Falling For Henry (23 page)

“What is it?” Kate asked, remembering the headache she'd had from the drink Doña Elvira had given her and the concoction of powdered sapphires for the pregnant maid.

“Well, you see, my dear girl, what you have is an imbalance of the humors.”

“What?” asked Kate.

Doña Elvira shook her head and frowned.

“Do not be impudent!” admonished the nurse.

“The world has many marvels to discover—do not disparage her questions,” Sanctorius responded. Then he drew himself up to his full height of six-foot-five and leaned toward Kate.

“This may be a trifle difficult for you to understand, my dear, but I shall put it in simple language. You see, the body is a chemical system, primarily involving salt, sulfur, and mercury. Each illness caused by a chemical imbalance can be treated by adding the correct counterbalance to the body. Such is what I have in this bottle for you!”

He flourished the bottle at Kate.

“But what exactly is in the bottle?” Kate asked, burning at his condescension.

“Listen carefully,” he said, speaking as if to a young child. “An outside force has entered your body and left an archeus, which is growing bigger every day and depleting your body of chemicals.”

“An archeus?” Kate asked, thinking suddenly of the power of love. Was love such a force? Thoughts of Henry filled her head and she went weak in the knees.

“An archeus is like a seed. In your case, the chemical inside the seed is depleting your body of iron. You feel tired, lethargic, and it is hard to make your mind work properly. Do not fear. This element will do the trick.” He enthusiastically shook the bottle.

“But what is it?” Kate asked. “What is the element?”

“Well, but it is elementary,” said Sanctorius. “Mars is associated with your ailment because it has the characteristics you so desire—strength, integrity, and clarity of thought. Since Mars is associated with iron, we must give you iron to counterbalance the ill effects you are experiencing.” He delicately placed the bottle in Kate's hands.

“There's iron in this bottle?” Kate said, gingerly smelling its contents.

“But of course,” smiled Sanctorius, nodding at Doña Elvira. “See that she takes one dropperful in the morning and two at night.”

“I thought you said just one dropperful a day!” exclaimed Kate.

“I determined as a result of our most recent conversation that you need three dropperfuls,” he amended, with somewhat less of a smile. “Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I am very busy. I must hurry and weigh my lunch because soon it will be dinnertime.”

Doña Elvira had picked up the jar of leeches and Sanctorius nodded.

“Just exactly what I was thinking,” he said, nodding at Kate. “At bedtime, of course. Say … for three nights.”

On the way down the stairs, Kate asked Doña Elvira what kind of experiment Sanctorius was doing with the weigh scale.

“He's comparing the weight of what he eats to, you know … ah … his excrement,” she said, batting her eyelashes a little. “He has some very interesting results; however, I do not know what they are as no one has yet shared them with me.”

“Oh!” said Kate, glad that all she had to do was take a little iron. Although the rationale sounded quite desperate, the cure—an iron solution—seemed innocent enough. Unlike the leeches, which she had better not have to endure again.

“Shall we see about my blue dress?” Kate asked as they went along. It was hard to keep track of it. It seemed that Doña Elvira was always sending it to be washed, and it was Kate's favorite—she wasn't sure why. “I mean, I imagine the laundry is done and we should go and collect the dress before it goes astray.”

“Well, we could stop by the laundry on the way back …” mused Doña Elvira. “Come along, then. We must make haste.”

Doña Elvira led her down one corridor and then another, until at last they entered the doorway of a large, hot room. Five men were at work over enormous pots of water boiling at four separate hearths. Doña Elvira asked about Kate's dress and was told that it was clean but not yet dry.

“We can just as well hang it in our rooms near a brazier rather than leave it here,” Kate said.

“Well, all right,” said her nurse. “But you will have to carry it. The damp cloth might bother my joints.”

They passed one of the great kitchens on their way back to their quarters, and Kate couldn't help peeking in and commenting at the noise, the general flurry, and the state of the workers. Clothed in ill-fitting garments that were either too large or too small, and some, by the look of them, merely underwear, scullions were hurrying about from one pot to another, and Kate thought she detected sweat flying from some of their bodies into the broth.

“How awful!” she gagged. “I can't believe we eat this stuff!”

Doña Elvira grabbed Kate's arm and gave it a little shake.

“It's not for us to complain!” she said. “And it's certainly better since Thomas Wolsey gave the Clerk of the Kitchen money to purchase garments for the workers, even if the clothes are ill-fitting. There was a time when many worked without a stitch on their backs. I am also grateful that he passed a law about urinating on the cooking hearths, which was a nasty practice all around.”

Kate gulped, trying to figure out how she could avoid eating anything that came from this horrible place. To see those kitchens, and to think about what might actually be in one's food, was disgusting. How she longed for the sterile cans of soup about which she had once complained. Then she shook her head at her own imagination. Cans of soup? What had gotten into her, thinking up such things!

It was hard for Kate to tear her eyes away from the kitchen. The cooks were putting tall glass jars into the cauldrons, each with different foodstuffs inside. One had chickens, another beans, while another had eggs. All of these jars could rest side by side within the same cauldron and cook the food separately, yet use the same energy.

Bright feathers caught her eye, and she turned to see a senior servant preparing a peacock for the table. He had fanned the beautiful tail up above the plate and was attaching other feathers into the breast. Better than a floral centerpiece, thought Kate, since the gardens were covered in November frost.

As Kate and Doña Elvira turned away from the kitchen, two scullery maids pushed past them without recognition.

“An' 'e gave us three candles,” one was saying. “An' you know wot that means!”

“Wot?” the other asked. “Do you believe in that superstition?”

“Well, that I do,” said the first. “There'll be a weddin' soon! Me own weddin', at that,” she crowed, “thanks to those candles!”

“Of course,” the other one jibed, “you don't know who you'll be marryin', do you, now? Could be anyone!”

“Well, get on wi' you,” said the first. “Wot person else would I be marryin' then! The Prince himself? I hear 'e's spoken for!” She howled with laughter. “Princess Katherine's wot you might call a lady in waitin'!” The girls scampered off, laughing, down the corridor.

“A lady in waiting,” thought Kate. “Was that all she was?”
First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage.
The bold children's rhyme, thrumming through her head, gave her an instant headache. If it were only that simple.

“Come on, then,” urged Doña Elvira. “It's lunch time and I need a spot of soup.”

Oh, no, not soup!
thought Kate, agonizing at the idea of eating anything that had come out of those pots.

“I'm feeling a bit unwell,” she said. “Perhaps I'll just go back and have a little rest.”

When they entered their chambers, two servants watched with interest as Doña Elvira set the jar of leeches on the mantle. As soon as the nurse had left, Kate took one small step of independence. While the others were absorbed in their embroidery, she carried the glass jar into the garderobe and poured the creatures down the hole.

“Bon Voyage!” she whispered.

23
The sadness

BY LATE NOVEMBER, Kate and William could see that the cub was growing quickly to adult size, and one morning at the farmyard, as they sat together in companionable silence, Kate wondered how long the creature could be kept captive in the coop. William was scratching the silky fur on the cub's belly and the animal was wriggling with pleasure. She admired his gentleness, grateful that he, too, took pleasure in quiet pastimes.

“I'm thinking we should find a way to set him free,” she said.

“I'd rather be stuck in the mud and bowled with … with onions than see harm come to him,” said William. “But you are right. It's time, maybe past time. He's managed to catch rabbits and partridges, so in that way he'll be all right. But the hunters. We have to think of a way to protect him from the hunters.”

“Maybe if he runs deep into the woods, far from here,” said Kate. “Maybe then he will be safe?”

“Maybe,” said William dubiously. She knew what he was thinking. It had become easy to guess his thoughts. MacQueen and the others rode on fine, fast steeds. They could cover a lot of ground.

“There's a price to pay for freedom,” he said finally. “But no creature should be kept cooped up, away from the light of day, away from the things that give it joy.”

“Yes,” said Kate. “There is a price to pay for freedom.” She knew all about it, for she had been paying it herself.

“
The Lord is my shepherd
,” muttered William. “
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake
…”

He stood up unsteadily and walked to the door of the chicken coop. Kate noticed how stooped he was and how, in the sunlight, his face was very pale.

“Are you feeling all right?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

“No,” he said dully. “I'm not. But I'll … I'm sure I'll be fine. I've gone at my studies a bit too hard of late. Perhaps I just need more rest. And I miss home. Mother makes the best butter dumplings. I wish you could taste them. Sticky on the outside, light and dry in the middle. She wrote me last week, asking about Father, and I haven't had the heart to answer.”

“You're probably just homesick,” said Kate, still conscious of his white face. “It's hard, missing your family.”

“Do you miss them, too?” William asked in a hollow voice, looking at her. “Your family?”

“I do,” she faltered, a whole patchwork of images rising to attention. “More than I can say.”

“It's more than homesickness,” he went on. “It's heartsickness, too, thinking of Father in that terrible place.”

“You're doing the best you can,” said Kate.

“No,” he said, “I'm not. I haven't been effective, you know, in engineering his release. I don't know if he can stand the rest of the winter in the Tower. It's damp and cold and the vermin are abominable. He won't be able to stand it.” His voice broke. “I … I won't be able to stand it.”

“You're doing what you can,” Kate repeated. She took a step toward him, then stopped at his expression.

“I'm not feeling well. It's all muddled up, you, and the Prince, and my father, and … and everything.” He leaned against the door frame and breathed heavily. “And someone keeps cooking onions somewhere. I can smell them.”

“I'll walk you back,” said Kate, flustered. “Maybe you just need a bit more rest, and by tomorrow—”

“No,” William interrupted. “I'll go alone. There's talk, you know, of us spending time together. It wouldn't be good … it wouldn't be good if this talk reached the King. He wouldn't want anything to come between … between the match he is planning between you and the Prince.” Delicately, William didn't look at her as he spoke.

He took a step out into the sunlight and staggered, almost falling. She ran to his side and took his arm.

“Today I'll walk you back,” she said. “Another day we can worry about what the rest of them might think.”

She left him at the door to the great hall where he said he'd take a little ale, and went back, worriedly, to her own chambers. He just needed some extra rest, as he had said, and tomorrow he'd be fine. But tomorrow he wasn't fine, nor was he fine the next day. It wasn't proper for her to enter his quarters so she had to rely on what she heard from Doña Elvira, who had various ways of getting information. On the third day, when she had made herself sick with worry, she enlisted Doña Elvira's help to go and see what was the matter. But it was too late. William Fitzroy was dead.

“It was the sickness,” Doña Elvira informed her briskly. “Took him last night along with the newborn babe I delivered last week. It is not an epidemic but we'll watch to see whether more cases develop. You might need to stay a spell at Fulham if it looks like there's danger. And Henry, certainly, will be riding with the King should any other illness arise here.”

Kate looked at her uncomprehendingly.

“He's dead?” she asked. “William is dead?”

Doña Elvira gave her a sharp look.

“Yes, and that's the end of it. Pay more attention to your betrothed, my dear, and all will be well.”

Kate went into her bedroom and sat down on the bed. So many people she cared about disappeared one way or another. She thought of Arthur and her mother. Then she thought about her father, her real father, whom she hadn't considered in a very long time. And Isobel. The sorrows of Kate's losses on top of Katherine's were truly too much to bear. And now William. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair! She couldn't ask about a funeral, for even if they had one here at court, she probably wouldn't be allowed to attend. But she wanted to go to him, to see him just one more time. How could someone so young, so full of dreams, so good, be suddenly taken? It wasn't just! She buried her head in her pillow and cried, and, once started, the tears wouldn't stop. What if everyone she cared about died?