Edward - Interactive

by Mike Voyce

  Chapter 17 – Abigail

  (Past)

  Master Gibbons delivered his mind.

  When Edward came at last to pay his respects to his guardian it was William he saw first, but he was not alone. Sat in a corner of the room, resplendent in the livery of his office, was Sir Reginald Bray, Lady Margaret’s oldest and most senior minister.

  It was Master Gibbons’ office to speak to Edward and he discharged it straight away.

  Sat at his high desk, in his rooms, I stood in front of him; no chair was offered.

  “You disappoint the Countess.

  You’re late.

  What if arrangements had been made to present you at court?

  Lady Margaret will soon retire from public life. By your failure to attend her you injure your own interests. Your need is to do your duty at this time.

  I think you have no idea how much you owe to Lady Margaret.

  I read your report from Father Tobias, that too is disappointing. You’re doing well enough in your studies, in fact very well, but you entertain no one. Father Tobias finds you withdrawn, avoiding company; here too you fail to live up to your name, your station or Stafford traditions.”

  Master William was speaking in measured, tones but giving no room for interruption or I would have challenged his point.

  “And this letter!”

  He showed me the letter I had myself written from Penshurst.

  “This is nothing but scandalous!”

  Suddenly the air cracked with tension. It came as a shock, as I remembered the angry words I’d written. Were they to be called treason? Was this where Master Gibbons was leading?

  “Turning to your pretensions to be a great lord, let me advise you as a lawyer.

  I must tell you, until you achieve your majority and have livery of your possessions; you are not, in fact, entitled to them. Quite simply Sir Edward your rents are not yours to take and it is criminal to do so or incite others to do so. Indeed, Sir Reginald Bray has had inflicted on him the loud and justified complaints of the steward of the manor you raided for rent and servants, inciting them to break their solemn oaths and contractual duties. Never mind if the estate will be yours one day, a large part of its income is his now! You’ve stolen directly in receiving your own rents and indirectly in taking another man’s servants: all without the King’s licence.

  Did you know, in Kent of all counties, what you’ve done is expressly against the King’s own order? Not only have you gone beyond yourself, Edward, you’ve actually exceeded de Stafford perquisites, even Lady Margaret has no right to act so.”

  There was a pause and I relaxed slightly, but not for long.

  “If that’s not enough you’ve involved an honest man in your wrong-doing. Thomas Lewkenor stands in peril even to his life because of you and because of this letter. In becoming accomplice to your theft he is accomplice to your slander.”

  Master William must have seen me go white. He must have seen I was about to speak for he raised his hand before I could do so.

  “Have you any idea how close you are to the Tower? from here it’s only a short boat ride.

  Have you no thought for Master Thomas or Eadie?”

  The words I would have said dried in my throat.

  “Do I have to tell you on what sufferance you stand after this letter? It is only by your obedience to the King and Lady Margaret you may hope to win any tolerance for this girl you love.”

  There was a pause before Sir Reginald spoke.

  “As to the letter; you have hurt Lady Margaret, and if your intemperance is known it shall hurt you and your mistress worse; before ever we come to Master Lewkenor and the rents.

  Men’s heads are lifted from their shoulders for such words.

  As to the rents, the greatest damage need be little more than £20. I am willing to intervene with Lady Margaret’s purse, but there is a price.

  For the monies you have taken and loss of service you have caused you are to sign an indemnity. It calls on you to be of good behaviour on pain of severe penalties both to you and to Thomas Lewkenor.”

  There was another pause.

  “It also means there shall be no more outbursts, in public or in private. If you break its faith your bond shall be forfeit and the whole case will come before the King’s judgement.”

  A paper was handed to me. It must have been the deed of indemnity, but I could not see what it said.

  “Will you sign?”

  I took the pen Sir Reginald offered me but before I could sign he spoke again.

  “Mark me, the sum forfeited, should you break your bond, will be twenty times the sum you stole. More than that, you confess your treasonable words against the King and your guardian. Will you still sign?”

  I went on as if I had not heard him and signed as if to bring an end of that interview, or almost.

  “Shall you make your proper apologies to the Countess and leave all with her?”

  “If you please, Sir Reginald, no.”

  Lady Margaret’s chief minister didn’t expect me to go back on the promise I’d only just signed, but I suddenly found the words coming out of me. I’d started; I was bound to go on.

  “Aletia is not well.

  Eadie is about to be confined with my child.

  I expect a de Stafford child to be properly born into the World. The reduction of Eadie’s household is a threat to her and my child and an insult to my House; I remind you that child will have royal blood.”

  Not in all the time in Wales, not till now, did I see William lose his temper, I didn’t know he could. But now it was his turn to change colour. Did he think I was only prompted by vanity, the sense of my own importance? Discomfort grew to be intolerable; finally, as if what I’d said were not enough, I went on.

  “Thomas is as a father to me, he is a proud man; you left him no means to provide for Aletia or Eadie.”

  Surely this was the point. I was relieved to see some relaxation in the angry faces before me.

  Silence drew out again and I cast my eyes down at the floor. This time I would say no more.

  Sir Reginald cleared his throat,

  “I shall see there is a proper household for Eadie’s child to be born into; it shall be maintained for her and her child as long as they are there. Thomas need have no fear. Is that the end of your concern?”

  I nodded, eyes still downcast, standing mute in front of them.

  There was a sigh and Sir Reginald went on,

  “But remember, Sir Edward, your indemnity shall remain.”

  I looked up to find their expressions greatly softened. Sir Reginald must have seen my face for he added an even greater surprise.

  “Edward, accept my apology.”

  Then he left, leaving me with Master William. Even he seemed to have softened from anger to concern.

  “I will serve you as best I may, but for the sake of those who love you, I beg you Sir Edward, keep faith with your promise.

  With that the interview ended.

  With the inexorable turn of the calendar, within days, came return to College and the hated life of exile.

  Sir Reginald kept his word and the household at Penshurst was replenished.

  Edward received a letter from Aletia confirming it, thanking him over and over again.

  At the end of January Eadie gave birth to a baby girl and both were healthy. Edward was overjoyed. To the laughter of his peers he couldn’t contain himself, he ran round everybody to general disruption. That night, the night he got Thomas’ letter announcing the news, there was a great and wild celebration. It went on all the next day, it was as if Edward made up for all his temperance all at once, he got very drunk. The day after that the World seemed a very fragile place.

  Thus went the images of Edward.

  At least this last news pleased me. Yet Angharad was still unflattering about Edward. She called him weak and vacillating, she thought he should have stood up to William Gibbons and Sir Reginald Bray. Somehow I dreaded this cond
emnation. It upset me and I protested; we exchanged heated words. I told her what might have happened, remembering the fate of the young earl of Warwick, if Edward had taken her advice.

  “Suppose Edward hadn’t signed that indemnity. What do you think Sir Reginald, or some less honourable Tudor agent would have done?

  Lady Margaret wouldn’t have to dirty her own hands. Law suits, against Thomas as well as Edward, for sums completely beyond Thomas’ means; prosecution for illegal retaining, and what about the treasonable words in Edward’s letter?

  Edward wrote that Lady Margaret’s ancestor, John Beaufort, was illegitimate. Illegitimacy, no matter how old, was always a total bar to the throne, mere doubt about Edward IV’s marriage cost his son the crown. Edward actually denied Henry Tudor’s right to be king. Anyone would have called it treason. Why do you think Sir Reginald warned Edward about the confession in that indemnity?”

  Angharad couldn’t answer.

  “Do you think William Gibbons was joking about the Tower?”

  She still couldn’t answer.

  Beyond even that, it could be all too tempting to replace a troublesome Edward with his easily manipulated brother. The Stafford heir could be changed in a moment, just another name to add to the list of convenient noble deaths.

  Angharad was wrong, at least about this scene. For the sake of Eadie and Thomas, Edward needed the favour of Sir Reginald Bray. So why did she disapprove?

  I could see it clearly, from that day in the library. It is possible to forgive a false accusation, what the Tudors would never forgive was the truth, especially a truth that went so directly to the root of their power.

  I tried to avoid arguing about this as I tried to avoid being sucked in to Edward’s life. It’s very tiring being Edward, although my side hurt less often after channelling, no doubt from practice.

  (Past)

  “Eadie has called her Abigail. The letter says she’s as pretty as a picture.”

  It was the very next day, the day after my night and a day of celebration; after I’d done all that drinking, and my head still hurt. I was outside the College, in a common room full of twenty or thirty other undergraduates, all waiting to hear a lecture on Cinna the poet. I was still telling all who would listen about Abigail.

  There was a voice from the back of the room,

  “Is that Abigail Stafford or Abigail Bastard?”

  I know my colour changed and I froze to the spot. The words had rung out clearly. The words that might have been an idle joke: horseplay and casual bullying were commonplace, though nobody ever tried to bully me.

  I made no conscious decision. What happened was without thought. I heard myself saying,

  “Fetch me a sword!”

  Students are not allowed to bear weapons, monks and gentlemen or no, it would do too much damage in the town.

  “FETCH ME A SWORD!”

  I was shouting now, pushing through my fellows to the back of the room, to the author of that remark. I pulled a knife from my belt, most students carry them. Usually above the size allowed by the Colleges. They give some protection in a tavern brawl; mine was in my hand now.

  I had to knock down or knock away restraining hands. My own hand was shaking as I held my knife hard to the fellow’s throat, the first drops of blood running as I pressed the blade harder still. I saw fear in his eyes.

  “Repeat that!”

  Before I could do any more the room reacted. There was uproar, many hands pulling me away, I was helpless.

  Whatever the violence outside, there could be no killing in school; we would all be ‘gated’.

  Anger is a terrible thing. It was minutes before I could speak, or even think of anything besides that insult.

  My fellows looked at me strangely and asked if I was well. After a time I came again to myself but the look in their eyes, which first answered my wildness, never quite went from them.

  The incident passed, at least no life was lost, but no friends were made either. There were reverberations, Father Tobias wrote to Master William and Lady Margaret pursed her lips when she heard of it.

  This incident summed up my feelings for Cambridge. I didn’t like it and, even if I tried, it didn’t like me. Now I was a father my homesickness and preoccupation were worse. I couldn’t eat, despite all Trim could do, I couldn’t think, despite Father Tobias’ best efforts. I’d always been on my own, now the other students actively avoided me. Word spread about my temper and they thought me aloof because of my rank. I wasn’t, I honestly wasn’t.

  If only Eadie had been there, how different it would have been. She was too delicate to travel, even if she had been allowed to come, but how quick she would have come if she’d been asked. Having given his word, in that indemnity, Edward could no longer ask, and how could he, anyway, bring her to share this misery?

  The blessed holiday came again at Easter. William and Lady Margaret tried to keep him from Penshurst but again they failed.

  (Past)

  There were daffodils and freshness and fluffy white clouds and sunshine taking the chill from the land. The World smiled at Penshurst. Everyone was well and happy. This time there were plenty of people and there was a baby for them to fuss around. Abigail was an angel, Eadie a Madonna, and Edward was mostly kept out of the way.

  He was practically obsessed with Abigail, and truly she enchanted all who saw her. Edward expected her to be able to do everything, at once, even talk. There is a vivid memory of her holding his finger in her tiny hand. He stayed there for ages, long after his arm had gone from pain to numbness. Of course, he was allowed to do nothing, with all those females to bustle him out of the way.

  Eadie smiled at Edward but she couldn’t hide her disappointment as it came time for him to go. Her disappointment that she wasn’t going, hadn’t been asked to go.

  Of the summer term there is little good to be said. There is no clear recollection although there is a certainty that work fell badly into arrears. Edward knew it would be a weapon in the hands of Lady Margaret but if he did badly enough maybe next term would be the last. In the meantime would come summer and Penshurst.

  This term, before release for summer, is memorable for just one thing. You remember Edward’s initial surprise at the absence of schooling in arms, when first he went up to Cambridge? Scholars and Churchmen seemed to think chivalry came out of books not warfare. It was disappointing to Edward. It was also a denial of a large part of life, on which survival of noblemen and soldiers alike depended. Edward made enquiries but the University was as surprised at Edward’s interest as he at their indifference.

  It was in this last term of the year that Edward discovered Father Francis. He belonged to another college though, in these later years of his life, he hardly taught at all. What he did do was to take a great interest in the welfare, indeed the survival, of the students.

  There were many young sons of merchants and even gentlemen, besides the young monks, who had no idea even of the rudiments of arms. But they were not immune to the effects of drink, nor injuries from reckless fights when they had not the wisdom to avoid an argument. They fell easy prey in brawls and to cutpurses in the streets. Father Francis did his best to teach such innocents the basic skills to keep them alive.

  The authorities did not approve; men of letters and of God should not teach violence. Counsellors of both commerce and school argued that violent death in Cambridge was no greater than might be expected amongst so many young men. It wasn’t the business of the Church to teach killing. Father Francis met all criticism with heat. With the passion of a Christian he taught not how to kill but how to stay alive.

  When Edward first came to him Father Francis was doubtful. This young man needed no help to defend himself. At very first glance Edward looked confident, powerful and quick.

  Edward explained how he used to be schooled by Thomas; at least he would like to keep up with the sword. He needed the practice if he weren’t to forget what he knew. It was a strange idea to Father Francis, you w
ere either capable or not; what was this need for practice? He was suspicious.

  Did students not forget their grammar if they left off classes? This was the same. Father Francis allowed himself to be convinced, not because he believed it but because he liked this earnest young man, maybe he could help with teaching. Edward joined the classes: gaining the only official student’s access to swords in the University. Though, by official edict, all Father Francis’ swords were kept under lock and key.

  There was a problem finding opponents for Edward, there was no one Father Francis could put forward to stand against him, even for practice. The poor swordsman can easily be hurt; Edward well remembered the buffets he’d taken from Thomas. He had to use great care with these novices. Father Francis watched, interfering with admonitions,

  “No, no, softly my boy. The mother duck doesn’t bring her chicks to the raging torrent.”

  Father Francis was fearful and Edward impatient but they both persisted. Edward’s fame spread, no one could stand against him. Bets were made he could disarm anyone; when this ceased to be in doubt bets were made on how long it would take: the times wagered on became ridiculously short.

  There are memories of afternoons spent in a half-covered, half-open enclosure; Father Francis’ home-made lists. There are memories of pallid youths, whose weapons could be knocked out of their hands with one confident stroke; memories of remembering not to move too fast, remembering to take some of the weight out of counter-attacks, remembering not to attack at all: trying to be respectful and encouraging. Not always succeeding. There are memories of these boys’ talk of fear of injury, it took away their courage, and it stopped them defending themselves. It seemed nothing could encourage them, a true demonstration of skill wasn’t inspiring to them, they found it frightening.

  The authorities were fearful sword fighting would become a challenge sport; neither they nor Father Francis would permit it. They needn’t have worried, no one in Cambridge wanted to challenge Edward. Nevertheless, his teaching and his patronage were valued. They would have been more so had Edward the patience of a teacher, to Father Francis’ disappointment he had not.

  Only once was Edward of really great use. One particular student caused trouble, both in the town and to Father Francis. He believed in bullying as a substitute for study and he preyed on two of Father Francis’ students. It led to conflict with the good father.

  I was surprised when Father Francis spoke of it. I noticed a tremble in his hands and he seemed not to be his normal self.

  “God places many trials on us.

  If I had the youth and vigour I try to teach our brothers, Edward, I should know how to answer his threats.”

  It was said with a shrug.

  “As it is, how shall I answer him when he does come to my door?”

  I know it wasn’t for himself Father Francis feared but for the two student monks this bully threatened with hurt, even death. My anger grew with the thought of it.

  “Let me answer for you Father.”

  We agreed he should be summoned to Father Francis’ chambers and it was there I met him, in Father Francis absence, so no man of the Church should know what passed between us.

  Everything was quickly settled, and there was no more trouble. To Edward’s credit there was also no lasting injury.

  Yet, even with the relief of Father Francis’ school, it was intense joy when the term ended and with it the first year in Cambridge.

  All this of Edward came in a great lump.

  You’re not missing anything of my story, right to the end of this chapter nothing worth telling happened in my life, nothing but the echo of my own frustration. But I’m going to interrupt Edward now for something odd, something which rings with the rest of this chapter, it’s no more than a dream.

  Even though it was Friday I wouldn’t be travelling today. Tomorrow I should be going to a wedding not far from Peterborough and so this evening I had a break from the road and from Edward. I just sat and watched T.V., mind dull and body slothful. It was still early evening and the programmes were boring. Much as I tried to enjoy indolence, I merely fell asleep. When I awoke it was with a fragment of a dream.

  The light was strange, a sort of pearly grey, but shot through with beams of incredibly yellow light. There was no feature, no background, no foreground but in the middle one figure, constantly turning. The figure was Eadie. I could only see the upper part of her body and her hair but there was no mistake, it was Eadie. Then, gradually the face turned into view, it wasn’t Eadie but Sarah.

  There could be no doubt. And there could be no doubt of my shock either. You might think I shouldn’t have been shocked. From what I’ve said it should be no surprise, but there’s one thing more. As the figure turned it stayed absolutely still, it was as if I were moving or her unmoving head were fixed on some turntable out of sight. As Sarah’s face came into view I could see it had the grey colour of lifeless granite. Not a hint of expression; no warmth or life touched it.

  This dream troubled me. I remember the warm glow of recognising Eadie suddenly replaced by the repulsion of Sarah’s blank face. It was as if I, and Edward too, were somehow losing touch with Eadie, for her to be replaced by an unreachable Sarah. Pondering that dream, in the first phase of waking, I thought, if only the figure would turn the other way I should see Eadie’s face, full of vibrant life.

  It was the effect the rest of this chapter had on me and it made me want to turn away from my bleak present to wish and wish for the impossible.

  Edward didn’t so much feel he could be denied his time with Eadie and Abigail but if he were profligate with it Lady Margaret would find ways of parting them later. If it was to be, so let it be, for Edward was desperate to be with them. He spent much longer than he should have done if he were to stop his guardian from plotting.

  The summer was idyllic, at least the time spent at Penshurst was, but two other periods were not. First, Edward was required to spend time with Lady Katherine, his sisters and Brother Henry. This time will simply not come to mind. Perhaps I’m just not interested enough. I can imagine Edward fretting the time away with ill grace, failing to hide his desire to be elsewhere and offending all around him. In any case his family don’t come into this story, no matter how hard I try to make them.

  The other episode I’d rather forget. Edward hadn’t wanted to go but Master Gibbons insisted, reminding him of his indemnity and promise of good behaviour; that decided it. He was to visit Lady Margaret at her new house in the country. She would have someone with her and this was the cause of Edward’s reluctance.

  He felt strongly enough for me to see it through his eyes.

  (Past)

  I was in Lady Margaret’s house, not near London, where I spent so much of my childhood, but in the quiet Northamptonshire countryside. Lady Margaret has retired from public life and stays away from it more and more. Travelling causes her pain and she seldom tours. It’s rare even to see her at my Lord Stanley’s house. Aletia comes to see her and she still has company around her, the house is comfortable enough, as much as any noble houses may be.

  There were two strangers there. Alianore, the same girl I should have met on my way from Wales, and her guardian, also with her. Alianore was tall, dark haired and dark eyed. She had some secret way of looking at the World, you could call it shyness. She was about my age in looks or not very far from it, I’ve never been good at judging girls’ ages.

  Lady Margaret introduced us together. She seemed both nervous and obsequious, I couldn’t tell why. There was a sly glance at the guardian when she introduced Alianore, I couldn’t understand that either. She went on to me,

  “Alianore is coming to be a great beauty.

  I want you to get to know each other.”

  As understanding came I don’t know if my mouth fell open. I was given no chance to escape for Alianore came towards me without waiting,

  “Come Edward, we’re supposed go away while the Countess and my guardian talk.”


  It wasn’t the language of a shy girl; she almost dragged me from the room after her. I was speechless, Alianore’s guardian laughed openly.

  I showed her the house, yards and grounds for something to do; I didn’t well know them myself. She wasn’t impressed with anything but I think it was I that failed to impress rather than Lady Margaret s estate. She sat down on a garden seat.

  “I suppose you should tell me about yourself.”

  I did; briefly, there wasn’t much to say, or at least not to be said to her.

  “All I know about you is your father. Are the stories true, about you being in hiding, an outlaw Edward? Did your father really lose his head against King Richard and why was he so easily beaten?

  Didn’t he have the courage for it?”

  I stammered in amazement.

  She was prying and at the same time she insulted the father I barely knew.

  “He wasn’t beaten easily. He was beaten by bad luck, a flood and the King not keeping his promise. And Richard was a tyrant who scared everyone except my father.”

  She laughed as the colour came to my cheeks. She put a familiar hand on my knee.

  “Be easy, Edward.”

  It was more like condescension for my bad manners than apology for hers and I stood up to avoid her touch.

  I was to learn she was like that, always finding apology difficult. I also found she only valued success; she didn’t understand people’s hearts at all. For all this Alianore was attractive, perhaps it was her confident manner, perhaps also the strange air of mystery she carried with her.

  When I was alone with Lady Margaret she importuned me for my feelings. I gave no satisfaction for her curiosity till she was out of patience.

  “Well? What did you think of her?!”

  “I don’t know Lady Margaret.”

  The pause was a long one while I tried to work out what I did think, and what I dared say. She was rude, confident, exciting, attractive, disturbing. I told the truth.

  “I don’t like her.”

  The storm clouds gathered on Lady Margaret’s brow.

  “Whether you like her or not you will be seeing more of her. Not just me, Edward, the King thinks it suitable.

  One day you and she will be married.”

  Caught by that awful prospect I took my leave as soon as I could and heard no more about Alianore for a long time. As my fears faded and time passed I almost forgot her.

  Meeting Alianore made Edward unhappy. His family was Eadie and Abigail. The very idea of being forced to marry this arrogant, distant, woman, a stranger, was horrible. Even more so now there was Abigail. To be forced out of Eadie’s bed into the arms of another was dirty, wrongful, and inhuman. The purity of his love for Eadie was made a real, living thing in the bright young innocence of Abigail. She shone and sparkled like an angel to the enchantment of everyone.

  It amazed Edward how quickly a baby could grow. She was growing bigger and stronger, she was nearly walking; she could almost feed herself. Never a day went by but she seemed to have learned something new.

  On his return Edward took a secret vow, kneeling in the family chapel at Penshurst, in all the fervour of his love, and all his fear of an arranged marriage. The memory of that unhappy boy bent low before the altar, eyes tight shut in concentration in the golden glow of the candlelight carries a solemn swell of all the shades of remembrance.

  (Past)

  “Oh God, never let us be parted as I will be faithful. Keep us together I pray you.

  I swear on your sacred name and all that is holy I shall never marry Alianore or any other, so long as Eadie and Abigail shall have life. May God help me, I swear it on my soul, my honour and on all my family, in the name of the Living Christ.”

  The empty chapel received that oath in hushed silence. It was as if the Great Spirit heard and noted it.

  ***