“That is the idea. A small household…and everyone in it your friend.”
“No one knows as yet…not even Guillemote.”
“Tell no one. But what we must do is move as quickly as possible to one of the small manor houses. You could choose which. It should be the most remote.”
“I could not mention this to Humphrey of Gloucester.”
“Indeed not.”
“There is the Bishop of Winchester.”
“He might suspect. He is very perceptive.”
“There is, of course, the Duke of Bedford.”
“By great good luck he is in the country now. Things are going badly in France and he will be here in consultation with the Council. Gloucester has helped to make England’s position very grave indeed. I don’t know whether Bedford would have time to see you. He could hardly refuse, though, if you requested it. Moreover, he would be too preoccupied with affairs in France to worry much about your retirement from Court, I should imagine.”
“I will try to see Bedford.”
“That is the first thing. And in the meantime decide on the manor. Let it be small…remote from Court. We shall not want people continually calling.”
“Oh, Owen, I feel so much better. I did not realize how frightened I was.”
We clung together.
“We will come through this, my dearest,” said Owen. “Put your trust in me…and in God.”
THE SECRET MARRIAGE
I had always admired John, Duke of Bedford. Henry had been very fond of him. His most reliable brother, he had called him; and although perhaps he had loved Clarence more, he had always known that the elder brother was rash and inclined to envy him, whereas Bedford was the essence of loyalty and had always borne in mind Henry’s superior military skill, seeking to emulate him, certainly, but never giving way to envy.
He had aged considerably since I had last seen him. Keeping France in order was evidently a great strain. He was a brilliant administrator, stern, though just. My brother Charles, who was still called the Dauphin, was beginning to cause disruption in various parts of the country, and Bedford, laboring under the disadvantage of the waning friendship between himself and Burgundy, was hard pressed. Nevertheless he came to see me. He was very gallant and at the same time kindly.
He asked me how I was faring and if I felt a little happier now.
I replied that I felt better than I had expected. He bowed his head, thinking that I referred to the loss of Henry.
“I find it difficult to adjust myself to Court life,” I said.
“So many ceremonies,” he murmured. “And you must attend them without my brother. It brings back many memories, I doubt not, and it does not allow you to forget our loss.”
“How well you understand.”
“It was a great tragedy…the greatest tragedy which could have befallen us all…and you, his Queen, suffered most.”
There was another brief silence, then I said: “I trust, my lord, that you have been comforted.”
“I am fortunate in my marriage.”
Yes, I thought. To the sister of Burgundy. I had seen Anne once or twice, but I could not remember what she looked like. Fortunate indeed he had been to marry Burgundy’s sister. It made the straining link a little harder to break.
“Then I rejoice for you, my lord,” I said. “And I must not encroach on your time. I wanted to ask your advice.”
“I shall do my best to give it,” he replied.
“I was telling you that I find Court life irksome. I want to live more quietly. There are too many memories …”
He nodded.
“I have been thinking that…if I could retire to the country for a while, live the life of a simple country lady …”
“Would that not give you more time for brooding…nursing your sorrows?”
“I think I could interest myself in country pursuits. I should have a few of my ladies with me…those who are my friends. If I could get away…for a time…I feel I could begin a new way of life.”
“I see no reason why you should not. Henry would want you to find what comfort you could. His last words to me were of you.”
“I know. He was good to me.”
“Yes,” said Bedford. “Why not make a break? Have you any place in mind?”
“There is the manor of Hadham.”
“Hadham? That’s in Hertfordshire, I believe. It is very quiet there, I am sure.”
“It is quietness I seek.”
“Do you not think that a convent might be more to your taste?”
“Oh no…no. I should brood all the time. All I want is to live a peaceful life…without constant reminders.”
“Well then, I should say that Hadham is a good choice.”
“Do you think that if I retired there…my wishes to be left in peace would be respected?”
“I would see that they were.”
“My lord, you are so kind to me.”
“As I told you, when Henry died he asked me to care for you. He said you would be the most desolate creature on earth. I knew that that was so…and I gave him my word.”
I took his hand and kissed it; and he drew me to him and kissed me on the brow.
“I will do everything in my power now…and always…to follow his wishes. Go…go then to Hadham. I shall arrange that you shall live there free from disturbance.”
“I do not know how to thank you,” I said fervently.
I felt joyous when he had departed. I had successfully cleared the first hurdle.
· · ·
My next task was to prepare the household. Naturally I talked first to Guillemote.
When she was brushing my hair that night, I said: “Guillemote, we are going to Hadham.”
“Oh?” she replied. Then after a pause: “Well, that is a pleasant spot. Small…and quiet. I should think that would suit us very well.”
“We are going to make it suit us. My Lord Bedford has been persuaded that I should be allowed to spend a little time in retirement.”
She stared at me in amazement. “You…persuaded him?”
“Yes…that I needed to be alone. He thought I meant to mourn for Henry.”
“But it is years since the King died.”
“The Duke still mourns him. He thinks it is natural that I should still do so.”
“He does not know that you have other ideas.”
“Guillemote, the situation was desperate.”
She looked at me in astonishment, and understanding began to dawn in her eyes.
“No,” she murmured.
“Yes, Guillemote. I am going to have a child.”
“What will you do? How can you keep it?”
“I am going to, Guillemote…though as yet I do not know how.”
“Ah, Hadham,” she said, her mind working quickly. “Yes…we might manage. A time in retirement. We shall make sure that we have our friends around us. But afterward…a child! How can a child be explained? It will be …”
I could not bear that she should use the word. I said: “No, Guillemote. It will not be. Owen and I are going to be married.”
She drew a deep breath.
“When…is the child due? Where will it be born?”
“At Hadham, of course…and in about seven months.”
She covered her face with her hands. “My lady, my lady. What are we coming to?”
“I do not know, Guillemote. All I know is that I am going to marry Owen, and this child will be my very own, this time. It does not belong to the state. It will be mine…mine and Owen’s…and that is how it is going to remain.”
“But you…the Queen!”
“The King is dead now, Guillemote. I am the Queen of this country only in name. I will not be used in these political games anymore. I am myself. I am going to live my life as I want it. And that will be with my family…with Owen and my child.”
She stared at me in amazement.
“I knew it had to come to this…sooner or later,” she said.
“When do we leave for Hadham?”
“At once,” I told her.
Agnes and the Joannas were jubilant. Like Guillemote they had been anxious for a long time. After that incident in the hall when Owen had fallen into my lap, there had been a certain amount of gossip. It would therefore be a good idea to keep out of view for a while, they thought.
The fact that I was now to marry Owen and that our child was on the way thrilled them, and they were eager to have a share in the adventure.
Joanna Troutbeck said that we must pick the servants we should need with the utmost care. Only those who had proved their loyalty should be allowed to come.
“Better to be short of a few servants than have a traitor in our midst,” she added.
How I loved them—those faithful friends of mine! They knew they were running a certain risk in conniving at our schemes, but they did not hesitate and threw themselves wholeheartedly into the project. Together we selected those who should accompany us; and it was not long before we were on our way to Hadham.
I was happy settling into the old manor house—in fact, I had never been so happy in my life.
We were eager that the marriage should be performed as quickly as possible, and I was deeply concerned for my confessor, Johan Boyers, who was the only one I could trust enough to ask to perform the ceremony.
We hesitated for some time before we could bring ourselves to put the proposition to him. It was a great deal to ask and we knew that he must be reluctant.
I spoke to him after confession.
“Dear Johan,” I said, “I am in great difficulty. I am with child.”
He stared at me in horror.
I went on: “I must marry the child’s father, who is the man I love. I am asking you to help me…but if you feel you cannot…I will understand…though I cannot think whom else I could trust with this matter.”
I saw his face whiten and there was a tightening of his lips.
“It is Owen Tudor,” I went on. “We love each other, Johan. We must marry, for this child must be born in wedlock. I know of no one I could ask but you. Oh…I know the danger. The danger to you, to Owen and to myself…to us all. I do not command you, Johan. I throw myself on your mercy.”
He said slowly: “This could be treason.”
“I know. We intend to keep our marriage secret. I am no longer of importance. They have taken my son away from me, Johan. I want to beg of you, but I must not. It is for you to decide.”
“If you do not marry,” he said, “this child will be …”
I interrupted quickly. “I know. And I see that I am asking you too much. We must try to find someone who will help us.”
“You could not ask a stranger. That would indeed be too dangerous.”
“Yes…but I think we must risk it…for the sake of the child.”
“Does Your Grace realize what you are doing?”
“I fully realize. Dear Confessor, you have always been a friend to me. I must ask you now to forget that I suggested this matter to you. It is dangerous. I am fully aware of that. But there is no law against marrying. I married once for state reasons. Now I would marry for love.”
He was silent for a long time. Then he said he wanted to be alone. He wanted to pray.
I felt deeply depressed. Of course I understood. It was asking too much of anyone. If he married us and it were discovered that he was the one who had performed the ceremony, he would be blamed almost as certainly as Owen and I would.
The next day he asked if I would come to him.
I went, expecting a refusal.
“I have thought of this matter,” he said. “I have prayed, and I think God has shown me my duty.”
I said: “I understand, Johan. You must do as your conscience tells you.”
“My lady, I have long cared for your spiritual welfare. I shall take this risk with you. I shall perform the ceremony.”
“Oh, Johan!” I cried. “Oh thank you…thank you. But…are you sure?”
“Yes. For the child.” His hand shook a little as he placed it on my shoulder. “And for you, my lady.”
“I shall never forget what you have done for us, Johan,” I said. “But I have been thinking. It is wrong for us to ask you to take such a risk. For Owen and for me…that is different. But for you …”
“My lady, you must marry and I must perforce perform the ceremony. We shall pray to God to protect us, for I do believe that in His eyes we are committing no sin. No. I am convinced of it. It would be a sin not to do this. What we propose to do is no sin against Heaven, though it could be called one against the State; and a sin against God is the only sin with which we need concern ourselves.”
I was overcome with joy.
“We shall pray to God to preserve us, and if it be His will, that will be done.”
And so came that never-to-be-forgotten day when Owen and I were married in the attic at Hadham which had been transformed into a chapel for the occasion.
Our witnesses were our trusted friends.
What we had done was highly dangerous, and it must never be discovered by our enemies. Everyone present knew that if it were, they would all be implicated. There was, therefore, a pressing need for us all to maintain the utmost secrecy.
As for myself, I was too happy to give much thought to the dangers as I settled down to await the birth of my child.
I was in a mood of deep serenity during those waiting months. My thoughts were all for the child, Owen and our future life together. At last I had found happiness, and everything that had gone before seemed worthwhile.
I could not think beyond those months—nor did I want to. I did not want to consider that I might be in a dangerous position—and Owen too, perhaps more than I. I did not even want to think of how we must act with the greatest caution and be ever on the alert. I only wanted to think of the coming child.
What preparations we made! Guillemote with Agnes and the Joannas would sit together sewing garments…talking of babies. Guillemote recounted incidents from my childhood. Ah, I thought, my child shall not suffer as I did. He—or she—will have a wonderful father…a mother who cares. Sometimes I thought of my poor father. I prayed that he was happy in Heaven as a good man should be. And my mother! What was she doing now? Communing with the English conquerors, I doubted not. And my poor brother? Was he going to struggle…hopelessly…to regain his kingdom?
My thoughts did not stay with them. I had happier matters on which to brood; and in my mood of serenity, I refused to consider the dangers and thought only of the blessings of childbirth.
And at last the day came. I knew what was involved, having given birth to Henry, so I was prepared. I knew something of the agonies, but I also knew they passed and were quickly forgotten in the joy of holding one’s child in one’s arms.
They were all around me…my faithful servants. They had found a midwife who could be trusted, and in due course my child was born.
I could not contain my joy when I saw him. He was the perfect child…already I had detected a look of Owen, and when I pointed this out, they all smiled but they did not deny it.
I said to Guillemote: “With my husband beside me and my baby in my arms, I am the happiest woman in England.”
· · ·
We decided to call him Edmund and he was baptized at Hadham by Johan Boyers. Guillemote was, of course, his nurse, but nobody was going to stop me looking after this child as a mother should.
My little Edmund was mine; and I would not allow anyone to take him from me.
For some weeks we lived in complete bliss, the whole household refusing to believe that anything could disturb it.
Now and then we had news from outside our little world. Owen would ride into the village and talk to the villagers. They had been in awe of him at first because of his connection with the Queen’s household, but when they found he would talk to them as though he were one of them, they accepted him as such.
I had not been out for some time. I might have been s
een at the time of my arrival at the house, but I had not dared risk anyone’s seeing me in the later stages of pregnancy, so I always took my exercise in the walled gardens surrounding the house.
We had wondered how to explain the presence of a child. We decided that it should be thought that one of my ladies, married to one of the men of the household, had given birth. Then, if anyone glimpsed the baby, they would assume that he was their child.
Owen had said that we must think of all these details, for it was often some seemingly trivial matter which put one’s enemies on the road to discovery.
One day there was disquieting news.
Gloucester had assumed the role of Protector of England now that Bedford was back in France. Therefore he had the power to induce Parliament to pass laws.
Owen was very disturbed. He said to me: “It would seem that he knows something because he has now put forward a statute which actually mentions your name.”
“Tell me…quickly,” I begged.
“He is threatening dire penalties on any who would dare marry the Queen Dowager—or any ladies who hold land from the Crown—without the consent of the King and his Council.”
“What does it mean!”
“It means,” said Owen grimly, “that we must not be discovered.”
“But if he knows …”
“He cannot know that we are married, but he may know of our feelings for each other. There was that incident in the ballroom.”
“Do you think that could have been the reason?”
“Very possibly. I know that there was talk about it.”
“Owen…if they found out…what would they do to you?”
“They would have to capture me first.”
“Let us take Edmund and get away from here. We’ll go to Wales.”
“My dear! Do you think we should be allowed to do that? No. To run away would confirm their suspicions.”
“But what can we do?”
“We can stay here and be watchful. It is the only way, Katherine. But we must be forever on the watch.”
I knew that perfect peace was at an end.
For some weeks a cloud darkened our happiness. We waited for the blow to fall, for we were sure that Gloucester knew something of our relationship since he had caused such a law to be made.
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