“Little Catherine says you would take a nap, lady,” Nancy’s voice broke into her reverie.
“Oh, yes, Nance. You gave me a start. If you would just come with me up the steep stairs and help me into bed, I would appreciate it. It is getting to be a dark day, is it not? The lord should be back soon. If it rains on the grain crop so near harvest time, he will be in a black mood.”
“Have you pains yet, lady?” Mary shook her head.
They went in through the narrow open hearth kitchen and Brennan looked up from kneading a huge wooden trencher of bread dough. Her eyes widened at the sight of Nancy helping Mary toward the hall.
“No, Brennan,” Nance answered the unspoken question. “We need not send Stephen for the village midwife yet, but just stay about in case we need boiling water.”
“She is a fine cook, Nance, but somewhat of a gossip.” Mary observed as they left the kitchen. “Jane Rochford would consider her a dangerous rival of scandal mongering if we took her to court, I warrant.”
The parlor lay silent and dim off the narrow front entry hall as they ascended the steps. Although the oak staircase was dark and gloomy since no sun streamed through windows today, the stairs were well built and never creaked under even Staff’s weight. That is one indication that the Wivenhoe ghost truly does walk here, Mary reasoned nervously.
Their bed was a tall, square one and the carved walnut cradle for the new baby stood ready at its side. Mary sat and Nancy swung her feet up. “No, no, do not cover me. It is warm enough. And if the lord comes, do not let me sleep long.”
“Yes, milady.” Nancy pulled the heavy curtains over the two diamond paned windows and turned to go.
“Nancy. I have not been too short with you lately, have I?”
“No, Lady Mary. But if you were, I would understand with the babe comin’ and all.”
“And all. Yes, it is more than just the babe, Nance. I so often think of the queen unhappy and far away. It seems terribly unfair that I am here with Staff and things are so peaceful. You and Stephen are happy, I know. I can see it.”
“I have never been so happy, lady. Perhaps I shall bear my Stephen a son in God’s good time. I told him to stay close today and so did the lord. He can go for the midwife any time, lady.”
“Yes, Nance. Thank you. Go on now and get me up for supper if I fall asleep.” Nancy closed the door to the room quietly.
The manorhouse was very silent. Staff’s groom, Patrick, had probably taken Catherine for her afternoon ride as he did when Staff was looking to manor business or spending the afternoon with Mary. And Brennan kneaded bread and Mary needed Staff and Anne needed a child. She got so tired some afternoons that she almost dozed sitting up, and her waking thoughts merged into her inner voices. It was like that now, floating on the soft mattress where they had so joyfully made love before her size and bulk had made it impossible lately. Palaces and castles be damned, I will live and die at Wivenhoe, she was thinking. The room swam in dim light and sleep would come in an instant here. Maybe she was asleep already, but then she would not know the babe kicked at her from within. It had dropped so much lower now, that it must come soon. An heir for Wivenhoe to take the place of the rebel Humphrey who was stolen from sanctuary and hanged, or perhaps to make up for Staff’s father’s early death at Wivenhoe, here in this room.
The sharp creak scratched at her drifting mind and her eyes shot open. “Nance!” she heard herself say, and her heart quickened as though it knew something her mind could not. The door to the room stood ajar. But had not Nancy closed it? A floor board moaned near the bed. She sat bolt upright. She felt icy cold, but the day was warm, even sultry, and no breeze stirred through the closed curtains.