by Olga Daniels
“They will indeed! It was written in their faces!” bellowed the Earl. “If looks could have killed, you would have had a knife through your heart, Meg. You were the only one he had eyes for.”
They laughed and took more wine, and repeated things that had been said, the envy that had been evoked. Their imaginations raced ahead, over wonderful times to come. With every new idea their merriment increased. The Earl listed some of the gifts that had been showered on Jane Seymour’s family. Great estates and riches would be theirs for the asking when their Meg became Queen Margaret.
For Meg such a terrible fate was a nightmare. She was far too upset to say anything more. Besides, what would be the use? Her feelings were of no consequence to them. She walked out of the room and the Earl and Nancy were so pleased with themselves they did not even notice.
She wandered around the house and out into the garden. Would Richard meet her there tonight? Would he help her? There was no one else to whom she could turn. If she showed any reluctance her uncle and Nancy would put pressure on her. Probably they would beat her and lock her in the cellar, try to starve her into submission. Their anger would know no bounds. She must be strong. She would not give in. Yet she feared that if the King knew she rejected his advances she would incur his wrath. He had a reputation for killing those that disagreed with him—she did not want to die, not yet. Nor would she willingly submit to this proposed marriage.
The only escape she could think of was to ask Richard to marry her. They could be wedded quickly, then when the King learned she was a married lady, he would lose all interest in her. She and Richard would both be banished from Court and turned out of Bixholm, but she could think of no other way out. Restlessly she walked to the river’s edge. The great Thames, carrying trade in and out of London, its water relentlessly flowing under the bridge, reminded her how fragile was life. She thought of flinging herself in and allowing the water to carry her away, to end it all, to be free!
But when she peered down the sight of the filth swirling past her made her draw back. The sewer smell from the river reached her nose and she knew she could never fling herself into that. It was too disgusting! Anyway, suicide was not on her mind. Not yet. Not until she had spoken to Richard. He was her only hope—but would he be willing? She turned and made her way back to the house.
She decided to say nothing of the day’s events to Sarah, and forced herself to chatter normally as she changed for dinner.
“What do you think of London?” she asked Sarah.
“Phew, big, isn’t it? Smelly, too! Alan and me walked over London Bridge. I’d heard of it, of course—never thought I’d walk over it! All those houses! I was afraid it’d fall down, like in the song, but Alan held my hand all the way, so I was all right.”
Dear Sarah. She chatted on happily, not seeming to notice how quiet her mistress was. Meg smiled and listened and envied her maid. Her simple walk had been with a man who loved her. How much more pleasant than her own encounter with the King!
The meal seemed unending, and there was no sign of Richard. The Earl and Nancy were still in a celebratory mood. The entire company, knowing something of the day’s events, ate and drank right merrily. Meg picked at her food, turned it over on her trencher and slipped several choice cuts to the dogs that wandered, ever hopeful, under the tables. Where was Richard? She wondered and worried, praying he had not been injured in practising at the tilt.
Gervase Gisbon was enjoying himself. He was flirting quite outrageously with one of the ladies, a woman several years older than himself, who seemed to find his advances pleasing. Alan and Sarah were together, further down the line of tables. An elderly nobleman, a guest of the Earl, was seated on Meg’s left. She tried to make polite conversation with him, but as he was extremely deaf it was almost impossible. The entertainment was ribald, as always. She was not so shocked as she had been previously, and once or twice she laughed quite spontaneously. She was invited to dance, but declined, declaring that she was feeling a little unwell.
“It’s the excitement, I expect,” said Nancy.
“Probably,” Meg agreed.
“Not surprising,” said the Earl. “Been a momentous day for all of us.” He nodded benignly.
“If you’ll excuse me, I shall retire.” As soon as she moved, Sarah leapt to her feet and followed her mistress out of the Hall.
“Is something the matter, my lady?” she asked anxiously.
“No, Sarah. I am a little overtired, that is all.”
“I thought you was a bit quiet earlier on,” persisted Sarah. “Is it true, my lady? You know what I mean, don’t you? They’re a-sayin’ you’ve met the King an’ he’s taken a fancy to you?”
Meg nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to speak.
“But you don’t fancy him? That’s the trouble, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Sarah. That’s the trouble. But nobody cares what I feel.”
“I care. You know that,” Sarah said stoutly. “Oh, I’d like to screw their necks, the lot of them! They’ve no business to treat you so! Is there anything I can do?”
“No, thank you, Sarah. It was rather warm in there—I shall take a turn in the garden before I go to bed.”
“I don’t like—”
“Don’t fuss, Sarah. I wish to be on my own. Go back to the Hall.”
“You’re quite sure?” Sarah said doubtfully.
“Positive.” She spoke so sharply that Sarah obeyed, though it was with evident reluctance that she walked away.
Meg fetched a dark-coloured shawl from her chamber, then hurried out of the house. The garden covered about an acre of ground. Darkness was falling. She looked all around, wandered here and there, but there was no sign of Richard. She sat on a stone seat among a cluster of hazel trees, her mind filled with doubt. Had he understood? Had some injury befallen him? Was he deliberately avoiding this meeting? Did he know how repugnant this proposed union with the King was to her? She brooded over the awfulness of her predicament.
Half an hour later Richard came to her. She heard his footsteps before she saw him, and jumped to her feet. She stepped forward to meet him.
“My apologies, sweet lady, for being late. There was a problem with the construction of the stand for the royal party.”
She smiled forgiveness and held out her hands to him. He clasped them, raised them to his lips and kissed first one then the other.
“Richard,” she breathed. “What can I do? I’m terrified.”
“Hush,” he said. “Let us walk through the trees, to the wall. We can be more private there.” He slipped an arm around her waist.
She allowed him to guide her into the shadows of the trees. The garden was protected by a high brick wall, and beneath the trees it seemed as secluded as when they had lain together in the woods at Bixholm. He turned her to face him and gently kissed her.
Only a light touch, but passion stirred immediately. He kissed her again, long and lingering. The magic of his lips on hers added to her sense of security. She was so deeply in love with him that she believed he must be able to rescue her. He was strong, capable, resourceful; she trusted him totally. Care fell from her shoulders like the wrap she discarded as she lifted her arms and with loving hands took hold of his head to keep him there, kissing and kissing her. Surely for him, as well as for her, there must be a depth of meaning in this embrace? Her response was instinctively warm. She opened her mouth slightly as his lips, moist and soft, pressed against hers with an almost greedy movement.
It was a kiss that awakened desire in her, that reached some intrinsically primitive part of her being. She wanted it to go on for ever, feeling she belonged to him, that her life on this earth needed no other reason. She had been born solely so that she could be made love to by this man. By Richard. She wanted no one else. Riches were nothing to her compared to the sensations that coursed through her. Her body was awakened, tingling with desire, her flesh delighting in this wondrous contact with him.
He drew her closer into h
is embrace. His arms so tight around her that she seemed no longer to be a separate being, but part of him. When love was as powerful as this, surely nothing could separate them?
He lowered his head and nibbled with his lips along the line of her throat. She lifted her head to receive his kisses and arched her back as she did so. She felt his loins through her flimsy skirts, and, although she scarcely knew why it should be so, the hardness there pressing against her intensified the sensations that enveloped her. Her body melted and softened to the power of his.
Again his lips found hers. With one arm he clasped her pliant waist; the other moved lower, caressing her back. Her fingers played in the hair at the nape of his neck. That dark, springy hair she had thought so attractive when she’d first met him. The way he had looked at her then had presaged this embrace—but how little she had known then of the ways of men. How little did she know now, even! But she trusted him. She loved him. Her mind and body both told her so. She had no defence against him. She yearned to belong to him entirely.
Then a tiny flip of fear broke into her mind. Not about Richard—but the continual fear that perhaps they could be seen. They were in the gardens, close to her uncle’s town house. Others might have wandered out. She tensed. She had to speak about her future—to seek his assistance.
She released her lips from Richard’s. She recalled how he had spoken about the “game of love”. But surely this was different? A suspicion of doubt crept in. She was in no position to play games. She had come to Richard with only one thought in mind, to make serious promises, each to the other, that they would join their lives in marriage. She had rehearsed the words and they had been at the forefront of her mind—until he had swept her into his arms and kissed her. She should never have allowed herself to succumb to the joy of the moment.
She pulled herself together. She must speak to him. But she had forgotten the words she’d intended to say. Distraught, she simply blurted out the question.
“Will you marry me?”
There was a moment’s taut silence.
“Please, Richard?” she added.
“Marry you?” he questioned.
Obviously no such thought had been in his mind.
Chapter Ten
Meg shivered, suddenly cold. She tore her arms away from where they had been resting, lovingly and trustingly, on Richard’s shoulders. She stepped back, stooped to snatch up her shawl from the dank, leaf-strewn ground.
“Dearest Meg—there is nothing I would like better than to marry you. I’d do it, here and now. But I cannot. It would be the height of folly—”
“How else can I save myself from being forced into this liaison with the King? Can you imagine what it is like? I have to pretend a liking I do not and cannot feel—”
“I know it is hard for you, Meg. But you must be patient—”
“Patient! For the rest of my life? Or until he tires of me and sends me to the block?”
“Hush! Do not speak so! For God’s sake, guard your tongue.”
“If you will not marry me, how otherwise can I escape?” Her voice was dulled. She had been so full of hope, and he had failed her.
“It would do no good, Meg, and it would be most unwise just now. Just wait awhile—”
“Wait!” She interrupted. She was seething with anger, finding it difficult not to scream at him. How dared he continue to pretend? “You always say you cannot when you mean that you will not! You pretended you could not tell me what fate was in store for me when you brought me away, when all along you knew. Had you given me warning then I could have sought sanctuary in one of the religious houses, or hired myself out as a servant—”
“Hush, my dearest.” His fingers covered her lips to quieten her. “You must believe me. It will be all right. I have a plan—”
He would have taken her into his arms again, but she would not. She side-stepped.
“Tell me,” she whispered angrily.
“The time is not yet right. I promise—”
“Let me be the judge of that. Tell me.”
“Trust me—”
She did not waste her breath by answering. She rushed past him, hurrying through the trees. She was past caring how much noise she made, crashing into branches, scuffling leaves with her feet and skirts.
She stopped abruptly when she heard someone call out, “Who’s there?” It came from ahead, not far away. She halted, listening intently. Now all was silent, but she had recognised that voice. Gervase Gisbon. She had no wish to be discovered in such a compromising situation, especially by him.
A woman’s voice spoke softly, dreamily, “What is it, my sweetheart?”
“I thought I heard footsteps among the trees,” Gervase answered. “I was afraid it might be your husband.”
“No need to worry about him, dear one. He’s returned to the country. He has to quell a revolt and hang one or two of the peasants.”
“He is a good man. It has to be done for there is no other way to keep order. I am grateful that he takes his duties so seriously, and leaves you here…” Ger-vase’s voice trailed away.
The woman chuckled. There was a brief silence. Then she spoke again. “There’s no one here.” Her voice was a seductive purr. “And here is a soft bed of leaves—”
There were scuffling sounds, murmurs and giggles. Meg moved on carefully, slowly, silently, fearful of being seen. She wondered if Richard was aware that Gervase and his lady were there, but she felt no real concern for him. Richard could look after himself—he was good at doing that!
She’d been a fool to think that he cared for her. Fine words and kisses meant nothing! She had almost allowed herself to be duped by him. Thank goodness she had now recovered her senses. It was obvious his comfortable position in the Thurton household meant more to him than she did. He would not take the slightest risk for her sake.
She moved quietly towards the house, keeping in the shadow, and with each wary step her mind became more firmly made up. She would leave London and return to Norwich, throw herself on the mercy of the Prioress, ask for sanctuary within the nunnery. She would fall on her knees and plead if need be. She could not believe that the Prioress would wish her to marry that monster. Her talents had been useful in the past and could be again. She could sew, write, even produce artistically illuminated manuscripts if she tried hard enough.
Richard’s rejection had destroyed her last hope. It seared her soul that he was unwilling to assist her. What a fool she had been to think that he loved her! He had been horrified at her suggestion that they should marry.
Trust him! That was all he’d been able to say. Why should she trust him? It was obvious that those kisses and caresses meant nothing to him. It was only the “game of courtly love”. A meaningless flirtation. No more than the carry-on between Gervase and the married lady. She remembered how Richard had told her that all the gentlemen at Court played the game—it was a sport for them, and they would take it as far as the woman was willing.
What a terrible world she had come into! Her life was shattered. It came into her mind that she had nothing to live for. She did not wish to die, would not deliberately attempt to take her own life, but if death came it would be preferable to the fate being planned for her by her guardian. She knew there were dangers on the road for lone travellers. Robbers and murderers lay in wait for victims. But her fear of marriage to Henry was greater than that—and if she took care she ought to be able to make her way back to Norwich. She would seek shelter overnight at the monasteries where they had rested on the journey to London.
It was late when she entered the house. With confident, swinging strides she walked along the passageway and entered her chamber. Sarah was waiting for her. A smile of relief spread over her face. “My lady! Thank goodness you’re back. I’ve been so worried. I looked out into the garden, but I couldn’t see you nowhere.”
“I stayed in the shadows,” Meg said briefly.
“Did you see that Gervase Gisbon?” Sarah asked. “He was out ther
e, gallivanting wi’ some woman twice his age. Reckon she must be rich, or he wouldn’t bother.”
“I didn’t see them,” Meg said.
She felt no need to add that she had heard them. She was too engrossed in her own plans, for her mind was quite made up. She would run away from her uncle, from London, from Richard. She wanted nothing more to do with any of them. Not even Richard. She must put him right out of her mind, forget him, even though it tore her heart in two. There was no other way. She blessed the fact that Sarah was there, for she needed help.
“You remember what I told you earlier, Sarah?” she said.
“Coss I do, my lady. I bin thinkin’ about it all evenin’. If I could get my hands on those scheming devils, I’d make them scream for mercy! That I would!” Her anger was all the greater because she was powerless.
“I’m going to run away.”
Sarah was aghast! “You’ll be caught,” was her immediate comment.
“I shall disguise myself. I know it’s a risk, but I believe I can do it.”
“Where would you go?”
“To Norwich.”
“Not back to the nunnery?” Sarah asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“I know nowhere else. I don’t suppose the Prioress will welcome me, but I shall plead with her to take me in, for the sake of my dear mother.”
“I wouldn’t be sure about that! She’s a rum ’un! But you know that. I’m sore a-feared you’ll get caught before you get that far.”
“I must try.”
“’Tis right foolhardy, if you ask me, my lady. All you’ll get for your pains is a beating. An’ you could be sent to the Tower if the King got to hear of it.”
Meg shuddered. “I might get sent to the Tower if I married him. He had Queen Anne beheaded when he grew tired of her.”
Sarah turned quite pale. “It’s terrible—terrible!” She was wringing her hands in agitation.
“I won’t ask you to come with me, Sarah, but I do need your help.”
Sarah regarded her cautiously. “You know I don’t approve, my lady—but what is it you wish me to do?”