At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (45 page)

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, her 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.

The wedding had taken place hours ago with much fine food and ale: several coneys stuffed with pepper and currants; a dozen capons spiced with nutmeg, sugar, ground almonds, and garnished with prunes; venison roasts; spring salat made with asparagus to “renew love,” bugloss to say “I am pleased with you,” and rosemary flowers, meaning “I accept your love.” The wedding cakes were gingerbreads gilded with gold. The ale and wine flowed without limit and the guests reeled and laughed, taking great merriment from the special occasion. Madge had danced with every man who asked for her hand, no matter how rank his odor or how drunken his manner. After eating and dancing their fill, the wedding guests carried Madge to the bedroom, then toppled Thomas onto her, all the while singing songs that caused the blush to rise in her cheeks. Finally, after much more singing and telling of bawdy tales, the villagers left, along with friends and family. Then, Thomas excused himself to the outdoor jakes and left Madge with much on her mind.

She could not imagine allowing this stranger to occupy her; the thought made her flesh creep and tears filled her eyes. Even when she had bedded the king, he was no stranger. He had saved her from harm, joked with her, danced with her. Allowing him to paw her body’s intimate places had not been easy, but now, doing such with this new man—it was more than she could bear.

She heard heavy steps traveling up the stairs. She looked up and in the doorway stood her husband. He did not say a word but strode to her and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. Without thinking, Madge threw herself on the floor, grabbed his ankles, and spoke.

“My good lord, have mercy on me. I beg of you, delay for a while your pleasure. Let us grow to be friends so as to be at ease with one another. I fear if you meddle with me now, you will disturb the babe that rests within. I am at your mercy, my good husband,” she said, not once raising her head to look at him.

“Prithee, arise, madame. Here, here,” he said as he pulled her to her feet and patted the bed next to him. She sat a little way from him. Tears ran down her cheeks and her nose dripped. She could not stop either so she remained still, not sobbing or crying out.

“You give me pause, wife. I know I lack beauty but am I one to cause such dread? Eh?” he said, lifting her chin gently. A slight smile raised the corners of his mouth.

“No, my husband. You are kind to take such a one as I to marry. I am grateful,” said Madge, finally looking into his face.

“I shall not dally with thee this night, madame. I know too well what danger such play is to the babe within. And though he be not mine, I would harm neither you nor him. We shall be chaste until he is born. And in that time, I hope to win you, as I would if you were a true maid,” he said. “And now, let us sleep for I have drunk much wine this day.”

Madge took his hand and looked straight at him.

“Kind sir, I thank you with all my heart. When the babe comes, I shall be as good a wife to you as you need—truly buxom in board and bed,” she said.

*   *   *

Weeks passed and Thomas remained true to his word. He often returned to his home in Kimberly to oversee the care of his sheep, the running of the manor over which he would be lord someday. He told Madge about hunting the plentiful deer that roamed his forests and made humorous stories regarding the foibles of his servants. Because only his father, his two brothers, and he lived at Kimberly, Thomas believed Madge would be more at ease staying with her mother and family at Great Snoring. Sir Thomas rode to Great Snoring at least once a week and when he was visiting, he and Madge often walked the rolling hills, taking picnics by the creek and talking about the future. During his absences, Madge found herself with little to do except sew quilts for the coming child, along with caps, gowns, and booties. She took great pride in embroidering each garment with tiny violets and sprigs of lavender. She smocked the softest lawn available for the child’s christening gown and attached fine lace around the collar and sleeves. She felt the babe quicken one day while she was walking in the garden to gather flowers. The almost imperceptible nudge within her caused her to smile with wonder, imagining the tiny babe she would soon bear for her beloved Arthur. Each time the babe kicked, it reminded her again of the man she adored and, often, she wept. Her sorrow and joy were so mixed, she could not tell where one stopped and the other began. Her heart carried a heaviness that nothing seemed to relieve as she slowly came to realize she would never see her darling Sir Churlish again.

*   *   *

All summer the weather had been unseasonably cold, with many cloudy days and much rain. Finally, the sun found his place once again in a cloudless sky and Madge wanted to soak up the warmth.

“Mother, I wish to accompany the washwomen to the hedgerows. I shall watch as they lay out the clothes to dry. The day is warm and I have been too much inside. I shall go mad if I have to stay so cloistered again,” said Madge.

“’Tis warm enough, I gainsay. But have a care—place your feet on solid ground for a fall now could damage both you and the babe. And don’t be gone too long—the afternoon turns quickly to eventide and the cold air will do you no good,” said Lady Shelton.

Madge smiled at her mother and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She called to Shadow and off they ran, following the washerwomen, who carried large baskets filled with wet sheets, nightgowns, and smocks. While the women laid the laundry over the hedges, Madge threw a small leather ball for Shadow to fetch. Tiring after a long game of it, Madge lay down on the warm grass, the sun on her face and Shadow’s head on her lap.

“We be going back to the house, mistress. Will ye come along?” said Lucy, the chief washerwoman.

“No. Methinks to stay a while in the sun. I shall be along anon,” said Madge, closing her eyes and flopping her arm over her brow to block the bright rays.