The Other Elizabeth

Chapter XXI: Spring-Summer 1458

I endeavour not to rouse her, but as I wash my face and hands, I wince, as the water gurgles when I ring my cloth. Bessie stirs blearily, rubbing her eyes. She bolts up, brushing her skirt down.

"Elizabeth, I am so sorry. I apologise wholeheartedly. Here, shall I re-dress your hair, I shall-"

"Bessie, sit down again," I say, watching her stumble and almost fall as she reaches for my hair pins, catching her arm, "You do not look well at all." I push her back into the chair; she tries to resist, struggling back up, and I push her down again.

"Elizabeth-" Suddenly I do think- here Bessie is, another Elizabeth, having cared for myself from my infancy; she was just the other Elizabeth also, as the nursemaid. It is small wonder she chose to be called by her pet name.

"How old are you?" I say, cocking my head, observing the circles about her eyes. I have been so pre-occupied with wondering about the cause of Henry's upset (indeed, where is he presently?) I have not paid heed to her ill-looking countenance, and the malady that afflicts her.

"Elizabeth! You are as impertinent as ever!" I smile a little ruefully.

"I am about seven and thirty." I blink. Bessie, my Bessie, is so old? She is no longer the stern but loving young woman companion whom I jested about falling in love and taking tumbles with stable boys. She is no longer giddy and youthful. She has dedicated her life in service to me, yet she has no family of her own... I turn to look at her.

"Bessie, I must dismiss you from my service."

She blanches white as Middleton snow and emits a little moan, rising again.

"Nay! You cannot. Pray, Elizabeth, I beseech you humbly. Never shall I fall asleep such as that again." She wrings her hands; she has become so agitated in a manner of seconds. I place my hand on her arm to steel her.

"'Tis not that I am displeased, in fact, quite the contrary. You have spent your life waiting on me, but I wish for you to leave and start a family of your own, bearing your age. Your courses cannot have dried up yet; you are still able to find a nice man from one of the villages, or back home at Middleton, and have a babe in the cradle." She presses her lips together as they begin to wobble, and puts her hand to them, squeezing her eyes. She turns her back on me, and I hear her emit a small sob. I pull her arm as she shakes.

"Bessie, Bessie, what ails you? You must tell me!" Have I upset her? Does she still not wish to broach the subject of the marriage bed? Mayhap some foolish man once broke her heart? Mayhap she is widowed, and I never knew so? Or, had she some terrible accident in her youth, which prevents her from the act, or from having a child? First Henry, now Bessie, both in tears, and mayhap my fault?

"Elizabeth, you must hasten to sup. The worries of your servant need not be of a concern to a person of the likes of you." She sniffs.

"Servant?" I echo. "Why Bessie, you are my friend. I care naught for food; I shall not eat until you tell me what troubles you." She wrings her hands again, staring at the bare patches of stone flags on the floor, which are devoid of rushes and herbs. She sighs, wiping away her tears.

"I have to tell you something, Elizabeth. I have been in service for you so long that I know it would pain you not to know. I heard one of the laundrywomen boast... that they had... lain with the lord... the lord who had slain the Duke... the Duke of Somerset." She does not meet my widening eyes, hunched up.

"The lord who had slain the Duke of Somerset? God's teeth, Bessie, does she imply that My Lord Duke is behaving infidelity whilst his own lady wife sleeps under his roof? Nay, she must jest. The Duke would hardly behave in such a way- 'tis preposterous! He has no acknowledged bastards, if my knowledge be correct?" Bessie looks at me, gulping. She chews her lip. This girl must lie- the Duke would never do such a thing to slay the honour of Duchess Cecily. Would he?