Relieved at her friend’s restored humor, they swiftly rounded the last corner of the torch-lit stone corridor and halted outside a pair of wide oak doors blocked by two heavily armed guards.
Taking a deep breath, Catherine smoothed the front of her gown and patted her head to ensure her wayward ebony curls were still secured under a modest velvet hood. It was ridiculous to be nervous, but usually her father stood beside her, and without his calm, black-gowned presence, that comforting scent of herbs and fresh linen, she felt a touch alone. It was always so hard when he was away tending others. Their rooms felt too big without his chatter, his husky laugh, the bubbling of boiling water and knocking of pestle and mortar as he tried new elixir recipes.
Before she could say a word, Jane glared at the guards.
“Do you not know who we are? Let us pass at once!”
“Yes, Lady Jane. Mistress Catherine,” said one of the guards quickly, bowing respectfully as he immediately turned to knock on the door.
Eventually one of Queen Mary’s ladies appeared to usher them both through. As she followed the two other women into a short passageway, Catherine turned her head and smiled apologetically at the man. As much as she loved Jane, no guard or servant ever moved fast enough for her friend. When the Howards were in power, they more than made up for the times they weren’t.
In the queen’s spacious chamber, her nose wrinkled at the strong odor of perspiration, tallow and perfume. As was custom for childbed seclusion, there was a large fire for heat and candles for light as the windows were boarded over to stop ill winds. It made the area almost unbearably stuffy and taxing for the ladies who attended Her Majesty constantly. Several sat embroidering, one strummed a harp and three more played cards, but all looked flushed and uncomfortable.
“Are you all right now? Do you need me?”
Catherine grinned at the look of sheer longing Jane directed toward the card game. “Go. Go and unburden those poor women of their coins.”
“If you’re sure…” her friend replied, but she had already half-crossed the room.
“Catherine,” boomed a deep, almost manly voice.
She spun around and sank into a low curtsy as Queen Mary ambled toward her, a flowing ermine-trimmed cream gown brushing the floor with each of the petite monarch’s steps.
“Your Majesty. I beg your forgiveness for my lateness today.”
“We shall excuse you today, child, but do not keep us waiting again when we have need of you.”
“No, madam. Never. Are you well?”
“As can be expected,” the queen replied, resting a bejeweled hand on her hugely distended belly. “But everyone will rest better once the child is born. Our seclusion is just begun, yet already we are weary of these four walls. Perhaps you will join us in beseeching the Blessed Virgin for a swift and safe delivery?”
Catherine nodded eagerly. England desperately needed this child to secure the Catholic throne. Three years ago the queen and all those around her had thought her to be pregnant, but there had never been a babe in her belly. This time was different. And Papa, the greatest physician in all of England, would have the honor of delivering the heir.
“Madam, you are in my daily prayers. And King Phillip of course. I hope…I hope very much he will be able to return to England soon.”
Mary sighed, her expression unbearably sad. “That is our dearest wish, but Spanish affairs of state keep him most occupied. He is the best of rulers, so just and dutiful.”
“Of course.”
“Come here and tell us your news,” the queen said, carefully settling herself into a cushioned throne and beckoning Catherine over to a footstool. “It will be a pleasant diversion.”
“Shall I rub your feet for you?”
“Sweet child. So like your mother, God rest her soul. I wish…”
Glancing up from carefully removing the queen’s shoes, Catherine almost shivered at the truly odd expression on Mary’s face. Hard. Calculating. And yet sorrowful too.
“Yes, madam?”
“All wrongs will be made right once our son is born. We ask you to remember that. And know as an obedient and faithful subject, we shall always hold you fondly in our heart.”
“How could I not be?” she said carefully, confused at the queen’s intense words. “The prince will make England whole again. We’ll all rejoice.”
Just for a moment, Mary looked away, one hand clutching the strand of polished rosary beads about her neck. Then she turned back, smiling.
“Indeed. And once we are recovered, we will hold a feast, and you shall be introduced to some fine gentleman. Past time you were married…unless our Lord is now calling you to a different purpose?”
Catherine paused in her gentle rubbing of the queen’s swollen right foot. “No, madam. I still hope to marry. Very much. A special man, handsome, learned and charming would be most agreeable.”
The queen chuckled, a hint of color brightening her usually pale cheeks and livening her brown eyes. “A list! My word. Should he be a lord? A knight? A physician?”
“Well, I…”
“Let me pass! Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”
Catherine jumped at the hoarse cry, but Mary remained very still, calmly watching her personal page’s stumbling approach.
“Yes, boy?”
“Majesty, I bring grave news.”
“Then do not tarry, tell me.”
“It’s Doctor Linwood, Majesty. He’s—”
“What?” said Catherine sharply, all manners forgotten as icy fright crept down her spine and turned her hands clammy. Had her father caught the fever he’d gone to tend? Fallen from his horse?
The page inclined his head, his eyes somber. “Mistress, I am grieved to report Doctor Linwood has passed away.”
Catherine stared uncomprehendingly. No. Passed away meant dead. And her father was hale, hearty, and shortly to be dining with her. Turbot, roasted beef, marzipan fruit, and a good wine to celebrate his homecoming.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, pushing the words out past the driest tongue in Christendom. “I received a message earlier, he returns this
