The Last Boleyn(155)
George nodded and shuffled nervously to glance at the sleeping newborn babe again. “Well, there is no red hair on this one,” he observed foolishly, but Mary did not let the words upset her. “I will be on the road, then. Thank you, Staff and Mary, for your hospitality. It is wondrous quiet here at Wivenhoe. I am not sure how I would do here after a while.”
“It is that calm and quiet we love, George. Farewell.” She smiled weakly up at him.
George bent to kiss Mary’s cheek and shake Staff’s hand. Staff walked him out of the room and down the stairs. Their voices faded away and the room was suddenly silent again. No boards creaked and she began to doze.
Staff came back just as the babe started to fuss for nursing. He lifted the brown-haired mite into Mary’s arms and lay down carefully next to them. He watched while his son suckled greedily and Mary felt her love flow out to them both. When the child slept again, Staff said suddenly, “I wish to thank you again for our son, my love. Catherine is quite beside herself with joy, and it will be a battle to keep her from picking him up all the time. She wants to cuddle him like a doll.”
“And so do I, my love, though he is more—much more. My first love child, though the Lord above knows I cherish the other two also. But I would die for this one.”
“I pray that will never be a necessity, sweet, only that you change the toddling clothes, wipe the nose, and untangle the leading strings.”
“What else did George tell you in private after I made my dramatic exit, Staff?”
He reached over and lazily stroked her loose golden hair as he spoke quietly. “Your little cousin Madge Shelton is to marry Henry Norris, for one thing.”
“Anne never managed to be rid of Madge? She could not accomplish even that?”
“No, though His Grace beds no longer with the girl. As for the other gossip, there was not much to interest you.”
“What else did he say of the Boleyn fortunes and the queen, Staff? Please, I would know. I will worry less then, truly.”
“Remember you are here with me and safe, sweetheart, but things are bad and getting worse. Unless Anne can somehow conceive, the dire handwriting is on the royal wall.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the king is more desperate than ever for a son as you can guess from George’s little visit to us. If Anne can give him none, he will try to get one somewhere. As usual, your wily father reads the signs correctly when he thinks to pawn little Harry Carey off on His Grace. But the king wants a true heir, a legitimate son.”
“But if there is only Elizabeth, and the queen cannot bear him a son...what then?”
“It boggles the mind. The Boleyns have risen so high they can never really retreat, only somehow be pulled off the lofty perch.”
“Do you believe he would dare to divorce Anne as Catherine before her, claiming that their marriage is cursed for their dead children? No, Staff, he cannot. He would look most foolish after the ruination of the church and the killing of a raft of friends and advisors such as Sir Thomas More.”
“That is my reasoning exactly, sweet. Indeed, what can he do? It will be something calculated and desperate, I fear. Clever Anne sees it too. George said she came upon Jane Seymour perched on the king’s lap last week in the queen’s chambers and threw a raving fit for two days.”
The babe suddenly stirred fitfully in her arms, and Mary rocked and shushed him. “He senses the times are bad, Staff. And now his Aunt Anne will hate him through no fault of his own, for she hates the mother who bore him even more.”
“You must not think so, lass. Anne cannot help herself.”
“I know. I know. I forgive her, but how I wish she could forgive me. I feel sad and guilty that I bear this beautiful child now when her whole life depends on a son.”
“You had best not feel guilty about my son, Mary, no matter what the times are like. Sweetheart, you must cease to be haunted like this for Anne or your father or the king. You are no longer their plaything but a woman of your own—and mine.”
She turned her face into his hand, which caressed her cheek as he spoke. She kissed his palm. “Are you saying I have ghosts in my head, Staff? Can you deny you carry much of the cruel past about with you? The rebellion? Your entrapment by the king all these years when you would rather have been here? Perhaps you only do not show your ghosts as much as I, my lord.”
He sighed and lowered his hand to stroke Andrew’s velvet cheek with one bent finger. “You are right, Lady Stafford. You know your lord quite well now, and I think you love him still.”
“Still, Lord Stafford? I love him more each day than I ever knew possible. But I would sleep now, too. Would you put your son back in his cradle?”
Staff stood and lifted the child carefully, the span of his two hands running the entire length of the babe’s body. He put him in the cradle and covered him. “I had best go down and see how the reeve is doing with his accounts, love,” he said leaning over her on the bed. “Will you sleep well here alone?”
“Of course. But I am not alone even when you are not here. There is Andrew and the other. I am not afraid here, Staff. I think it is rather my favorite room.”
He kissed her lingeringly on the lips and straightened. “That is good to hear, madam, for one way or the other, you had better plan on spending a lot of time right where you are now.” He grinned and left the door ajar behind him.