Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,137

soon free. They are fine young men.”

“Thank you,” I said, not trusting myself to say more without giving way to emotion. I once again turned to leave, but the duchess again stopped me.

“I quite often talk to my Edward here, too,” she said softly. “It does me more good than anything. Stay here until you have told your husband all you wish to tell him. I will leave you alone to do so.”

***

In May, I received my pardon, and in June, I was allowed some of my jointure lands and the manor of Hales Owen. Now I could live more comfortably and, better yet, have something to pass down to my children. My sons were also allowed to hear Mass, though how enthusiastically they responded I did not know. At least it gave them another opportunity to pass out of the Beauchamp Tower, and if they heard Mass in the right spirit, it might please the queen to pardon them.

I had another source of interest that June: my daughter Mary, who had remained with me at Chelsea while Henry was abroad, appeared increasingly indisposed, in the best of ways. I watched with satisfaction as she waved away her food and dozed over her embroidery, as she wrinkled her nose at every strong smell. Finally, I could bear it no more. I pulled her aside one morning and asked, “Have you had a monthly course lately?”

“No. Do you think—”

I poked my daughter’s bosom, which was noticeably fuller. She winced, and I nodded with satisfaction. “Having borne thirteen children, I can think of no other possibility.”

Mary came into my arms and began crying. (Moodiness, I thought approvingly.) “Child, what is wrong?” I said.

“Everything has gone so badly for our family lately. What if my baby dies? What if I die?”

I was silent. Five of my own offspring had died as children, some as mere infants. Two of King Henry’s queens, Jane Seymour and Catherine Parr, had been claimed by childbed fever. There were many more examples I could bring to mind, though I did not care to. “I can only tell you that you must hope for the best, and not give in to despair,” I said finally. “I thought it would claim me when your father died, and then again when your brother died, but something brought me through. I can only assume that it is the Lord who did that, and that he also had a reason for taking away those I loved so much. What it is, I could not possibly guess. It would be kind of him to tell us occasionally, but perhaps we would not want to know the answer.” I patted Mary’s cheek. “You are healthy and young, but not too young, and those are two things in your favor. I, for one, intend to rejoice in this coming birth.”

Mary smiled faintly. “I do, too.” She paused. “But would it be too much to ask that there be no cheese allowed in the house until my child is born?”

44

Frances Grey

March 1554 to September 1554

In early March, my stepmother, Katherine, came to stay a little while at her manor at Kew. While there, she came to visit me. After she had spent some time condoling me upon the loss of my daughter and my husband, and I had spent some time asking her about the baby, Susan, she had borne Master Bertie in January, Katherine cleared her throat. “Have you thought about your future?”

“Future?” I asked blankly.

“Don’t you realize how vulnerable you are? You’re as close to the crown as you ever were—closer, with King Edward gone and the lady Elizabeth suspected of plotting with Wyatt. I don’t think the queen would put you in the Tower to keep herself safe, as she’s had plenty of opportunity to do so, but I do think that she will put you in bed with a Papist. Personally, I’d as soon be in the Tower, but that’s just my own taste.”

“She would never force me to marry.”

“How can you be sure? Didn’t she as good as promise you that Jane’s life would be safe?”

“Yes. But that was before Harry committed treason.” I dabbed at my eyes with a handkerchief.

“Well, has she ever promised you that she wouldn’t have you remarry?”

“I’ve not seen her since Jane’s and Harry’s deaths. But I can’t believe—”

“Frances, think! The queen’s no fool. Northumberland found that out the sharp way. Unless she has a child, which is about as likely as my little dog giving birth