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Authors: Jean Plaidy
Tags: Historical
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were so acute that her women took her to her bed immediately and sent for the doctors.
She was lost now in mists of pain; she had never believed there could be such agony. Vaguely she heard a voice saying: ‘But she is only a child herself . . . too young . . . immature . . .’
She had lost count of time. She just lay waiting for the waves of pain to sweep over her, to subside, to flow away and then flow back. It seemed as though it would never end. She lost consciousness and when she awoke the pain had gone. She felt completely exhausted and for some time was unsure of what had happened. And when she remembered her first thoughts were for the child.
‘My baby . . .’ she murmured.
There was silence. She tried to struggle up but she was too tired. ‘Where is my baby?’ she asked shrilly.
One of her women came to the bed and knelt down. She was about to speak and then she bowed her head and covered her face with her hands.
‘Tell me,’ said Mary stonily.
‘My lady,’ said the woman, and there was a sob in her voice, ‘the child was born . . . a beautiful child . . . perfect in limb . . .’
‘Yes, yes. Where is it?’
‘It was born dead, my lady.’
Mary sank back on her bed. She closed her eyes. All the months of waiting . . . all the hopes and plans . . . gone. The baby was born dead.
‘There will be more . . . later,’ went on the woman. ‘You have come through, praise be to God. You are going to get strong again and then, and then . . .’
Mary was not listening. Henry! she thought. Oh Henry, I have disappointed you.
She was unable to leave her bed. She lay listless wondering where Henry was, what he was doing now. He would come to her room, she was sure. She would not be able to bear his disappointment.
She was right. As soon as the news was taken to him he got leave of the King to ride to Kenilworth.
He knelt by the bed. He took her hands and kissed them. She must not fret, he said. They would have a son in time . . .
He did a great deal to comfort her. Think how young they were, both of them. They had the whole of their live’ before them. They must not fret because they had lost this child. He sat by her bed and he talked to her of the future and how happy they were going to be and in time they would have as many children as his grandfather King Edward and his grandmother Queen Philippa had had. She would see.
She began to recover, but she was still weak.
A few days after Henry arrived there was another visitor to Kenilworth. This was Mary’s mother, the Countess of Hereford.
She went at once to her daughter, embraced her and then declared that she had come to nurse her. Joanna de Bohun was a woman of great strength of character; she was devoted to her daughters and in particular to Mary because she was the younger of the two. Eleanor, she believed, was able to take care of herself.
Joanna had always resented the fact that the custom of the land demanded that her daughter be removed from her care and that she should become the ward of John of Gaunt, in order, so she said, that that mighty Duke should have the prize money which went with such appointments.
She, Mary’s mother, was better fitted to look after the child than anyone; and in view of what had happened she had now come to assert that right.
Mary was delighted to see her mother.
The Countess studied her daughter and hid the concern she felt. The child was too thin. What a terrible ordeal for a girl not yet twelve years of age to pass through. Some girls developed earlier than others and then early childbearing might be permissible; but Mary herself was still too childlike and delicate.
There shall be no more of this, thought the Countess grimly. If I have to fight John of Gaunt himself I’ll do so.
‘Dearest Mother,’ said Mary. ‘I am so happy to see you.’
‘God bless you, my child. It is natural that when my daughter is ill her mother should be the one to look after her. You are going to be well in a week.
She was lost now in mists of pain; she had never believed there could be such agony. Vaguely she heard a voice saying: ‘But she is only a child herself . . . too young . . . immature . . .’
She had lost count of time. She just lay waiting for the waves of pain to sweep over her, to subside, to flow away and then flow back. It seemed as though it would never end. She lost consciousness and when she awoke the pain had gone. She felt completely exhausted and for some time was unsure of what had happened. And when she remembered her first thoughts were for the child.
‘My baby . . .’ she murmured.
There was silence. She tried to struggle up but she was too tired. ‘Where is my baby?’ she asked shrilly.
One of her women came to the bed and knelt down. She was about to speak and then she bowed her head and covered her face with her hands.
‘Tell me,’ said Mary stonily.
‘My lady,’ said the woman, and there was a sob in her voice, ‘the child was born . . . a beautiful child . . . perfect in limb . . .’
‘Yes, yes. Where is it?’
‘It was born dead, my lady.’
Mary sank back on her bed. She closed her eyes. All the months of waiting . . . all the hopes and plans . . . gone. The baby was born dead.
‘There will be more . . . later,’ went on the woman. ‘You have come through, praise be to God. You are going to get strong again and then, and then . . .’
Mary was not listening. Henry! she thought. Oh Henry, I have disappointed you.
She was unable to leave her bed. She lay listless wondering where Henry was, what he was doing now. He would come to her room, she was sure. She would not be able to bear his disappointment.
She was right. As soon as the news was taken to him he got leave of the King to ride to Kenilworth.
He knelt by the bed. He took her hands and kissed them. She must not fret, he said. They would have a son in time . . .
He did a great deal to comfort her. Think how young they were, both of them. They had the whole of their live’ before them. They must not fret because they had lost this child. He sat by her bed and he talked to her of the future and how happy they were going to be and in time they would have as many children as his grandfather King Edward and his grandmother Queen Philippa had had. She would see.
She began to recover, but she was still weak.
A few days after Henry arrived there was another visitor to Kenilworth. This was Mary’s mother, the Countess of Hereford.
She went at once to her daughter, embraced her and then declared that she had come to nurse her. Joanna de Bohun was a woman of great strength of character; she was devoted to her daughters and in particular to Mary because she was the younger of the two. Eleanor, she believed, was able to take care of herself.
Joanna had always resented the fact that the custom of the land demanded that her daughter be removed from her care and that she should become the ward of John of Gaunt, in order, so she said, that that mighty Duke should have the prize money which went with such appointments.
She, Mary’s mother, was better fitted to look after the child than anyone; and in view of what had happened she had now come to assert that right.
Mary was delighted to see her mother.
The Countess studied her daughter and hid the concern she felt. The child was too thin. What a terrible ordeal for a girl not yet twelve years of age to pass through. Some girls developed earlier than others and then early childbearing might be permissible; but Mary herself was still too childlike and delicate.
There shall be no more of this, thought the Countess grimly. If I have to fight John of Gaunt himself I’ll do so.
‘Dearest Mother,’ said Mary. ‘I am so happy to see you.’
‘God bless you, my child. It is natural that when my daughter is ill her mother should be the one to look after her. You are going to be well in a week.
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