“Of course it’s a boy!”
Nothing less than a boy would please the people. The bonfires were lighted. There was singing and cheering in the streets.
And on her bed at Hampton Court the Queen was tossing and turning.
Here was all the ceremony that must attend a royal birth. There must be no doubt that the infant was the one born of Mary; therefore there must be important witnesses at hand.
Some of the experienced midwives were looking furtively at one another. They dared not speak their thoughts for fear of being charged with treason.
The Queen screamed aloud in agony and the women closed about her.
One of the women, more bold than the rest, said: “The Queen’s time has not yet come.”
The other midwives nodded in agreement. Mistress Clarencius, her eyes filled with anxiety, whispered to the Queen: “Your Majesty, will you try to rest? The time is not yet here. You should try to rest, they say.”
“Not yet come!” screamed the Queen. “But I swear my time has come. I feel it. I know it. What mean they?”
“They are craving your Majesty to be patient.”
“The child … the child is safe …?”
“Safe, your Majesty,” said Mistress Clarencius, “but not yet ready.”
“Ah! I have come to my bed too soon.”
“Your Majesty should rest. Here is a soothing draught.”
She sipped it and lay back on her pillows. She looked very old without her jeweled coif; her light sandy hair was disordered on the pillows, her sallow face piteously lined. The women looked at her with a terrible fear in their hearts, but they saw that all the Queen’s hopes were with her still.
“I hear bells … shouts …” said Mary.
“It is the people, your Majesty. They rejoice in the blessing which is about to be yours.”
A tired smile was on her lips. “My husband …” she began.
Philip came forward. He could be relied upon to do what was expected of him. He looked at Mary and tried to hide the repulsion she aroused in him. He was not unaware of the tension in the apartment, and he knew that all was not well with the Queen.
Unless this child was born, the discomfort and the humiliation of the last months would have been in vain. If the child died and Mary died, he would have no hold on England. The red-headed Elizabeth would mount the throne; and he doubted that not very soon after such an event she would be snapping her fingers at the Pope himself. And something was wrong … very wrong.
He took Mary’s clammy hand and kissed it.
“It is so long,” she said piteously.
“You were too anxious, my love. There has been a slight miscalculation. You have been brought to bed too soon.”
She nodded. “It seems as though it will never be.”
The draught they had given her was beginning to have its effect. He said: “Sleep, my love. That is what you need. And when you wake … who knows, your time may have come.”
She would not release his hand. Those cold fingers twined about his, pressing, squeezing, like snakes, he thought. As soon as he was sure she was asleep, he gently withdrew his hand.
“What is it?” he asked the midwives.
They lowered their eyes.
“Let us leave the apartment,” he said. “The doctors also. If aught is as it should not be, I would know of it.”
In the antechamber to which he had led them, one of the doctors said: “Your Majesty, I never saw such a strange pregnancy. There seems to be no child … no movement.”
“You think the child is dead?” His voice was cold and precise.
“It is not that, Sire. It is as though there is no child.”
He looked at the doctors. “Well, you are learned men!”
“It is true, your Majesty, that there is all the outward appearance of pregnancy, but … a softness, you understand? It would seem that there is … no child.”
“But how could this be?”
“Sire, there have been similar cases. There have been ladies of the Queen’s age whose desire for children was intense. There followed all the outward signs of pregnancies … but
“But this is … impossible!”
“We crave your Majesty’s pardon, but it has happened thus in other cases. Ladies long for children, their longings become hysterical, and they may not be in the best of health. We fear that the Queen’s age may not allow her to bear children, and that in the greatness of her desire she has created a mock pregnancy.”
“I cannot believe this. It is fantastic.”
