by Leila Snow
"It cannot be so sobering as to require such a grim visage," he responded teasingly.
Madeline spun to meet his regard. "I am with child," she stated simply, watching him carefully to gauge his reaction. Unexpectedly, a grin split his countenance.
"Truly?" he asked.
Madeline nodded.
In a few short strides Edward was before her. He grasped her cold hands, which had been hanging limply at her sides. He gave them a squeeze and grinned again down at her. "And I asked you if you were eating too many sweets," he laughed. "What joyous news."
"You aren't troubled?" she asked incredulously.
"Nay, should I be?" he chuckled. "Clearly the babe is mine. I shall be overjoyed to have a son by my Rosamund."
Madeline turned her eyes to the floor afraid he would read the truth in them.
"Or daughter," he continued. "Of course I shall acknowledge the babe," Edward offered magnanimously, completely taken with the idea of having a child from his beautiful mistress.
She gave him a fond smile, realising that the king was still only young, a decent man and generous. He had not yet been hardened by the ways and pressures of court. Madeline was grateful for his consideration but her conscious could not allow him to receive the censure and disfavour that would result in such a benevolent gesture.
"If it pleases you sire, I have another suggestion," she continued softly, her hands still resting in his. "If it is your will, let us say that it is the child of my late husband."
She pulled a hand from his grasp and pressed her finger to his lips to prevent the argument that appeared about to flow forth.
"In this manner Lord Endle will have the heir he so desperately desired, and you will not be censured nor will you be obliged to provide a dispensation for him...or dowry for her," she explained.
Edward thought for a long moment, his brows lowered in pensive reasoning.
"Ah, my darling," he said finally. "How wise you are. We will do exactly as you say. In the absence of Lord Endle, I will appoint myself his guardian until he is the age of majority," he nodded with finality.
"You are too generous, sire," she said gratefully. "I am forever in your debt."
"Then come and show me how thankful you are," he said grinning as he pulled her into his arms once again.
* * *
King Edward announced the news of the pending birth of Marbourne's heir during the feast of St. Valentine. Lord Endle had been a favourite at court due to his kindly, generous nature, and the disclosure was met with uproarious congratulations and great cheer.
Whilst the king rejoiced in the court's celebration, Queen Phillipa leaned forward and granted Madeline a sincere smile, with a hint of gratitude in her eye. "Allow me to offer my congratulations on your fortuitous news, countess," she felicitated quietly.
"My most sincere thanks, my Queen," Madeline accepted, and bowed her head briefly.
"You are a wise woman," Phillipa said softly. "Shall I count you an ally?"
"I would be honoured if you would," she agreed respectfully.
The queen nodded and turned from her. Madeline surveyed the gathered nobles as they continued their celebrations. Finally, she spied for whom she searched. Standing off to the side, frozen to the floor and white as marble, was Geoffrey. She watched him for some time, before he suddenly turned and matched her stare. The expression of absolute loathing, which he now directed at her, made her recoil and she quickly looked away. She hadn't really expected any different from him, but to be openly confronted with his hatred was another matter entirely.
* * *
After the announcement, the frequency of Edward's summons dwindled in direct proportion to the growth of Madeline's belly. She spent most of her days in her chamber, sitting before the glowing fire with Muriel. She found pleasure, for once, in intricately embroidering the tiny linen clothes.
She rubbed her hand over her growing abdomen and spoke to the babe as had become her habit. "I never liked embroidery," she told him, for she had become convinced the child was, after-all, a boy. "But imagining your perfection clothed in these petite garments makes it immensely enjoyable. My mother does beautiful embroidery," she continued. "One day I will take you to Alwinsopp to see her tapestries."
Madeline glanced up as Muriel entered the room holding a goblet of warm mulled wine. The maid had become her greatest help and comfort, anticipating her needs before she even knew she had them.
"Ah, Muriel, this will be perfect to warm my insides on this snowy day," she smiled at the maid, who returned a small smile to her.
"The expectation amongst the servants is that this will be the last snow before warm weather returns," Muriel informed her softly.
Madeline agreed, "I expect so. Thus, it will not be long before we can return Lord Endle to his beloved home. I confess to being anxious to return to Marbourne. I am yearning to get there and soon to hold my babe in my arms."
"Patience, my Lady," the maid encouraged her. "You will hold your child soon enough. For now, you should rest," she said propping a cushion behind Madeline's back.
"I know not what I would do without you, Muriel," she confessed. But she was surprised when the maid flushed, then fled the room.
* * *
The servants’ conjecture had been correct. It had been the last snow of the season. After a long, miserable winter, the birds finally began to sing again and tiny green sprouts poked their heads out from between the snowdrifts. Madeline had become recognizably enceinte and though Edward had tried to convince her to remain at Woodstock for the birth of the child, she had flatly refused, saying it was proper for the heir to be born at Marbourne. The king had reluctantly agreed, though he had pleaded with her to promise that she would bring the babe to court when it was old enough to safely do so. Preparations were also underway for Endle's funeral procession. As the king had sworn, it would be as grand as if he had been royalty.
Two days before the journey to Marbourne, Nathaniel and Aileth arrived from Cullenthorpe to join the cortege, which would escort Lord Endle to his final resting place. Madeline had been expecting them. Yet the sight of Nate's beloved face entering the great hall during the evening meal almost made her choke on the bread she had just popped in her mouth. She stared heavy-heartedly at Aileth's protruding stomach and happy smile. She suddenly realized the babe the woman carried was her own child's sibling. She took a deep breath and clutched her trembling hands in her lap to still them.
* * *
Nathaniel couldn't take his eyes off Madeline when they entered the great hall at Woodstock. She looked even more beautiful and radiant than in his memory and his dreams. So lost in his admiration and longing was he, that he almost forgot to take his wife's elbow to escort her as they walked to their table. Though in truth, Aileth was an excellent wife, thoughtful and kind in every way, his constant thought had continued to centre on Madeline these last months. As such, he had avoided intimacy with his new wife for many weeks after they left Woodstock. Though eventually she had convinced him that sharing their marital bed would not hurt the child, and seeing the sad rejection in her eyes, he had finally succumbed.
This night, he ate his meal in silence, avoiding Aileth's knowing glances. He also avoided Madeline's scrutiny when he periodically felt her eyes rest on him. Chagrined, he wondered if her absence or her presence was the more difficult to bear.
He was unable to restrain himself from a lingering gaze when Madeline stood at the end of the meal. There was no confusing the gently rounded swell beneath her breasts. His love was expecting a babe.
Nathaniel felt as if he had been cleaved in two with a battle axe. His precious Linny. She had told him of the king's attentions, but unwilling to think on the painful subject, he had married and left her to fend for herself. Guilt rose up in his throat.
Turning to Sir Hugh he voiced his thoughts carefully, "I was not aware of Lady Madeline's condition until now."
"Aye," the older knight said with a huge grin. "It is a miracle af
ter all, that Lord Endle would have sired an heir just before he passed! Praise be to our Lord!"
"Indeed," Nathaniel murmured in confusion.
* * *
The morn of Lord Endle's funeral procession to Marbourne dawned clear and warm. It would take them two days of travel to reach Marbourne and Madeline fervently prayed for equally favourable weather on the morrow. She stared out her window at Woodstock for the last time and reflected on how her life had changed since she had arrived here so many months ago, with Endle's death, the king's intimacy, and Nathaniel's marriage. It had been less than a year and yet it felt like a lifetime.
Her musings were stilled when Muriel arrived with the mourning clothes. It didn't take the maid long to ready her and with a deep breath Madeline exited to join the procession.
They milled about in the inner bailey whilst it took hours for the entourage to be organized enough to depart Woodstock. But eventually, Lord Endle's body, resting upon a lavishly cushioned gilt bier, was carried forth from the chapel by four Marbourne knights. The ornately embroidered pall was draped over the top, leaving just the shape of his form visible. Curtains in the Marbourne colours and embroidered with his coat of arms hung from the gilt posts of the bier and fluttered in the spring breeze. The bell ringer and several priests preceded the body with the tolling of the bell echoing mournfully. The remainder of the earl's knights massed about the bier astride their prancing warhorses, their swords and banners held aloft in honour of their departed lord.
Geoffrey and Madeline, along with her two guards, followed directly behind on foot for the first portion of their travels, although eventually they would ride. Aileth and Nathaniel walked behind them. A vast congregation of nobility came after, trailed by a countless number of poor, each of whom had been given new black robes in honour of the departed. They wailed and lamented his death as they proceeded.
Along the long way peasants stopped to pay their respects and coins were generously given out to them, much to Geoffrey's apparent irritation.
"I cannot find sound reason as to why we should beggar Marbourne for this spectacle," he grumbled under his breath.
Madeline flashed a look of pure disgust at him. "Bite your tongue, Geoffrey, or so help me I will have it cut from your mouth," she spat back.
"It remains Lord Earl for now," he retaliated, but he nevertheless stayed silent from that point forward.
* * *
The entire cortege was weary by the time Marbourne Castle arrived within their sights. Madeline's back and belly cramped fiercely and she wished for nothing more than to collapse into a bed. Aileth looked to be in about the same state. Unfortunately, they were still required to proceed through the village and make a stop at the chapel before continuing on to Marbourne. The peasants and villagers streamed from their cottages to wail and moan as the procession passed. Lord Endle had been a good overlord to them and they flung spring wildflowers in front of the funeral bier as it passed.
The procession rounded the ancient chapel three times as was customary and then stopped before it for a short mass. The official mass would be said at the castle before the body was interred. Madeline made the sign of a cross as it finished. The poor who had accompanied the procession began to dissolve and straggled off leaving the family, clergy, and nobility. They proceeded as a somber and grim parade up the escarpment to the castle.
The mass and interment the following day were sedate and respectful, even Geoffrey was mannerly. Madeline thought it befitted the generous man they had laid to rest. Unfortunately, despite her continued weariness, a customary feast had been arranged before the departure of the formal guests.
By the time the feasting had wound down and the last person had left or retired, Madeline was nearly prostrate with fatigue. Though lamentably, she found exhaustion did not dim the heartache that stung her as she watched Nathaniel lead Aileth from the great hall. Dragging herself up the stone steps to the bedchamber she had once come to as a bride, she shooed Muriel from the room, and collapsed onto the bed in a heap of weeping misery.
* * *
"I have nothing to say to you," Muriel argued with Geoffrey as he accosted her upon her exit from Madeline's bedchamber.
"At one time you had much to say to me," he returned with a smooth smile.
Where once his smile would have given her pleasant flutters, it now made her stomach churn with disgust, and she said as much. Expecting his anger, Muriel was nevertheless caught off-guard when his fist came up to strike her harshly across the cheek. Her head snapped back and tears sprang to her eyes as her face began to throb.
Geoffrey grabbed her arm and dragged her down the hall to his room. Pulling her through the entryway, he slammed the door behind her.
"You will listen and you will help me," he growled as he loomed over her.
She shrank from his rage but still shook her head in defiance.
"You will help me," he repeated. "Or I will announce to the world what you have done," he threatened. "How much of a torture was it for you to follow his body for the last two days, knowing you were the one who had killed him?"
Muriel began to shake uncontrollably. "I didn't intend..." she whispered brokenly.
Geoffrey laughed derisively in her face. "And who would believe that?" he asked. "Now...I will be attending to guests and all the bother of this mourning period for the next while, so it will be tricky for me to do what I need done."
"Do what?" Muriel asked, horrified that his machinations continued.
"Why, obtain the poison to rid us of Lady Madeline of course," he chortled maliciously.
"But she is with child," she stammered. "Even you wouldn't..."
"Wouldn't I?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. "For the price of an earldom?"
"I will never help you," Muriel declared, her chin raised. "Not in a thousand lifetimes."
She screamed as his fist came up again and he pounded it into her face. Holding her hands up protectively, she could feel the sticky warmth that streamed from her nose. "Go ahead, kill me!" she shrieked at him. "You'll only release me from my torment." She spat out the blood that trickled into her mouth and watched in satisfaction as it splattered on his face.
This time his fist met her stomach and she cried out as she doubled over in agony. Geoffrey bellowed in rage and Muriel knew he would beat her to death.
Suddenly an unexpected voice came from the other side of the door. "Lord Geoffrey," it shouted. "How do you fare?"
Geoffrey lifted his head and sneered in anger at the interruption.
"I am well," he yelled back. "Be off with you!"
"Open the door that I may ascertain that for myself," came the reply.
Endle's nephew growled deep in his throat, but opened the door a crack. "All is well," he muttered as he saw Sir Gareth standing outside the door.
"I was ascending the stairs when I saw Lady Madeline's maid enter this room with you. I believe the Lady has need of her and I would escort her back to her duties," the knight persisted.
"I said...be off with you!" Geoffrey bellowed at the knight.
"I'm afraid I can't do that my Lord," Sir Gareth persisted. He put his shoulder against the door and pushed it open against Geoffrey's futile attempts to prevent him.
Upon obtaining entrance, the knight took a quick look at the battered young maid and gently grasped her arm. "Come with me now, love," he soothed her as he pulled her from the room. An enraged Geoffrey slammed the door shut behind them.
"Thank you..." Muriel managed through her split lip, once in the sanctuary of the hallway.
"Poor girl," Gareth consoled her as he pulled her shaking form into his arms and stroked her hair. "Poor girl."
What is hell?
I maintain that it is the suffering
of being unable to love.
~Fyodor Dostoyevsky
CHAPTER 29
It was not Muriel who woke her the following day but a servant-girl Madeline was unfamiliar with.
“Where’s Muriel?” she
asked in confusion, realising she was still clothed in the dress she had worn last eve, though it was now rumpled and creased. Her eyes were scratchy with the salty remnants of her tears.
“I have no knowledge of Muriel. Sir Gareth fetched me to attend you this morn,” the girl bobbed into a curtsey. “My name is Ida.”
“And where is Sir Gareth?” Madeline enquired of her.
“He was outside the door when I entered,” the servant said nervously.
“Fetch him,” she directed her.
The girl complied as Madeline rose and attempted to make order of herself. The babe kicked as she did so and she smiled, placing a hand over where he rested. “Good morn, my love,” she cooed, then glanced up as Sir Gareth entered.
“Where is my maidservant?” she asked bluntly.
“She is unwell this morn, my Lady,” he answered. “I took the liberty of fetching Ida for you.”
“She seemed fine last eve,” Madeline probed.
“Mayhap,” the knight shrugged. “All I know is that she is unable to attend you.”
Madeline nodded, concerned for the maid who had become a friend and companion.
“I will ready myself and see if there is aught she requires,” she said.
“Nay, my Lady,” Sir Gareth spoke quickly. “She requests you not visit her. I believe she is afraid that you also may fall ill.”
“She is very thoughtful,” Madeline smiled. “I ask you to ensure that she has everything she needs and a servant to care for her. And please give her my most sincere wishes for her recovery.”
“I will indeed, my Lady,” he agreed as he backed from the room.
* * *
Geoffrey turned his lip up in disgust as he approached the old hag’s cottage. The ancient woman disquieted him. It really was too bad that stupid cow, Muriel, had decided to become all self-righteous on him. It had obliged him to invent an excuse to visit the village.