And now here we were, while Jane awaited the birth of her child.
She was, as I had known she would be, enchanted by Elizabeth. Brighteyed, with reddish curls and that amazing vitality, she possessed that charisma which I had never seen in any other person except my father in his youth. She must have inherited it from him. How could any of her mother's enemies suggest for a moment that she was not his child? He was there in her gestures, in her very zest for life. I thought, if he would only allow himself to see her, he would be completely beguiled.
But he did not see her. He did receive me. He told me that he had heard from Dr. Butts that I was well and that if I would not get over-excited I would cease to be tormented by my headaches.
“You should live more peacefully,” he told me, giving me one of those suspicious looks as though to ask: What are your aspirations? What is it that over-excites you? You are only a bastard, remember.
I shall never forget Jane during those weeks before her confinement. I wondered if she had a premonition of what was to come. It was only natural that she must have been overcome with dread—not only because of the ordeal of childbirth but by what the outcome might be if she gave birth to a stillborn child or one of the despised sex. There were dismal examples of what had happened to others, and I guessed she could not dismiss them from her mind.
I can see her now, standing with me in the great banqueting hall which had only just been completed. She had gazed at the entwined initials—her own and those of the King: J and H. It was a custom of his to have his initials entwined with those of the wife who happened to please him at the moment. They were all decorated with lovers' knots and cast in stone, which was ironical because it was so much more enduring than his emotions, and so remained long after his passion had passed away.
Jane was looking pale and by no means well. I thought a little fresh air would be good for her, such as a quiet walk in the gardens or to sit awhile under one of the trees and enjoy the autumn sunshine. But it was forbidden. The King feared there might be some minor accident which would bring about a premature birth. She was reminded at every turn that she carried the country's—and the King's—hopes for a male heir.
Elizabeth was with us, and she created a diversion. There was no doubt that Jane found pleasure in her company. Elizabeth was completely sure of herself and did not seem in the least concerned because her father would not see her. I was sure she believed that when he did he would fall victim to her charm, as almost everyone else did. I thought it was strange that she, who wanted an explanation of everything she saw or heard, never mentioned her mother. It seemed to me that it was an indication that she knew what had happened to her. Margaret would never have told her, but the sharp ears would be constantly alert for information; and I felt she knew. What would a child of four think of a father who had murdered her mother? What did I think, for he had as good as murdered mine? It says a good deal for his personality that neither of us hated him. It may have been largely due to the aura of kingship which was so much a part of him. But it was more than that. He had something in his nature which enabled him to act most cruelly—barbarously, in fact—and still people would forgive him and seek his approval.
At last the day arrived. The Queen's pains had started. There was a hushed expectancy about the palace. All were afraid to approach the King. The next few hours would be decisive. Either we should have a happy monarch or a furious, raging tyrant to contend with.
We were all in a state of tension. “A boy!” prayed the King and all those about him. Not surprisingly I was unsure of what I wanted. A boy would mean the end of all hope for me. I should lose that great chance which I had believed Heaven was holding out for me if the child were a boy. And yet… a boy would make life easier for us all. Suspicion would shift from me. No one could doubt that the King's marriage to Jane was legal, for both his previous wives had been dead at the time he married. A boy in any case would come before me… and Elizabeth.
I should be praying for a girl…or, more to my advantage, a stillborn child. But how could I? I could not bear to think of the troubles which had beset my own mother falling on Jane.
I said to myself, “God moves in a mysterious way. If it is His will that the task of bringing England back to the true Faith shall be mine, then it will be so.” And I believed that.
The vigil was long. I was in the ante-room with those in high places who must be present at the birth. The time was passing. No child yet…The anxiety was growing. Was something wrong? Was it possible that the King could not get healthy children?
The doctors came out. They must see the King at once. It was clear that the birth was not going as it should. It seemed possible that both the child and the mother could not live. There might have to be a choice. The King must make the decision.
I was glad that Jane was too ill to know his reply, to realize how deeply he desired a son, how frail was his love for her.
His reply was typical of him—brusque and revealing. “Save my son. Wives are easily found.”
My poor, poor Jane!
It was Friday the 12th of October of that year 1537 when the child was born. It was the longed-for boy.
The King's delight was unbounded. At last he had that for which he had so long prayed.
His own son, and meek little Jane had given it to him.
THE BOY WAS RECEIVED with such acclaim that little thought was given to Jane. She was exhausted and very ill but she still lived.
I talked to Margaret about it.
“Poor lady,” she said. “Her ordeal was terrible and she was never strong. Keeping her shut up like that…it was all wrong. I said it from the first. Fresh air would have done her the world of good.”
“But she did it, Margaret. She has produced the son. Both my mother and Anne Boleyn would have given everything they had to do that.”
Margaret nodded. “What she needs now is rest… not all this coming and going.”
“She is happy now, Margaret. She has been so worried.”
“I can believe that! Well now, she must have a good rest … rest and quiet and no more children for a long time.”
“The King's appetite is whetted. She has given him a son. He will want more.”
“He will have to wait. He's got one. Let him be satisfied with that.”
There must be no delay. The baby must be baptized. He was to be called Edward. The King was in a mood of exuberance. He carried the boy in his arms and had to be restrained from bouncing him up and down in his excitement. He smiled good-humouredly at the nurse who stopped him. The baby was very precious.
It was a Friday when he was born and he was to be baptized on the Monday night.
“Too soon for the Queen,” commented Margaret.
“She will be in her bed.”
“There'll be too much fuss round her.”
“I think she must be very happy, Margaret.”
But Margaret looked grim. She bore a great grudge against the King; she could never forget what he had done to her darling's mother and all the subterfuge she had had to practice to keep it from the child.
The baptism of little Edward was to take place in Hampton Court Chapel, and I was to play an important part in the ceremony. My father would feel less anxious about my position now for he had a true heir to replace me. He was therefore inclined to bring me forward a little. Perhaps this was why I was chosen to present the baby at the font.
The procession would begin in the Queen's chamber. Jane, of course, could not rise from her bed; she was far too weak. It was this which angered Margaret so much. She thought rules and customs should be set aside if people were not well enough to partake in them. These men did not realize what it was like, giving birth to a child, she said; it was a pity some of them didn't have to do it sometimes, then they would have some idea of what it was like. Even if everything had gone smoothly, the Queen would have needed rest at such a time.