“I am sorry to bring such sad tidings—but there is still hope. He cannot keep his son under guard forever … and now, I hear footsteps! We must go. I have bundled a few items and some food. Let us be off!” said Cate.
Thirty-nine
As they had planned, the very afternoon of the queen’s demise, Madge, her mother, Cate, and Shadow left London. Her mother had procured a horse and wagon in advance, sending payment and arranging a meeting place through one of Sir Kingston’s servants. She feared any friend of the queen might still be in danger, even though most of the queen’s supporters had been killed along with Her Majesty. But who could know how far-reaching the king’s wrath might be? And who could feel safe while in close proximity to His Majesty?
Though Madge hated to leave without sending a message to Arthur, she had no choice. Not only had she promised the queen that she would leave court, her mother was insistent that they depart immediately. And so, Madge found herself heading north to Great Snoring, going, finally, to the place she had so longed for when she had first come to court.
The ride home was long, bumpy, and uncomfortable. Madge sought what solace she could in the beauty of the hills, the pastures dotted with new spring lambs, the tiny villages with their whitewashed walls and thatched roofs. The journey took six days, with Madge’s mother driving the wagon as best she could. Their meager food ran out after three days and they were forced to buy what they could from farmers along the way.
When they approached the familiar grounds of Great Snoring, Madge had a brief moment of happiness, for the place looked much as she remembered and her childhood memories brought her joy.
But Madge soon discovered being in her old home gave her no real solace. Her grief for the queen and her hunger for Arthur mingled to form a dark place in her heart. For many weeks after the queen’s death, Madge could not find reason to rise in the mornings. She was tired to her very bones and no hope filled her spirit. She missed the queen and thought she would never get the picture of the execution from her mind. Each time she thought of it, she sickened. All that blood, all that red, red blood. Such thoughts often made her gag. When she remembered the queen’s beautiful hair, falling free of its cap, bits of bone and gore besmirching those long tresses, Madge literally became ill.
Not only was she heartsore about what had happened to the queen, Madge was furious at the injustice and cruelty exhibited by the king. Even in Great Snoring, she heard gossip from the court.
“They say he is betrothed to Lady Jane Seymour—that they plighted their troth the very day after good Queen Anne was killed,” said one of the neighboring milkmaids to Cate. Of course, Cate repeated everything she heard to Madge. By June, Henry and Jane were wed and readying themselves to go on Progress. Madge became weary with her hatred of the king.
As the summer solstice passed, Madge grew more and more lonely. She had hoped Arthur would come for her, but now, she wondered if he would ever find her. If he had come to court, as he had said he would once the summer arrived, he would not have found her there. She had told no one of her plan of escape. Her mother had cautioned her to keep silent and she had had no opportunity to leave word for him. The more time passed, the more she began to doubt him. Perhaps he no longer loved her. Perhaps he had found another maiden to bed, one with more of a dowry than Madge could now hope to have. So many evil thoughts grew in her mind that Cate and her mother became worried about her. They both tried to give her comfort, but there was nothing that eased her.
As the weeks passed, Madge began to worry. She had been so ill, unable to hold much food in her stomach, and her monthly flow had not come. At first, she put the cause of her squirmy stomach to the ordeal she had witnessed. But, as the days continued, she feared she was to have Arthur’s child. As the fear grew, Madge thought more and more about the man she loved. She did not know what to do. Her father would surely disown her if she were to give birth to a bastard. He would throw her out to live among the common folk or to die among them. Her mother would be of little help; she would rant and cry. Madge decided to wait a while before confessing her fears. Perhaps she was not with child after all. Time would tell.
It was Cate who drew the secret from her lips.
Madge invited Cate to walk among the rolling hills one sunny afternoon. They took Shadow and enjoyed a silent stroll to the first summit. There, beneath a large oak, the two women sat on a coverlet and admired the view.
“You are not looking quite so peaked as when we first arrived, Maddie-girl. Though you are not eating much, your figure has filled out,” said Cate as she spread the material, smoothing any wrinkles.
“I am still tired—still sick of heart, methinks,” said Madge. “I miss Her Majesty and I keep seeing her death, even in my dreams.”
“Aye, that was a vision no woman could forget. But we must go on, Maddie. Life continues,” said Cate.
“I guess my own life must continue without love. I had hoped my dear Arthur would have found me by now,” said Madge.
“Who knows how long the duke will keep him imprisoned? He is probably trying to escape or convince the duke he no longer loves you so he can find you. He’s not the sort of man to give up the woman he loves,” said Cate.
“But does he love me still? How can I know? And I am to have…” said Madge.
“What’s that, girl?” said Cate, suddenly sitting up straighter.
Madge could hold it in no longer; she confessed her condition to Cate.
“Saints and angels! What are we to do?” said Cate. The two women sat side by side, looking out over the vast lands surrounding Great Snoring. Madge was moved by the beauty of her homeland and the memories of childhood games played among the woods and meadows. Suddenly, everything converged and Madge began to cry.
“No tears, Maddie-girl. Too late for tears now. You will have to tell your mother. She will know what to do,” said Cate.
“I cannot! She will tell Father and he will throw me to the wolves! They will think me a common strumpet! I cannot tell them,” said Madge.
“You might be surprised at the way your mother would accept such news—I do agree that to spill the news to your father might not be wise. But your mother is a most remarkable woman,” said Cate, putting her arm around Madge.
“But what could she do?” said Madge.
“Your mother is a capable woman, aunt to a queen. Do not forget what runs in the Boleyn blood—blood which is yours. Courage and dignity, a fighting spirit and a keen mind. Your mother will help you, Maddie-girl,” said Cate.
“Think you so, dear Cate?” said Madge.
“Yes—you must tell your mother,” said Cate.
The next morning, Madge was determined to confess everything. She expected great chastising, and was surprised when her mother said nothing accusatory. Instead, her mother frowned and kept silent. Madge did not move while her mother mulled over the news. Then, a slight smile twitched the corners of her mother’s mouth.
“Leave everything to me, Margaret. We will solve this problem and your father will never know about it. Now, go down to the groomsman and have him saddle my horse,” said Lady Shelton.
“What are you going to do, Mother? I don’t understand. Where are you going?” said Madge.
“Why, to get you a husband, child! Where else would I be going?” said her mother.
“But I want the father of the baby—Master Arthur Brandon, natural son of the duke of Suffolk. His father keeps him under guard because the duke finds our blood distasteful after the queen’s shameful demise. Arthur cannot yet come to me. But I know he will find me—I just know it!” said Madge.
“You will not have time to wait for your true love to rescue you, my dear. We must get you a husband now! And that I shall do. Out of my way!” said Lady Shelton as she wheeled around and headed downstairs.
* * *
Lady Shelton was gone for three days. Madge and Cate worried that robbers had attacked her, but decided to wait another day before sending a groomsman to look for
her. Later that evening, Madge heard a horse galloping into the yard. She looked out the window and saw her mother was dismounting. Madge ran down the stairs to greet her.
“Ah, Margaret. I have fixed everything!” said Lady Shelton.
“How so, Mother?” said Madge. Her mother put her arm around Madge and led her into the kitchen where she immediately had the servant prepare a cold plate of venison, gooseberry tarts, and ale. Lady Shelton gobbled the food and gulped the ale. Then she indicated she wanted another mug. She drank that quickly, too.
“Now, I’m fit for talk—come Margaret, let us walk for a while in the garden,” said Lady Shelton.
Madge followed her as she walked far away from the house. It was obvious Lady Shelton did not wish their conversation to be overheard. Finally, she sat down on a bench and told Madge to sit, too.
“I have found you a husband,” she began.
“But Mother, I am with child. How can I marry anyone but the father of the baby? And that would be my dear Arthur,” said Madge. “We are promised. You must help me find him! I know he is searching for me.”
“Hush, girl. You will do exactly as I say—I’ll hear no more about it. You are to be married next Sunday, here in our chapel. I have already arranged for the priest to come and have even sent for cloth to make you a pretty gown. I shall have plenty of flowers from the rose garden and Cate can stand up as one of your maids, along with your sisters. We shall invite the whole parish. Let’s see, I have plenty of ale and wine—I’ll have to get the baker for the wedding cake … I simply will not have time to do the baking,” said Lady Shelton.
“Stop! Stop this talk! I am not going to marry anyone but Arthur—it would be wrong to wed another—I love only Arthur. Please, Mother try to understand,” said Madge.
“I do understand—I understand you have gotten yourself into a mess and you need a way out of it, if you are to have any sort of life. If your father knew the truth, he would toss you out on your ears. No, I will brook no argument from you, young lady!” said Lady Shelton.
Madge knew her mother was correct on all points—she was in a mess, her father would rid himself of the mess and she would have no chance at life if she did not take the one currently offered. She did not speak for a long time while her mother continued to make plans. Finally, Madge spoke.
“But Mother, who am I going to marry?” said Madge.
“Oh yes. I almost forgot … He is our neighbor to the east, the first son of Sir Philip Wodehouse—Thomas is his name,” said Lady Shelton.
“I do not know this man,” said Madge. “How can you force me to marry a man I do not know?”
“Dear, most women do not know their husbands. We marry who our parents tell us to marry. Do you think I knew your father? Of course not!” said Lady Shelton.
“But what if I cannot love him—and I cannot, since I love another,” said Madge.
“You will find that love and marriage have very little to do with one another. Only the peasants can afford to marry for love. Love is greatly overrated, dear. Sir Thomas’s family holds vast properties which, as first son, he shall inherit. But the most important thing is, he understands your condition and is willing to claim the babe as his own,” said Lady Shelton.
“How can this be? Why would he do such a thing? Will he not hate me for such?” said Madge.
“I told him that St. Joseph in the Bible did as much for the Blessed Virgin. I persuaded him that he would be performing Christian charity, helping a poor girl who had gone wrong. I told him God would bless the union. I also reminded him that you were cousin of the dearly departed Queen Anne and kin to the princess Elizabeth, who may yet sit on the throne one day,” said Lady Shelton. She continued writing down her plans on a much-used piece of parchment.
“These are slim reasons for marriage, Mother,” said Madge.
“Oh, and I paid him,” Lady Shelton continued.
“That makes it clear. This man is easily bought and sold,” said Madge. “I will have none such for a husband—why, he is no better than a common bawd!”
“Nonsense. He wanted to make a good match—I shall remind you as I told him—you are cousin of the queen, God rest her soul. Elizabeth may be queen someday, you never know. He will be marrying up and you will be well provided for. And your bastard will have a name. Not bad for three days’ work—even the Good Lord took longer to fix His world,” said Lady Shelton.
Madge was silent. She knew her mother had performed a minor miracle and yet, she could not be thankful for it. She wanted Arthur and no one else. The idea of sharing her bed with a perfect stranger made her shiver with disdain.
“I have much to ponder, Mother,” she said finally and rose to walk again. She moved quickly so as to leave her mother behind. She did not want company.
The days before the wedding passed in a blur, as all of Great Snoring was busy preparing for the nuptials. In spite of her disdain for the marriage, Madge got caught up in the festive mood, though she held onto her misgivings. She selected a pale green silk for her wedding gown and talked with the cook about which foods to serve. Her mother gave her several gold plates and goblets while Cate worked on embroidering her trousseau. Her sisters, both of whom were married and lived nearby, brought linens and coverlets for her new home; and the simple farmers who worked her father’s land gave her sacks of flour, skeins of wool, casks of ale, and great bowls of butter. Some offered cherry tarts and the sight of these made Madge remember Queen Anne and how she had loved cherries in any form. She remembered the queen’s coronation and how they had prepared for it. At those times, Madge would retreat from the hustle and bustle of the manor house and walk up and down the hillsides, sometimes crying but sometimes praying. In her prayers, she begged for Arthur to come to her and carry her away to Guildford Palace where they would raise the babe in her womb and have a great family of sons. She often beseeched the Good God to bless the queen who was now with Him in heaven. And she prayed for the safe delivery of her own child, the child of her love for Arthur.
* * *
Before she knew it, Sunday had arrived and Madge was bathed, combed, clothed, and ready for her wedding.
“Come, come, Margaret—take off the long face. Your groom will not like to see that frown on the day of your wedding,” said her mother as she helped her with her dress.
“I do not care what the groom will or will not like. This is what I am and he must learn to accept me as such,” said Madge, feeling once again like a child who was being punished. She could not stop the pouting of her mouth.
“You had better have a care, mistress. You must be pleasing to the youth or he might decide not to go through with the marriage. Then we would both be in a hot stew. Your father would discover our secret,” said her mother.
Her father was still serving Elizabeth at Hatfield, having not yet been dismissed, as they all had expected. He would not attend the wedding, nor would he ever guess Madge’s condition. Her mother had figured it all out—they would explain the haste of the marriage by saying they feared the king’s retribution upon Madge for her faithful service to the queen. When the babe came early, Lady Shelton would say it was a fault of nature. Hopefully, Sir Shelton would still be housed at Hatfield and would never know the size of the child when it arrived in this world. The lie would be safe.
As Madge stood in her room, looking at herself in the glass, she thought she could see a little pouch where Arthur’s child lay. She cradled her belly with her hands. She thought of Arthur, who would be so proud to know he was going to have a little one—how often they had talked about what sort of family they would have. But Arthur had not found her; perhaps he had not even looked for her. She shook her head to rid herself of thoughts of her beloved. She rubbed her hands over her belly and thought how she loved the babe already. Feeling such love, she felt sorry once more for Anne, the queen. Anne, who had lost her babes; Anne, who had lost the man she loved. Madge hoped she would be able to bring this child to term and that she might find, again, h
er own love.
She heard the sound of a carriage and saw, from the window, people walking toward the courtyard. The carriage must belong to her intended. The people on foot would be the simple folk who lived in the small cottages of Great Snoring. Madge did not wish to go down the stairs just yet. She sat on her bed and Shadow nudged her with her nose.
“I shall not cry again, old girl. I shall not shed a tear. I shall meet my destiny with as much courage as Queen Anne faced hers. We do not know what the world will throw at us, Shadow. It does not matter. What matters is how we manage those things God sends to us. I would manage mine own life with dignity and I shall walk into the future with my head held high,” said Madge. She took a lacy handkerchief, a gift from Cate, and wiped her eyes. Then, she pinched her cheeks and lips, wishing them to look rosy for her soon-to-be husband.
“Margaret, come meet Sir Thomas—he is waiting for you,” her mother called from downstairs.
Madge gathered herself, remembering how Queen Anne had walked to the scaffold full of poise and grace. Madge wanted to walk down the steps in the very same way. Slowly, with the eyes of the entire household upon her, she glided down the stairs. As she reached the bottom of the steps, she curtsied to the young man who stood waiting. He bowed gallantly to her. When she looked up into his face, she found his eyes to be kind. He was not handsome like Arthur but he was pleasing enough. She watched as his face turned pink and, for some reason, his blush made her feel tender toward him. He took her by the hand and led her to where the priest stood waiting.
Forty
Madge sat on the edge of her parents’ great bed, an enormous carved headboard with four large posts to support the goose-down mattress, which was covered with red and pink rose petals and smelled of roses and lavender. Though not half as big as the king’s, this bed seemed almost sacred to Madge; none of the children had ever been allowed to crawl upon it, nor could they join their parents beneath the coverlet. Her mother had been inordinately proud of such a bed and now, as Madge twisted the linen sheet in her hands, she found it hard to believe she and her new husband would spend their wedding night here, in her parents’ most private place.
At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 35