“Did my uncle happen to mention how I lost my virginity? Did it not occur to you that it was uncommon in one so young?”
He started to shake his head slowly and I could see by his expression that he was not looking forward to what I had to say.
"He told me you were assaulted, yes," he said slowly.
“I was raped, Sir, repeatedly,” I said firmly, “when I was a child. The physician told my uncle then that it was unlikely I would ever conceive.”
His eyes widened in shock and fury, then he bent down and struck me across the face.
“Why did you not tell me yourself?” He demanded angrily.
“It did not occur to me that you would want me to tell you anything, Sir,” I replied with a little smirk. I was glad he was angry, glad that I had demolished his little idea of having an heir. Perhaps now he would leave me alone at night.
I know my expression made him even angrier and he grabbed my shoulders and started to shake me, until I thought my neck would break. Still I was not afraid. It seemed to me then that if he killed me, I would find a place in heaven and put an end to all the horror of this life. Purgatory could be no worse than this. After another hard slap he dropped me back on to the bed and marched out of the room. I never saw him again.
The Earl left the house the next morning and never returned. I had a visit from a lawyer, wanting to know the details of my marriage. It seemed that my husband was trying to find a way to get himself a divorce, but that was one thing he could not buy. The King had managed to get one; perhaps he thought himself as important as the King.
I was fifteen when I became a widow for the first time, when word reached me that the Earl had died after a fall from his horse. I felt nothing except a little concern that the King might marry me off to someone else, someone who had some other use for me.
I had thought at least that now I would not have to depend upon a man to survive, that the Earl would have left his fortune and house to me, but even in that I was mistaken. It seemed that he had left the bulk of his fortune to a distant cousin and the house would also go to him when I no longer needed it to live in. So, even in death he was punishing me because of my uncle's deception.
It was not long after his death that suitors began calling. I have no idea how they knew about me or where I lived, but it seemed that word had got around court circles that the very beautiful Countess of Connaught was in need of a new husband.
The first one to call took me by surprise as I had not expected it. The servant showed him in, announced him as the Marquis of Davenport and brought refreshments. He was about forty years old with greying hair and many wrinkles. He also had a bulging abdomen that stuck out beneath his doublet and a double chin.
I was still naive, despite my experiences, and had no real idea of what he wanted.
"My Lady," he said at once, taking my hand and kissing it. I could not avoid stiffening somewhat at his touch and I know he must have noticed it but he chose to ignore it and kept hold of my hand. "It is true what they have been saying; you are very beautiful."
Once more those words transported me back to a dark carriage and a leering stranger. I pulled my hand away and indicated a seat, as far away from mine as possible.
"I have come to offer my services, My Lady," he began. "I realise that you are recently widowed but enquiries have revealed that you have no male relative on whom you can depend to help you through this sad time."
"I have an uncle, Sir," I replied.
"So I have heard, but he cannot escort you to the palace and I have heard you have no one else. I was hoping we might become friends."
"I have no need nor desire to go to the palace," I told him.
He smiled benignly. "You say that now, my dear, but you will soon miss the gaiety and the excitement."
As always, nobody was interested in my wishes, only their own.
"Who sent you, Sir?" I demanded, feeling the tears spring to my eyes. "Who told you I might be in need of your services?"
I asked the question because I was sure it was Uncle Stephen, meddling in my life again, trying to find me another title to marry. I was shocked by the Marquis' reply.
"His Majesty the King asked me to come," he replied proudly.
"The King? Why?"
"My wife died a few months ago and His Majesty was kind enough to think of you as a possible match. I know you are recently widowed and it is too early to think of such things, but I thought it best to introduce myself before some other fellow snapped you up."
I could scarcely believe my ears. Was I to spend all my life at the beck and call of every man whose attention I caught? I stood quickly and went to the door, where I called for Alice, my senior maidservant.
"You will leave, please Sir," I told the Marquis. "You may thank His Majesty for his concern, but inform him that I have no intention of marrying again, ever."
He shook his head slowly and smiled, a smile that told me he did not take me seriously, that I was in mourning and would soon come round to his way of thinking.
Of course, my wishes were of no importance to anyone. More titled gentlemen appeared at my door, some young, some old, but all with those same words on their lips: "You are very beautiful," and that same lascivious look in their eyes.
Not a single one of them seemed to notice how I hated to hear that; perhaps they all believed it was modesty that made me cringe away from them, made me stiffen when they touched my hand.
Eventually, I told the servants to refuse admittance to anyone. I cared nothing for custom, I cared not that it might be uncivil. I just wanted to be left alone.
***
I had heard rumours that the King’s marriage to Queen Anne was not all he had wanted, that she had failed to give him a son just like Queen Katherine and that he spent little time with her now. I heard from servants’ gossip that he had returned to his mistresses, but it was just of passing interest to me. What King Henry did was of no concern of mine, so long as he forgot my existence and left me in peace.
I was denied my wish. Only a few weeks after the death of my husband, the King sent for me to attend him late at night.
CHAPTER THREE
My first reaction was to refuse, but I knew that would never be allowed. There was a servant from the palace standing in my bedchamber and waiting for me to give him an answer, but why I could not imagine since there was only one answer that would be accepted.
I had heard that this was what happened when a woman had attracted the King. I had also heard that Queen Anne had refused the king’s attention and that had resulted in his interest growing. But she had been the niece of the Duke of Norfolk, a much more important lady than I. That is how she became Queen.
Better to accept my fate, as I had accepted my fate on many occasions, than to tread such a dangerous path as her. I had no desire to be Queen, or mistress, but if they were my choices I would choose the latter. A far safer option I would have thought.
So I dressed and followed the palace servant to his waiting coach. Inside the King’s chamber my heart began to hammer loudly. I had hoped that when my husband had died I would be left in peace, that I would be allowed to hide away in his London house and not attract the attention of any man. This beauty that they all said I had was a cruel curse and no mistake. Sometimes I felt like slashing my face with a knife, so that no man would ever want me again. If only I had the courage!
This man who approached me was old by my standards, but I had been subjected to old men before. He was a big man though, heavily built, with striking red hair and an easy smile on his tiny mouth. I felt that there was more behind that smile though, as it did not reach his eyes and that he was so used to getting his own way, his anger would be dreadful if he were refused anything. Queen Anne must be a braver woman than I. There were rumours that he was a great lover, although I was really not sure what they meant. What did a man have to do to be a great lover?
He was holding out his hand to me, waiting for me to take it, and I cursed the
tears that began to gather as I gave him a deep curtsey before taking that hand. I was shaking, my heart hammering, my legs trembling.
“My dear,” he said. “Do not be afraid. You are so very beautiful, it would be a shame to spoil such beauty with tears would it not?”
Those words again; and they sounded no better coming from royal lips.
“Yes, your majesty,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.
“Come, sit beside me and tell me all about yourself,” the King said gently, leading me to a settle before the fire.
Tell him about myself? Why, I thought, would he want to know? I could not remember a time in my life when any man had wanted me to say anything, so why would this illustrious one wish to know? Of course, he did not really have any interest in my life; it was just a rouse to get me to relax and he would never remember what I told him in the morning.
“There is nothing to say, your majesty,” I replied.
I could think of nothing else to say. I had not had the practice at conversation that another woman might have had and I hoped that this flaw in my character might make him leave me alone, but it was not to be.
“That is all right,” he replied. “I like a woman who is mysterious.”
Then he leaned toward me and kissed my lips. I had never been kissed by a man before, never, and it was an odd experience. His lips were wet and his breath stank, and I wanted to wipe my mouth on my sleeve but dare not. I knew there were worse things to come so was unsurprised when his hand started to crawl up my skirts. I tried to curl myself into an imaginary ball, but it did not work, did not make him realise how I hated his hands on me or if it did, he did not care. His only interest, like all men, was what he wanted.
He took my hand again and led me to the bed, where he started to remove my clothing. I had not experienced this before; I had always had to be waiting in the bed, already naked. I found the experience embarrassing in the extreme, reminding me bitterly of my tenth birthday. I started to cry again, but it did not seem to have much affect.
“I think you being so shy is charming,” he said softly. “Such a refreshing change.”
So there would be no escape no matter what I did. Once I stood naked before him he lifted me into his arms and placed me in the bed. He took off his own clothes then and climbed in beside me, then he began to run his hands over my breast and thighs. Once more I was ten years old and helpless, once more I was in pain and terror. I began to sob but it did not stop him, not till he had finished with me while I just lie still as I had been taught.
He said nothing else, merely left me to get dressed. A servant came in to help lace my bodice then I was taken back to the waiting coach and delivered back to the house. Once there, I climbed into bed and cried myself to sleep, wondering if there were any life for me, wondering why God had chosen to make me look like this if all it brought was heartache.
It seemed that I had disappointed the King as he did not send for me a second time and for that I was grateful. I had little to do with my time, my late husband having left a pension for me as long as I stayed unmarried, which would be a lifetime if I had my way.
I rarely left the house. Wherever I went I attracted the stares of both men and women, men with a lecherous leer and women with a haughty vindictiveness which hurt even more. I felt happier just staying at home. I had no wish to go to court, no wish to attract the further attention of the King, nor the jealousy of his Queen who was no longer in favour. He had got rid of one Queen so why not this one too?
But he had no excuse to divorce Anne, there was no saying that it was not a valid marriage as he had done with Queen Katherine. I had a feeling she would not go quietly, but in the meantime the servants’ gossip told me that the King was already pursuing another.
I only found out what was going on by listening at doors. Since the only person in my life who had ever talked to me and listened to me was my mother, and since she had been dead now for almost six years, it is what I had become accustomed to. It never occurred to me to actually ask anybody, even the servants.
I remember the day of Queen Anne’s execution as vividly as I recall my tenth birthday. I would not have believed it possible that someone who had caused such a major upheaval as a change of religion in the land, could be brought to nothing at the whim of one man.
She had been convicted of many crimes, witchcraft, adultery, even incest with her own brother, and now she would face the executioner. I was not alone in believing that her only crime had been ambition, had been in thinking she could oust the rightful Queen and take her place. Her avarice had been her downfall.
It was said that a swordsman had been sent from France to cut off her head, as a concession to the love the King had once had for her. If that was love, I could well live without it. I was very glad that I had disappointed the King and not become his next great attraction.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was seventeen before anyone remembered my existence again and for that I was grateful. I had spent those two years alone except for the servants, who were paid under the terms of my late husband’s will, but they did not speak unless spoken to and I had nothing to say. I was certain that at least one of them was stealing from me, but I did not have the courage to confront her.
I had no one to talk to, but that was what I preferred. I had my books into which I could disappear, and even had there been anyone, I would not have had anything to say. What could someone like me say to anyone? My only experiences of life were not something I wanted to speak of.
I had become a recluse and rarely left the house. The King’s marriage to Jane Seymour had produced a much wanted heir and it was the celebration of the prince’s birth that brought an invitation to court and it was not one I could refuse.
I was very much afraid that now that I was older, I might once more attract the King’s attention should I show myself at court, even though it was said that he was much devoted to Queen Jane. I had no male protector to accompany me, either, which was not a normal state of affairs. I had no idea if I was supposed to go alone or bring one of the manservants with me. My uncle could not be presented, as he was a commoner, but I decided it was high time I paid him a visit anyway.
I had not seen him since my marriage to the Earl of Connaught and I had no wish to ever see him again, but for what I had in mind it was necessary.
He looked up from his paperwork when a maidservant let me in to his private rooms, but he could not even muster a smile for me.
“Rachel,” he said. “Or should I say, Your Ladyship? What are you doing here?”
“I need money,” I replied at once. I had no experience of building up to things, of explaining myself or making small talk. “I want to take the veil and there are no institutions left in England. I want to go to France, but I do not have the funds.”
He frowned at me for a moment then shrugged.
“No,” he said.
I was taken aback. I know not why I expected him to simply hand over the necessary funds, but it seemed that it would be to his advantage as well as mine. Sealed up behind convent walls, he would have no further need to think about me at all. I had not anticipated an argument.
“Why? You have no need of me. What difference does it make to you?”
“You have your husband’s pension and his house. If you leave, you will lose that and when you decide to return there will be nowhere for you to go.”
“Return? Why would I want to return?”
“You are young,” he replied. “You have no idea to what you are committing yourself. You will find another husband.”
I was shaking my head, the idea sending a shudder through me.
“No!” I cried, raising my voice a little in panic. It occurred to me then for the first time that my uncle might take this request as an invitation to find me another husband, but I hoped I was wrong. He had no access to the court, but that had not stopped him before. “I have no wish to remarry, Uncle. I only want to take the veil, to be somewhere quiet whe
re I am not obliged to be with any man.”
“The idea of all that beauty shut away behind convent walls is barbaric,” he said. “I am your guardian and I will not allow it.”
“You will allow me to be used though, will you not? You will allow me to be taken advantage of by disgusting old men, and paraded around like a lovely doll. You will allow me to prostitute myself to the King of England, to be sent for to share his bed like any common whore off the streets!”
I realised that was the absolute longest sentence I had ever spoken in my life and wondered where the words had come from. Perhaps they had been building up for so long that they came out of their own accord.
My uncle did not look shocked, just pleased. A little smile started to form on his lips.
“The King? The King has sent for you to lie with him?”
“A long time ago, yes.”
“Just once?” He sounded disappointed at that. “What did you do to disappoint him? You could have asked favours, titles.”
Titles for himself he meant.
“I did nothing, just as I had been taught. Lie still and suffer for their pleasure.” He flinched then, but said no more. “Would you perhaps have me deceive the King into believing that I might produce a son, just like you deceived Lord Connaught?”
He sighed and shook his head.
“I will not allow you passage to France,” he said at last. “It is not what my sister would have wanted.”
“What do you care? How do you know what my mother might have wanted? You did not even know her, did not bother to find out about her suffering.”
“The King has dissolved all the abbey lands. It would not be a good reflection on our family if you were to go to France to join one. It could be dangerous.”
“For you, maybe. Not for me; I would be safe in France!”
I turned and fled the room in tears. This had been my only hope that I might not have to attend the baptism celebrations, that I would not be required to go to court and perhaps attract the attention of yet another lecherous man. Perhaps I could feign illness.
The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) Page 3
