I cannot stay up there forever, and as rain begins to fall I take refuge in our apartments, where a fire is roaring and the victual table is laden with food. I have no appetite but to please my women, I nibble an apple and a piece of cheese.
I cannot seem to dispel my low spirits. If Mother were here she would insist I take up my needlework or go for a long, brisk walk. But she isn’t here, so I draw my knees up beneath my skirts, stare into the heat of the flames and wallow in idleness.
A stealthy sound draws me from sleep. I wipe a trickle of drool from my chin and scramble to my feet. Edmund is home, rainwater dripping from his cloak onto the floor. My body stiffens as he takes it off and throws it at his page. As the boy leaves the room, Edmund moves to the fire and holds out his hands to the flames.
“It is turning colder,” he says over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we are in for some early snow.”
I don’t want that. Snow would prolong our stay here. Snow would keep Myfanwy and I apart for longer. Snow, if it were bad enough, might even prevent Edmund from riding out every day.
Realising I am standing like a statue in front of my chair, I give myself a mental shake and remember my careful training.
“Can I order you refreshment? Shall I call somebody?”
“Nay, you can pour me a cup but leave them. I hate servants under my feet all the time.”
I move to the table and watch the thick red liquid cascade into the cup. Then, without standing too close, I hand it to him.
“Thank you.” He raises the cup before quaffing it. He smacks his lips and pulls up a chair. “Sit, sit,” he orders. “Tell me of your day.”
I am startled, my mind quite suddenly blank. How have I spent my day? I clear my throat.
“I walked in the gardens. Myfanwy rode to join her uncle in Monmouth.” I fall silent. In truth, after she left, my day deteriorated into misery, but I cannot tell him that.
“You’ll miss her?” He leans forward in his seat, our eyes meet. My gaze falls away first.
“Yes, I will. I haven’t known her long, yet … she quickly became a friend.”
He is watching me, his eyes narrowed. I am not sure if he is angry, or merely thinking. He makes a sudden movement, slaps his knee.
“Then call her back. Give her a place in your household.”
I open my eyes wide. I have never engaged my own staff but I am quite certain my ladies have been selected from only good stock. Myfanwy is respectable, but her bloodline is wanting.
“Is she…? Can I…? Myfanwy is - ”
Edmund interrupts me. “Listen, Margaret. We are not at Bletsoe now. You no longer have to live beneath the jurisdiction of your mother. You are the Countess of Richmond and answer only to me. You are lonely and lack a friend. I say that, within reason, you can do as you please.”
He looks satisfied, almost smug, as if he is scoring points against my mother. I realise, quite suddenly, that he doesn’t like her. I wonder why.
“Really? I can do as I please? Order my own household, my own entertainments and diversions?”
He throws back his head and laughs, showing strong yellow teeth. He looks different when he is happy; the threat is gone, or at least the danger is less apparent. When he sobers, he reaches over and takes my hand. I refrain from snatching it away. He fiddles with my fingers, feeling the birdlike structure of my bones.
“I want you to be happy, Margaret. As long as you don’t sleep with my grooms, you can do as you please. I have to have an heir. Just give me a son and I will give you the moon if you want it.”
I am overwhelmed. To give him a son, the act I endured last night will need to be repeated over and over, and there are no guarantees that I am old enough to conceive. Yet his last words are the kindest ever spoken to me. I turn away and look at the passing day outside the casement, scudding clouds in a blue-pink sky.
“Whatever would I do with the moon?” I ask, and he subsides into laughter again.
Caldicot Castle - March 1456
A few months later Myfanwy rides back to Caldicot. She tumbles from her horse and into my arms.
“Oh Margaret! I am so pleased to be here. My aunt is livid, of course, at having lost a free servant, but my uncle was glad to see the back of me. He already has enough mouths to feed and had no hesitation in letting me know it. Oh, we will have such fun now.”
She is like a breath of summer wind on a winter’s day, making my cheeks warm and my lips turn upward. Arm in arm, we hurry into the comfort of the hall and up to my favourite chamber. On the way, she chatters non-stop, filling the worried corners of my mind with nonsense. Despite everything, despite my aching limbs and the knowledge that it will soon be night again, I feel my spirits rise.
Myfanwy doesn’t realise she hasn’t yet allowed me a chance to speak. She removes her cloak and draws her gloves from long slim fingers, readjusts her wimple.
“We can get to work on the tapestry you were planning now. I have my work basket with me. When I was young, my stepmother taught me all the finest stitches …” She stops, suddenly realising my silence, noticing my pale face. “Are you well, Margaret? “
“I am now,” I reply quietly, and draw her to the settle. “You were right. Things have got better. I am growing accustomed to my husband and slowly finding my feet here at Caldicot.”
My words are not entirely truthful but she smiles her pleasure. “I am glad. Will this be your permanent home, or will you visit your husband’s other holdings?”
Edmund has vast estates, both in Wales and England, all of which require an army of lawyers to deal with the administration.
“I expect we will visit all in turn. I know he plans to move on to Lamphey soon; he says it is an easier base from which to soothe the unrest.”
After my uncle’s death at St Albans, the Welsh castles were granted to York, but local Welshman Gruffydd ap Nicholas and his henchmen, resent both York’s power and Edmund’s presence in Wales. The Welshman is causing trouble; speaking out against the protectorate, refusing to surrender his castles, and Edmund has no option but to move against him.
From his conversations with Jasper I have gleaned that Edmund intends to do his duty by the king. First to enforce the payment of ap Nicholas’s debt to the crown, and weaken his position by taking the castles he has in his possession. The castles in question have strange sounding names: Aberystwyth, Carreg Cenen, Carmarthen, and Cydweli. I try out the words in the privacy of my chamber and wonder if they will ever trip easily from my tongue. But I have no wish to speak politics with Myfanwy; she is here to divert me from my troubles. I make light of the situation and turn my attention to more domestic matters.
“These may be dangerous times, Myfanwy, but we are safe enough here in Caldicot.”
“It is a pretty castle. I thought so today as I rode toward it; it was like a home coming.” She gets up and pushes open the casement letting in a blast of cold air. She leans out. “We should do something about the gardens – they are in a sorry state. If you set men to work on them now, come summer you will reap the rewards.”
It is a good idea. Her enthusiasm is contagious and I join her at the window.
“We can grow herbs and concoct remedies. I know all about it. I spent many hours in the still-room at Bletsoe. I wonder why I didn’t think of it myself.”
“We must make a list!” Myfanwy scrambles up and goes to fetch a quill and parchment.
While Edmund sets out to quell the unruly Welsh, Myfanwy and I put all our efforts into the new physic garden. My domesticity is punctuated by couriers who come and go at all hours, bearing messages between my husband and his allies. To my relief, these matters keep Edmund up long into the night, while he perfects his strategy. By the time he comes to bed, he is often too tired to do more than take off his outer clothes and fall onto the pillow beside me, leaving me listening to his snores as I try to drift off to sleep again.
In the morning, he is up before the lark. I open my eyes just as he is leaving
, bid him farewell and then sink back into my dreams. I am sleeping well now, rising late and eating heartily; the long hours in the fresh air giving me the appetite of a growing boy.
I grow accustomed to life at Caldicot. I no longer dwell on my life at Bletsoe or spend hours wondering what Edith and Elizabeth are doing. The castle inhabitants grow used to me, too. When I pass along the corridors, the servants smile before they lower their heads and move out of my path. The cook sends tasty morsels to my table, with the message that the dish was made especially with me in mind. With Edmund’s support, one by one, the women that came with me from my mother’s house return to England, to be replaced with younger, brighter companions. These new women are my choice, local women loyal to me, and I am satisfied that they will not bear tales back to Bletsoe. My letters to Mother, Edith and Oliver bear all the news I wish them to have of me.
I find my feelings toward my mother have altered. Edmund insists she was aware the marriage would be consummated, aware of his need for a son. I remember how she refused to look at me on my wedding night, or the morning after when I rode away, and the suspicion grows that Edmund is telling the truth. She lied to me, sending me blindly to my fate. The knowledge hurts, and I am not sure I can forgive her. I have little wish to look upon her again.
Of course, the unspoken question on everyone’s lips is of my condition. Mother is bold enough to send letters, asking me outright if I have reason to suspect a pregnancy. I do not answer, but her enquiry tells me one thing. I know she lied to me. Had she made it a condition of our wedding that I was to be left intact, she would not be asking. I realise now that Mother’s concern has always been more for what she can gain from my marriage rather than for my happiness.
To my surprise, I am not unhappy in Wales. I miss my siblings, but there are compensations. I am mistress of my own affairs, surrounded by friends, and the garden keeps me busy from dawn ‘til dusk.
Outside of the bedroom, my husband’s demands are not unreasonable, and even after he snuffs out the last candle, he is as considerate as he can be, ensuring the matter is not prolonged. Afterwards, he dries my tears and cuddles me, promising treats and gifts in way of reparation. In many ways it is as if I am his treasured child and not his dutiful spouse.
I have begun to blossom. At last my breasts are developing and my courses, that were previously sporadic, now come regularly. I am growing up at last but, regrettably, not into a beauty.
My face is still too long and thin, and I doubt that will ever change. Betony shows me how to use padding beneath my gowns to emphasise my breasts and round out my flat, boyish hips. I order the most sumptuous gowns I can afford, and shoes, lots of shoes, with heels to make me taller, fashioned by the best craftsmen in the most pliant leather to be found. Almost daily parcels are delivered; new clothes or jewels that swamp my tiny frame with lustre.
My women laugh as they adorn me in my latest acquisition. A blood-red velvet gown with hanging sleeves, lined with the softest miniver. Tonight, Jasper is dining with us. Lately returned from court, he is staying for a few days while he and his brother discuss local strategy.
To Myfanwy’s joy, I have insisted she accompany me as my attendant, and she too dresses with special care. She is fairer by far than I, and I always think it a shame to see her honey-coloured hair tucked from sight beneath her wimple. Tonight, she is dressed in a deep yellow gown, an old one of mine that she has let out and added new sleeves. She looks as much the lady as I, and I know my mother would scold me for allowing her to step above her station. But any guilt I may feel vanishes when Myfanwy turns to me, her eyes shining, and holds out her arms.
“How do I look?”
“Beautiful.” I reply without hesitation, because there is no other honest reply I can make.
“And so do you.” She takes my arm and we stand side by side before the glass. I see the contrast. My body is slight beside her roundness and my face long against her pink plump radiance and know she doesn’t speak the truth. But I pat her hand before turning away from my reflection.
It is sinful to wish for beauty that God hasn’t seen fit to provide me with; there are far greater gifts I should be seeking, such as generosity, piety, compassion, kindness. But I suppose, if the truth be told, a longing for loveliness is common to all women.
When Myfanwy and I enter the hall, curious heads turn our way. The hubbub of excitement dips a little as we take our seats. Sweet smelling herbs have been dispersed to ensure the hall is fresh, and dried petals, like a scattering of summer memories, lie strewn upon the table.
Edmund and Jasper are already in their places, cups in hand, their heads together in conversation. Music begins, discordant at first, and the two men stop talking to acknowledge our arrival. Jasper, after a start of surprise, rises to his feet, bows and ushers us to our chairs, while Edmund leans back in his seat. I can almost feel Myfanwy’s excitement as she looks upon her first banquet. Her face is glowing, her eyes dancing. Jasper summons a servant to fill our cups, his eyes faltering as he absorbs Myfanwy’s creamy skin. He barely glances at me before turning back to Edmund.
It is good to forget war for a while, and I am glad when the men turn their minds from their joint campaign. Jasper, younger and more gallant than Edmund, leads both myself and Myfanwy onto the floor. He is surprisingly light of foot; a man altogether more socially aware than his brother, who is more at home in the saddle than in company. I have the last dance with Jasper and when he leads me back to my seat, Edmund is waiting. He bids me sit beside him, apologising as he always does, that he is not a dancing man.
It is a night of cheer. The company is replete with food and wine, and dawn is almost upon us when we finally go in search of our beds. I am the first to crumble and give in to fatigue. Jasper is about to lead me onto the floor again when Edmund sees me hide a yawn behind my hand. He laughs gently and gets to his feet, firmly retrieving me from his brother.
“It is bedtime, wife,” he says, relieving Jasper of my hand. I turn to wish my brother-in-law good night, and he bows over my wrist. Then, to her delight, he pays Myfanwy the same compliment.
As Edmund leads me away and Myfanwy reluctantly follows, I see her cheeks have turned quite pink. Jasper, gently swaying on his feet, watches us go with a half-smile on his face, before turning in the direction of the guest chambers.
Upstairs, the room is warm, the bedcovers turned back and welcoming. Myfanwy follows us into the apartment but Edmund holds out an arm. “Margaret will not need you tonight.”
Startled, Myfanwy looks from him to me and back again, her eyes wide and questioning. Then, quite helpless in the face of my husband’s authority, she dips a curtsey and bids us goodnight.
“Goodnight,” I whisper as I stand looking into the flames. My mind is teeming with images, my head muzzy with wine, and too much food lies in my belly. I undo my girdle and place it on the table, pull off my hennin and veil, letting my hair fall free. “I am tired,” I say. “It was a good night.”
Edmund sits on the edge of the bed and tries to kick off his boots. The wine he has drunk makes him fumble so I kneel before him, pull them off one by one and cast them into the corner. He wiggles his toes and leans back, watching me.
“You dance very well. Very… elegantly.”
I am startled. He has never paid me a compliment before. I shake my head depreciatively, unused to such niceties.
“There are much more elegant ladies than I.”
I can feel the blood flooding, hot beneath my skin so I keep my head turned, my eyes on the floor. He reaches out, a finger beneath my chin and forces me to look at him.
“Let me be the judge.” He winks and I blush all the harder, but do not resist when he pulls me closer and begins to unlace the back of my gown.
As usual he is gone by the time I wake. I slide from the mattress, and gathering the sheet about my naked body, I go to the window. A promise of spring is in the air, a cold brisk breeze making the catkins dance, a few brave primroses peeking from b
eneath decaying leaves.
Myfanwy and I have expanded our plans for the garden. I have ordered a fountain to be made, and sent abroad for roses, lavender and columbine. Edmund warns me they may not thrive here where it is so wet and chill, but the desire to try negates his wisdom.
I shiver a little as the air whispers against my bare shoulder. If anyone should see me, naked and as brazen as a dockside whore, there would be a scandal. Knowing my women will arrive at any moment, I reach out to pull the casement closed but a movement in the garden draws my eye. I glimpse the shade of Myfanwy’s favourite gown and lower my arm to watch.
She is walking with Jasper, her fingers tucked in the crook of his arm. He seems to be addressing her as if she is his equal. As I watch, she turns her face from him, her eyes downcast. He is speaking rapidly, earnestly, and her confusion is evident even at this distance. She shakes her head, bites her lip and turns back to him.
I do not need to hear his words to realise I am witnessing a courtship. But, with her status so far beneath his, Myfanwy can only be courting disaster.
I frown and pull the window quietly closed. After pondering the matter throughout my morning toilette, I decide to say nothing. What can I say that would not alienate her? Instead, I concentrate on the garden; dwell upon which colours I should use for the altar piece I am embroidering for our chapel.
On her return, Myfanwy is quiet, as if lost in turbulent thoughts. I am careful not to pry into her mind. There are things it is better not to know but … if she were to get with child, the scandal would touch me. I bite my lip, uncertain what I should do, or whom I should turn to for advice. As Countess of Richmond, I am her guardian as well as her friend, and Edmund would be furious were she to bring scandal upon me. I cannot even contemplate what my mother would say should the matter come to her ears.
The Beaufort Bride: The Life of Margaret Beaufort (The Beaufort Chronicles Book 1) Page 6
