Cor Rotto: A novel of Catherine Carey by Adrienne Dillard Page B
Authors: Adrienne Dillard
Ads: Link
needed.
The next day my maid Matilda and I tore my closet apart looking for a suitable gown for a coronation. We settled on pale blue damask with cloth-of-silver woven through. Matilda went to my jewel box and came back with a pair of sapphire and pearl earrings, a gift from the king when I first came to Court. I sat on my bed and held them in my hand, staring as they sparkled in the light. Maybe if I held them in my hand and prayed hard enough, my father would come back. Inwardly I sighed. I knew that was not possible. The king was not coming back.
I had rarely spoken to the man in all my time at Court. I had served three of his wives, danced at his masques, walked through his gardens and in all that time, we had barely exchanged words. Why did I grieve so? After a while, I realised it was because when I saw the king I knew that I belonged. He looked like my father. We had the same nose and squinty eyes. My golden red locks matched his. I had none of the Boleyn traits and I looked nothing like the Careys. I always knew Stafford was not my father so it was no mystery to me why we looked so different. Until I knew where my appearance came from, I had felt like a stranger, as though I did not belong in my own family. Then I came to Court and saw myself mirrored back in the faces of the king and the Lady Elizabeth. It mattered not whether the king recognised me as his, my eyes did not lie.
The king’s death was the end of an era. Now we had an untried child on the throne and a bevy of men crowding around to get their piece of the power. Things had been unstable and changing under Henry, but now they were downright frightening. Francis was thrilled, of course, because Edward had been brought up as a reformer. But I had seen enough at Court to know that the situation was never as straightforward as that. My Uncle Norfolk, the leading Catholic at Court may have been locked in the Tower, but there was always another that would rise in his place. The faction wars would continue and they would get even more volatile with a young, malleable boy on the throne.
The door to my room banged open, startling me out of my reverie. In ran my children. Harry, now a tall boy of six, shouted, “Mama, Uncle Henry says I can help him deliver the new pony when it comes!”
“That will be great fun, Harry,” I said smoothing back his hair.
Mary crawled onto my lap. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth just long enough to give me a smile.
“Beautiful girl,” I said kissing her on the forehead.
Lettice, entering a most rebellious third year, bounded in with her doll in her hand. “Don’t be such a baby Mary! I don’t suck my thumb any more!” she teased as she crawled up on the bed beside me.
I hugged them both. “Girls, we all grow up in our own time. We each have our own strengths and weaknesses and, above all, we do not tease in this house.”
The baby nurse brought in Edward, and William toddled in behind her. I moved Mary from my lap and set her next to me, taking Edward in one arm and William in the other. In that moment, I realised that it did not matter if my father was gone, I would always belong in this house, with the family I had created with Francis. I looked to each of my children and saw how different they were. Each one special and wonderful in their own way, and it occurred to me that I did not have to look like my brother or stepfather. They had loved me anyway.
PART III - A New Era
London, Whitehall:
February 1547 - August 1547
Like our father before him, King Edward spent the week before his coronation in the Tower. Francis and I stayed at Whitehall with the rest of the court. On the afternoon of 19 th February, the young king and his retinue left the Tower of London. Francis was in the procession so I went with Nan Bassett to see the festivities. We traipsed through the streets of London, winter frost crunching underneath our feet. Our layers of velvet and damask warmed us against the biting cold, but our
The next day my maid Matilda and I tore my closet apart looking for a suitable gown for a coronation. We settled on pale blue damask with cloth-of-silver woven through. Matilda went to my jewel box and came back with a pair of sapphire and pearl earrings, a gift from the king when I first came to Court. I sat on my bed and held them in my hand, staring as they sparkled in the light. Maybe if I held them in my hand and prayed hard enough, my father would come back. Inwardly I sighed. I knew that was not possible. The king was not coming back.
I had rarely spoken to the man in all my time at Court. I had served three of his wives, danced at his masques, walked through his gardens and in all that time, we had barely exchanged words. Why did I grieve so? After a while, I realised it was because when I saw the king I knew that I belonged. He looked like my father. We had the same nose and squinty eyes. My golden red locks matched his. I had none of the Boleyn traits and I looked nothing like the Careys. I always knew Stafford was not my father so it was no mystery to me why we looked so different. Until I knew where my appearance came from, I had felt like a stranger, as though I did not belong in my own family. Then I came to Court and saw myself mirrored back in the faces of the king and the Lady Elizabeth. It mattered not whether the king recognised me as his, my eyes did not lie.
The king’s death was the end of an era. Now we had an untried child on the throne and a bevy of men crowding around to get their piece of the power. Things had been unstable and changing under Henry, but now they were downright frightening. Francis was thrilled, of course, because Edward had been brought up as a reformer. But I had seen enough at Court to know that the situation was never as straightforward as that. My Uncle Norfolk, the leading Catholic at Court may have been locked in the Tower, but there was always another that would rise in his place. The faction wars would continue and they would get even more volatile with a young, malleable boy on the throne.
The door to my room banged open, startling me out of my reverie. In ran my children. Harry, now a tall boy of six, shouted, “Mama, Uncle Henry says I can help him deliver the new pony when it comes!”
“That will be great fun, Harry,” I said smoothing back his hair.
Mary crawled onto my lap. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth just long enough to give me a smile.
“Beautiful girl,” I said kissing her on the forehead.
Lettice, entering a most rebellious third year, bounded in with her doll in her hand. “Don’t be such a baby Mary! I don’t suck my thumb any more!” she teased as she crawled up on the bed beside me.
I hugged them both. “Girls, we all grow up in our own time. We each have our own strengths and weaknesses and, above all, we do not tease in this house.”
The baby nurse brought in Edward, and William toddled in behind her. I moved Mary from my lap and set her next to me, taking Edward in one arm and William in the other. In that moment, I realised that it did not matter if my father was gone, I would always belong in this house, with the family I had created with Francis. I looked to each of my children and saw how different they were. Each one special and wonderful in their own way, and it occurred to me that I did not have to look like my brother or stepfather. They had loved me anyway.
PART III - A New Era
London, Whitehall:
February 1547 - August 1547
Like our father before him, King Edward spent the week before his coronation in the Tower. Francis and I stayed at Whitehall with the rest of the court. On the afternoon of 19 th February, the young king and his retinue left the Tower of London. Francis was in the procession so I went with Nan Bassett to see the festivities. We traipsed through the streets of London, winter frost crunching underneath our feet. Our layers of velvet and damask warmed us against the biting cold, but our
Similar Books
