by Leila Snow
"I find it important to discuss the content of this parchment immediately," the king began when Cedric had returned with a mournful Aileth. "However, I ask that we remove ourselves to my solar in order to be respectful of Lord Endle and this place of mourning."
He swept regally from the bedroom and led the small procession to his private chambers. Once they had assembled within, the king stood compellingly before them. He dramatically held the parchment aloft, clutched in his bejewelled fingers.
"It is my understanding," he explained, "That Lord Endle penned this letter shortly before he passed from this life. It appears that prior to their departure from Marbourne, Sir Nathaniel had requested of him Lady Aileth's hand in marriage. This," he gave the letter a slight wave, "is his petition for my approval to allow the wedding to proceed."
Madeline torturously watched Aileth turn joyful eyes full of soft love towards Nathaniel. Fortunately for her broken heart, she couldn't see Nate's response from where she sat.
"Lord Endle provided a generous dowry for his niece, as well as gifting the estate, Cullenthorpe, as a wedding gift. As these are his last wishes, I gladly grant them my favour. As a final gift to my most excellent friend, I will host the wedding here at Woodstock three Sundays henceforth. This will allow sufficient time to post the required banns. The wedding will proceed despite the usual mourning period. It is what Lord Endle desired."
Madeline felt Nathaniel stagger where he stood beside her. She instinctively raised her hand to steady him, but immediately dropped it before anyone could note her reaction.
Knowing what was required of her, she quietly spoke up, drawing the attention of all those in attendance. "I wish to be the first to offer you, Lady Aileth, and you, Sir Nathaniel, my blessing and my most fervent wishes for a prosperous and joyful life together. You are both truly deserving of all happiness," she articulated honestly, though with great effort.
* * *
Madeline bore stoically the next few moments of well-wishes and congratulations to the soon-to-be-wed couple. In short order, after a brief nod from the king, Cedric began to move the groups towards the door.
"I would have a word with you, Lady Madeline," the king requested as she made to depart the solar. "Cedric, wait outside for the Lady. She will be but a moment."
Madeline paused, and hesitated uncomfortably by the door, unsure as to Edward's intentions and wanting nothing more than to go hide herself in a darkened corner.
He strode over and stopped a mere hairbreadth from her. Quietly he handed her the parchment. "Can you read?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered. "My father had no heir and so I had an unusual upbringing."
"Then read it," Edward suggested gently.
Madeline opened the letter, and Endle's voice spoke to her from the page. Her hands trembled such that she struggled to read the words. The king led her considerately to a nearby chair and bade her sit. When she had finished the letter, she looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.
"You realize what this means for you? For us?" he said softly.
She nodded.
"He knew he was dying, my Lady. He feared he would pass before he could speak to me. He penned this letter before our intimacy," Edward reiterated. "You didn't kill him. We didn't kill him. I beg you, set your mind at ease."
Madeline stared at the letter through blurry eyes and nodded again. "There is some absolution in that knowledge," she agreed wearily. "Partial though not complete. I thank you Edward."
He smiled tenderly down at her then assisted her to the door. "What you need most now, Lady Madeline, is sleep. Cedric will show you to your room." He opened the door and gestured to the man.
"I will show you to your chamber, Lady Madeline," the steward offered as he directed her along the hallway. "Your maidservant can collect your belongings and bring them later."
"I haven't seen my maid since shortly after Endle passed," she answered absently.
"She is probably distraught, my Lady," he replied. "I will find her and have her attend you."
Madeline nodded vaguely as she followed Cedric back through the corridors she had so stealthily stolen through only a few hours earlier.
He brought her to a luxuriously appointed room, hung about with every imaginable colour of blue. Madeline passed through the chamber without noticing its splendour and made her way to the window. She leaned her arms on the cold, rough stone of the window ledge and rested her forehead against its frigid glass, peering despondently out into the opaque darkness beyond.
"I will have a servant come and build up the fire," the steward informed her. She didn't respond, and she heard the door click quietly when he left.
Half the night I waste in sighs,
Half in dreams I sorrow after
The delight of early skies;
In a wakeful doze I sorrow
For the hand, the lips, the eyes,
For the meeting of the morrow,
The delight of happy laughter,
The delight of low replies.
~Alfred Tennyson
CHAPTER 24
Madeline lost herself within the mire of her own thoughts as she stared out the window into the dark abyss of the night. Heat emanated from the blazing fire in the hearth, but she could find no comfort from it. A deep chill had invaded her bones and was determined to remain. A week had passed since Endle's death, but Madeline still found herself consumed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness and despair. Her personal guard had maintained their vigil outside the bedroom door. Nate particularly so. Over these last days he could barely be convinced to leave her door to eat or sleep. Yet even the close proximity of her love could not help her garner the energy for conversation.
Throughout the week, arrangements had begun for both the funeral and the wedding. As the Countess of Marbourne, Madeline was expected to participate in both sets of preparations. She had given it her most valiant effort, but when the servants departed at the end of each day, she lay alone in the large, empty bed and sobbed hot tears into her pillow. Fate was a cruel master to have taken a good man as Endle in such a merciless fashion. And now, as an unattached widower, her only love was to be bound to another. It was an anguish too painful to be born.
Geoffrey had come to her room at least once daily, ostensibly to pay his respects to his late uncle's widow. Madeline was of the opinion it was mostly to gloat about his good fortune. She ignored him thoroughly when he was present, though it did not stop him from talking incessantly about his ill-considered plans for Marbourne and its tenants, or indeed his search for a wealthy new countess. He told her with great enthusiasm of his intentions to acquire several attractive maids to better serve his needs and also his requirements for a new wardrobe befitting his recently attained status as earl. How she would ever survive at Marbourne with Geoffrey as Lord and Master, Madeline knew not.
Aileth also came to visit daily, though not with her brother. Madeline could bear only a few moments in the sweet girl's gentle presence before she was forced to plead a headache and urge her swift departure. The former nun was not to blame, but being in the same room as Nate's soon-to-be wife was a torture that Madeline was simply unable to withstand. Even Geoffrey's visits were more easily endured.
Madeline was grateful that the king had made his presence scarce. He did send his steward daily to enquire of her wellbeing and see to her needs. But she had none. As befitting a widow in deep mourning she took her meals in her room, but she found she had little hunger for them.
She had been surprised by the display of grief exhibited by her maid. Muriel was Madeline's equal in both pallor and melancholy. She tended to her duties as silently as a wistful spirit and did not engage in any unnecessary chatter, a courtesy for which Madeline was grateful.
Madeline sighed and turned from the window. The morn would bring Endle's funeral and she must be rested to survive it. Already prepared and wrapped solely in a fur-lined cloak, she looked at the bed and was swamped with sorrow at its emptiness. Suddenly she
felt an overwhelming desire for the sight of Nate. Despite knowing her own foolishness, she crept to the door and quietly opened it. Peering out into the hallway, she could see his powerful figure leaning against the doorpost. The sound of the latch alerted him to her presence and he turned his head towards her. Madeline took a breath as the torchlight glinted off the golden highlights in his unruly shoulder-length hair. His blue eyes glowed with intimacy as they scrutinized her.
"Do you require aught, my Lady?" he asked in a deep, gravelly voice.
Madeline shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She scanned the hallway, but they were alone.
"Sir Gareth and Sir Hugh have retired for the night," Nate explained, sensing her question. "You should do the same. 'Twill be a long day for you on the morrow," he advised gently.
"I know," she whispered. "Though I find I cannot sleep of late."
He nodded in sympathy, a concerned furrow between his fair brows. "Have you been eating, Linny?" he asked suddenly.
Madeline shook her head. "I cannot," she whispered. "I have not the desire."
"Lord Endle would not want you to mourn in this fashion," he chided her tenderly.
"It is not simply his death..." she started, then trailed off. "You are right. I should be to bed."
"Linny..." Nate said, stepping towards her.
"Yes?" she asked breathlessly.
"It is nothing. I overstep." He seemed to reconsider his words. "I bid you goodnight, my Lady."
Madeline stood a moment longer, but Nate seemed disinclined to continue his line of thought. She ducked her head and stepped backwards into the room, closing the door behind her.
* * *
There was a light frost on the window the following morn when Madeline awoke. She wished she could simply roll over, burrow into the covers of the bed and return to the blissful oblivion of sleep. But Muriel clattered about rekindling the fire in the hearth and Madeline knew she must rise and make herself presentable for the day ahead. Raising herself up onto her elbow, she considered her maid. The girl looked worse than Madeline felt. Dark circles shadowed the delicate skin under her eyes and her face was sallow and pasty.
"Are you ill, Muriel?" Madeline asked, finding herself concerned for the maid despite her own suffering.
"Nay, milady," the maid bobbed. But Madeline could see moisture in the girl's eyes.
"Are you certain?" she asked again. "Perhaps you should consider some rest and time away from your duties? I will request one of the palace servants to attend me."
"You are too kind, milady," Muriel said in a choked voice. "I do not deserve it. I am well, please allow me to continue serving you."
"Very well," Madeline agreed. "If that is your wish. But do not overburden yourself. I would not want you falling ill," she pleaded with the girl.
Muriel rushed out of the room, mumbling under her breath about needing to fetch the Lady's mourning clothes.
She returned a short time later with a simple white silk kirtle and velvet over-gown. A white silk wimple with a gauzy veil was over her other arm.
"I have already brought some warm water for you to bathe, my lady," she said pointing at a steaming basin against the wall.
When Madeline had freshened herself, the maid helped her don the fitted kirtle and the embroidered cotehardie.
"Mourning white becomes you," Muriel said quietly. "Tis fitting that it is the colour of deepest bereavement, as you so assuredly grieve his Lordship."
Madeline swallowed the lump in her throat and gave the maid a small smile. "Would you braid my hair?" she asked.
Muriel silently and efficiently plaited Madeline's waist-length auburn hair, and wound it into two coronets. She then solemnly wrapped the white wimple around Madeline's chin, her neck, up over her hair, and across her forehead, before securing it. Carefully she pinned on the veil then stood back to inspect her handiwork.
"Aye," she said sadly. "You appear the grieving widow that Lord Endle deserves."
"My thanks," Madeline responded softly. "Tell my guards that I will proceed in short order.
The maid bobbed her head. Madeline once again thought the woman appeared distressed, but then again, they all did. Woodenly, she walked to the window and scraped a small spot on the glass free of the ice that encrusted it. She peeked out onto the white-tipped gardens below, her breath fogging the windowpane such that she had to swipe it free with her fingers again. The frozen landscape reminded her of how her heart felt, stiff and aching with the coldness of loss, both of Endle and worse yet, Nate. She sighed and turned from the window. It would not do for Lord Endle's widow to be behind time.
All three of her guards came to attention as she stepped from the room.
"We bid you greetings, my Lady," Sir Hugh spoke up.
Madeline nodded to them. "And to you," she returned.
Nathaniel stood silently, towering over both the other knights, though his shoulders were slumped. His eyes however were alert as he stared searchingly at Madeline, as if to assure himself that she was in good health and fit for the day ahead. She gave him a small, sad smile, which he returned briefly, then she turned and made her way down the corridor.
* * *
There was a large group assembled outside the room where Lord Endle lay. These clergy and nobility would form the short funeral procession to the palace chapel. In the spring, when the weather was more predictable, there would be an extravagant funeral procession from Woodstock to Marbourne where there would be another funeral mass and Endle would be interred permanently with his ancestors. Until then, he would lie in the Woodstock chapel crypt throughout the long winter.
Amidst those gathered, Madeline could see the king and queen, surrounded by their courtiers. When Edward saw her approach, he excused himself and he and the queen moved towards her.
"Our most sincere condolences," he offered politely with a slight bow. The queen also dipped into a modest curtsey in sympathy of Madeline's widowed state. Madeline dropped down to her knee before them, touched by the genuine care and compassion she saw reflected in their eyes.
The king reached down and grasped her hand, pulling her upright. "Lord Endle was a true and loyal subject. Should you ever have need, the queen and I would be at your service."
"You are too kind, sire," Madeline said, dropping into a curtsey.
The king nodded regally. "We will allow you a moment with the priests and your departed husband, and then we will proceed to the chapel for the mass."
"You have my gratitude," she answered, turning to the door which Nathaniel held open for her, his regard shining with compassion.
She stepped through the entryway and heard the click of the latch behind her. She was alone in the room, save for Endle's already embalmed, white shrouded figure, which lay on a white velvet coverlet. White curtains hung about the platform where his body rested. Hesitantly, she walked to the bed, somewhat relieved to see that Endle's face was also shrouded. She was surprised at the longing she felt to pour out her sorrows and thoughts to him, but before she could utter a word, the door opened again and three priests swept in, arrayed in their black habits. They joined her and sprinkled the body with holy water whilst reciting prayers of petition for the earl's soul. Madeline couldn't absorb the words, so lost was she in remembrance. Before long, the priests presented an extravagant, white silk funeral pall, intricately embroidered in gold thread. Whilst Madeline stood fixed to the floor, one of the priests moved to summon four black-clad knights. They entered the room carrying a carved wooden board on which Endle would be carried to the chapel. With great ceremony they lifted his body onto it and heaved it to their shoulders. The priests arranged the funeral pall over him, the length of which draped almost to the knights’ knees. They then proceeded into the hallway.
Once in the corridor, those gathered took their formal places within the cortege. The bell ringer rang the first funeral knell and led the procession onward, followed solemnly by the king and queen. The priests walked behind them chanting pr
ayers, shadowed by Geoffrey and the noblemen. An entourage of Lord Endle's most favoured knights escorted the pallbearers. Madeline trailed them, preceding Aileth and the noblewomen.
The mournful toll of the bell accompanied their short march to the palace chapel. When they arrived, Lord Endle's body was placed before the high altar. Madeline knelt before it, grateful to sink down onto the small padded bench. The humble chapel glowed with hundreds of candles, lit in remembrance of the deceased. The high priest stood and began the lengthy, elaborate mass. Madeline's back and knees were aching before he had even begun the funeral sermon, which was followed by profuse prayers for the deceased and exhortations to the living to prevail in a similarly Godly and pious life.
When it was finished, the king himself helped a stiff and despondent Madeline to her feet, whilst most of the mourners departed solemnly.
"I have had a memorial brass carved for him," Edward spoke quietly. "It will cover his coffin here for the time being and will return with him to Marbourne when he makes his final rest."
"You are generous, sire," Madeline said softly, touched at his thoughtfulness. "He regarded you almost as a son," she added gently.
A sorrowful expression creased Edward's face. "He was not alone in his affections," he confessed. Anything further he was about to say was cut off by the arrival of the knights to carry the deceased to his temporary resting place beneath the chapel. Only the king, Madeline, her guard, and Lord Endle's niece and nephew accompanied the priests and pallbearers.
Down in the damp, musky depths of the crypt, Madeline studiously avoided peering about in the eerie gloom. Instead, she focused on Nate for strength. Lord Endle was laid in a stone coffin, his head to the west and feet to the east. As the priests murmured further prayers and petitions, she began to study the faces around her in an effort to still the hysteria that churned within her. She contemplated Geoffrey, whose face displayed his barely contained glee, Aileth whose tender gaze continued to sway to Nathaniel, the King who appeared solemn and contemplative, and Nate who stared at the stone floor, his expression shuttered and unreadable.
