1525 autumn IIII

The cloak, although thick, does not do much to ward of the cold breeze. The sun is bright in the sky but there is no warmth to its glow and the rain is a constant drizzle, not enough to keep you locked indoors, but fine and unending so you become drenched without realizing. Tilly and I wrap our cloaks tightly, but we find ourselves soaked regardless by the time we finish the walk up to the village of Upper Tysoe. It is only a short walk - upon a dirt trodden path - about a third of a league from the Compton estate: but I struggle with the journey.

"I am not as healthy as I thought," I say breathlessly as we reach the outer edge of the village.

I lean my weight on to a small stone heap, which appeared to be an attempt at a wall. The pause allows me to steady my breathing, but once sat, I soon become aware of my aching calves, throbbing from the pressure of the walk.

"You are far into pregnancy, my lady. You should have stayed at home in comfort and left me to seek the midwife on your behalf, I would have fetched her to you for your inspection." Tilly replies.

I frown at her even though I know she is right. A lady regardless of her state should not be walking through mud paths in the sodden rain. I should have sent Tilly and summoned this midwife to me. Yet, I selfishly wanted the fresh air, a chance to walk through nature and grasp at my slipping away freedom. For all my breathless talk and strained muscles, I felt an energy building within me, a stirring of power. I push myself to stand and with my hands on my hips, I stretch my back, brushing the thought of walking further from the back of my mind. "Let us continue on, I am here now and might as well carry on with my purpose," I say.

We venture into the small village and work our way to the centre. Today was Hallows Eve and I could see the tell-tell signs of a superstitious community. Chalkstone crosses had been painted on many door frames, no doubt from the local priest who would have blessed the houses for a price. I could smell the sweet aroma of baking, as those with time spare prepared soul cakes for the children to indulge in and as we approached the centre of the village we came upon stacks of bundled wood in preparation for the nighttime bonfire.

I almost scoffed at the traditions for most had been changed for the Catholic church's own purpose. It was Sahaim tomorrow for the Pagans and all Saints day for the Catholics. For me, I understood that the veil between the living and the dead would be its thinnest tonight. A time to welcome back those who we have lost, but not all those passing the veil would be friendly or welcomed. It was also the end of harvest and the drawing in of the dark nights and winter. The villagers did not understand their actions, or to what purpose they did these small tasks on this night. At least the bonfire would cleanse the ground beneath their feet and keep bay restless spirits, even if they did not understand the relevance.

"We must light our own bonfire tonight," I say off-handly, eyeing the stacks of wood.

"That would be a splendid idea! And we could get some apples for bobbing." Tilly replies excitedly.

I glance at the girl forgetting for most this was a time for games, sweet treats and scary tales, before the never ending sermons tomorrow. A boring religion which consisted more of prayer to a deity who appeared to not answer back. She was allowed her indulgences for it did not happen often, I would not chastise her for wanting fun, it would only allow me to do my own practices without attracting attention.

We arrived at a small thatched structure just off from the central chapel and market square. "This is the place," Tilly assures me.

I eye the door, it held no markings on the frame. "Go find some apples if you can Tilly, and return to me once done. I shall see the midwife alone." I say.

"As you wish, my lady." She quickly walks back the way we came, a hop in her step, no doubt she would find other indulgences in her passing.

I open the door and step through into what looked more like a preparation room for cooking. A slight ting of a bell rings throughout the air announcing my presence.

"How may I help?" A young woman asks me.

The woman is busily churning herbs into a paste with sweat upon her brow from the effort. She does not even glance at me but continues with her work. "I have been advised that this is where I can find a renowned midwife," I say closing the door behind me.

She chuckles at that. "Renowned? I have helped pull many a child from a wailing mother but I have never heard that title." She looks up at that with a smile to her lips which swiftly falls as she notes my fine dress and cloak. "My lady, I apologies, I am use to speaking with frank words." She quickly brushes her hands upon her apron and moves towards me.

I smile in turn, there was something about frank speech that appealed to me, no courtly words designed to be thought about. It reminded me of Master Ashley and his mannerisms. Where was he now? The thought catches me off-guard.

"No need to apologise. I would rather you spoke freely and honestly to me on such subjects." I say evenly breaking away from my nostalgia.

"A midwife you say?" She asks.

"Yes. I have been told you are well versed in child birth," I quirk my lips "and wailing mothers."

She smiles at my jest and I see her shoulders ease visible. "I have helped those in this village and a few beyond. But, begging your pardon, would you not prefer a city midwife, those accustomed to a lady of your station?" She says easily not abashed at her standing.

Again the words bring John into my mind. So many rules, so much protocol, too much importance on station and birthright. I sometimes wish I could just be a normal person, not tied to etiquette. "My husband had the same thought, but I am yet to receive her and I am close to my time, I need guidance," I reply.

She listens to my words then moves forward placing a firm hand on my protruding stomach, pressing firmly here and there. I stand still letting her do as she pleases, a bit taken a back at first, but then I realise this is what it means not to have the indulging words of protocol, the permission of superiors.

"You might not be as far as you first imagined, I would say two and a half moons from now. A few weeks after the turning of the year." She says.

"I had thought as much, I was not too sure on the exact moment of fruition."

She laughs at that. "You and your husband spending plenty of time between the sheets, you must be newly weds or keen to his touch."

I smile briefly, there was no husband in that manner but me and Henry had been keen to each other, almost every night for months. We had become one and the same in that time wanting only desire.

She takes in my smile and takes it for an answer. "I will help you in your preparations and birthing. I will come see you in several weeks and help instruct and prepare your chamber but that is all I can do at the moment. You have picked an odd day to come to me for this request." She says off-handly.

I snap back into guard. "What better time than when honouring the saints, for I shall need them to look over and protect my newborn." I say without difficulty, the pious talk falls easily when rehearsed enough.

"That was not the celebration I had in mind." She says easily.

Before I can answer her, the ring of the door trickles through the room and a shivering Tilly jumps through the door carrying a woven basket. "I found some apples!" She squeals.