The Winchester Goose: At the Court of Henry VIII

by Arnopp, Judith

  Everything is wrong, displaced and nightmarish. Mother comes mistily into view, hovering in and out of my reality. “Fetch Jennet from the village … and hurry,” she says, leaning over me. “There is no time to lose.”

  And then Bess is there, her soothing hands stroking and dabbing my brow with a cooling cloth as she sings soothingly beneath her breath. There is something I must tell her and I try to speak, but my tongue won’t work properly and I am taken again by inexorable pain. I twist and writhe on the bed until Jennet arrives and they give me a potion, something to ease the pain. Yet although it dulls the agony in my guts, it does nothing to soothe my mind.

  The drug possesses me and twists my reality so cruelly so that I am lost in a nightmare from which I cannot wake.

  Katherine! She offers herself up to the blade and I see it falling, feel her blood hot on my face. I should have saved her. Katherine’s death is on my hands. She leans toward me, a livid red ring about her little neck, but she is no longer my friend. “Your pain is nothing,” she spits, “nothing to what I suffered. Why didn’t you stop them?”

  “I am sorry,” I sob weakly. “There was nothing I could do. I am just a woman.”

  “You’re a whore!” My brother is laughing and the doxy on his arm is laughing too. They are all laughing. His woman looks like Eve, and then she looks like Katherine and then becomes me; a cheap me, raddled with the marks of whoredom. And I am laughing at myself too, for I know myself to be defiled like all the rest.

  Father turns away, too shamed to look at me. “Father, forgive me!” I shout but he bows his head, his brow furrowed. “What have I done, Father? I am sorry. I am sorry!”

  Anthony, my unloved husband, watches emotionlessly from the foot of the bed, watching my torment, waiting for me to die so he can take another, more affectionate wife. Someone like Eve. She is the pretty one, the happy one, the one everybody wants!

  They are all here, the dead mingled with the living, haunting me, hating me. Only Eve is smiling, but now she is turning to leave and she must come back. Eve!

  She walks away. I can see her growing smaller; we are separated, the distance increasing until the gulf between us can no longer be breached. I have to stop her. I have to bring her back. “Eve!” I call, twisting on the mattress. “Eve!”

  The pain is greater now, they tie ropes upon me and my body is wracked apart. Like a traitor to the King, I am drawn and quartered, and despite my battle, the blood flows and I am rent in two. I scream for Eve.

  But she does not hear me. She does not come.

  Much later, when the visions have faded, I am sitting up in bed with my hair tamed and tucked beneath a veil. My body is sponged clean and my nether regions wrapped in wadding. When Bess places my son in my arms, my heart fills with joy.

  “He is bonny, My Lady. Those bruises will fade soon enough.”

  “John,” I whisper, and kiss his baby hair that smells delightfully of new life and promise. “You shall be John.”

  Bess is folding my linens and placing them in the clothes press. I look up at her and, my terrors pushed aside, present her with my best smile.

  “Where is Eve? Could you bring her to me, Bess?”

  She stops what she is doing and looks away toward the hearth. “I can’t do that, My Lady.”

  “Why ever not? What do you mean?”

  She comes toward the bed, glances anxiously at the door and her voice drops to a whisper.

  “The master has locked her in her chamber and will not let her out, nor me in.”

  “But who is looking after her? She cannot be left alone.”

  Bess shrugs. “Your mother has tried to reason with him but … after what happened he says she is not welcome in his household and threatens to send her away.”

  “Away? Away where?” My voice is almost a shriek and my son stirs in my arms, beginning to fret, searching for and chomping at his own fist as if he will swallow it.

  “I don’t know, My Lady. Try not to fret or you will upset the babe. I should never have told you.”

  “Of course you should. Where is my mother?”

  “She is with some gentlemen in the hall.”

  “Gentlemen, what gentlemen? Have they come to take Eve away?”

  “I don’t know, My Lady, I just saw the carriage, that is all. Oh, no, please stay in your bed. You need to rest …”

  She tries to push me back onto the pillow but I slap her hands away. “How can I rest, Bess? I cannot let them take her …” I struggle from the bed, press my child into her arms and look about for my clothes, immediately aware that she is right. I am too weak for this.

  The room spins wildly and there is no strength in my legs at all. I sit down again, suddenly. “I will be right enough in a moment, Bess, my head is just a little light but it will clear.”

  Against her will, she helps me roll up my hose and slip into a loose robe before tucking my hair beneath a French hood. By rights I shouldn’t leave my chamber for another month, but Eve’s wellbeing takes precedence over social niceties.

  The room rocks and sways as I follow a winding path to the door that Bess holds wide. Outside, I cling to the bannister and prepare to tackle the stairs which suddenly appear very steep and very wide. While I stand there, ignoring the rushing sound in my ears and forcing my eyes to focus properly, the door of the lower hall opens and voices waft toward me. I hear the lighter tone of my mother and the deeper voice of a man.

  Mother and a gentleman approach the staircase. As they set foot upon the bottom step, they both look up and see me there but, before her companion can speak, Mother is halfway up the stair. “Bella! What on earth are you doing out of bed? Bess, take her back at once.”

  I ignore her words and fasten my eyes on the man behind her, my heart giving a little leap of joy ... or something. He is paler and thinner than I remember and he seems somehow younger … less sure. His eyes are anxious, belying the flush of pleasure on his cheek. For a moment, I cannot tell if he is pleased or not.

  “Bella!” He takes the steps two at a time and I feel his hand warm on mine, his lips moist on my knuckles. I close my eyes and smile as his familiar perfume wafts over me. Somehow, I sense that all is to be well between us.

  “Anthony.” I choke on the word, my knees trembling. “I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life!”

  Seeing that I am about to faint, he scoops me into his arms and bears me back to my chamber, Bess and Mother fussing in our wake.

  “What are you doing here? Are you sure you are well enough to travel?”

  Anthony sits at my bedside, his face still flushed, clasping our son awkwardly in his arms.

  “Possibly not, but I was anxious to see you, although I had no idea I’d be presented with a son so soon.”

  Bess is lifting my legs back into bed, pulling the cover to my chin again and tucking the sheet down tight.

  “He comes a week or two before we expected him. Oh, my Lord, I am glad to see you.”

  A long silence follows and then he says, “Was it very bad?”

  Our eyes meet. “Was what bad, giving you a son or watching the Queen die?”

  He looks down at his child. “Both, I suppose. I have been worried for you every minute since she was taken prisoner but there was nothing I could do. I was powerless at first, and then later, I was sick.”

  “Anthony, once it was happening and she needed me so much, I would not have left her even had you sent for me. She was just a silly girl, caught up in the intrigues of her uncle. I was glad to be there for she had no one else to trust.”

  “I didn’t think you liked her.”

  “I didn’t. Not at first. I saw what everyone else saw. She was shallow, greedy, vain, everything I despise. But, Anthony, she was a child. A child in torment and when the King turned against her, all her sycophantic friends faded away and she was left with no one.”

  “Except for you.”

  “Yes, except for me who had no love for her. But by the time I watched her on
the scaffold, I was proud to be her friend. There was more nobility in the way she died than any Tudor has ever shown.”

  He leans forward, covers my hands with his. “Hush, hush, you must not say such things. We will return home and forget about the court. We will sit in the gardens and watch our son flourish.”

  I smile wistfully. “That sounds lovely, Anthony. Indeed it does. But first, I need you to help me with something else.”

  Anthony offers the baby a finger and smiles when he feels the strength of his son’s grip. “Something else?”

  “Thomas means to send Eve away, and I have only just found her.”

  “Why would your brother do that? Where is he sending her?”

  Slowly, as I begin to relate the sorry tale of Eve and all that has befallen her, he comes to understand the import of my words and I gain his full attention. “She is not herself, you say? Is she violent?”

  “No, no. Not at all. She is like a child, harmless and affectionate, but Thomas cannot see past her strangeness. Since her, erm, indiscretion with one of his friends the other night, he is refusing to keep her here.”

  “And he is planning to send her where?”

  “That is what you must discover, Anthony. I hope we can change his mind. I was hoping that you might be able to offer her a home with us, in Wales. If that is the case, he may well consent just to be rid of her.”

  A long silence follows while my husband examines our son’s fingers, his wisps of fine hair, his button nose. “And she is not violent, you say?”

  “No. Well, a little maybe, but she is troubled, Anthony, and … confused. I think stability and love will keep her calm. We must at least try.”

  “Must?”

  For a long while we stare into each other’s eyes, while I remember all the things I could have done that would have made me a better wife to him. Things I neglected to do that could have made him happy. Is it too late? I lick my lips and raise my chin.

  “Anthony, in the short time we have had together I have not been the best of wives, but I hope to make things better now. I feel we have been given a second chance. I have Eve back and we have our son and perhaps, God willing, more will follow. I would like to make a proper home, in Wales, and, and …well, Eve is my sister. To be truly happy I need her with me. I cannot abandon her … I hope you will help me, but I have to tell you. I will protect her with, or without, your help.” Defiantly and a little sadly, I stick out my chin.

  “Calm down, Bella, and listen to me. Think about this carefully. You are speaking of a woman whom your own brother denounces as a whore.”

  “Anthony! She is no more a whore than I am … or Queen Katherine was! She lived among whores that is all. And besides, women are put on Earth for the use of men, and it seems to me that it is merely a matter of luck whether we serve one man or many!”

  “Bella! For Heaven’s sake; what a thing to say!”

  He rises from the low stool with as much dignity as he can muster and hands the child back to Bess. Astounded at my outburst, Bess forces her mouth closed and turns away toward the cradle, leaving my husband and I alone.

  I have lost his sympathy and he will refuse my request. Why can I not learn to keep my opinions to myself? Great hot tears wash down my cheeks and fall onto my shift. It isn’t like me to weep and I try to dry my eyes, but they quickly fill again.

  “I’m sorry, Anthony. I didn’t mean that. Please try to understand, I am changed. I have seen some terrible things in the time we’ve been apart. All I long for is an end to it. I want some peace, time to contemplate and value what we have. I want to be able to count my blessings, but I don’t think I can ever consider myself fortunate while Eve is unsafe. She needs me now, more than she ever did.”

  His breath escapes in a great sigh and he sits on the mattress, takes my chilly hand in his warm one. “I will speak with Thomas and see what can be done.”

  With great daring I reach out and, placing my hand on his collar, draw his face close to mine.

  “Thank you, Anthony.” His skin smells warm and fragrant and the touch of his lips on my cheek is as soothing as a blessing.

  Of course, Thomas agrees. He doesn’t care where Eve goes, just as long as he does not have to put up with her in his home or acknowledge her as his sister. To my shame, he offers us nothing in the way of financial aid, not even at the last minute when Mother asks if there is a place for her with us too. Poor Anthony, would he have offered for my hand had he known of the responsibilities he was taking on?

  I doubt it very much.

  So, on a damp May morning when Mother, Eve, Bess and I are preparing to climb into the carriage and embark on our new life in Wales, a stranger shambles into the yard on a hired hack, and asks to speak to Eve or her guardian.

  He is not a gentleman but his appearance is decent; his plain homespun clothes are dyed a dreary shade of green. He pulls off his cap at Anthony’s approach and shifts from foot to foot. What can he want of us?

  I strain my ears to listen but Anthony leads him away to the far corner of the yard, where their words are cloaked by the clanging of the blacksmith’s hammer. I watch them, my curiosity rising as my husband appears to listen intently to all the man has to say and I am greatly relieved when Anthony raises a hand and summons me to his side.

  “This fellow has ridden from London Town to speak with Eve’s guardian. It seems he has some information regarding her … erm, her adventures across the river.” My heart fails a little. I am not sure I want to hear of this.

  “We are her guardians now …” I hear myself say. “What is it that you have to tell us?”

  He wets his lips, looks at the sky and back at his shoes again before clearing his throat. “We found your sister, My Lady. She was lost and wandering and, not knowing who she was or where she had come from, a friend of mine took her in, looked after her … as good as if she were kin. She meant no harm, begging your pardon, Sir … Madam.”

  He looks from me to Anthony, unsure which of us he should be addressing. I decide to take control.

  “She was filthy, lice-ridden and starving. How can you claim to have looked after her? Why didn’t you just bring her home?”

  “We couldn’t do that, Madam. We didn’t know where she come from and besides, when we found her she was covered all in blood and we thought she might be in trouble. We just thought to protect her, like. And Joanie, she who had the main care of her, why she came to love her like she was her own child. There’s been days when I’ve seen her give your sister the food off her own plate so she wouldn’t starve.”

  His words are a blur, all but one of them.

  “Joanie?” I say, weakly as everything falls into place. “She was called Joanie? – Oh, my God.”

  “What is it, my dear? What is the matter?” Anthony takes my elbow and prevents me from stumbling before leading me a short distance away. I put a hand to my head and swallow my repulsion.

  “Eve,” I whisper. “When Eve is upset, she calls out a word. We hadn’t realised it was somebody’s name. She cries out over and over for something, a thing, someone it now turns out, that she calls Oanee. It can only be her … the whore, Joanie.”

  The fellow, who has been eavesdropping, steps a little closer. “Your sister loved Joanie, wouldn’t let her out of her sight, and Joanie loved her in return and protected her like she were a queen cat with its kitten.”

  “Well, Eve is back where she belongs now.” Anthony offers him a few coins. “Thank you for your concern and give your friend our thanks.”

  But the fellow shrugs off the offering, his face reddening with belligerence. “Eve may be safe, Sir, but meanwhile, my friend, as you call her, is in The Clink awaiting the hangman’s noose. And for what, Sir? For what? For protecting your sister and keepin’ her from harm!”

  Joanie Toogood – The Clink prison

  I take the proffered stool gingerly, my eyes darting from her to Peter and back again, questions teeming like silver fishes in my mind. After the squalor of
my prison the lady is like a Queen, her gown as grand as any I’ve ever seen at close quarters. She is so clean that I am suddenly aware of the stench of my own body, the raggedy state of my clothes. I lift my chin and try to look down my nose at her while inside the real Joanie is shamed and cringing.

  What does she want with me? Peter is nodding at me like a lunatic, trying to tell me something, but I am wary. I cannot trust the likes of her, whoever she is. While we confront each other, the door opens and Sybil slips in, coming to stand beside me.

  “Joanie … I can call you Joanie?” The lady is smiling, gracious, like a flaming goddess. I lick my stiff lips, my returning smile more like a snarl.

  “It’s my name, might as well use it.”

  Her expression is pained as she looks around for another stool and, in an instant Sybil produces one, her ears perked like a Jack-rabbit’s. The lady looks somewhat distastefully at the stool and declines to sit. She smiles again and I can tell she is ill at ease. I sniff and wait for her words.

  “My name is Isabella Greywater … I used to be called Bourne …”

  I stare back blankly, the name means nothing to me and unless she has the Clink keys secreted about her person, I don’t care if she is the Queen of England.

  “My sister’s name is Evelyn Bourne. On her marriage she became Evelyn Wareham …”

  Wareham! Francis! She is talking about M’lady, she is Eve’s sister. I stand up, instantly on my guard, the stool skidding backwards across the floor. “I ain’t done nothin’ to be ashamed of!”

  Peter steps forward, places a hand on my arm, his voice soothing as he presses me back into my seat. “It’s all right, Joanie. Sit down, I told Lady Greywater what you did … it’s all right. She wants to help you.”

  I raise my eyes to hers. She is many years younger than me, almost young enough to be my daughter, and she is Eve’s sister; that gives us a link. Her skin is milky pale and her body firm and upright, but when I look in her eyes there are shadows and doubts, and I can see that life has touched her and she is as afraid as I am.