happening, in the queen’s apartments. In fact, it would soon be known across the whole court, spreading like an infection.
Bridget ran to catch up with Jane and Catherine and had to work hard to keep pace with them, the dogs following along behind. “What is going on, Catherine?” Bridget asked hurriedly as they entered the palace.
Catherine turned her blue eyes upon her and they were brimming with worry. “The queen said she felt some pain in her belly, and then she noticed that there was blood coming from, well, between her legs. The sound of her screams was frightening.” Catherine certainly looked like someone who had experienced a shock. “She wanted you both brought back immediately and the doctors and midwife called for.”
As they hurried through the corridors, Bridget observed that there were a lot of long-faced people loitering about, speaking to each other in hushed tones. The news was indeed travelling fast. Bridget said a little prayer as she passed them and she continued to pray all the way to the door of the queen’s apartments.
The first thing she became aware of upon entering was the smell. The sharp, coppery tang of blood was in the air, and Bridget felt as though she had stepped backwards in time. One of her first memories was of the room her mother had died in, a fetid, cramped, little chamber, totally unlike this one in appearance but exactly the same in odour. Bridget silently asked the Lord for a happier fate for the queen than the one that had befallen her mother.
The rooms were empty of men, except for two elderly gentlemen, whom Bridget assumed to be the doctors. They seemed utterly at a loss and looked terrified. Bridget guessed that they were pondering the possible consequences if the queen miscarried of a son. She shared their fears and whispered softly to herself, “Dear God, do not let the queen lose the prince,” as she and Catherine stopped in the presence chamber and Lady Rochford went through to Anne.
Joanna was crying, and she went up to Bridget and put her arms around her. “It happened so quickly,” she sniffed. “One moment the queen was laughing at something Sir Francis had said, and the next she was clutching her belly and bent over in pain. Lord Rochford rushed away to get help, but she was already bleeding. I cleaned it up off the floor. It was like a scarlet lake, spreading out around her feet.”
Bridget glanced over and saw the patch where the queen’s blood had spilled. It was large and wet. “We should pray,” she said, feeling like she had to do something to quell the rising panic in the pit of her stomach. The three maids fell to their knees and began beseeching God to spare the life of their mistress and her baby in low, pleading voices. It had been a long time since Bridget had prayed so hard.
“Mistress Manning!” Lady Rochford’s piercing tones rang out, breaking the hush in the room. Bridget answered immediately and got to her feet. She quickly entered the privy chamber, then made her way into the bedchamber. The sight that met her there almost stopped her heart.
The queen was propped up in her bed, her face shiny with sweat, the area between her legs crimson with blood. It was everywhere, soaking through her nightgown, soaking through the sheets, and even dripping into a widening pool on the floor. The scent of it was so pervasive that Bridget could practically taste it on her tongue.
Lady Rochford was wiping the queen’s brow and murmuring unintelligible things to her, as was Mistress Marshall. Anne herself seemed not to hear her at all and was concentrating on clamping her legs together, her face contorted with pain, her eyes wild like a frightened hind’s. Madge Shelton and Lady Worcester appeared dazed, and the midwife hovered at the end of the bed, a harbinger of impending doom. Jane Seymour kept herself hidden at the back of the chamber, her head resolutely turned to the wall.
“Here you are, Mistress Manning,” Lady
Bridget ran to catch up with Jane and Catherine and had to work hard to keep pace with them, the dogs following along behind. “What is going on, Catherine?” Bridget asked hurriedly as they entered the palace.
Catherine turned her blue eyes upon her and they were brimming with worry. “The queen said she felt some pain in her belly, and then she noticed that there was blood coming from, well, between her legs. The sound of her screams was frightening.” Catherine certainly looked like someone who had experienced a shock. “She wanted you both brought back immediately and the doctors and midwife called for.”
As they hurried through the corridors, Bridget observed that there were a lot of long-faced people loitering about, speaking to each other in hushed tones. The news was indeed travelling fast. Bridget said a little prayer as she passed them and she continued to pray all the way to the door of the queen’s apartments.
The first thing she became aware of upon entering was the smell. The sharp, coppery tang of blood was in the air, and Bridget felt as though she had stepped backwards in time. One of her first memories was of the room her mother had died in, a fetid, cramped, little chamber, totally unlike this one in appearance but exactly the same in odour. Bridget silently asked the Lord for a happier fate for the queen than the one that had befallen her mother.
The rooms were empty of men, except for two elderly gentlemen, whom Bridget assumed to be the doctors. They seemed utterly at a loss and looked terrified. Bridget guessed that they were pondering the possible consequences if the queen miscarried of a son. She shared their fears and whispered softly to herself, “Dear God, do not let the queen lose the prince,” as she and Catherine stopped in the presence chamber and Lady Rochford went through to Anne.
Joanna was crying, and she went up to Bridget and put her arms around her. “It happened so quickly,” she sniffed. “One moment the queen was laughing at something Sir Francis had said, and the next she was clutching her belly and bent over in pain. Lord Rochford rushed away to get help, but she was already bleeding. I cleaned it up off the floor. It was like a scarlet lake, spreading out around her feet.”
Bridget glanced over and saw the patch where the queen’s blood had spilled. It was large and wet. “We should pray,” she said, feeling like she had to do something to quell the rising panic in the pit of her stomach. The three maids fell to their knees and began beseeching God to spare the life of their mistress and her baby in low, pleading voices. It had been a long time since Bridget had prayed so hard.
“Mistress Manning!” Lady Rochford’s piercing tones rang out, breaking the hush in the room. Bridget answered immediately and got to her feet. She quickly entered the privy chamber, then made her way into the bedchamber. The sight that met her there almost stopped her heart.
The queen was propped up in her bed, her face shiny with sweat, the area between her legs crimson with blood. It was everywhere, soaking through her nightgown, soaking through the sheets, and even dripping into a widening pool on the floor. The scent of it was so pervasive that Bridget could practically taste it on her tongue.
Lady Rochford was wiping the queen’s brow and murmuring unintelligible things to her, as was Mistress Marshall. Anne herself seemed not to hear her at all and was concentrating on clamping her legs together, her face contorted with pain, her eyes wild like a frightened hind’s. Madge Shelton and Lady Worcester appeared dazed, and the midwife hovered at the end of the bed, a harbinger of impending doom. Jane Seymour kept herself hidden at the back of the chamber, her head resolutely turned to the wall.
“Here you are, Mistress Manning,” Lady
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