Chapter VII : Spring 1449
Tolleshunt D'Arcy, Essex, England
It is my betrothal ceremony to Henry! It is finally the very day. I am trying very hard to look attentive, for I know Henry frowns upon the dismissive manner in which I regard the church, but it is testing not to fall asleep, as the priest talks in Latin, which I cannot bother to comprehend. Dr. Watt has despaired of me of late, as I have found my mind wondering to more interesting matters, and indeed, my education will be over soon.
My Lady has moved, for she progresses to another of her estates every two or three years, to her manor here, which is commonly referred to as Bourchier's Hall, nigh six miles from Great Totham. This is how I come to be here at St. Nicholas' here in Tolleshunt D'Arcy. However, my father rather desired for the whole affair to be held at Middleton, but I beseeched to My Lady for the wedding to be held in the church at Rivenhall.
"Please, let us marry at Rivenhall, for if I had not met you there by a chance of fate, this marriage would not have occurred." She was rather swayed, and persuaded my father otherwise.
I glance around at the party. It is not even the wedding yet, and my mother is attempting to outshine my soon-to-be mother-in-law. She has none of My Lady's grace, posture and presence; instead, with her sullen face and plainer gown. My own attire is most sumptuous. I am proudly bearing part of the Scales (more precisely, my father's) arms. I wear a long cream side-less surcoat with red trimmings, and a matching pale red mantle. The Scales escallops are sewn all over my skirts, and I wear a circlet on my hair also adorned with them. There is a matching headdress for my trousseau for when I am married, and this is just one of the dozens of lavish gowns for my trousseau also.
I shall be a woman of the rainbow from a dress in silver silk to violet hemp; a woman of many patterns, for a costly amount has been spent on brocade and damask- I have seen the design for one of these gowns- lime green with swirls and artichokes all over. I am itching to be beholden to them and my new silk slippers and jewels. I do hope I can go to court- for what is the point of all this extravagancy if no-one is to see me?
I hear a little cough, and see Henry reaching out towards me with my betrothal ring. Oh! I hold out my hand. Henry's eyes widen, and he looks at me pointedly. Oh! I think again. Blushing, I hold out my other hand. I hear my Lady Mother's tut, and purse my lips. I feel a tingling sensation as his slightly sticky fingers brush mine.
"I will, take thee to wed," he says solemnly. He is wearing a lilac doublet of fustian, which rather brings out the colour of his eyes- such a soothing periwinkle. The metal is cold against my skin, and shaking slightly, I take the matching ring with our initials entwined- HB + ES (for who cares about the 'de' in de Scales anymore?) and, sliding it onto his finger, I take in a deep breath, looking into his eyes. This is it, the first stage of our binding contract. I am actually going to be married to Henry soon! A rush fills my body and I look at him, licking my lips, as they feel rather dry.
"I will, take thee to wed."
A week later, I am dismounting from Lucifia- who has been hastily re-named Lucy to pacify Henry and my mother. To prove my piety to her I recited the Pater Noster, Lords' Prayer, Ave Maria and Hail Mary all in two minutes, which rather quelled her. I wish she was not residing with me before my marriage.
A stable hand takes her from me as I walk towards the manor, shaking dust from my skirts and freeing my hair from the coif I wear when I go riding.
Upon reaching the solar, I see my Lady Mother standing before the fireplace, arms folded. My Lady Isabel is seated and working on another tapestry, but the movement of her hands is too jerky to assure me naught is wrong.
"Elizabeth," my mother says in a clipped tone. I gulp. She walks towards me; she fails to look imposing, for she is not a tall woman, but her eyes are shards of grey ice.
"Mayhap you are aware that after a betrothal, a notice is posted to the church door announcing the marriage?" I shake my head. "It also asks for anyone to come forth if they believe the said marriage should be prohibited. We made sure a papal dispensation was obtained beforehand-" she shoots My Lady a gaze, for I know her marriage to My Lord was validated after her wedding, "from Rome so no person could object on grounds of consanguinity." I frown; what is her point? My Lady presses her lips as if she would interject, and rises from her seat.
"But," my mother laughs shakily, "This marriage is not being questioned in regards of being too closely related, oh no, my dearest daughter, the question is upon your closeness with your betrothed's brothers!" By now, her nostrils are flaring. I stare at her, numb. I begin to tremble.
"What?" I let out a languished cry, trying to comprehend, "But, but..." How can this be? My Lady places her hand gently on my arm.
"An anonymous allegation was sent, telling of romantic assignations with William." I stifle another cry. Oh, how I could wash away the memories of William and me chasing each other- him tickling me, or twirling me around, only for him to tire of me and grow cold? But whatever knave could have written such an allegation?
"Elizabeth, did you give yourself to him?"
"No!" I cry, shocked at my mother's forward tone. I blanch paler.
"Humphrey sent this, did he not?" I whisper, thinking of his words last year. But Humphrey and I had talked since then, and finally parted friends, and he accepted that he must relinquish his affections for me, and one day he would have a comely little bride of his own. I am rather getting oneself a reputation... and now this!
My Lady shakes her head. "It is not his penmanship." My mother looks me up and down; she has obviously been informed of the situation regarding Humphrey. But who else would have sent such a note- it must be someone in the Bourchier household, to have noticed some of the closeness between William and I when I first came here...? I swallow, belly swirling.
"Do you realise what you have done, Elizabeth?" My Lady Mother rounds on me with a furious gaze. I let out a sob.
"Lady Mother, I am sorry," I sniff.
"Sorry? You do not understand the meaning of that word, or what the rosary you wear truly stands for! Unless this is ignored, you have ruined everything!" She looks at me up and down again, nose wrinkling, fists clenching. "You little harlot!" Her hand deals me a stinging blow, and I stagger, turning away. I put a hand to my cheek, gasping.
"Lady Scales!" My Lady Isabel moves towards me, and puts her arms around me. I throw my mother a gaze of pure contempt. How could she? And in front of My Lady Isabel? I sob into My Lady's chest, cheek burning as if I have touched hot coals.
"Lady Bourchier, I would speak with my daughter alone?" I look up, snivelling and shaking my head.
"No, no, do not leave me with her!" I scream, and flee from the room as fast as a church mouse, before she can think of catching me.
She finds me a few hours later in my bedchamber. Bessie is pressing a wet linen rag to my cheek, kneeling beside me with a bowl of water. I still cannot quite believe what has happened.
"Will there be bruising?" I touch my cheek gingerly.
"Mayhap, but 'twill go away before your wedding," Bessie says, trailing off.
"If there is to be one," I say bitterly.
Minutes later, there is a knock on the door, and my Mother enters without bothering for a reply. She and my Father must think it a great sport between them, hurting me. I stiffen as she walks in, dismissing Bessie, who bobs a curtesy and throws me a sympathetic glance. My Mother sits down on my bed, a space apart from me. She turns and looks at me, and I inhale sharply, glaring. She has many lines grooved into her alabaster skin, and creases round her eyes. How can the young Queen like the miserable company of this old harridan?
"Elizabeth, do you understand the trouble that your Lord Father and I went to-"
"If you are here to just chastise me, then I ask of you to leave my bedchamber," I snap. She falls silent for a while- she does not even scold me for my rudeness.
"Elizabeth, I made the Lord your Father turn down many better offers of your hand in marriage than the second son of a Viscount, for one of the wealthiest heiresses in the realm." I frown.
"Then why did you? If I could have had a Duke?" I raise my eyebrows to challenge her.
She pauses, seeming to contemplate her words. "One's feelings should not be considered during marriage- although your father must have truly lusted after me at some point, for I had a tenth of the dowry you have, nothing to commend me." She lets out a harsh laugh. 'Tis hard to imagine her in love with my father, and her being any great beauty. My Mother was the daughter of an obscure Cornish knight, and I know she had desperately tried to dissociate herself with being Ismania Whalesborough, and reinvent herself as Baroness 'Emma' de Scales. I tilt my head slightly.
"I obtained for you a marriage in which you would be happy and with a youth who would care for you properly, hence why at Lady Isabel's recommendation, you are to be wed to Henry."
"You... you endeavoured to make me a happy marriage?" I stare at her, blinking, sitting back a little. But she dislikes me, why would she do such a thing?
"Yes," she says shortly. Does she care for me?
I bite my lip. "And now, I have ruined everything, and you, and you, a-a..." I break off, pressing my hand to my mouth.
"No more shall be said on the matter. The priest is surely simple, and Lord Bourchier has assured him what has been said is false-" She throws me a look here as if she still does not believe me, "and his wife is re-assuring her sons. When this damned wedding is over, remember the ring you wear on your finger-" She sees my furious gaze. "I shall see you at supper." Then she is gone.
Does she think I would commit adultery like Father? One day I will tell her of his infidelity, I will. One moment she appears almost loving, the next despising of me! I want to scream. I lean back, closing my eyes and putting my hands on my head. Everything has happened in such quick succession. So, the wedding is still going ahead? No person is angry with me? I am, at myself, for jeopardising mine and Henry's union, when I love him ever so much. I am also angry at the person who has made these accusations, and to go as far as saying William and me...?
Should I make means to endeavour who was this scoundrel? I fear I will not rest easy in my bed if I do not, for they are not a pious person with true concern, I feel it in my bones. Mayhap it was one of the servants, or Humphrey got someone else to scribe for him? Whomever, this is someone who means to slander mine and William's reputation – I wonder how he feels about this, since we have ignored one another for so long- and stop me from being the wife of Henry Bourchier.