The Last Boleyn(154)

“Some believe he took the Carey possessions to show to the world that the boy was not Will Carey’s son, Mary,” George pursued doggedly.

“I have heard that argument before, and it is a lie. If father even suggests to the king that Harry is his son, I shall walk all the way to London if I must and deny it to the king’s face! Tell father that. Tell him that someday he should try to love someone when they can do him no service for his dreadful lust for Boleyn power! Tell him that he should go back to Hever, for our foolish mother loves him still, though how she does I can never fathom. Tell him...”

Staff’s arms were around her in the next moment, almost in the same instant in which she felt the first stabbing pain. It surely was the child, but she was so beside herself with anger and hurt that it could have been her mind playing tricks on her again.

Staff carefully picked her up in his arms when he saw the pain on her face. George stood by, clearly distraught as Staff carried her from the parlor and up the silent stairs.

“I saw the ghost. He touched me,” she said to Staff between the waves of pain. Staff shouted for Nancy from where he stood and bent over Mary, untying her long linen sleeves from her bodice. “Did you, sweetheart? Today? Where?”

She meant to answer and to tell him how warm and comforting the memory was, but a sharp pain swept her words away. Staff was removing her shoes and telling her how much he loved her when Nancy’s face appeared close over her. “Stephen has gone for the midwife, Lady Mary. I will not leave you.”

“Can we send for my mother, Staff?” Mary heard herself ask suddenly. “Send George away and tell him to bring mother.”

“I shall ask him, love, but I think he must return to court.” Concern was stamped on Staff’s strong features, and she gripped his hand tight in the next wave of pain. “We shall send Stephen to bring your mother for a visit after the child is born as we discussed, all right?”

“Father will not like her to come here to Wivenhoe, Staff.”

“Then your father be damned, my love. Lady Elizabeth will come.”

Nancy and Staff had her into a clean loose frock now, and she felt much better, and not so tired. But surely the Lord in Heaven would give her strength for this trial. She was no longer afraid.

“You do not fear to have the child here, do you, Mary?”

“Here at Wivenhoe, my lord? Of course not.”

“In this room, I mean. Did you think you saw the ghost in here?”

“How did you know, Staff? Did I tell you?”

“No, sweetheart. I guessed. Nancy said you were standing wildly in the hall, and when you told me you saw the ghost...”

“He opened the door and came in to see me when I was resting,” she interrupted his gentle question. “I heard him on the stairs and then he touched my back. Then I was not afraid any longer, Staff, and I am not afraid now.”

“That is fine, my love. That is as it should be.”

“Do you think I am dreaming or lying, Staff? Tell me you believe it!”

“Of course I believe it. Did I not tell you he would want a good look at my beautiful wife?”

She started to laugh at his tease, but the dark hands of pain descended on her again. She bit her lip to stop the scream. Then Nancy shooed Staff from the room as Mary began the hours of labor to bring forth a child for Wivenhoe.



A son was born nearly at midnight and they called him Andrew William as they had decided. They wanted the child to have his own freely given first name and not be named for someone in high position as were Henry and Catherine. William they gave as a middle name in remembrance of Staff’s dead father and for Staff’s own first name. Mary whispered the baby’s name over and over on her lips and wondered, as she finally fell asleep, if the watchful ghost would come to see his namesake. Staff was beside himself with joy and pride. Nancy told her later that he had even wept, and Stephen had been sent to fetch a whole keg of precious wine from the cellar in celebration.

The next midmorn, George came to see the child before he and his man set off on the road back to Greenwich. He looked nervous and bleary-eyed to Mary, as though he had not slept. “George, I am sorry you must be the bearer of news back to court, not only that I will have none of his nefarious plot to dupe His Grace into believing Harry is his, but that you are the one who will tell them that Staff and I have a son when one is desperately needed elsewhere.”

“Coward that I am, sister, I may lie low on that news until Cromwell tells someone, though Anne could hear it best from me perhaps. She needs me more and more now, Mary. I try to cushion her pain as best I can, but she gets wild sometimes and no one can stand her actions or the things she says.”

“Every woman needs a man to cushion her pain, George.” Mary reached out and took Staff’s hand.

“Jane rants and raves about the time I spend with Anne, of course. It is almost as though she were jealous, but I know that cannot be, since Anne is only my sister and not some paramour.”

“I resented Eleanor Carey once in much the same way. She and Will were somehow soulmates, and I resented that. I can understand Jane’s unease.”

She thought George meant to argue the point, but he suddenly blurted, “Forgive me for upsetting you so, sister. I fear it brought on the child.”

“No, George. All is well. The child came in his own time.”