Hugh and Bess (29 page)

  Bess saw him glance, as surreptitiously as possible, at her belly. In a carrying voice, she announced, “You need not worry yourself, Sir Bartholomew. I am not with Hugh's child. Your prize catch is quite safe.”

  Ignoring Burghersh's protestations, she pushed through the crowd, not bothering to apologize as she trod on toes and even on the hand of a man had stooped to retrieve a lady's purse. Reaching its fringes at last, she found herself face to face with Joan of Kent, standing decorously with a couple of lady friends. Looking into Joan's beautiful face, her rosy complexion contrasting with Bess's own sallow appearance, Bess suddenly felt a flash of pure hatred. Why could not God have done the most convenient thing and taken Thomas Holland instead of Hugh?

  Appalled at the level she was sinking to, wishing death upon a man who had done her no harm and who might well be Joan's lawful wedded husband, she turned without having spoken a word to her former close companion and continued to press through the throng. Free of the crowd at last, she stopped to catch her breath only to find Guy Brian beside her. “What the devil do you want?” she demanded.

  “Well, for one thing I was interested in knowing the identity of the lady who almost broke my hand.”

  He held it out to her, and Bess flushed with remorse. “I beg your pardon.”

  “And I also thought you might be ill and in need of assistance.”

  “I am not with child, and I do not have the pestilence; I know well the signs of both. So no one at Windsor has anything to fear from me.” Her own rudeness took her aback. “Sir Guy, I do beg your pardon again. I—”

  Instead of finishing her sentence, she began crying. Sir Guy hesitated, then drew her against his shoulder as she wept. “There,” he said gently after she had finally quieted. “Better?”

  She nodded and drew back. “I feel so foolish.”

  “I think perhaps you needed to do that.”

  “Sir Guy, I do apologize for your hand.”

  “Nothing is broken, though you have a good strong foot, my lady.”

  “I suppose I should beg pardon of Sir Bartholomew and my sister-in-law Joan too.”

  “Indeed? You were quite busy in there, it seems.”

  “I am not usually horrid like that, truly. It is just—” She dabbed at her nose. “It was a mistake coming here; I should have stayed away. I shall go to my chamber before I insult anyone else or break down and cry again.”

  “Do you have a page to take you there, my lady?”

  “Somewhere.” She looked around. “He is the son of a tenant who died. He has much to learn yet about his duties.”

  “Mine shall find him for you.” He gestured to a boy who was standing at some distance from him. “Find Lady Despenser's page for her. She wishes to retire for the evening. Here, Lady Despenser. Sit and rest.”

  She settled on the bench he indicated. Guy—about Hugh's age and a bit larger in build, though by no means stout—joined her, then said, “I heard, of course, of Sir Hugh's death. Please accept my condolences. He was a fine knight and will be sorely missed.”

  “Indeed he will be.” She sat in silence for a while, grateful that Sir Guy was not one to chatter idly just for the sake of hearing his own voice. Then she surprised herself by saying, “I know many have lost much more than I have—all of their relations and friends, instead of one man. Yet telling myself that makes it no easier to bear. And then I feel thoroughly ashamed of myself for wallowing in self-pity, even anger as I was just now. I was so vile in there.” She thought of young Edward le Despenser, who had written her a very kind note after Hugh's death, and sniffled. It was not the poor boy's fault that he was Hugh's heir.

  “If you wish I will make your apologies for you.”

  “Thank you. I think I should make them myself in the morning, though.”

  “May I say something without sounding trivial, I hope? I know how it is to grieve, my lady, but I also know how it is to recover. There will come a day when your heart will be lighter, though you may not believe it now.”

  A boom of laughter, obviously the king's, came from inside the hall. “And there is another thing. How can he make so merry?”

  “My lady?”

  “The king's daughter died less than a twelvemonth ago. So many have died. How can he laugh as if nothing is the matter? I cannot understand it. I never thought he could have such a hard heart.”

  Guy said, “I don’t think his heart is hard, my lady. He knows as well as the rest of us do that life may never be the same, and that many households have suffered grievously. But carrying on as best he can gives him heart, and I think it gives the rest of us heart, too.”

  “It gives me none.”

  “You only recently lost a husband whom I think you loved very much, Lady Despenser. I remember seeing the two of you in Calais together and thinking what a fine couple you made, and how happy you appeared with each other. My wife was ailing then. It was bitter to see.”

  “I did not mean to give you pain.”

  “Hardly your fault, my lady.” He half smiled as another roar came from the great hall. “At least you have to admit it's more congenial than the Flagellants; have you heard of them? They travel from town to town on the Continent, scourging themselves on the back. It's their way of atoning for all of our sins, they say.”

  “Why, that sounds almost blasphemous.”

  “Blasphemous, and painful too. Give me a joust and dancing any day.”

  Bess smiled. “Here is my page,” she said almost regretfully, for she had found something soothing in Sir Guy's company. If she had to sit beside any man the next day, Sir Guy would be the best, she thought later, wincing as her young maid—a newly orphaned girl who, like her page, owed her position in the household to Bess's charity, not to any skill in performing her duties—clumsily braided Bess's hair for the night.

  The next day, she woke to a royal summons. Obeying it, she found the king in his chamber, relaxing with the queen. “Lady Despenser. Our clerks will soon finish this business about your dower. You may swear your homage to us now, and also that you will not remarry without our license, of course.”

  Bess knelt, rather glad that she was not having to perform the ritual in front of a crowd of courtiers, and swore her oath to the king, who then helped her rise. “We were grieved to hear about Sir Hugh, my lady. He served us well.” Edward indicated his own garter, a duplicate of the one Will was so assiduous in checking. “Pity. Had he lived, he might have come to wear one of these.”

  “He would have been most honored to hear you speak of him so, your grace.” Probably he would have been, Bess supposed, given the unaccountable stock that men put into such things.

  “Well, Burghersh says that Sir Hugh's nephew Edward is a promising lad. But come now, Bess, your father and I were old friends. There's no reason for us to be so formal. Since you’ve arrived, I’ve taken care to put several likely men in your path. Do any of them suit?”

  “Your grace?”

  The king shrugged. “I know it's far too early to think of marrying any of them, but there's no harm in looking to see who's available, now is there? Of course, I must approve the match, but within reason, you can pick for yourself. It's certainly not too early to narrow the field. With your wealth and that pretty—”

  “Your grace. It is
you
who has encouraged these men to inspect me like a horse at the fair?”

  “My dear, it's a two-sided transaction, you see. They inspect you. You inspect them. Indeed, it's you who should be doing most of the inspecting, because their minds are made up. All of them want to marry you, whereas you can pick only one of them. Or none, of course. But that would be a waste.”

  “Ned!” Philippa interjected. “I do not think Lady Despenser is ready for your matchmaking yet.”

  The king cheerfully ignored her. “What did you think of Guy Brian? He wasn’t one of my original choices, but I hear that he was talking to you last night. Oh, yes, my dear, kings find out about these things. Now there's a brave, loyal man I’d like to reward with a good marriage. Quite presentable in appearance, too, didn’t you think?”

  “I will marry no man until I am ready. If I ever am ready, that is.”

  “Of course, Lady Despenser,” said Philippa, frowning at her husband. “There is no need to rush. Never mind Ned. It is simply that he wants to see you settled and comfortable again, for your father's sake.”

  “Out of that blasted black and into some pretty colors,” the king said. “And dancing.” He grinned at her. “You dance quite well, as I recall. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re quite accomplished at kissing also.”

  Bess was blushing and searching for a suitable reply, if there indeed was one with Philippa present, when a messenger entered the room and asked to see the king privately. The two of them withdrew into an inner chamber, leaving the women alone. “You must excuse Ned, Lady Despenser. The pestilence has had an odd effect on some people, and in his case it has made him unseemly jocular at times.”

  Something in the queen's face reminded Bess that she was not the only one in the room who had suffered from the pestilence. “I was so very sad to hear of the Lady Joan's death, your grace.”

  “The king does not like it spoken of; it is his way. But he grieves too, though you might not think it from his demeanor. It is very hard for me, though. She was the daughter most like myself, and sometimes it is as if one of my own limbs has been removed. I imagine you know the feeling all too well.”

  Bess took the queen's outstretched hand. “Yes. I do.”

  They were gazing at each other in understanding when the king walked slowly back into the room.

  “Lady Despenser,” he said in a voice very different from the one he had used just minutes ago, “we have had sad news that pertains to you and your brothers and sisters. Your lady mother has been ill—with the pestilence, we are grieved to say. She is dead.”

  “Mother,” Bess echoed.

  “We will inform your brother of these ill tidings for you if you wish. And you can rest assured that we and our men will do all that is necessary to help you through this difficult—”

  “Hush, Ned,” said the queen. “Practical words are useless to Lady Despenser now. She has lost her husband and now her mother.” She held out her arms. “Come here, Bess.”

  Bess buried her head in the queen's lap and sobbed like a little girl.

  In spite of everything, Bess's world had returned to some state of normalcy by the following January. As summer had changed to autumn and autumn to winter, fewer and fewer reports had come of people dying of the pestilence. Slowly, guests began to return to Bess's great hall, and Bess herself, who had been drifting back and forth between her Welsh estates and Hanley Castle, accepting invitations to visit now and then but merely going through the motions of her existence, found it harder and harder to ignore the life around her.

  For there was life around her, despite the fresh graves in every churchyard, the fallow fields, and the abandoned houses that littered the countryside. Widowed tenants of Bess's married other bereaved tenants, and already a few of the brides were big with child. Tenants arrived to lease manors, like Emma's, left vacant by the pestilence. Her awkward tailor and her awkward maid, more sure of their duties these days, married each other, and her maid's burgeoning belly soon proved that they were not too awkward to have figured out the intricacies of the marriage bed. A new chaplain took Beste's place at Hanley Castle. There had even been fighting between the English and the French again.

  “So I understand the Pope's decision went against your brother?” Elizabeth de Burgh asked Bess, newly arrived at Usk in January.

  Bess nodded. “Will was chagrined, I think, but he adjusted fairly quickly. I think he must have been expecting it, really. He is planning to marry little Elizabeth Mohun. Her father was made a Garter Knight along with Will. She's all of six years old, so I suppose there won’t be a previous marriage in her case.”

  “Lord help us if there is,” said Elizabeth de Burgh. “But starting afresh, that's the best thing he can do. And what of you, my dear? Are you ready to start anew? Has anyone asked for your hand?”

  “Not in so many words. But I have had several men find themselves astray in Wales in the past months.”

  “I’m not in the least bit surprised.”

  “I have also seen that Guy Brian I told you about when I was here over the summer. Some of Hugh's estates have been put into his keeping, and that brings him onto my own estates for business on occasion. And I believe the king would like to put me in his keeping as well. He is high in the king's favor, and Will is always passing on the king's praises of him to me. I imagine the king encourages him to do so.”

  “And what do you think of Sir Guy?”

  “I like him well enough.”

  “Well enough to marry him?”

  Bess shrugged impatiently. “Everyone wants me to remarry. The king and queen, Will, my sisters—and of course Hugh told me before he died that I should. Sir Guy is a kind man, and Hugh spoke well of him on occasion. I could live with him, I suppose, but—”

  “But what, child?”

  “I just wish I had some sort of a sign.”

  “A bolt of lightning?”

  “Just
something
,” Bess said, a little miffed. “How do women choose their spouses? I’ve never had to do it.”