again.
“I want nothing,” I whispered, my lips barely moving, as they too were numb.
“You must eat something.” Edward pulled me up somehow and put his arms around me. I sank into the warmth and strength of his body. His voice was filled with pleading, concern, sadness. “Best to take care of the other babe who still needs you. Let Eddie be with God. He is looking down on you now, the little cherub, and wishes his mama to be well.”
As though my darling child heard, the candle flames brightened and a little fluttering in my belly made me lightheaded. Was that the babe dancing in my womb? Had Eddie made the candles flicker?
I did not know the answer to either question, and I did not voice them to Edward. My mind could barely grasp the meaning. Instead, I nodded and let him lead me to our chambers for a small, private meal. In the morning, we would bury our baby and life would have to move on.
But even with our Eddie returned to the earth, a part of me would never move on. Part of me would always remain with my baby.
October 22, 1538
After seeing the small casket placed into the family crypt, I did not think my life could possibly get any worse.
But it did.
A missive arrived for us later that afternoon, which made Edward’s face pale by five shades.
“What is it?”
“Our good friends the Marquess and Marchioness of Exeter have been taken to the Tower.” He dropped the letter, his hand falling limp at his side. “So has Lord Montague.”
My throat constricted, and my back stiffened. My hand automatically came to my throat to play with the tight choker around my neck. “The Tower? Whatever for?” Oh, God, had they not relayed all they knew about the would-be usurper, Reginald Pole?
Edward just shook his head. I rushed over to where he stood and picked up the letter with trembling hands.
The king’s enemy, Reginald Pole, had finally been captured and questioned at length, although he had somehow managed to escape—a clever rescue by the pope’s hounds. He’d confessed that his brother Lord Montague and Henry Courtenay, Marquess of Exeter, had supplied him with funds and kept him aware of the King of England’s movements. Accusations against our friends of treason against the king.
Lies! Pole sought only to burn those who had given their allegiance to King Henry instead of himself.
Did not they know the man would lie? He had nothing to lose! Reginald Pole already knew his brother—Lord Montague—was working against him. He probably knew the pope’s men would save him, too. He may have been a man of God, but he was not acting virtuously. The pope sought to put Pole on the English throne—as His Holiness would then be once again in control of England and its inhabitants.
Perhaps Pole and the pope had even orchestrated his capture only to tell of his brother’s and the Exeters’ treachery—to turn the king against those who betrayed Pole. Murder was what it was! The pope was a clever and devious man. How could one brother turn on another so? How could he throw innocent people under the executioner’s ax?
Then again, how could I even ask such a question? Montague had been informing the king of Pole’s movements, via Lord Exeter. And brothers were pitted against their brothers all the time—even in biblical times, Cane and Abel had fought one another. It was all quite simple, really. The king was a puppet master, and we all his puppets.
“I must see her.” I could not imagine Gertrude stuck in that cold, dank tower. She would starve to death.
“Anne, you cannot!” Edward boomed. I startled, eyes wide as I looked up at him. I had never heard him shout at me so.
I stepped back, gritting my teeth. “Why not?” I demanded.
“Shall you be imprisoned as well? Never do you associate with a traitor. Never!”
“But they are not traitors!” They’d been betrayed… My insides revolted, but I swallowed down the bile. How horrid it was that we lived in a place where those who were innocent would be thrown to the dogs for the sake of propriety.
“Perhaps not, but no one knows otherwise. They are in the Tower, Anne. And this is not the first time. Death comes to those who enter the Tower. The king will either see them executed or let them on the streets only to strip them of their titles and banish them from England. Lady Exeter shall share your confidence no more.”
I was stunned into silence. Gertrude had been such a means of support and friendship to me. How could I possibly not offer her my support and friendship in her hour of need? I had only one other friend… and he, I had abandoned. As Anthony’s image floated before my eyes, I had a sudden realization that he, too, had been trying to capture Pole. Was he also imprisoned and Edward did not want to tell me? I certainly could not ask him.
“I see the look in your eyes, Anne. I know you well. I forbid you to have contact with her. Did you read further? I am to assist with the investigation and the trial. It is a test from the king to see if I can do it. To see if I am so attached to them that I shan’t find them treasonous. Their fate is almost sealed, even if God knows they are innocent.”
“Edward, you cannot!” My stomach burned, my knees wobbled. I found a chair but could not sit, instead, clutched the back for support, my fingernails biting into the wood.
“Have I a choice?” Edward’s voice was filled with anguish, his arms spread out, questioning.
“Present the truth, show their innocence.”
At this, Edward only laughed. “Read the last line of the missive, Anne. It is in His Majesty’s own hand.”
I flipped to the next page, my mouth dropping wide. I trust, Edward, that the outcome of this trial will be exactly as it should be, and I put all my faith and trust in such a loyal servant as yourself to see that it is so, and that an example is made of that whosever has challenged my authority and sought to assist those who are already known to be treasonous. If you find the results to be thus, then I shall know you are truly humble and loyal to your sovereign.
I felt the blood rush from my face. Felt it as it careened through my veins, down my arms to my fingertips—making them tingly and numb. Felt it rush down to my belly and twist it all up in knots. My knees grew weaker, my toes numb. If Edward did not find Exeter and Montague guilty, then he himself would be imprisoned. He had no choice.
The king was a monster! He cared not for justice, only wished to set an example. When had the compassionate and magnificent monarch turned to a vicious and cruel man? Any semblance of humanity I had seen in his eyes on the death of his beloved wife was now gone.
And our friends as good as dead. We’d be next.
January 9, 1539
I was still at Wulfhall for my mourning period—my intent to stay through the birth of the next Seymour baby, although I am unconvinced it will be the case. The king was slowly being persuaded by Cromwell, or rather badgered, to take another wife. He still kept ’Nan Bassett as his bed partner, but my sister-by-marriage Elizabeth Cromwell had informed me she heard the king himself gave the senior Cromwell the go-ahead to begin searching abroad for a wife who could form a powerful alliance.
I had yet to converse with ’Nan myself, but through Beth I made my wishes known. The poor girl, ’Nan, wrote me a letter soaked with her own tears, to which I replied that as soon as I returned to court, the hunt for her spouse would begin and, as I had promised her, she would be well-matched.
The days went by slowly, and I slept most of them. My young sister wrote a letter with her condolences for the loss of my babe, as did nearly every female of my acquaintance. Their words meant well, but each letter I crumpled and tossed into the fire. I needed no reminders of my loss.
Edward did his job on finding Henry Courtenay guilty. Came up with a whole new traitorous charge, the Exeter Conspiracy, likened to the Pilgrimage of Grace. I was wholly disgusted with the entire mockery. But, somehow, perhaps because of my arguments with him, he had been able to see Gertrude spared.
Today was the execution day.
Lord Montague and Lord Exeter would be two bodies short of their heads soon. The sun had risen already, and I sat in silence in my solar, gazing out at the horizon. The baby kicked in my womb, but I took little enjoyment in it—indeed none at all.
When the clock chimed eight times, the axes would swing.
The sounds of horses’ hooves clopping over the gravel drew my attention. Who would be arriving here so early in the morning?
I stood and smoothed my skirts over my belly, which had just begun to round, and went down the stairs to the great hall.
“Beth!” I gasped as Edward’s sister flung open the door and hurried in, the fur of her hood falling back, cloak and thick skirts swinging wildly about her legs.
“Anne.” She came forward and grasped my hands in hers. They were cold. A few of her servants filed in behind her and then quietly disappeared, save for one maid.
“What is amiss?” I searched her face, waiting for her reply.
Beth removed her cloak and handed it to her waiting maid. “You must come back to court. I did not sleep all night for need of having a word with you.”
I breathed a deep, resigned sigh, my stomach twisting. “What is amiss?” I asked again.
“The king, he has agreed for Cromwell to begin the search for a new wife. He has already begun writing letters to France, Belgium, Spain, and several German duchies.”
“Why must I come then? Why is this bad? I received your letter telling me thus. At least we have not a Howard to compete with.”
“But ’tis just that. The king is not happy about marrying abroad and for an alliance. He wishes to marry someone light of heart whom he can make merry with. He has been depressed for so long now and misses Jane terribly. He needs someone to take away that pain, not someone to remind him of what he had.”
“How do you know of all this?”
“Anne Bassett.”
“’Nan?”
“Aye. She’s taken to confiding in me now that you are gone. I confess I have not the heart for it, as you do.”
I rolled my eyes and signaled for a servant to bring us refreshments. “Trust me, I have not the heart for it, either.”
Beth nodded, her brows drawn together in annoyance. “She is such a drain.”
“Indeed.” I paused, chewed on my lower lip. “I must confess to you, dear Beth, I am not ready to return to court. I only just buried Eddie a couple of months ago, and my new babe is due to arrive in just over four months. I am more inclined to stay here and let things take their course.”
Tears burned the backs of my eyes with just the mention of Eddie. I could not recall the last time his name had left my lips. Still, the pain of his passing was raw, and calling him by name felt as though someone had poured vinegar on my open wounds. The world was still dark and dead to me. No light filtered through. Everything was bleak, and I honestly believed it would never be bright and sunny again.
I pursed my lips just thinking about what my mother had said when she had visited me this past month. “Stop wallowing, Anne. Babies are born, babies die. You’ll make another.” So cold. Her words had made me shiver. I’d never asked her before, but now I wanted to know. How many of her babies had died? There was only me and Lizzie. My father had had two sons previously, but by my mother had had only one babe with him, and then only one with Sir Richard.
“What?” Beth looked at me, her mouth open a little, arms stretched out, exasperation written all over her features. “Take their course? This coming from a woman who has worked behind the scenes to change the face of England and its people by the wave of your hand?”
“I would not say all that, Beth.” I waved away her words, as if the simple action would truly rid me of them, and glanced at the wall, the crack in the plaster was still there, and had gotten larger. Life was getting away from me.
“You may not, but I am not the only one who has said it. Come back with me.” Then Beth played the card she knew would work with me. “Gertrude is in need of your confidence. She has been let out of the Tower, as you must know, and resides in her London house.”
Still, I played coy. “She has not written me as of yet.”
“She has only just gotten out yesterday, in order she might have a front-row seat at today’s proceedings. You do know what today is? Come now. You cannot stay here forever. The Countess of Hertford is good for court, and court is good for her.”
Slowly but surely, Beth wore me down.
I would go back to court for a few short months before returning to Wulfhall to deliver of another Seymour child. But I should never let this babe steal my heart as swiftly and solidly as my first babe. That was, if I were even capable of loving another again.