Chapter XI: Lammastide 1450
Tolleshunt D'Arcy, Essex, England
"Thank you, Bessie," I say, turning around, as she finishes putting the final pin in place on my new headdress. It is a rather small, like a turban, in red with gold swirls, and there is a matching gown of damask with golden artichokes and daisies entwined. Henry had it made for me to try to lighten my spirits, and to try to relax and enjoy the day, not fret about Isabel. Sometimes I wonder if I am being too overprotective, but she is still as small as the loaves of bread we are to see today- for today is Lammas Day.
I turn to meet Henry outside my bedchamber door. I feel a little weighted down, but I shall hold my chin up and act as if naught is wrong. He proffers his arm out, smiling and we walk up to the nursery together.
"E-libbe-bet, E-libbe-bet!" Florence waddles over to me as we walk through the open door, clapping her little hands together. I bend down; 'tis strange, for she is like another daughter to me, yet she is my sister by marriage, and she is my own daughter's aunt. She and Isabel will grow up together like sisters, I hope. Oh, how I should have loved to have a sister!
"Good day, Florence," I say, tickling her under the chin. She giggles.
"Hawwy?"
"Yes?" He bends down next to me. Her little face becomes all serious, and she stops talking in her babe talk.
"May I come with you?" Her wide brown eyes blink open and shut. Henry looks at me.
"I am sure our lady mother will allow it, as long as you behave." I nod in agreement.
"I always behave; I is a good puella."
"No, you do not!" I retort, and start to tickle her until she is out of breath. She must be destined to be a wise woman- speaking Latin at the age of two! I presume Henry could do the same; mayhap my own daughter will be incredibly intelligent and scholarly too, unlike myself. Henry lifts Florence up gingerly onto his waist, and we walk over to where Jane is cradling Isabel. I sit down beside her.
"I am surprised Florence did not wake her with her squealing," Jane remarks.
"Aunt Flo-w-ence is be-wy so-wy," Florence says, sucking her thumb. Henry places Florence on his lap, and she sits there wriggling. Jane passes Isabel to me and busies herself on the other side of the room. We sit there peacefully, looking at our little daughter. I want to cuddle and protect her forever. She is so warm, yet so small. I could gaze upon her from dawn until dusk.
She opens her little eyes suddenly. She makes no sound. Henry and I just stare into her deep blue gems of eyes. They sparkle. She is the most precious and most beloved baby in all of Christendom.
"We shall see her tonight," Henry says gently. I nod, biting my lip. I wish I could take her with me, or not have to attend these celebrations. I start to shake. I place a kiss upon my Isabel's cheek, and Jane takes her from me.
I realise how much I missed Florence during my confinement. She chatters endlessly; she can be a serious soul, yet she can be most cheeky. I hold her hand all the way down to the church as we skip. The minstrels follow the candlelit procession of all the tenants. They each carry a loaf of bread- for 'lammas' means 'loafmass'. Today is the celebration of the first gathering of wheat for harvest, as well as a quarter day. However, My Lord does not have to deal with the hard task of evicting any of his villagers, for this year's hay harvest has gone well.
We walk past the bare fields stripped of hay, the meadows with the sheep turned out to graze, with the straw-grass bleached yellow from the splendorous sun. The ground is cracked and hard underfoot as we make our way to church, where the priest will bless the loaves. I remember Lammas back at Middleton- I look back on memories of myself being chased through the fields by Thomas, and squabbling over which loaf looked finest. Of course, the peasants eat horrible-looking brown bread, unlike us. I would love for Isabel to have memories such as those too, and have a sibling (preferably a brother), although God only knows how my poor body will cope with a second pregnancy.
The loaf blessing and the thanking to God of our beautiful, wondrous, holy bread completed, there are many new loves springing from the grains of the new harvest, spinning about with the Morris dancers on the green. My Lord and Lady observe the scene; I can see him muttering and frowning as I whirl around, headdress flying off, my own golden corn flying free, laughing giddily, and sitting on the grass with Florence and the village children, teaching them how to make a corn dolly. I even make one myself, one that is not torn apart by Thomas and sneered at. I confess I hardly remember him now- it was almost eight years ago. I wonder what he would think of his niece, or who he would be wed to. Would he have his own children now, and my Isabel would have little cousins? I do not care if anyone is remarking upon my behaviour; I am wild and free, I am myself, finally, I am not worrying, and laughter echoes in my ears.
We return to the manor to a jovial feast. There are, of course, many loaves of bread. There is wine- English wine, for a silly lord named the Duke of Somerset lost another of our lands, Caen, to the French last month, and trading has been uneasy. He must indeed be a very poor commander of his troops! It appears nothing has changed at court, even after the rebellion- this Somerset replaces the dead Suffolk as the King and Queen's favourite. Or so I hear upon eavesdropping on My Lord and Lady. I learn her brother Richard plans on coming back to court from Ireland, where he is Lieutenant there, to see what is happening, and "demand his due payment," Isabel whispers. 'Tis good she is so deep in conversation, for John, Thomas, and Edward are swearing at each other in French and Latin. This goes unnoticed, for William and Henry are partaking in awkward conversation to my left about how William desires to be knighted, and prove his worth. If anyone wanted to become a knight, I would believe it to be so the three boys in front of me; at around twelve, ten and eight each, they are to be found always gabbling excitedly about sword fighting.
I finish my pork, which Edward sprinkled with nutmeg, for he thought it would be funny, take a sip of wine, and reach out for some figs.
"Elizabeth, what think you?" Henry and William turn to me, and I am distracted from a rather worrying conversation between My Lord and Lady, their eyes landing upon me.
"I know Scales sent Kempe to parley with Cade, and my brother of York indeed favours this chancellor, but does he-"
"What think I upon what matter?" I say hazily, straining to hear their hushed tones. What is happening that I do not know of involving my Father, and to do with the Cade rebellion?
"Whether-" But I never get to hear what they desire my opinion on. At that moment, one of the doors bangs open that leads off to a passageway. Everyone turns around, pausing. A silence befalls the room, even from the villagers on the lower tables. The woman standing there is panting, face flushed. She wrings her hands together, sobbing.
"My Lord, My Lady." She looks at me. "M-m-mistress."
I stare. In that instant I know.
"No. No. No." I begin to convulse. My chest heaves as I quake. Pray, please let this be a night-fright, a horrible, horrible night-fright.
"I am so very sorry," Jane whispers. I remain frozen, my eyes fixated upon her, jaw slack. A sob escapes my mouth. My heart thuds in a chest that feels most strained. It hurts. Everything hurts. I cannot breathe. My mouth opens and shuts as tears slide down my cheeks. I clench the edge of the table. The family all cast their eyes upon myself and Henry, who is staring at Jane, unmoving. This cannot be true. This cannot be happening. How can this be occurring?
I slowly push myself up from my seat. I try to breathe- but it just comes out like a horse's pants, getting faster and louder until I cannot stop. My throat becomes rasp, my own heavy breathing churning in my ears like the wheels turning rhythmically on a wagon. The great hall seems to tilt, and I clutch onto the table. My whole upper body rises up. A dagger cuts open my chest. I clench the table, bending over, crying out silently. I feel Henry's arms come on my shoulders, as I begin to screech.
"Nooooooooooo-" My scream carries on. I tear away, jumping down from the dais, still screaming. My chest aches as I run. My feet slide. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO. I hear Henry behind me. I keep running. I must know if this is true. I throw the door open to the nursery. I stand there looking, clutching my stomach as I almost heave. I see her. Wrapped in her blanket. My knees quiver. I fall to the ground, screaming no. Screaming no. This cannot be true. Hot tears fall into my lap. I feel Henry's arms about me.
"No!" I screech, pushing him away, sobbing. I scramble up frantically and run over and pick her up, shaking her. My daughter. Cold. Unmoving. Still. Lifeless. Dead. My daughter is dead. My Isabel is dead. Isabel is dead.
I look up at Henry, holding her at arm's length, gasping in horror. "I beseech you, bring her back!" I whisper. Tears fall down his face too. He swallows. He shakes his head.
"Elizabeth." My Lady appears in the doorway.
"She's dead!" I cry, "SHE'S DEAD!" I clutch her, looking at her perfect face. I will not ever see her eyes again, her big blue eyes. Henry buries his head in his hands. My Lady walks across the room.
"Hand her to me, Elizabeth," she says softly. I shake my head, still crying. I do not want to let go of her. She is mine and Henry's daughter, our little baby. Our baby... I look down again, and close my eyes, squeezing them tightly shut as I cry. My Lady takes her namesake from me gently, murmurs to Jane and passes my baby to her, who begins to walk away. Taking her away. Forever. Henry stares after them, his hands to his mouth.
"You should have cared for her better!" I yell, "Why did she die, Jane, why? Why did you let my babe die!" My Lady puts her arms about me, and I sob into her chest, my knees weakening again. How can it be so that my little baby is dead, as I feared would occur all along? Everyone told me not to worry so much for her- but I was right, all along, as if I had some terrible premonition that this was her fate. She is with the angels in heaven, and nothing, nothing, will ever bring her back.
The sun is high in the blue sky, and down in the village the new crops, the new harvest, bob their heads in the slight breeze. The flowers, streaked and dappled, with the softest petals, and the hay-like grass, are too sharp, in focus, yet blurry to mine eyes at the same time. The entire colour is too bright- everything seems riddled with falsehood. I do not think I will ever laugh and feel the grass between my toes again. My Isabel will not. My Isabel will never.
She is gone. Her existence as a mortal being upon this earth is ceased. She is not a person as such that you could converse with, but she was my child. She fought to survive for two months- a fever took her away like it did my brother Thomas. She was my baby. There was nothing any person, not even the most experienced midwife, could do to save her. Her fate was inevitable; I knew it was a possibility, yet now it is true. She breathes no more. At this moment, she is being put into the ground, five feet down. There will be no tomb or effigy, just some small stone, to resemble her short existence. How can she be gone, vanquished so suddenly? I did not even get to say goodbye.
I sit staring out in the horizon yonder, waiting for My Lord, and my Bourchier brothers to return from the church. Henry has locked his bedchamber door; My Lady sits silently beside me. She held me all night as I let out ravishing screams, until my throat was sore, my eyes stung, and my person could not convulse any more. I fell asleep exhausted and drowsy from some rather strong ale I was given. I feel like I failed to protect my child. How can I bear to hear any person address her so as 'Isabel', when her namesake is dead? How can it be that my little daughter, my daughter, she is... dead. I, of only four and ten years myself, was with child for nine months, and then that child died. All the worrying from my part that every other person dismissed was proven true. She is dead now. Isabel is dead.
I hear a knock thrice upon my bedchamber door. I do not know how many hours have drifted by; I am staring into an empty fog with tears dripping down my cheeks. Thinking it is My Lady returning from the garderobe, I consent for them to enter. I do not concern myself looking up. What am I going to do, now that my baby is dead? How will I ever part with my grief? My Mother will surely laugh at me and not sympathize with me after her many losses; my Father will want me to try for an heir.
"Elizabeth?" I turn around, still quite numb. William. It so happens to be William. I am clad in only my nightdress; I put my arms about me, stiffening.
"I come to say to you, since Henry is so indisposed and refuses to let any person see him, that I am so sorry for the loss of-"
"Leave," I whisper through gritted teeth. How can he show his face to me? How can he think to taunt me so, about my own child's death, look down upon me?
"Elizabeth-"
"LEAVE, you rapist, I demand of you to LEAVE!" I screech, as he backs away.
"Elizabeth, William?" My Lady has returned, and looks at the both of us with a deepening frown. I want to cry and scream; moreover, I want him to feel the pain that consumes my heart. She has heard what I dared call him. I do not falter. I want my justice.
"Tell your lady mother, inform her of your wickedness," I taunt him, fists clenched. I bite the inside of my mouth to refrain from striking him, this insolent youth who dares mock my daughter's death. William stands upright, affecting to have an air of confusion.
"I do not jest, My Lady, last year, last year, last year your son, y-y-our s-son-" I fight my tears, choking, and she stares at me, her lips parted, her eyes beseeching me.
"Elizabeth, what are you trying to say?"
"He made advances to me... on my wedding night," I say bitterly.
She blinks, and her eyebrows furrow. "On your... wedding night. Elizabeth, William, is this..."
He has become rather pale. "I was a little drunk." He remembers. He remembered all this time, knew how sinfully he had behaved towards me, and never said. He is as beastly and horrid and wicked as I supposed. I breathe heavily.
"Lady Mother, I did not, we did not." He looks at me rather uncomfortably, wiping his palms against the side of his hose, and fiddles with the sides of his jupon, for he is so interested in becoming a knight to puff out his chest even more and play the gallant knightly figure so he can trick many more young wenches. My Lady hesitates.
"They did not." I whip around, pressing my hand to my mouth. I freeze. "Please tell me you did not." Henry stands, in yesterevening's creased clothes, trembling. I have not seen him since last night, when it happened. When we learnt of our Isabel's death. He has heard it all. Henry knows now. He knows. My shameful secret has been let out. What am I going to tell Henry now, and how will he react?
"Mayhap we should all go to the solar, and I will fetch the lord my husband, for there are some matters we need to resolve," My Lady says firmly, her lips set in a thin line.
"No, lady mother, I will not. I must know." Henry strides forward, with a look of dawning realisation crossing his pale countenance. "Elizabeth, has any word from your mouth been sincere? Did that anonymous note before our marriage... speak truly?"
"No!" I splutter. How could he doubt my word, and more importantly, my honour? Is he truly angry with me?
"Are you and my brother lovers?"
"No!" William and I cry. I burn all over to even entertain such a thought in my mind, after what he did to me, the scars he left on me. How can Henry believe such a thing? At least William has the sense to deny it.
"Is Isabel mine?" Henry's voice has risen so loud that everything falls silent. I let out a shaky gasp. He's upset over her death, he isn't thinking straight, I tell myself.
"All of you-" My Lady begins.
"Yes, yes, of course she was," I weep. Was. Was. Was. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as my chest heaves once more. How can this all be happening? Does Henry honestly believe I am so unfaithful and that I indeed have romantic assignations with his brother, when he knows how much I do cherish our united love? How can he not trust me?
"My Lady will relate to you of how she found me weeping in the passageway that night after... it occurred-"
"Oh," she murmurs, frowning, and nodding.
"-A drunken William (I cast a disdainful gaze towards him) placed his hand up my skirts. I do confess I behaved like a common woman and kicked him, and that is all that happened, pray, Henry-" I clutch his hands as he turns redder, and shakes me off, "I do swear upon Isabel's life, our Isabel's life." I quell another sob. How can he be so mistrustful, when she has died, how can he question my loyalty, when our baby lies in her grave? He stares at me, nostrils flaring. Mayhap he is so angry because this occurred on our wedding night?
"Good brother, I do-"
"Do not call me brother. No brother of mine would assault my lady wife. Adultery and incest are sins in the Bible." The Bible? Now? Of all times?
"My sons-" My Lady tries to interject. They both glare at her. "What I cannot comprehend is why we are only learning of this now."
"Because I could not possibly tell any person," I whisper, and their eyes graze upon me as I quiver, "No such person would believe me; I was scared, I thought I would be in trouble. I could not tell you Henry, on our wedding day."
"How could you have kept this from me, Elizabeth? How could you have committed such an act, William?"
"I convey my deepest regret, I-"
"It is too late for apologies, William," I whip around to him, and look into his eyes, "You cannot possibly begin to comprehend the agonizing torture you made me feel inside all this year. I feel unfaithful to my husband, and I cannot forget the words you put into my head, for you told me you desired to marry me for my barony and beget me with child." I am still sniffling, whilst Henry and My Lady stare in stony horror.
After a silence, William smiles a slow, wicked, cunning grin. "Since we are in the habit of confessing secrets, lady mother, mayhap you would like to enlighten us yourself on marriage for baronies."
"William, that is quite enough, we-"
"What is he implying?" I say slowly, with a tremor. Marriage. Marriage for baronies. A slow, cold wave of horror washes over me.
"He is speaking non-"
"He is speaking truth," Henry cuts in. What? I blink.
"Lady mother, I ask of you that we tell Elizabeth the truth. We must not hide anything from one another anymore."
"H-h-H-en-ry?" I swallow, quivering. What is he about to impart to me? My Lady sends him a beseeching look, whilst William crosses his arms, satisfied.
"Elizabeth, on our wedding day also, my mother told me of how... of how (my chest tightens) ... of how her plan all along since the very moment she met you and knew of who you were was to secure you in marriage to one of her sons- preferably William. This is why she sent for you to live with us."
"Pray, what be your name?"
"Elizabeth de Scales, my Lady." I had replied.
"Lord Scales' daughter?"
"Yes, my Lady."
I see it now, from our very first encounter- not friendly enquiry, but business-like interest. I let out a gasp. I press my hand to my mouth as I shake and sob. She taught me the ways of the ruthless world- only to be part of it herself? Dear God, she has betrayed me. She has betrayed me.
"Does he speak true?" She slowly nods, and I weep harder. Everything is lies. She did not want me for Elizabeth, the person, but Elizabeth the heir, and she and William have used me, their greedy little eyes on my inheritance and title. Oh no. Lord have mercy on me, was Henry, who professed love to me all this time, pretending too? They have lied all this time! My chest heaves, strangled by the horrid realisation.
"W-w-w-why?"
"We pretended likeness to you, you precocious little-" William's insults are deafened by my scream. They do not even like me. My husband, my Henry, is the false one, and he does not love me. I cannot think clearly.
"Elizabeth, calm yourself," Isabel says. I cannot cast my eyes upon her.
"You have betrayed me! I named by daughter after you," I choke, "my dead baby daughter. I trusted you, you made me feel welcome in your household and beloved of you, yet all this time, you were using me for some grubby coins and a piece of land, for it to end in the death of my daughter?" I screech. The neck of my nightgown is completely sodden, and my cheeks are inflamed. I look at their tensed faces, and run back into my bedchamber. I press my back against the door, and weep, and weep. And weep. I feel as though I am dying inside, for I hurt so much. My life is lies. The people whom I loved the most seem to detest me so, and my baby, my beautiful baby, I think so bitterly, was named after one of them. How can they have tricked me like this, how can such wicked beings exist upon this earth? What am I going to do?
They do not try to enter my bedchamber, but an hour later, when Bessie tentatively knocks upon my door, she finds me still ravished, rolling up and rather crumpling costly gowns of fustian, damask, and silk into a trunk, my wedding dress and betrothal dress lying on the floor with many slashes, and a bloodied knife on the floor.
"Elizabeth? What are you doing?"
"I am departing," I say, through gritted teeth, tasting blood, furiously pushing down the gowns to make room for my comb, rosewater, and embroidery. I find a rather slanted H and E entwined that I was sewing on a shirt for Henry. He, it says. He he! He he, he he, he he. The laughter fills my ears and I let out another scream.
"Elizabeth, what has happened? What can you mean?"
I pull damp strands of matted hair out of my face. "You will have this taken on a wagon the manor at Barkway." Bessie's face is one of bewilderment.
"Elizabeth, you must be jesting? Shall I fetch Lady Bourchier?" She crosses over to me, swallowing. "Sweet, I know what has happened... I am so very sorry."
"No!" I scream, and Bessie takes a few steps back. I can hardly intake any breath of air, for I have cried for so long, thinking of how everything is ruined. One of the worst things of all is Henry clearly did not love me, and we created a child together, and my baby, that beautiful baby is now gone from me. I am so dazed and confused that I cannot even begin to think properly, apart from the one urge in my head, for everything has occurred in such quick succession. I still cannot believe that my little baby is dead. All I know is that I need to remove myself from all this pain.
"I have to leave, Bessie, I cannot remain here a minute longer. I plan to ride away, and never return back."