by Karen Harper
“Perhaps we can ask the king to have him moved later and buried at Durham Priory where he would have wanted. Perhaps we can get the money for a fine brass monument so he can lie with his forefathers there,” she had said over and over that day to Stephen or Nancy or the old priest.
Now he was dead three days and she insisted on lying on the raw ropes of the bed which had supported the mattress on which he had died. They had burned the mattress and robe and all the bedclothes in a bonfire in the courtyard. There was no one left to panic but the deserted servants of nobles who had fled and no one to comfort her but Stephen and Nancy. She wanted no one. She felt dead too, and she stared at the whitewashed ceiling that had seen him die for hours on the third day.
It seemed to her she had slept in the evening, but she could not tell where her waking and dreaming thoughts began or ended. Nancy was strewing fresh herbs on the floor she had scrubbed. How dare other people go on about their duties so calmly when poor Will had died and his God-given wife had failed him so miserably. She had turned against him all the months he had needed her understanding. She had reveled in her power over the king at her husband’s expense and, when she could not care for the king, she had turned to another. She had loved another man desperately with her whole heart and slept with him willingly, gladly, while her poor husband sought to earn his way back with his king. Earn his way back for himself and for their children too.
Mary thanked God again that Catherine was safe at Hever. Explaining to Catherine would be terrible, but their seven-year-old son was old enough to grasp the impact. She had sent word to Will’s poor Eleanor ensconced in her priory at Wilton. That will be the death of her dreams, Mary reasoned through the mist of her exhaustion.
She still wore her funeral clothes. She had no black, but she would get a mourning dress somewhere, even though they had no ready coins. She had a white dress though. In France widows wore white for a husband’s death. Perhaps some of the king’s gifts to her could be sold, or one of the parklands His Grace had granted Will on their marriage. She would just lie here forever doing penance for her sins until they all came back to court in the autumn and found her here, laid out just like this. Her heavy eyelids closed again.
Then a bird’s song somewhere outside the window pierced the darkness of her thoughts, and it came to her in a rush. She must go to Hever!
She sat up instantly and a terrible dizziness assailed her. She felt weak and panicked instantly. “But no, I do not sweat. I do not feel the slightest bit hot or have any stomach pain besides hunger,” she assured herself aloud.
“Lady, are you up? You feel better now? I have watched you sleep these many hours, and I knew you were still healthy,” Nancy said bending close and still holding the herbs in her gathered apron.
“Yes. Yes, I am better now, Nance. I must have food and drink and get my strength back now.”
“The Lord be praised,” the girl recited solemnly, crossing herself.
“And then we must walk in the gardens before nightfall and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, as soon as we can pack some things, you and Stephen and I are going home, Nance. Home to Hever.”
“We cannot travel the road clear to Hever, the three of us and you so obviously a fine lady. It is too unsafe and especially in plague times, lady. There be robbers all over the roads. Stephen will tell you so.”
“I cannot help that, Nancy. I will go in disguise if I must. We cannot hire anyone to ride with us as we used to. And we are going tomorrow, so you may tell Stephen while I eat. Go on!”
The tall girl opened her mouth as if to protest, but instead dumped her stuffed apron on the table and strode out the door.
“Yes. One hard day’s ride and we shall be at Hever. Home to mother and Catherine.” She rapidly began to eat a peach.
Mary slept much later than she had meant to, and was immediately angered that Nancy had let so much of the morning go by without waking her. “I do not intend to stay in some house or inn before we get there,” Mary scolded Nancy as she donned her brown riding dress. She had considered the idea of disguise, but had no men’s garments to fit, and she could not bear to put on any of Will’s things even if it did mean she could ride astride instead of the bothersome sidesaddle, for the long trek. Since they would travel without a single packhorse, no one would think they had anything to steal anyway.
She had told Stephen exactly where to bury her jewels in the rose garden. They were safely hidden under the turf in the trellised bower where she and Staff had found shelter from the rain, Will and His Grace so long ago. She bit her lip hard. All that was behind her now and she had much penance to do. The Carey cause might be dead with Will, but she had his children to raise and care for. She must put her own foolish longings aside.
The door opened behind her as she stuffed the two dresses she would take into the saddle sacks. “Did you bury them where I said, Stephen?” she inquired tautly, not turning. That was the last of the packing. They could go now and leave everything else behind.
“Mary.”
The voice was deep and soft and it terrified her. She spun wide-eyed to face William Stafford. Her new-won resolve fled from her face, and her strength went from her knees. He was beside her, pulling her gently to him, her face nestled against his black linen chest.
“Thank God you are safe. I am so sorry to hear about poor Will, despite my feelings for you.”
She stood for endless moments pressed to him like that, not moving, not thinking. Then she stepped back and her hips hit the bed behind her. “How did you know?”
“The messenger you sent to Wilton stopped at Eltham on the way back. The word has rocked the court—and frightened them that the sweat would come again to Hampton and claim one of their own kind. His Grace regrets he had no doctors to leave behind when he fled. He had sent his last spare one to your sister, and he did not believe Will would really remain here when he had a country manor.”
“A doctor to Anne? Is she ill? But Catherine is there!”
“Not ill, I think. It is only that the king worried that he might lose her in any way. I warrant your blonde moppet is quite safe at Hever with your mother and the royal doctor hovering about.” His sweeping gaze took her in from hem to hair. “You are thinner, sweetheart, but as beautiful as ever. I know it must have been awful for you.”
She turned her back on him slowly and took a deep breath. “That is what Will said before he died, you know. He said that I looked beautiful. Oh, Staff, I have failed him so, and I have to make it up somehow.”
“Failed him? What are you talking about? Much of what he had that he valued he owed to you. It was his own decision to turn bitter, to cast you adrift where you might—well, be susceptible to other emotional ties.” He put both hands on her shoulders, but did not turn her to face him.
“He was delirious, and he said other things. He accused me of sending for you and the day he fell ill, we argued and I admitted I loved you. He took that with him instead of the love I could never give to him. Now—and now, I cannot bear it.” A little sob wracked her. He pulled her slowly against him and rested his chin on the top of her head.
“Death is hard to bear, but the living must not feel guilty to go on living, Mary. Yes, Will Carey was a good man in many ways and the snare he found himself in with the Bullens was not of his own making. He was the king’s pawn, love, but he agreed to that. He reveled in it until he saw the price did not suit his family pride. But then he took it all out on you and not on the devils who make the rules to such games.”
“He needed the king to earn his way back.”
“This king can be denied on such matters if one is careful. And I meant to accuse your father as well as the king for all the dirty dealings where you and Will were concerned.”
“Anne is being careful in refusing the king and getting away with it in fine style. Is that what you mean?”
“I spoke of myself in refusing marriage when His Grace wills it, Mary. I will never marry the Dorsey wench now a
nd the king will accept it from me. Wait and see.”
A quick irrational joy shot through her that he would not marry. She had privately grieved that he would these last six months since he had told her the king’s wish. But it must not matter to her now. She must be strong against him.
“Your girl Nancy says you are riding to Hever,” he began on another tack in the awkward silence. “I can understand your wanting to go home to your mother and daughter, but Lord Bullen will not fancy having you underfoot when the king rides over to court the Lady Anne.”
She pulled away from his hands and her voice was piercing. “I will go! You and Stephen and Nance together will not stop me! If His Grace comes I shall hide in my room or ride my horse to the forest and hide there. I will go home! I make my own decisions now, William Stafford. And do not think you can placate me with your patient smiles,” she added, her fists on her hips.
“I am only pleased to see the fire has not gone out, lass. It is fine if you make your own decisions separate from your father from now on, but separate from me—well, that is another matter we have much time to discuss.”
“I have no time for you, my lord. I am leaving.” She tried to skirt around him but he pulled her into a chair and sat facing her so close in another that their knees touched.
“Your girl says you have been warned that the roads are unsafe, especially with so many bailiffs and sheriffs ill and the towns in general disarray. Prancing off in that tight-fitting dress with only a serving maid and one lad does not seem like a very wise independent decision to me.” His thick brows covered his brown eyes, and she wanted to scream at him and kick and scratch.
“You are mine now, Mary, mine in our mutual love as I am yours. You will do no such foolish thing. I have had to handle you with kid gloves these past years for, legally and otherwise, you were not mine. All that has changed now. I will not have you hurt in any way by anything, including your own dangerous plans.”
“I will do as I wish. I am Will Carey’s widow and not your wife.”
“No, but you are my woman and you will obey me until your head clears enough that you can see what you are doing—and what you want from life now that you are free.”
“No,” she shrieked, more afraid of herself than of what he might do. “No one commands my life now.” She scratched at his wrist and stood to flee. He yanked her sideways into his lap, and his iron arms tightened around her, pressing her head against his warm neck. She thrashed her legs under her heavy skirts and struggled in his smothering embrace. Angered beyond belief—at Will’s death, his accusations, at herself and Staff—she bit the taut sinew at the side of his neck. He swore under his breath and shook her once, hard.
She finally stopped fighting and went still and stiff in his arms when his words pierced her panic: “Let me know when you are willing to listen and stop behaving like the spoiled little Bullen I used to know. I much prefer kissing you to wrestling with you. Helping you is all I thought of on the road back from Eltham, damn it, Mary. I do not blame you for fighting another man’s control over you. Only this man loves you, sweetheart. Why not trust that, and later we will decide if we should be together permanently? I will never force that decision on you—or anything else you do not want.”
She nodded jerkily. He loosed her and helped her up. She moved to the other chair and sank into it, gripping the edge of its seat to keep the room from spinning. Her feet almost touched his big booted ones.
His arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back as he went on, “I will take you to Hever, lass, since that is where you are so set on going. I cannot blame you for wanting to leave Wolsey’s vast brick pile with its unhappy memories. But we shall get you some men’s clothes, pull your hair up under a cap, and...”
“I cannot wear anything of Will’s. I cannot!”
“No, nothing of Will’s. I will get you some small breeks and a shirt and jerkin. No one will notice the boots are a woman’s. And since we are getting a late start and you are so high-strung—and mostly because I have been without you too long and am a selfish man and far stronger than you if you choose to argue this—we will stop midway at a little inn I know at Banstead and spend tomorrow there together. Then we will go on.
“Banstead is a most beautiful little town, Mary. It will do us both good to rest there a day. We shall send Stephen and your wench on ahead to Hever and tell them we are a day behind. Let your father wonder. He does already, I warrant. He accused me of wanting you for myself when I refused to take his bribe for keeping Will’s office for him while you were at Plashy. As careful as I tried to be, maybe I showed it on my face. Our love, I mean. The way you do show it now.”
“I do not now, Staff. Things are different.”
“As I said, we shall see, lass. My lass. I expect at least one tiny kiss before we go, payment for taking you safe to Hever if nothing else moves you.”
“I shall not kiss you for your rough handling of me. And you might have had the decency to stop by Will’s grave at the chapel. He was once your friend, you may remember.”
“I asked Nancy to show it to me before I came in, Mary. I am grieved for his death and the loss of the children’s father, though I cannot pretend it changes my love for you in the slightest.”
She kept her silence, ashamed that she had accused him of such callousness. But she must guard her heart against him and make him take her to Hever without a stop at an inn where she would face him alone. She loved him far too much to handle that.
Stephen knocked and entered to break the jumble of her thoughts. “Will these do, my lord?” he inquired, holding up brown breeks and a sky-blue shirt.
“Good, Stephen. They will suit her just fine. The shirt will match the cloudy blue of the lady’s eyes.”
Stephen grinned broadly and went out to find Nancy. Staff rose to fetch the horses.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
July 26, 1528
The Road to Banstead
By late morning Staff had hired a horse barge to ferry them to the south bank of London where they would take the Great Kent Road toward Hever. The shimmering July sun had already sucked the heavy dews from the fields along the river and the heat of the day was upon them.
“The London streets are likely to be deserted,” Staff said to Stephen. Mary and Nancy listened intently. They were afraid that he dared to take them into the very city where the sweat was said to have slain folk in the tens of hundreds this summer. But Staff had claimed it was the quickest and safest route. So Mary relented and held her fears in silence. She could not have stood another bleak night in the palace in the room where Will had died with accusations on his lips.
That morning few farmers worked the fields and tiny vegetable gardens which stretched down to the Thames. Occasional travelers along the footpaths glanced up in interest to see a ferry headed toward the city with four horses and six people, but there was scant traffic on the usually busy river and, in general, nothing stirred. The barge drifted past the turrets of deserted Richmond. Its vacant windows stared like great hollow eyes reflecting the sun, its landing docks, tiltyards and bowling greens silent. They spoke little on the barge as the river pulled it relentlessly toward troubled London.
Then the city loomed up from the field with its solemn church spires and clustered thatched roofs huddled in the beating rays of the noon sun. Staff made them drink the first of the wine and eat the fruit they had brought, for he intended to set a hard pace when they were on the road. Mary tossed her plum pit into the murky Thames and saw it instantly disappear into the depths. She wiped her sticky fingers on her breeks as she had seen Staff do and a smile came to her lips.
“It may seem strange to be in breeks, Mary, but it has advantages, you will see. Besides, I think you and your Nancy both make handsome lads—right, Stephen? And the swords add the right touch. I think you had better get the stray curls up under that cap. It will make for a dusty neck on the road, but I have no intention of attracting rogues or ruffians with wench bait.”
“Is there much danger then?” Nancy asked timidly. “Stephen says so.”
“Stephen is wise to be prepared, lass. We shall set a good pace to Banstead, and I warrant no one will bother four quick riding men.”
The once bustling wharfs and quays were deserted and Staff had the bargemen put in at the landing under London Bridge. Houses and shops clung to both sides of it like barnacles, but their mass provided shade as the four led off their horses to dockside and Staff paid the boatmen. They were eager to be away, to leave the cursed city behind, and they shoved off for the upstream row to Hampton as soon as they had their money.
“I cannot say I blame them for their haste,” Stephen said. “I never thought I would be visitin’ plagued London.”
“The sweat is hardly the plague, lad, though it is bad enough. You will no doubt see the crosses on the doors though. Keep a stout heart. We will leave the city behind soon for the free countryside. Besides, I was here one summer in the sweat season and nothing happened to me.”
The servants seemed to treasure this bit of comforting information as they mounted. If Stephen and Nancy are impressed by that, so be it, Mary told herself. It sounded like pure foolhardiness to her. Surely there were a lot of things she would learn about William Stafford that would make it easier not to adore him.
There were abandoned carts in the streets of Southwark as they passed, and pigs rooted and chickens scratched unhampered. The central gutters of the narrow streets were a stench of rotting vegetables and human wastes which steamed in the sun. As they rode swiftly by, huge Southwark Cathedral stood silent sentinel to the devastation. Crude wooden coffins piled for burial in the already-crowded and walled graveyard huddled against the church’s outer walls. Tears bit at Mary’s eyelids at the sight of the stacks of human sorrow. At least they had buried Will right away. Staff was crazy to bring them so near to unburied plague bodies. They would all catch the sweat and be dead before they even reached Hever. There was nothing he could do to her to make her stay with him in some little inn in tiny Banstead. She would insist on riding on with the Carey servants.
