Edward - Interactive

by Mike Voyce

Edward, much older, sitting by his fire at Thornbury moved restlessly at his imaginings. After all these years they still tortured him. He remembered how he had discovered it all.

  “It was early next morning I arrived at Penshurst, on a surprise visit, full of love and contrition at my absence and, yes, with pride at my deeds as captain and with longing for Eadie, Abigail, Thomas and Aletia. True we’d fought the Cornish but there’d been attempts to raise Kent and I was both reassurance and protection; for all wiser heads than mine had stopped a Kentish rising weeks before. I wanted to show off my command, for all it numbered only a dozen men with me.

  The servants had kept Aletia in doors, in her room, despite her anxiety and distraction. Maybe all would yet be well. Reassuring Lady Aletia we set our horses round. I knew the way over the fields well.

  Nothing could prepare us for what we found.

  The blackened corpses were unrecognisable. The night’s rain had damped the fire so now only wisps of smoke curled upwards and a sickly smell hung in the air. No one was yet about and we banged on the alehouse door till it was opened

  The innkeeper came out to us rather than letting us in. He answered our questions so nervously, so fearfully my men pushed past him and we found Thomas still hanging in the bonds where he died. The rest of the story came out of the man at knifepoint. When it was done I went out, back to the green, in a daze. I heard a short scream. I suppose it was my men carrying out summary execution. I know not. I know they carried Thomas’s body out and laid him on the ground.

  I sat down on the green, my useless sword in my hand, full of horror and stupidity. I couldn’t go up to the corpses of my love and my daughter - I was afraid they would fall apart in my hands. I sat silently and cried and cried.

  What drew my eye to it I do not know, there in the grass, just a yard in front of me, lay one of little Abby’s shoes. I remembered it, it was all embroidered in different colours on green silk. I remember Abby first wearing them. She’d been so proud of herself, showing them off to everybody, her happy face dimpled with smiles. I picked it up and held it to me, rocking back and forth, cradling that shoe as if it were a baby, my dear little Abby!

  My men fetched a wagon and sheets for Eadie and Abigail and for Thomas too. They were reverent and kind; they had heard many stories from me of Abigail and Eadie’s perfections, and they knew me.

  Before we went, silently and implacably, my men set torches to the village. As it had murdered in fire it died in fire, every house. Although there were two hundred souls in that village no one could have raised a hand to stop my men and lived. Only the curate and the church were spared. How many died as the King’s firebrands went from house to house I don’t know. I did not care then and I do not care to know now.

  I took no notice, no part in what was happening round me, I just sat there clutching Abby’s shoe to me. It must have come off in some sort of struggle, it had mud on it. It was all I had left. I sat, pressing that shoe to my chest, rocking back and forth, eyes not seeing, wondering if the World had yet ended.

  My men led me like a child to my horse, the entire village was ablaze and the villagers who could were fleeing as we rode away. I could not begrudge the few bottles my men took from the alehouse, there was no other plunder taken that day.

  We came, at last to Penshurst. Aletia must have seen our sorry burden as she looked out from her window. Her frenzy more than the ride brought me partly back to myself. I had to try anything I could do. I had been useless to the others, I must comfort Aletia. I hugged her and she clung for such comfort as there was but her staring eyes did not see and then she screamed and struck out as in a fit. I do not know what she would have done if she had not been taken by a seizure. She was carried off to bed and I was sat down in the hall. Thank God for the household that moved in round us, even taking care of the soldiers. I sat by Aletia’s bed nearly all the time over those next days. She spent her time screwing her pillows in hers hands, screwing them into tight crumpled balls, her knuckles standing out white. She could not talk but when she cried and when she screamed I think it relieved her a little, it made her tired so she could sleep. It was no sound sleep, I do not believe she truly slept in all this time, rather she collapsed and fell still.

  Nothing anyone could do would help Aletia. I sent for Lady Margaret’s physician with a letter to Lady Margaret; explaining, as best my grief would allow, what had happened. It would take far too long for him to arrive and we scoured the neighbourhood for apothecaries. They had killed the only physician who had ever eased Lady Aletia’s illness. We gave her potions and sleeping drafts, nothing could ease Aletia’s heart. She couldn’t eat, she could only drink with the greatest difficulty.

  The days passed and eventually word came from Lady Margaret, no physician, but two ladies in waiting; those creatures who hang round great ladies to flatter them in the hope of advancement for themselves or their husbands. Lady Margaret, it seemed, was too ill to travel herself. Aletia put a brave face on it, it was the only time, in this time of horror, I saw her smile. I realised she had become, in all her long life, too used to smiling at adversity. Apart from the life she made with Thomas, Aletia’s had been a life of graceful decline and disappointment. So it was now, when finally she could master herself, she would smile and thank me for all I had done. It made me weep the more when I was alone in my room. Then Aletia’s anguish was mine too; they were dead, all of them, by my neglect!

  She had to be carried to the funeral and sat in a chair during the service. It was a bright sunny morning and the birds sang. I fancied I could hear Eadie and Abigail in that bird-song. I mentioned it to Aletia and she said she could hear Thomas, too.

  Aletia could still eat nothing. I did my best to persuade her but the once or twice she tried to take thin broth it made her dreadfully, retchingly sick. She became weaker and weaker till all she could do was damp her mouth with water from the spoon I would hold for her. I was with her all through this time till at last she, too, died. I got to know her better at the end than ever I had as a child at her knee.

  I did not tell Lady Margaret of the funeral, nor anyone outside the parish nor stayed for condescending answers. The ladies in waiting had long since gone back to places more profitable to their ambitions.

  Once more the morning was bright and all of nature in good spirits. The little family plot containing Thomas, Eadie and Abigail now held Aletia also, it was my home and all that I could want if only I were allowed to join them. Does it sound strange to say it was beautiful? When Aletia died all my strength of purpose gave way. I remember nothing but weeping till my red eyes could cry no more.

  It is strange, as I walked away from that sweet grave, now no more tears would come; no feeling, no will of my own remained after this second funeral. What was I to do, where was I to go? I had no place and no purpose in living; nothing was left to me but bitter obedience to Lady Margaret and the expectations of the World.”

  Even after so very many years Edward’s reverie was painful to him. To me it was hammer blow after hammer blow, the whole Universe colliding to shatter every atom of hope. But I would not, could not, let go of that contact. Surely, there must somewhere somehow be some hope, some redemption. Though how, in God’s name, I didn’t know.

  Edward stirred again and once more I was in his mind’s eye; but differently, almost as if he knew I was there and he was talking directly to me.

  (Past)

  “Sometimes, these recent days, as I lie in my bed, I think I hear young Abby’s sweet, piping voice as I used to do, once, long ago. Then it seems I see Eadie and Thomas and Aletia and Abby too; standing at the end of my bed, as if they were a picture on the curtain, and yet real and moving and smiling at me.

  I believe I shall be going home to them, perhaps one day soon. God pray, this time, I may be worthy of them.”

  ***