Shadow of Persephone

by G Lawrence

  Someone was watching me.

  Whoever they were, they were no friend.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Norfolk House

  Spring 1538

  I twisted about, eyes searching, heart racing.

  There it was again.

  Someone was at my back, skirting about a corner of the corridor as I turned. For days now, I had felt eyes on me. There was something hungry watching. It was not there all the time, but when I felt it fear struck my heart, deep and solid. But each time I looked, there was no one. Yet I knew I was not mistaken. There was someone watching me, after me.

  I had started to feel hunted, haunted, wondering if the ghost of my cousin was no more just a shade in people’s eyes, but had become my shadow.

  I shuddered and raced to the maidens’ chamber where Joan found me. “What is wrong?” she said, seeing my face.

  “Someone was at my back. I have felt someone watching me since we came here. It frightens me.”

  She frowned. “Manox,” she said. “I saw him following you yesterday.”

  I had known he was here, but oddly I was shocked. I was not quick witted in many ways, more willing to see what was right in front of me than what lay behind. Oftentimes, I wished myself more like Joan, who always knew what was going on and why.

  Manox had taken a position with Lord Bayment, a neighbour of my grandmother who had a house in Lambeth. My grandmother had told me this, but I had not thought I would see Manox. There were many houses in Lambeth, and many servants in all of them.

  “Why is he here?” I asked.

  “I asked one of the girls in the kitchen,” Joan said. “He was running an errand for his master, so I thought little of it, but if you say you have felt this presence more than once he must be coming here often.”

  “What does he want?” I asked.

  “What he always wanted.”

  Joan was gazing at me with sympathetic eyes. The girls in my room all knew what had happened now. Despite being sent away by my grandmother, Joan had heard our conversation. There were no secrets but one in the maidens’ chamber. Some told me they were aghast I had not told them. They would have protected me, they said.

  Whether that was true, I knew not, and many took it less seriously, japing that I was a tease, like my dead cousin. If I had not wanted his attentions, I would have said something, they thought.

  Innocent was Manox without question to them, yet I was supposed a liar immediately. The judgement in their eyes was almost worse than Manox touching me. They made me wish Joan had overheard nothing, that it was my secret still. Awful as his touch had been, not being believed was worse.

  But then Ned had told Joan of the encounter he had witnessed in the corridor, and said he thought Manox had been forcing me to do things I did not want to. That had silenced many girls who blamed me. Once Ned spoke for me, I was telling the truth.

  But now Manox was here, looking for ways back to me. Joan told me the kitchen staff were speaking of a secret engagement between Manox and me.

  “It is not true, is it?” Joan asked.

  I shook my head. “Never did I promise him anything.”

  “Do not meet him, and do not go out alone if you can help it.”

  I tried, but there were times this was impossible, and even when I was with other women I could feel his eyes.

  Some of the women in the chamber were not as helpful as Joan. One day, Dorothy appeared with a flower from Manox and another day Isabel came with a ribbon. I sent them back. Both girls thought I was cruel. “He seems to love you,” Dorothy said. “And you took his gifts before. There is no harm in them.”

  But I knew there was. Accept his presents, and he would think I was his again.

  But if Dorothy thought I should forgive and forget, others did not. Alice was upset by what she heard from the kitchens, where maids were giggling about a Howard daughter being courted by a mere musician, and apparently accepting his favours. But rather than say anything to them, and defend me, Alice passed the story on. She told the tale to a new arrival in the maidens’ chamber, a Mistress Mary Lascelles.

  Mary had joined us just before we left Chesworth. Her father had no title, but her mother was the daughter of Sir Brian Sandford, so she, like most of us, hailed from a noble family but had small prospects. This was to be set right by a spell in the right household. Mary was a chamberer to my grandmother, responsible for cleaning her rooms. Two of her brothers, George and John, were at court in unimportant positions in the household of Cromwell, but even though they were not high enough to be noted by anyone important, she was proud of them. There was the possibility they might rise, of course. Cromwell had been a junior member of Wolsey’s household. If men were talented they could become of great consequence, something Norfolk thought scandalous.

  Mary had come to the house on visits at first, for she was a nursemaid to the infant children of my uncle William. My grandmother liked her, and asked for her to join our house permanently.

  Mary made a few of the girls nervous and amused more, for Mistress Lascelles thought herself most learned, when she was in fact dull and stupid. Joan sniffed her out in an instant, and teased her whilst making it appear she was dreadfully interested in all Mary had to say. She was not. Mary was a dullard.

  Her father was an advocate of the New Learning, which was why her brothers had been sent to Cromwell, and Mary thought herself an expert in Scripture. We knew this because she added a comment praising her own knowledge to the end of almost every sentence. She was pious, but excessively and obviously so, which made us think she was doing it for attention, and seemed little to like pleasure, which made some of the girls, Joan in particular, wary. Joan was not sure if, when she had Dereham on side and the men came to our chambers, Mary would report us to my grandmother.

  This had caused some dislike of her. There were other guests whom the ladies of the maidens’ chamber wanted to “try”, as they giggled. Most of the girls just meant kissing, but others meant more. Our shift to Norfolk House had brought us close to a number of noble residences all flush with handsome, and not so handsome, young men. Eligible beaux were numerous in Lambeth, and many girls had eyes on new men, much to the chagrin of the men of my grandmother’s household who suddenly found themselves old, worn goods.

  Pity them not. Their chagrin did not last long. There were new maids whose bottoms would be pinched as they tried to get through the hallways, new kitchen staff to flatter and beg a kiss from, and there were ladies serving the many friends of my grandmother who came to call with them. If they heard us talking about a new young man, they would call us cruel, but more often than not it was the men who abandoned ladies, not the other way around. They simply did not like their own treatment coming back to them.

  Some had stayed true. Ned was still courting Alice, and Antony, Kat. Margaret Smith was promised to her gallant, John Benet, and my grandmother had approved. They were to wed in a year or so, when John had enough money. My brother Henry was to marry a girl he had met here, named Anne, and two of Ned’s cousins had also married girls from our chambers and left to make homes with them.

  For some the meetings worked, and others went on to look for new loves. But Mary was about to put all that in danger.

  Mary thought herself worldly and experienced. She was one of those people who pretend to be humble, yet are stuffed with pride, and her accomplishments were not, in truth, any greater than ours. Despite the fact she was of lower birth than many of us, she wanted to be our leader but Joan was not about to surrender her crown to the likes of Mary.

  So when Alice told her about Manox, it was clear to Mary that she had to step in. I might have been grateful once, but not now, and not to her. Mary was not really interested in helping me. She just wanted to be part of the excitement of the scandal.

  She came to me one day, during the hour of free time we had to work on our own projects. Sitting quietly at my side, she pretended to admire my embroidery, but I could tell she wanted to say som
ething.

  “I spoke to Manox for you,” she said at last.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, my cheeks igniting.

  “I told him he should surrender this game to make you his,” she said, placing a hand on mine with feigned affection. “I said he was no match for your blood, and he was playing the fool to run after you, spreading rumours he would wed you, for if he married you, your family would kill him.”

  “He is saying that?”

  “He said more.” She paused, eyes alight with the thrill of gossip as she attempted to appear sympathetic. “He said I was to hold my tongue, but Catherine, you are so young. Some of the girls think I should say nothing, but that man is ruining your reputation, and has claimed things I know must be untrue.”

  “What has he claimed?”

  Those brown eyes were fire now, flames writhing with glee. “He said, Catherine, and I hesitate to say this, but I must… he said he had had you by the cunt, and would know it amongst a hundred others.”

  My mouth fell open. Even with all he had done, I had never thought he would say something so vile. “It is not so!” I cried, jumping up as heads turned all about the room.

  Mary pulled me down. “Of course it is not. And I am sorry to shock you, but you needed to know.” She assumed a prim expression. “I think him a wicked man. Clearly he is saying this to ruin you. Then, he might marry you. He also said you love him, and had sworn your maidenhead to him.”

  I flushed deeper, for I had said that, but only to hold him at bay. In truth, I knew not if he had touched me where he claimed. I remembered little of our encounters. My mind had blocked out all that was painful from my memories. But even if he had touched me, he should not be bragging about it! Mary was right, he was trying to ruin me.

  “Fie,” I said through gritted teeth. “I care not for him, and I will tell him that!”

  Anger pouring through my blood, I rose and threw my needlework onto the bed. “I will seek him out, now, and I will tell him!”

  “I will come with you,” she said, looking thrilled. “You should not be alone with him.”

  We went to Lord Bayment’s house, and asked for Manox at the kitchen door. When he came out, I felt a strike of fear, but with Mary there I knew he could not touch me. I was trembling, but fear became anger. A spike of rage in my belly. He had hurt me, abused me, and spoken as though I were a common whore. I was no bawd! I was the daughter of Sir Edmund Howard and niece to the Duke of Norfolk. I was descended from the blood of kings! This low-born fear-monger would not shame me!

  Although I did not think of it, it was probably the knowledge that my grandmother would protect me which offered me courage that day.

  I upbraided him, scolding him for spreading false rumours and treating me ill. With fury in my blood, I felt courageous. No more would this man scare me into submission.

  “I want nothing more to do with you,” I said. “You are no more my friend, and stop sending me gifts. My grandmother and uncle would not approve. You have already been sent from one house, if you do not want to be sent from another, leave me alone! Find another girl, one of your station and age to race after. I am not yours, I will not marry you, and if I hear you spreading more rumours I will go to my grandmother and tell her what a false knave you are!”

  Manox, utterly unprepared for this tirade, and surprised beyond measure that the frightened child he had scared into silence was shouting at him, could do little more than splutter. “I love you,” he said, pulling me away from Mary who stood glaring at him as though he were the Devil. “I only said such things because I love you so. Catherine, I am so far in love you with I wist not what I said.”

  “You said you had taken me by the cunt because you love me?” I exclaimed, wrenching my arm out of his grasp. “No man in love says such horrible things.” As I said that, another power came to me, that of understanding. I was right. No man in love would say that. No man in love would speak of his lady with such contempt and disdain. His friendship and warmth had been just as much an act as his threats and attacks. When I knew that, his power reduced.

  “And you can threaten me no more. My grandmother knows. She knows you threatened me, and although she thinks me stupid for falling for your lies, she does not blame me. She blames you. That is why you were sent away.”

  His face paled and I curled my lip. He seemed to shrink. This shadow, this monster that had dogged my steps and taken my joy reduced. Finally, I saw him for what he was; weak and foolish. I did not hate or fear him. He was ridiculous. A blustering fool was what I saw that day. I despised him.

  “Stop talking about me, and stop telling lies. Stop sending me gifts and trying to make friends with my friends,” I said. “You are nothing to me. Continue to spread lies and I will go to Ned, for he knows what kind of man you are, and he will beat you to a pulp. He said so.”

  Ned had not, in fact, said anything of the kind, but Manox’s face went whiter than fresh fallen snow. “And I will tell my grandmother if you persist,” I said. “She can tell Lord Bayment what kind of man you are, and you will never work in a noble house again. If you value your purse, Manox, close your mouth and leave me alone.”

  Anger flickered in his eyes. “You would threaten me?”

  “You were my teacher in many ways,” I said. “You taught me how to threaten. You think I am not serious? Then risk your body and your future, and continue as you are. Ned and his friends will thrash you and you will lose your post.”

  I turned from him and went to Mary. “Let us go,” I said. “It does nothing for our honour to stand in the company of such a false man.”

  I swept away and did not look back. I felt magnificent, strong and brave. I also felt quite dizzy and rather sick. My knees were shaking. But I was at liberty, truly, for no more was I scared. The fog of his lies lifted, and I could see. I was the daughter of a powerful family, with a future at court. Manox could not touch me, for if he dared my family would destroy him. This, I finally understood.

  Even if I had been reckless, even if he had tainted the purity of my youth, he could not harm me unless I allowed him to. If they found out what I had done, my family might punish me but they would keep it quiet. They would not allow it to get out, damaging my prospects for marriage and the honour of the Howard name. Now I understood that, I knew I was not alone, not helpless as I had thought. I had not allowed him to take my maidenhead, and so I was not damaged. Silence had been the chains he had wrapped about me. Opening my mouth had broken those shackles.

  I was not powerless, but powerful.

  I was not his prisoner. I was free.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Norfolk House

  Spring 1538

  You are a fool! my mind screamed as I stood in the orchard, alone. Why did you agree to meet him again?

  In truth, I had small idea. I still did not understand the power he had over me, this wavering use of light and dark, pain and friendship. When my rage had cooled, Manox had come, eyes pleading, face sorrowful, not to tell me he loved me, but to apologise.

  “I was sore, and did not mean it,” he said. “I cannot rest, knowing I hurt you.”

  “If you want to hurt me no more, leave me be,” I had said.

  But through soft words and gentle persuasion, my heart came to soften. Manox had ways to touch my soul, to make me believe. He had convinced me to meet him. I had pitied him, and in that pity forgot my fear of him and anger at him, but now I was alone, waiting, I was afraid again.

  When I heard his step, my body tensed, ready to fly. I felt the branch concealed behind my leg dig into my thigh. Not wanting to be completely defenceless, I had concealed a weapon. I was not sure it would do much good. He was a foot taller than me and strong in body where I was slight, but it might be enough to surprise him, so if he attacked, I could get away.

  But when he came, he stood away from me. “I am glad you came,” he said. “I know I little deserve such gentle treatment.”

  “What is it you have to say?�
� How I wished my voice was as strong as it had been on the day I had shouted at him! No more did I sound confident. It warbled, like a frightened lamb. Where does courage go, that fleeting friend?

  He gazed at his shoes. “I am promised to be married. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

  A jolt shot through me. A strange feeling, for I felt slighted although I had not welcomed his attentions. “But, that is wonderful,” I said at last, and truly I meant it. My heart was warm, not resentful. If he could be happy with another woman, I wished him well. “I hope you will be happy. Truly, I do.”

  He smiled, and suddenly I remembered that once he had been my friend. “I am glad to hear you say that,” he said.

  We walked together in the orchard and talked. He told me of his girl, a young woman from the village near his father’s house. I felt elated it had ended this way, with him in love and me free of his attentions. I actually felt warm towards him, for he was so charming.