“It is like the fines in the poor box all over again. So much that is good; so much that is not good. It is hard to weigh good against evil. There is much our father does which you do not like; but he is a good father to us.”
“My dear sister,” said Henry with a smile, “I sense you reproach.”
“Why do we concern ourselves with matters beyond us? Are you practicing vaulting now, and shall I come to watch you?”
“I am going to the Tower.”
At that moment the door opened and a woman entered holding a little boy by the hand; the child was about seven and walked with great difficulty.
“My lord, my lady,” she said, “I did not know you were here.”
“Come in, Lady Carey,” invited Henry. “And how is my brother today?”
The woman’s face was illumined by a loving smile.
“Tell your brother, sweeting,” she said. “Tell him how you walked all alone this morning.”
The pale-faced little boy nodded his head and his eyes sought those of his elder brother with adulation.
“I w … walked,” he said, “alone.”
An impediment in his speech made the words sound muffled.
“That is good news, Lady Carey,” Henry told her.
“Good news, of a surety, my lord. And when I think of this little one … not so long ago!”
“You have been good to him,” put in Elizabeth.
“He is my precious boy,” declared Lady Carey. “Are you not, Charles?”
Charles nodded and thickly confirmed this.
Elizabeth came and knelt down by the side of her younger brother. She touched his ankles. “They don’t hurt anymore, do they, Charles?” she asked.
He shook his head.
Lady Carey picked him up in her arms and kissed him. “My boy will be taller and stronger than any of you before long; you see!”
Elizabeth noticed how the little boy gripped Lady Carey’s bodice. Poor little Charles, he was the unfortunate one. But at least he was able to walk now, after a fashion; there had been a time, not very long ago, when they had all thought he would neither walk nor speak; and several of the Court ladies had declined the honor of bringing him up because they feared it was an impossible task.
Lady Carey, however, had taken a look at the poor helpless child and decided to devote herself to his care; it was small wonder that she was proud of what she was doing, even though little Charles was an object of pity to most who beheld him.
Elizabeth took her little brother from Lady Carey and set him on a table.
“Have a care, my lady,” implored Lady Carey; and she was immediately at the side of her little charge to hold his hand and assure him that no harm could come to him.
Henry came to the table. “Why, Charles,” he said, “you’re as big as I am now.”
Charles nodded. He was intelligent enough; it was merely that his legs were so weak, and it was feared that his ankles were dislocated and he would never be able to do anything but stagger about; moreover some deformity of the mouth prevented him from speaking clearly.
Henry, deeply touched by the plight of his young brother, began to talk to him about riding and jousting and all the sports which he would be able to take part in when he grew stronger. Young Charles listened avidly, nodding from time to time while he smiled with delight. He was happy because he was with the people he loved best in the world—his adored foster mother, his wonderful brother, his sweet sister.
Anne, the Queen, chose this time to visit the royal nursery. She came whenever she could, for she loved her children dearly, particularly her first-born who seemed to her all that a Prince should be.
So while Henry and Elizabeth talked to the little boy seated on the table, Anne came in followed by Katrine Skinkell and Anna Kroas.
“My sweet children!” she cried in her guttural voice. “So little Charles is here with his brother and sister.”
Lady Carey made a deep curtsy; Elizabeth did the same while Henry bowed and Charles looked on with earnest eyes.
“Henry, my Prince, how well you look; and you too, daughter. And my little Charles?”
“Making good progress Your Majesty,” Lady Carey told the Queen.
“And can he bow yet to his Mother?” asked the Queen.
Lady Carey lifted the little boy from the table and stood him down where he did his best to make a bow.
Anne signed to Lady Carey to lift him up and bring him to her, when she kissed him.
“My precious baby,” she murmured. “And what a pleasure to have my family at Court all at the same time.” A petulant expression crossed her otherwise placid face. She loved her children and had longed to be able to bring them up herself. She hated the royal custom which ordained that others should have charge of them. She would have been a good mother—even if she had tended to spoil her children—had she been allowed to.
Now here was Charles more devoted to Lady Carey than to her; and Henry—beloved Henry, a son of whom any parent might be proud—while affectionate, depended on her not at all.
