“It’s true,” said Mary. She turned to Charles and slipped her arm through his. “Is it not so?”
“I believe your mother to be speaking the truth,” he said.
“Is she indeed our mother?” asked Anne.
“I am indeed,” answered Mary.
“Mine too,” said the youngest child.
“Yours too, my little nymph. And now I want you to see your brother. He is young yet and may not appreciate so many new sisters, but he will in time.”
Thus Mary gathered her new family to Westhorpe and settled down to enjoy the golden days.
Before long distinguished visitors came to Westhorpe. The children, who were playing in the nurseries, were the first to see the approach of the party and ran down into the gardens to tell their parents.
Mary was in the enclosed rose garden gathering the blooms which she herself would arrange later; Charles sat on a wooden bench near the fish pond which was a feature of this garden, marveling at the enthusiasm with which his wife still performed all these simple tasks. He could not believe that she would continue to do so. He often felt that he wanted to live every minute of his new life to the full, because he was certain it must change. They would not be long left in peace.
Anne led the two little girls into the rose garden crying: “Dearest Father and Mother, there is a crowd of people riding on the road.”
The little one who had been given the name of the Water Nymph, usually shortened to Nymph, ran to Charles and was lifted up and placed on his shoulder.
“A party of riders,” said Mary placidly. “I wonder if they are coming to Westhorpe.”
“They look as if they are coming to Westhorpe,” said Anne.
“Then mayhap we had better go and see who our visitors are,” Charles said.
Mary held one of the roses to her nose. She had no wish for visitors. Visitors could mean the disruption of the peaceful routine, and this was the last thing she wanted.
“The scent of these roses is delicious.” She made them all smell in turn; and because the children were most contented when they were with Charles and Mary, they were as ready to forget about the visitors as she was.
But they could not ignore the sounds of excitement; and soon a servant, flushed of face and bright of eye, came to break the peace of the rose garden.
“My lord, my lady, the Queen’s party is here.”
“The Queen!” cried Mary. “And the King?”
The servant looked aghast, as though that would be too much to be borne. It was enough that the Queen alone was here.
Mary and Charles, the children following, made their way to the courtyard where, looking exhausted and weary with the long journey, was Katharine.
Mary embraced her and Charles knelt. Katharine was smiling. “I am so glad to be here,” she said. “The journey has been tedious.”
“And you are in need of refreshment and rest,” Mary said. “We are delighted that you should so honor us.”
With Charles on one side, Mary on the other, Katharine was conducted into the hall of Westhorpe.
“So this is where you are hiding yourself away,” said Katharine.
Then she saw the children who had run up, the Nymph clutching at Charles’s doublet, his daughters keeping behind their stepmother.
“Your Grace has seen my large family?”
“Your family! I had thought there was but the boy.”
“I always wanted a large family,” laughed Mary. “And you know my impatience. Well, I have four children already. Who could do better than that in such a short time?”
The children were presented to Katharine, who patted their heads tenderly.
She sighed and turning to Mary said: “I have just been on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham.”
Mary knew for what reason; Katharine was praying that she might bear the King a son.
When Katharine had rested in the apartments which had been made ready for her as soon as she entered the house, she wanted to see the nursery; and as Mary watched her bending over the cradle of her son, she felt a deep pity for her sister-in-law. Never, since her great happiness had come to her, had she felt as grateful as she did at that moment. How easy it was for the lives of royal people to go awry.
“Mine never shall,” she told herself fiercely.
Katharine, returning to Court, talked to Henry of the household at Westhorpe. Henry was amused; he laughed heartily.
“So she has become a simple country woman, has she? How long will she be contented with that life? Depend upon it ere long she will be requesting to come back to Court.”
Katharine was not so sure, but she rarely disagreed with the King’s opinion; and when Henry heard of the nurseries of Westhorpe containing three little girls and a bonny boy—Mary’s own son at that—he became glum.
He wanted to hear all about the boy, and Katharine was not sure which would have distressed him more, to have learned that his nephew was ailing or, the truth, that he was a healthy boy.
