Hugh and Bess

by Susan Higginbotham

  That was strange too, this meekness. As Will could no doubt attest, Joan, like all of the king's close relations, was possessed of a temper; Bess had felt it on more than one occasion. Perhaps she was ill, Bess thought for the first time. “You are not quite well, perhaps?”

  “I am fine.”

  “I know you and Will squabbled the other day, but you always have, really. How do you get on with him?”

  “Why do you ask? Do you think I am not a good wife to him?”

  This, sharply spoken, was more like the Joan whom Bess knew, but as Bess had not meant her words to carry any sting, she was flummoxed as to how to continue. After a moment she said, “Of course, I think you are a good wife, Joan. I meant no harm.”

  Joan shrugged. “Do you like Hugh?”

  “He is kind to me and very good-natured.”

  “Have you lain with him yet?”

  “No. My father told him he had to wait a year.”

  “It's almost been that, you know.”

  “I know.” Bess studied her wedding ring. Perhaps it was simply Joan's sour mood, but she had been surprised to find herself missing not only Emma but also her husband during this visit to Mold. The prospect of bedding with him, however, was not one she welcomed, Anne le Despenser's reassuring words of the year before notwithstanding. The idea of Hugh—or anyone—touching her most private places was so strange, and the idea of touching or even seeing his was stranger yet. She wondered if Joan had lain with Will, but it was hardly a question she felt she could ask about her brother.

  “I have lain with my husband,” Joan announced. “We started on Will's birthday.”

  “What is it like—with a man, I mean?” She hastened to add, “Not with Will in particular.”

  “It hurts the first time, and then you ache the next day. Dreadfully, as if you’ve been on horseback far too long. Will was nervous the first time and had too much to drink. I didn’t like it.”

  “Do you now?”

  Another shrug. “It's all right. Perhaps I shall get with child soon. Then perhaps—”

  She started sobbing, quietly at first and violently, so violently that Bess shoved open the chamber door and screamed for assistance. Joan's attendants raced inside, followed by Bess's, but all were shoved aside by Joan's nurse, who like Bess's had stayed with her old charge to tend her as a bride. “It's all right, my lady. Come. Let's put you to bed.” Gesturing toward the others to stand aside, she helped Joan to her feet and led her toward the inner chamber where Joan had her bed. Soon she returned alone. “My lady is sleeping.”

  “Matilda, what ails her?” Bess asked. “Joan has never been sickly in the past.”

  Matilda shook her head. “I don’t know, Lady Despenser.” “Has she seen a physician? Does my brother know? I am sure he would be most concerned if—”

  “She just needs her rest, my lady. It is a—female thing.”

  Bess was inclined to remind Matilda that she too was a female, but recognizing the futility of pressing the matter further, she left the room for her own bedchamber. She hoped to garner some more information later from Joan herself, but she was never alone with her thereafter. In any case, Joan was cheerful throughout the rest of Bess's stay, and quite affectionate toward Will, so Bess convinced herself that there was no great cause for concern. Remembering the couple's quarrel of a few days before, she guessed that Joan had probably been feeling overwhelmed by the responsibilities of running the household and of being a wife to Will. Had Will perhaps been overbearing? Bess decided that she herself could have made more allowances for her friend; after all, Bess had come to Hugh's household after it had been years in the running, while Joan and Will had been required to start a brand-new household. No wonder Joan forgot things here and there!

  Irritating as Joan could be to Bess sometimes, she was still fond of her and wished her well, so Bess determined to exert her one year of seniority over her brother and to speak to him seriously about his wife. Her opportunity did not come until the day before she was to return home. Catching her brother alone by the stables, Bess said, “Will, the other day you and Joan had that argument about my chamber, and I think it upset her a little, maybe more than you realized at the time. I hope you don’t expect her to be perfect at running your household. After all, she is only a little older than you, and she is learning things, just as you are.”

  Will raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you become such a font of wisdom?”

  “I am not, but I am a woman, and women get upset at such things. And as you said once, Joan is dramatic. Such things upset her more than other women, perhaps.” She said in a more wheedling tone, “Please, Will? I hate to see either of you unhappy over such trifles. Joan really did seem miserable the other day.”

  “Women are strange,” said Will cheerfully. “That's something I know. But maybe you’re right.”

  “And I’ll give Joan a hint or two about how to be a better manager,” Bess said doubtfully. “That is, if I can think of a way to do it without offending her.”

  Will shook his head. “Give Joan advice? I wouldn’t chance it. The Countess of Kent will be coming for a visit soon. Let her hazard it.”

  “Now I think you’re right,” said Bess. “Well, are we to go falconing today, or not?”

  “Leave without showing me that bird Hugh gave you in action? Not a chance.”

  Satisfied that she had done all she could to promote domestic happiness between Will and Joan, and modestly congratulating herself that she had succeeded to some extent, Bess traveled home in high spirits. Hugh and his household were at Cardiff Castle, where Hugh was busy assembling his men, for he had received a long-expected message from the king: He was to sail from Dartmouth to Gascony, where his troops would aid in diverting the French from Brittany. So preoccupied was everyone with the raising of men that Bess's homecoming did not merit as much attention as she would have liked. Nonetheless, Bess helped with the preparations as best she could, and by the time all of the men had arrived at Cardiff, from where they were scheduled to leave for the coast the next day, she was tired and eager to be left to herself. But the men had to be fed, and as it was perhaps the last time they would see comfortable quarters for quite a while, they had to be fed and entertained in style that last night in Wales. When after a long evening Hugh came in to her chamber for his nightly visit, Bess prayed silently it would be a short one, as indeed all of their encounters had been over the past few days.

  After Emma and Mary left the room, Bess smiled at Hugh as he parted the bed curtains and sat down next to her. “I shall miss you, Hugh,” she said politely. “I hope this business won’t take long.”

  “Who knows?” Hugh shrugged a bit too elaborately. Though he was by no means drunk, he was slightly tipsy, Bess thought; the wine had flowed particularly generously in the castle's great hall that night. Bess herself had had a little more than to which she was accustomed, but the effect had been only to give her a headache in addition to fatigue. “It could be weeks. Could be months.” Hugh toyed with a pillow for a moment or two, then looked into Bess's face. “Sweetheart,” he said. “We’ve been married for over a year.”

  “Yes, Hugh.” Her heart began to pound.

  “We may not see each other for months, Bess. We may not see each other ever again, you know. It's always a possibility. Do you understand, Bess? It's time we became man and wife, truly.”

  “Hugh—”

  “I won’t hurt you.” He took her in his arms, then gently eased her backward onto her pillows. “I promise, sweetheart.”

  He seemed to believe that the discussion was over, for his hands were exploring under her shift. But Bess was not ready to acquiesce. She tried to push him off her, but he was far stronger than she. “Hugh! I—I am not ready yet. I am—”

  “Nonsense,” said Hugh, whose lips were roving now. He stopped for air and smiled. “Haven’t you seen yourself lately? You’ve grown up, Bess.”

  “Please, Hugh!”

  He shook his head a
nd began to push the shift up toward her waist, not roughly but insistently. “My love,” he whispered. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  Bess felt not fear now but anger, anger that he was paying no attention to her wishes. She pounded on his back and hissed, “You are only a bully, Hugh! No better than your father!”

  Hugh pulled away instantly and got off the bed. His face was ashen. Then he said quietly, “I will not trouble you anymore, my lady. Good night.”

  She lay motionless for a while after she heard her chamber door close behind Hugh. There was no sound from Mary or Emma in the anteroom where they slept; probably they had guessed what was in her husband's mind and had made themselves scarce. She sat up, rearranged her shift, and closed the bed curtains herself. Then she lay back beneath the covers. It was a warm night, but she was shivering.

  What had she done? It was a husband's right to take his wife when he wanted, Bess knew full well, and Hugh had been waiting patiently enough for over a year. He had spoken truly; her figure was no longer that of a child. With Cardiff packed full of Hugh's men, she had seen glances sent her way when she moved about that had left her in no doubt of that, even if she had not had the additional evidence of the fabulously expensive mirror Hugh had bought her as a belated New Year's gift.

  And Hugh had not been brutish about the affair. Bess had seen women whose husbands were cruel to them, women with bruises on their faces even while they were big with child. Hugh, she was well aware, despised the husbands of such women; once in Bess's presence he had taken aside a tenant of his whose wife had appeared with a purple welt on her face and had spelled out to him, in no uncertain terms, what would happen to him at Hugh's own hands if his wife displayed such bruises in the future. The man had taken heed. Hugh was not this sort of man; his hands had been ardent just now, but not rough.

  She might not see him for months, as he had said, might not see him again. Hugh had told her once about the battle of Sluys, one in which so many men had drowned. More than once, he’d said, he had thought he would not come out of it alive. What if the sea crossing turned into another Sluys, one where the battle went to the French this time? What if Hugh met his death in Gascony?

  He had wanted so little from her, really. A night with his wife to think back upon in the weeks to come. And she had not only spurned him but hurt him deeply with a comparison he had done nothing to merit.

  Just a few weeks ago, there had been a terrible storm raging at the time Bess had gone to bed. Even behind the thick walls of Hanley Castle, Bess was afraid of the thunder and lightning, but she had said nothing, ashamed that a girl of her age, and a twice-married one at that, should have such a fear. Yet Hugh had guessed her secret. “Shall I stay awhile? I haven’t in some time,” he had said. Then he had climbed into bed and held her, stroking her hair and squeezing her hand each time a clap of thunder or a bolt of lightning made her flinch. By the time the storm abated, she had fallen fast asleep in his embrace.

  Much later during the night, the storm nothing more than a gentle shower of rain now, she had awoken and realized that she was not alone in her bed. Hugh, fully dressed, lay beside her; evidently he had drifted off while holding her. She had studied him shyly as he slept, turning aside and feigning sleep when he began to stir. Then she had heard him sit up and quietly make his way out of her chamber, but not before he had leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. What if he had known that she was awake? Perhaps one thing might have led to another and they would not be in such misery now.

  She could still make it right, she realized with relief. She would go to his chamber and apologize, and if he still wanted her, she would give herself to him. If his ardor had passed, perhaps at least they could sleep side by side and wake in the morning as friends.

  Bess slid out of bed, grabbed a lantern, and went to Hugh's chamber, where she pushed open an outer door. Between that and an inner door were sleeping two young pages on pallets. One of them sat up and blinked, then muttered, “My lady, you can’t—”

  “Of course I can. Hugh is my husband.”

  The half-awake page being too dazed to muster a coherent argument, Bess swept past him and opened the door to Hugh's chamber. It was strange, she reflected, that she had been in his sleeping quarters at his various castles only one or two times. How could she have been so incurious about the man? She pushed open the heavy bed curtains and looked down at her husband. Hugh had once told her that between his prison years and his years of soldiering he had learned the knack of sleeping anywhere at any time the opportunity presented itself, and once asleep, he slept soundly. Evidently he had not been exaggerating, and the wine had probably helped on this night, for he did not stir at her approach. Bess reached to nudge him awake—shyly, because his bare chest and arms indicated that he was one of those who preferred to sleep in his skin alone—and then froze as she saw what the faint light had not revealed before: a sandy-haired figure next to Hugh, rising up on one elbow.

  “Mother of God,” whispered Emma.

  Bess slammed her hand against Emma's cheek just as Hugh stirred. “Er?” He blinked. “Oh.”

  Bess turned and fled the room.

  Only at dawn, when the castle began to come to life, did she stop sobbing into her pillow. She rolled over onto her back and listened as people scurried about outside, inside, in her own chamber. Someone, probably Mary, called, “My lady?”

  “My head aches. Go away. I wish to rest in peace and quiet.”

  Never before had she spoken so snappishly to Mary.

  A clinking outside her bed curtains indicated that ale and bread had been brought to her to break her fast, but she ignored the sounds and the pleasant smells that were filling her room and continued to lie staring at her bed canopy. The sun was higher, and Bess still in bed, when she heard another step, one she knew well by now. Hugh parted the bed curtains. “Bess?”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Well, I do to you. We’re getting ready to leave.”

  “Who? You and your whore?”

  “My men and I.”

  “Be gone, then.”

  “So I shall. Good-bye.”

  He let the bed curtain that he had pushed aside fall back into place, and in a moment Bess heard her chamber door closing firmly. Not even the commotion of Hugh and his men's departure some minutes later tempted Bess out of bed. It was faintly scandalous for anyone not an invalid to be abed at such a late hour, but Bess did not care.

  It was an hour or so later that a knock sounded at her chamber door. Lady Welles's voice called, “May I come in, my lady?”

  “Yes.”

  She let Emma do the work of pulling back the bed curtains and fastening them against the posts. When Emma was done, she said, “I have come to tell you that I shall be leaving for my own home, my lady. With your permission I will send for my things later, when I can hire a cart. It is difficult today because so many have gone with—with Sir Hugh and his men.”

  Bess was faintly pleased to see the beginnings of a bruise where she had slapped Emma's cheek. “No doubt he is traveling slowly. If you hurry, perhaps you can catch up with him. Or will there be no room aboard his ship for his whore? Maybe he can apply to the king for a larger vessel.”

  “My lady. Please. Let me explain.”

  “Explain what? Do you think I am so naïve so as to require an explanation?” She plucked a little ring off her finger and chucked it in Emma's general direction. “Take this vile thing. Give me the one I gave to you. Then get out of my sight forever.”

  Emma tugged at the identical ring on her own finger, then slipped it off and placed it carefully on Bess's outstretched palm. “Fare thee well, my lady.” She backed out of the chamber, then softly closed the door behind her.

  Alone again, Bess tossed the ring against the wall. It was still bouncing around the chamber, clanging, as she climbed back into bed and buried herself underneath the covers. Then she gave herself up to the luxury of sobbing afresh.

  She had crie
d herself to sleep when someone shook her. “My lady, you must get up.”

  “Go away, Mary!”

  “But you do not understand. Your lord father's man is downstairs. The Earl and the Countess of Salisbury will be here tomorrow. They are coming to pay you a surprise visit.”

  “Well, look at this! Katherine, she's a woman now!” Her father embraced Bess, then passed her on to her mother, who squeezed her tightly. “The image of her fair mother,” the Earl of Salisbury said fondly.

  “But taller, if I’m not mistaken,” the countess said approvingly. “I always knew that she would shoot up, and I was right.” She waved to one of her ladies, who dutifully measured the two of them as they stood head to head. “Yes, she is taller—and more womanly too, I see. I suppose Hugh has claimed his marital rights by now.”

  “Yes,” said Bess. After all, her mother had not asked if he had succeeded.