In Bed with the Tudors: The Sex Lives of a Dynasty from Elizabeth of York to Elizabeth I (17 page)

For a Tudor gentlewoman, one key element of pregnancy was the setting in motion of a supportive female network by spreading her news and gathering together the group of gossips that would be her support during the coming months. Rare surviving letters include the advice, warnings and good wishes of family and friends, through to discussions concerning linen, midwives and medicines: their committal to paper suggests distance between the sender and recipient, so they must give just a brief indication of the oral exchanges that must have taken place on a regular basis during the months of pregnancy. In 1572, Lady Audrey Aleyn wrote to her brother concerning provision for his wife’s lying in, discussing wet nursing, christening and attempting to predict gender through astrology: ‘I could make you somewhat affeard of a gyrle, for that Femynine signes rule much this yere.’
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Lady Sidney’s sister wrote to her when she was pregnant abroad, wishing God would send her a ‘goodly boy’: she had confided her fears concerning foreign wet-nurses to her other sister, Lady Herbert, who offered the services of a most quiet and careful English nurse, who could be shipped over in time. Anne Newdigate received written good wishes from her kinswoman Lady Elizabeth Grey whilst suffering illness in pregnancy, while some women sent gifts along with their letters; Anne Bacon thanked her mother Mistress Dutton for sending a generous amount of linen ‘towards my lying downe’.
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However, not even privilege could guarantee the birth experience a mother had hoped for. When in 1575, the daughter-in-law of the Earl of Shrewsbury went into labour in his house, no women were available to attend and the child was delivered by a single midwife and baptised by Shrewsbury and two of his children. While men were barred from the labouring chamber, wives did not necessarily want them to be far away, offering emotional and material support: heavily pregnant Elizabeth Anthony wrote to her husband that his long absence ‘hath bread shuch discontent in my mind that I canot be reed of it. You knowe that my time of payne and sorowe is nere and I am unproved of loging and other thinges nedfull’. Sabine Johnson asked her husband to make ‘all sped home’ from Calais, which she would find a great comfort.
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No records survive of the women who supported Bessie during her confinement, particularly whether her mother Catherine travelled from Shropshire, although her three sisters were too young to have been involved and probably kept at a remove from the situation. The geographical distance from her family home may have been representative of the new social gulf that had opened between them and their eldest daughter.

As an aristocratic woman’s delivery approached, the questions of location became more urgent, depending upon wealth and status, with preparations including the gathering of linen, the making of baby clothes and provision for the care of older children. Although her circumstances were unusual, Bessie was typical in not giving birth at home. It was common for married women to seek out more suitable spaces, perhaps in the home of a neighbour or that of their parents, especially if they were not a home-owner or other circumstances made their usual dwelling place impractical. It would be interesting but probably impossible to know the predicaments of women who chose to give birth under the roofs of their mothers rather than their husbands. Some wives were clearly neglected: when pleading to separate from her husband, Elizabeth Kynaston explained how she had attempted to ‘engage and please’ him as much as she could, ‘to serve and respect him as she always conceived it was her duty to do’
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but he had denied her the midwife of her choice, resulting in a difficult, long labour; likewise Sir Richard Greville overturned his wife’s birth room wishes, causing marital ruptions.
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In 1566, pregnant Judith Pollard was locked out of her house on a cold January night, her husband refusing to readmit her, so she was taken in by her neighbour Margaret Jones. Anne Wilson’s husband refused to provide for her, so that she would have perished but for the charity of neighbours: other pregnant wives were beaten, kicked and attacked.
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When a woman’s virtue was called into question, threatening the line of inheritance, male reactions to pregnancy could be extreme. One case of 1537 saw an Elizabeth Burgh, of Langley Lodge, appealing to Thomas Cromwell for help after her child’s premature delivery cast doubt in the minds of her family about its conception. She had given birth whilst staying with a ‘gentleman and his wife’, Burgh’s kinsmen, who had written to assure her husband that ‘he might have no cause of jealousy against her, seeing that the child, by the proportions of his body, was born long before the time’ yet ‘my lord his father says it is none of her husband’s, and makes him absent himself from her’. Her second letter complained that her father-in-law was always ‘lying in wait’ to ‘put her to shame’. Whilst she lay recovering from a traumatic delivery, describing herself as a ‘prisoner’ and ‘comfortless’, she urged Cromwell to mediate, as ‘nothing but the power of God had preserved’ her and her child.
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As Bessie awaited the birth, surrounded by the Augustinian friars going about their devotions, probably removed from the support of friends and family, she may have turned to Catholic texts for support. Her composition proves she was literate and religious and devotional books were a common feature of the lying-in stage. Birth was the conventional opening of many popular hagiographies and miracle stories, widely circulated since Caxton’s 1483 English edition of Jacobus de Voragine’s
Golden Legend
had become a best seller. The majority of these authors were male or abstaining females with no direct experience of birth, although accuracy was not their priority. Instead, the intention was to exacerbate their subjects’ piety and glorify God, so their tales are prone to exaggeration, implausibility and the employment of iconography for dramatic effect. Such narratives frequently dwell on the signs and holy manifestations that accompanied saints’ births, such as comets or holy flames and the allegorical dreams informing mothers of the destiny of their blessed offspring. Typical is the birth account of the twelfth century recluse, St Christina of Markygate. According to the story, on the day ‘when the faithful pay particular honour to the mother of God’, a dove, ‘whiter than snow’ flew out of a monastery and settled in her pregnant mother’s bosom: ‘such a sign was evidently meant to show that the child within her would be filled with that Holy Spirit’, so she carried the child ‘with joy’ until the day of its birth. The rituals of delivery that followed were predominantly religious: the expectant mother went to church at daybreak to hear matins and mass, commending herself devoutly to God, his Virgin Mother and St Leonard, whose nativity was celebrated that day. She gave birth between
prime
and
terce
, (six and nine in the morning) ‘bravely bearing her hour of pain in anticipation of her child’.
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Such descriptions may have been uplifting for Bessie but essentially misleading.

On his visits to Newhall Place, Henry may well have visited Bessie at nearby Jericho. Some evidence may suggest the affair was already waning by this point or would conclude soon after the birth; did Bessie sense she was losing the king’s interest? Perhaps conscious of her fragile status as his mistress, she may have resorted to some of the remedies suggested for a pregnant woman keen to preserve her looks. To keep her breasts pert, she may have worn a chain of gold about her neck, a piece of steel hanging between them or held a bit of cork under her armpit to prevent them ‘hanging down like bags’. Equally she may have bathed her breasts in periwinkle, sage, ivy and hemlock boiled in wine, or else a little rose vinegar; a quarter of an hour in the morning was supposedly best, before wrapping them in ‘reasonable’ warm clothes. From the third month onward until the birth, she should wear a supporting swathe to prevent wrinkling and distortion of the skin. This could be anointed with goat suet, sow fat, goose grease, stag marrow and rose water. The concoction cannot have smelt too pleasant as it was then perfumed with a few drops of musk or civet. Alternative ingredients included dog’s grease, sheep’s kidney, spermaceti, duck fat and wax; these could be applied on a clean, dry dog skin. As her time approached, an expectant mother should bathe for half an hour in the morning, then lie in her bed and be anointed with salves of mallow, motherwell, lily, camomile, linseed, fenugreek and hen’s fat; she should drink white wine and almond oil, bound by an egg. Ill humours might cause Pica, already identified by the Tudors as a desire for either salt, sharp tastes such as vinegar and citrus fruits or strange substances like coal, ash and wall plaster! This was supposedly caused by the growing of the child’s hair. For the last-minute pains and practise contractions, Bessie may have chewed fennel, aniseed or cinnamon; to relax her bowels and prepare for the birth, sorrel, spinach and beetroot were added to the existing list of herbs.

Just like for queens, the aristocratic Tudor woman’s lying-in process was one of seclusion and ritual. The chamber was made as dark, warm and comfortable as possible, to keep out draughts and evil spirits at a time when a mother was considered beyond the usual protection of the church. Daylight was thought to be dangerous although some manuals recommend one window being left uncovered whilst the others were hidden behind hangings; the cradle was placed well away from natural light and under no circumstances was permitted to stand in moonlight. Darkness was considered physically beneficial too, as birth was thought to strain the eyes and repeated childbirth could lead to blindness, so the room’s key holes were stopped up, although this may have been borne out of the need to maximise privacy in smaller homes, shared with family and servants. The comfort and whims of a labouring mother were taken seriously, with food and supplies being brought in for those involved and their visitors during the long days of delivery and recovery, running up bills with traders and shopkeepers, causing disputes. There were no royal kitchens to ensure the average mother was kept well fed. In Chester in 1540, local authorities ruled that ‘great excess has been caused by the costly dishes, meats and drinks brought to women in childbed, which they repay at their churchings. Therefore it is ordered that in future no such dishes and wines shall be brought to women in childbed nor to churchings, and that no woman but the midwife and mother, sisters and sisters-in-law shall enter the house with her that is churched’.
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The penalty was a fine of 6
s
8
d
against the house owner and 3
s
4
d
for every person in attendance. This would be unpopular with midwives who were following the recommendations of Rosslin that women should be refreshed with good meat and drink; again provision would depend very much upon social class and degrees of disposable wealth.

In cases of illegitimacy, midwives were called upon to put pressure upon a mother at the moment of her greatest suffering. The women attending the unmarried Ursula Cleveland in 1588 at Shalford, Essex, asked her pressing questions to determine paternity, later giving evidence in court. The main midwife, Elizabeth Callys, was supported by Catherine Crosse, Rose Ringer and Bytteris Burles in charging her to clear the reputations of two men she had accused, although Ursula held out as long as she could, only naming one William Sympson when she was in ‘great peril of her life’ and believing herself about to die. A Richard Perrie of the same town told the justices how he had given Urusla cakes and a pot of beer when she confessed to him that the father was one Thomas Noble, although her sister had encouraged her to name Sympson instead. When examined, Ursula’s sister Joan Malte stated that she had long suspected Ursula of living a ‘lewd life’ with Sympson and had once followed him back to her house, where she stood under a window and heard the pair having ‘carnal knowledge’ before emerging from a bedchamber. When she confronted Sympson he accused her of being mad and offered her a bribe, after which she had encouraged Ursula to tell the truth regarding the paternity. Ursula then confessed Sympson had threatened to kill her if she spoke against him, which appeared to sway the justices. The court found Sympson culpable, ordering him to pay maintenance weekly for its upkeep, until such time that another man was later proven to be the child’s father. Ursula was to be stripped to the waist, tied to a cart and receive twenty lashes before the village church and in the street.
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Rule-breaking was considered a manifestation of sin rather than the product of social circumstance and as such, sinners needed to be harshly punished to cleanse the community and dissuade others.

More midwives helped identify the father of the illegitimate child born to Susan Babye of Coggeshall, Essex in 1582. Agnes Trewe, a widow, and Agnes Howlett had attended her labour, where she would only claim there was no other father of her child than her half-brother Edward. Shocked, the women pressed further and Susan confessed that one John Fletcher had lain with her at Witham fair, another William Dagnett had had ‘to do with her divers and sundry times’ and a Richard Howe had slept with her once, all around the time of conception.
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The phrase used in most recorded cases of bastardy is that of a ‘child begotten on the body’ of the mother, suggestive of a passive female role, even when the evidence shows collusion. Those women unfortunate enough to conceive during an act of violation were considered complicit, as mutual enjoyment was believed essential to conception. Therefore, pregnancies arising from rape were seen as evidence that the woman had enjoyed herself, invalidating any accusation she may have made. Legally, sex and the creation of a child was considered to lie within the control and responsibility of men, although women could lure and tempt a man to sin. Paradoxically, they were seen as morally weak and yet strong in terms of determination and depravity. Socially, the stigma was more lastingly endured by the woman as men could always deny paternity whilst pregnancy and birth outside marriage were illegal and difficult to conceal. It was usually the men of the parish where the illegitimate child was born who alerted the assize courts, mindful of the expense to the community if those involved shirked their responsibilities. Justice was a male preserve; women’s involvement was determined by male perceptions of their character and reputation. In such cases it was crucial to establish who the father or legal parent was, which could require a confession. Court records show this was not always forthcoming.