I stumbled out of the crush of stalls and found myself a few paces down from the White Hart Inn. And there was Alison, poised in the tavern doorway, looking as though she were about to run inside. She was clad in a cloak of orange tawny, and her fair hair was dark with rain and I realised that I could feel the water on my face too. I was soaked to the skin and shivering, and the sky was dark grey and the wind was cold. I called her name and then I felt a touch on my arm. Her face swam into focus; she was shaking me.
‘Hush! What is the matter with you? You sound crazed!’
The sun was burning hot and the sweat was running down my face, splashing on my gown. I blinked it out of my eyes. There was no orange cloak and no rain. People were staring. Alison looked furious.
‘I swear you are a simpleton, Mary Seymour,’ she hissed, dragging me away, towards the cart.
‘I saw you,’ I said. ‘At the inn. In an orange cloak.’
‘She is taking another of her fevers.’ Dame Margery was on my other side and between them they half lifted, half pushed me up so that I rolled across the floor of the cart like an ungainly barrel. ‘Either that or she is bewitched.’
She made the sign of the cross.
‘More likely she is a fool than a witch,’ Alison said, but she was looking at me very thoughtfully indeed.
*
‘Darrell.’
I reached out to him that night, tired, lost and lonely, but there was no response. I knew he always came back. But I needed him now and I sent the thoughts out through the dark, but received nothing back but a faint, lost echo.
*
I was in my twelfth summer when Alison started to disappear. One night I woke to discover that she was missing. Assuming that she had merely gone to the privy, I rolled over and fell asleep almost immediately. It happened again a few days later, and then again, and this time I forced myself to stay awake to see how long she was gone. I lost track of time; the moonlight crept across the ceiling, the floorboards creaked and settled, the mice scratched and I fell asleep waiting. In the morning Alison was asleep in bed beside me and made no reference to her absence the night before.
How long we might have gone on in this vein, I do not know, for Alison never explained herself and I never asked. I was not even sure she knew that I knew. One night, though, about a month in, the pretence unravelled. My curiosity had got the better of sleep at last and when I heard the sound of murmured voices outside I slipped out of bed and tiptoed across to the window.
It was high summer and the casement was wide, letting in soft air and starlight. Down on the terrace I could see two shadows merging. I heard a sigh, and laughter, quickly hushed. One figure broke away then and the other disappeared into the darkness of the garden. A door closed softly below; the dogs did not bark. I made a dash for the bed, bumping into the table and knocking the china jug to the floor in the process. It fell with a clatter that broke like thunder through the quiet house and rolled across the floorboards to smash against the wall. The dogs began barking then.
The chamber door flew open. Alison stood there, fear in her eyes. She cast a hunted look over her shoulder for behind her there was a babble of voices and the sound of footsteps. She was about to be discovered.
‘Quick!’ I hissed. ‘Into the bed!’
She leaped fully clothed and shod under the covers and pulled them up to her chin. When Dame Margery appeared, candle in hand, grey braids trailing, Alison was doing a creditable imitation of someone who had just been woken from sleep.
‘What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?’ Dame Margery looked like a terrier, brindled and growling.
I dropped a submissive curtsey. ‘Your pardon, Dame Margery. I knocked over the jug on my way back from the privy.’
Dame Margery looked suspiciously from the pieces of broken china in my hand to the dark corners of the room, as though she expected to see some devil lurking. Again I saw her making the sign of the cross in my direction, a hasty and furtive guard against witchcraft.
I bit my tongue hard. I was no witch; I did not choose my gift and wanted none of it. It scared and angered me that she labelled me so. But my position at Wolf Hall was precarious beneath the veneer of my fame and status. I could not afford to anger Dame Margery.
‘You may tidy it in the morning.’ She was brusque with me. ‘Back to bed now, and try not to cause any more trouble.’
The door closed. The light was doused. I climbed back into bed.
‘Why did you do that?’ Alison’s hissed whisper reached me out of the dark. ‘Why did you help me?’ She sounded annoyed rather than grateful.
I decided to take it literally. ‘If I had not you would have been found out.’
She was silent for a moment. I had not answered her question and I could feel her puzzlement.
‘Don’t tell anyone or you’ll be sorry,’ she threatened.
I turned a shoulder and drew the covers up over me. I had already proved that I would not tell. There was no need for further words.
I heard her slipping off her shoes and the rustle of clothes before the mattress shifted and she lay back down. A few minutes passed.
‘Did you see him?’ she asked suddenly.
‘No,’ I said.
She gave a sigh and a little wriggle. ‘He’s lovely.’ Her voice had softened. ‘Oh, Mary, he is so handsome! I love him.’ She rolled over so that she was facing me. ‘Shall I tell you about him? Abut what it is like when I am with him?’ Her voice was eager. I knew she wanted to talk but I did not want to hear it.
‘No!’ I said. ‘Tell me nothing. That way I can’t be made to tell anyone else.’
There was silence. I could feel her withdrawing from me. It had been our one chance of friendship and I had rejected it. She said nothing else but I felt her coldness.
Despite that, she was all glowing and bright through those hot summer nights, slipping off to meet her lover more blatantly now that she knew I knew and would say nothing. In the daytime she was dreamy and softer than she had ever been, almost kind. She looked buxom and ripe and she seemed always on the point of bursting into flower. I saw the way that the men looked at her and she saw it too and liked it. I was twelve years old, skinny and small and quiet. No one looked at me and I made sure it stayed that way. Not for me midnight trysts in the garden or a tumble behind the orchard wall. I thought Alison foolish beyond measure.
Disaster came to her very quickly. One day I was called away from my duties in the stillroom and into the parlour. The page was voluble and excited, the courtyard swarming with men and horses.
‘Sir Edward is here!’ He told me as I followed him, wiping my hands on my apron in a hasty attempt to rub off the smell of oil. ‘He wants to see you at once.’
As the parlour door swung shut behind me, I saw that there were four people in the room. Dame Margery was there, her long face sunk into grim lines I had not seen before. Beside her sat Liz Aiglonby. I looked to Liz for clues but for once her expression gave me nothing.
The two men were unknown to me. The elder was large, careless in his dress, with a high complexion and, I judged, a short temper. Already he was tapping his fingers impatiently. I did not care for the look of him.
The other was indeed my cousin Edward Seymour. Throughout my time at Wolf Hall, Edward had been an elusive presence, often rumoured to be about to visit us, but never appearing. Our house of misfits and orphans had been beneath his notice. But now he was here.
My cousin Edward had gloss. He had been brought up with the boy King Edward, our cousin, and it showed. He was only a young man but confidence cloaked him. He was handsome too and, as I entered the room, he stood and he took my hand and kissed it, courtly fashion.
‘Lady Mary. Cousin. I am happy to meet you.’
I could have pointed out to him that he appeared to have been in no great hurry to do so but I did not, bobbing a curtsey, which gained a nod of approval from Liz.
‘Sit. Please.’ He led me to a chair that was placed d
irectly before the circle of inquisitors. ‘Dame Margery and Mistress Aiglonby are known to you, of course.’ His smile was charming. ‘This is our uncle Sir Henry Seymour.’
‘Lady Mary.’ Sir Henry inclined his head with a wintry smile. I could tell at once that he thought me of no account, being a woman and a plain one at that, but because of my name and our kinship he was prepared to show courtesy at least. There were men who said that Henry Seymour lacked the ambition of his brothers, my late father and uncle, but since they had lost their heads for it whilst he had garnered lands and offices, he was self-evidently the wisest of the three. He was certainly too grand and too important to have visited Wolf Hall during my time there. Now I felt his shrewd gaze assessing me.
‘An ill-favoured maid to be the child of so handsome a man and so gracious a lady,’ he said now.
I saw Liz poker up with outrage but I felt nothing but amusement. Nothing could please me more than to be considered undistinguished. Notoriety had served my parents ill. Invisibility would suit me best.
‘Mary will grow to be a beauty,’ Liz said stoutly, although she sounded less than certain.
I settled myself in the chair, folding my hands demurely in my lap. Dame Margery’s frown deepened; she knew my docility was assumed and it was another reason she disliked me. She thought me sly when I was simply careful.
‘Lady Mary.’ My cousin Edward sat forward, pleasantries over. ‘You share a bedchamber with Mistress Banestre?’
I nodded. His gaze grew sharper. ‘Does she ever bring anyone else to your chamber?’
‘A man,’ Sir Henry snapped. ‘Has she brought men into her bed?’
I saw Edward shoot him a look of irritation. ‘Gently, sir. Mary is but a little maid—’
‘No,’ I said bluntly, interrupting, ‘she has not.’
‘Have you ever seen her with a man?’ Edward asked.
I thought of the night when I had seen Alison and her lover kissing on the terrace. I had seen nothing but shadows, no man.
‘No,’ I said.
Liz sat back, the tension in her shoulders slackening. ‘See?’ she said. It was directed more at Dame Margery than the men. ‘She knows nothing of it.’
‘Does Mistress Banestre ever slip out at night?’ Sir Henry demanded. His colour was vivid now, like spilt red wine. He was drumming the fingers of one hand on his knee.
I hesitated.
‘She does!’ Sir Henry said triumphantly. ‘I knew it!’
‘Since she is four months gone with child,’ Edward said with exasperation, ‘we all know she must have done.’
Liz was watching me and saw the shock reflected in my eyes. ‘You did not know, did you, Mary?’ she said gently. ‘You did not know that Alison was enceinte?’
‘No,’ I said for a third time. I hesitated again. I knew little of pregnancy and childbirth but I was not completely ignorant. I had grown up in the country. I had seen farm animals mating and knew that people did it too. I had also been with the others to the Midsummer Fair, where maids and men would slip away with much giggling and touching and disappear into the bushes together.
‘Has she been sick of a morning?’ Dame Margery asked sharply.
‘No,’ I said, once again. ‘Not that I am aware.’
Dame Margery gave a snort of disgust. ‘It seems you have seen and heard nothing! All manner of things might have occurred but you would be in ignorance of them.’
‘Which is precisely as it should be,’ Liz said sharply.
‘Has Mistress Banestre told you the name of her lover?’ Edward picked up the questioning again. ‘Has she mentioned any man’s name to you?’
I realised then that Alison must have refused to disclose the name of the child’s father to them. She had told me that he was handsome, and that she was in love with him, but she had never told me his name.
‘No,’ I said.
‘You are a woman of few words, Cousin,’ Edward teased me. ‘Or perhaps you are a loyal friend.’
‘Alison and Mary are not friends,’ Dame Margery said, as though it gave her pleasure.
‘Then she knows nothing,’ Liz said. ‘If it please you, sir—’ she glanced at Edward ‘—she should be allowed to go.’
Edward nodded. ‘I will see you at dinner, Coz,’ he said. ‘We have much to talk about.’
But it was apparent that both he and Sir Henry were far too busy and important to stay to dinner for less than an hour later they were gone in a spatter of summer dust and clatter of hooves, their entourage with them, and silence settled on Wolf Hall once more.
I found Alison up in our chamber, dragging clothes from a chest and throwing them furiously into a smaller travelling box. She did not look so radiant now. Her face was puffy and tearstained.
‘They’re sending me away,’ she said briefly, answering my unspoken question. ‘I have to go to my aunt in Kent until after the baby is born.’
‘I didn’t know you had an aunt in Kent,’ I said.
‘I don’t.’ She shrugged. ‘I made her up. I was damned if they were going to tell me what to do. I’ll go where I please.’
It sounded like bravado to me but I held my tongue. Alison in this mood was brittle and dangerous. I sat down on the edge of the bed and watched her take out her anger and frustration on her smocks and petticoats. ‘That disgusting old man—’ One of the smocks ripped in her busy hands. ‘Sir Henry. He wanted to beat the name of my baby’s father from me. He said I would scream it soon enough if they stripped me and whipped my back.’
I winced. I had sensed that streak of prurient cruelty in Sir Henry.
‘Why will you not tell them?’ I asked.
For a brief second she looked utterly desolate. ‘I cannot. You don’t understand. He…’ She hesitated. ‘I promised him I would not.’
‘Is he already wed?’ I asked. It seemed the only reasonable explanation otherwise Cousin Edward would surely find the man and oblige him to marry Alison.
‘No, he is not,’ she said.
‘Then…’ I waited. What barrier could there be then to marriage? It did not make sense to me. What sort of man, for that matter, would take his pleasure and then abandon Alison to the consequence?
‘He is a great man.’ She spoke in a rush. ‘A lord. He cannot marry me. I am not—’ She stopped but it was as though she had said the words aloud.
I am not good enough.
Her defiance returned: ‘It is no matter. I can manage on my own.’
I said nothing. Could she? Alison was clever but she was a gently bred girl. It seemed unthinkable that she could survive alone. However, I had learned not to voice such opinions. They never seemed to find favour even if they were often true.
Alison finished packing the box and slammed down the lid, drawing the buckles on the straps tight. Then she stood looking at me a shade awkwardly.
‘I don’t know if I’ll see you again,’ she said.
‘No,’ I agreed.
She frowned. ‘You’re a strange one, Mary Seymour,’ she blurted out. ‘Do you care for no one and nobody?’
I was taken aback. I’d never really thought about it. I cared for Liz. She had always been a part of my life and it felt impossible not to love her. I cared for Darrell too, with a sweet sharp pang of possessive pride because he was my secret. Yet beyond that I formed no real friendships and made no ties. Because I was rootless somehow I had understood instinctively that it was safer to remain so against the time when everything would change again.
‘I’ll miss you,’ I said, not sure if it was true but needing to find something to appease her.
She looked scornful. ‘Like a thorn in the side.’
‘Even so,’ I said.
‘Liar,’ she said. All the same, she almost smiled. There was a moment when I thought she might even hug me but in the end she did not.
‘Goodbye, then, Mary Seymour,’ she said, and she walked out of the room without a backward glance.
That night I lay alone in the bed I had shared
with her. It felt strange. I did miss her.
I lay awake staring at the ceiling, the cracked plaster and the moving shadows. I wondered about Darrell. I had always thought he must be a cousin of mine, sharing the same gift as I, inherited in some distant past. I wondered if he could be Cousin Edward. It seemed impossible though; that distant, glittering figure, too fine for all of us at Wolf Hall, could surely not be my mysterious companion and friend.
Tentatively I whispered his name and felt the familiar pattern come through in return, the warmth, the love, the friendship.
‘Are you Edward Seymour?’ I asked.
I felt his laughter but he did not answer me.
Chapter 4
Alison, 1559
‘Where to, mistress?’ the carter asked.
They were bumping along the rutted track through the forest in the company of turnips and with the stench of manure. Alison drew her cloak closer about her face but it could not block out the smell, only make the world darker.
‘Anywhere,’ she said, ‘as long as it is away from here.’
She hated the forest. She hated Savernake. She hated Wolf Hall. Most of all she hated Edward Seymour with his lies and his hypocrisy.
‘I will always love you,’ he had told her. ‘I will never forsake you.’
What sort of fool was she to be so taken in?
‘Bastard,’ she said aloud, but the words had a desolate edge. She had been taken in because she had allowed herself to be. She had dreamed a dream of marriage and restoration to her place in the world. She had loved. She had hoped.
She saw the carter casting a look at her over his shoulder before he coaxed to horse from walk to amble.
Careful.
He would talk, in his cups, about the pregnant wench from Wolf Hall who had been sent away in disgrace. Likely he knew of her already. She had to follow the plan proscribed for her or word might get back to Edward. Not that he would care. She was off his hands now. The entire Seymour family were good at picking up and discarding their relatives as it suited them.
‘Marlborough,’ she said, with a sigh.
‘The castle?’
The Phantom Tree Page 4
