Read Online Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey by Adrienne Dillard - Free Book Online
Authors: Adrienne Dillard
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love for the last time that night before the baby was born and it poured down rain from the heavens for the first time since June. I felt as if God were raining blessings upon us.
In November, Queen Katherine, Lady Rochford, and Nan sadly bid me farewell, but Francis was anxious to get me home before the winter storms began. He would return to Court after I was settled. His brother Henry would keep me company until my mother arrived for my lying-in. Excitement welled up in me when I realised that I would be the lady of the house. I warned Francis that he might find Greys Court changed when he returned for the birth of our child. He shook his head and sighed, but he could not hide the delight in his voice when he said, “I would love to see you wield your feminine influence over Henry. He has had the run of the place these last years and I am not sure how welcome your posies and tapestries will be.”
I huffed. “He will welcome them and like them.”
Francis wrapped his arms around me and whispered into my hair, “Oh how I will miss you.”
Henry welcomed me home with open arms. He was amenable to the new tapestries I chose for the hall and my plans for the gardens when spring came, but I was forbidden from touching his rooms. I insisted that new rushes be laid and he agreed, but my influence ended there. Henry was a doting brother-in-law. He made sure I got the best cuts of meat, that the fire never went out and, at night, he would read to me by candlelight. When I would turn irritable from lack of sleep or felt pains from the pregnancy, he would tell me stories of their childhood or jokes to lighten my mood. His impression of the king, hands on his hips and a wide stance stomping through the hall, never failed to raise my spirits.
After Christmas, my mother came to Greys Court to prepare my lying-in, bringing with her my maid from Calais, Matilda. I was thrilled to see her. Forgoing etiquette, I wrapped her in a warm embrace. Seeing her friendly face helped ease my anxieties. For the next three months I retreated to my bed to await the pains of childbirth.
From my bed I listened to the rain pattering against the window. The room was dark and sweltering. A fire burned to heat the chamber and thick tapestries covered the windows to keep out the draft. I was miserable. I wanted nothing more than to stick my face out into the spring rain and feel the drops on my skin and the damp earth in my lungs. But no one would grant my small request.
“We cannot let in the evil airs, my lady,” Matilda said as she stoked the fire.
I looked over at my mother; she was sitting in her chair humming a hymn. She nodded in agreement. I sighed and wriggled around trying to get comfortable. My back ached from lying in bed for so long and my mind had grown weary after three months of doing nothing but sleep. I laid my hand on my belly and felt the baby give it a hard kick. I rested my other hand on the mattress beside me and realised it was sopping wet. Before I could say a word I was gripped by a pain unlike any I had ever felt before.
I cried out and in seconds Matilda and my mother had the birthing mattress on the floor. Somewhere in between my yelping and writhing they managed to get me on it. The pain was unbearable. The midwife bustled into the room armed with a wooden spoon. In one swift move, she forced it between my clenched teeth.
“Bite down on that, m’lady,” she said brusquely. “It will help with the pains.”
I laboured through the night, at turns groaning and crying. I thought my stomach would tear in two. My mother massaged my lower back and caressed my hair in an effort to ease the pain.
“You are doing well,” she cooed. “Only a little more now ...”
I held my breath and gave one last push. The sharp sound of a baby’s cry pierced the pre-dawn silence.
“You have a son!” my mother shouted. She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Oh my beautiful girl, you have a son.”
I had son. I had
In November, Queen Katherine, Lady Rochford, and Nan sadly bid me farewell, but Francis was anxious to get me home before the winter storms began. He would return to Court after I was settled. His brother Henry would keep me company until my mother arrived for my lying-in. Excitement welled up in me when I realised that I would be the lady of the house. I warned Francis that he might find Greys Court changed when he returned for the birth of our child. He shook his head and sighed, but he could not hide the delight in his voice when he said, “I would love to see you wield your feminine influence over Henry. He has had the run of the place these last years and I am not sure how welcome your posies and tapestries will be.”
I huffed. “He will welcome them and like them.”
Francis wrapped his arms around me and whispered into my hair, “Oh how I will miss you.”
Henry welcomed me home with open arms. He was amenable to the new tapestries I chose for the hall and my plans for the gardens when spring came, but I was forbidden from touching his rooms. I insisted that new rushes be laid and he agreed, but my influence ended there. Henry was a doting brother-in-law. He made sure I got the best cuts of meat, that the fire never went out and, at night, he would read to me by candlelight. When I would turn irritable from lack of sleep or felt pains from the pregnancy, he would tell me stories of their childhood or jokes to lighten my mood. His impression of the king, hands on his hips and a wide stance stomping through the hall, never failed to raise my spirits.
After Christmas, my mother came to Greys Court to prepare my lying-in, bringing with her my maid from Calais, Matilda. I was thrilled to see her. Forgoing etiquette, I wrapped her in a warm embrace. Seeing her friendly face helped ease my anxieties. For the next three months I retreated to my bed to await the pains of childbirth.
From my bed I listened to the rain pattering against the window. The room was dark and sweltering. A fire burned to heat the chamber and thick tapestries covered the windows to keep out the draft. I was miserable. I wanted nothing more than to stick my face out into the spring rain and feel the drops on my skin and the damp earth in my lungs. But no one would grant my small request.
“We cannot let in the evil airs, my lady,” Matilda said as she stoked the fire.
I looked over at my mother; she was sitting in her chair humming a hymn. She nodded in agreement. I sighed and wriggled around trying to get comfortable. My back ached from lying in bed for so long and my mind had grown weary after three months of doing nothing but sleep. I laid my hand on my belly and felt the baby give it a hard kick. I rested my other hand on the mattress beside me and realised it was sopping wet. Before I could say a word I was gripped by a pain unlike any I had ever felt before.
I cried out and in seconds Matilda and my mother had the birthing mattress on the floor. Somewhere in between my yelping and writhing they managed to get me on it. The pain was unbearable. The midwife bustled into the room armed with a wooden spoon. In one swift move, she forced it between my clenched teeth.
“Bite down on that, m’lady,” she said brusquely. “It will help with the pains.”
I laboured through the night, at turns groaning and crying. I thought my stomach would tear in two. My mother massaged my lower back and caressed my hair in an effort to ease the pain.
“You are doing well,” she cooed. “Only a little more now ...”
I held my breath and gave one last push. The sharp sound of a baby’s cry pierced the pre-dawn silence.
“You have a son!” my mother shouted. She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Oh my beautiful girl, you have a son.”
I had son. I had
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