Authors: Emily Purdy
“Very well!” I sighed and gave in. “But
must
I go to the Hydes’? I don’t even know them! Why can I not go back to Syderstone instead? Even if it is farther away, it is still my home, and I know it and the people well, so I will not be as lonely as I would be plunked down amongst strangers.
Surely
I am worth riding a
little
farther to visit me?”
“Oh, Amy, do be practical!” Robert snapped. “You
cannot
go to Syderstone because it’s falling down, and it is not a fit place for my wife to reside. If I let you continue in such a decrepit and ramshackle abode, people will talk; they will think I don’t care about you. Do you want people to gossip and think ill of me? They will say that while I lodge beneath a gilded ceiling, my wife is left to shiver under one that lets the rain in and where the wind whistles the walls down. Besides”—he hesitated, but only for a moment—“it has been sold, so you cannot stay there any more; it is no longer
your
home. Doubtlessly it will be demolished and used for pasture-lands or to build a new house if the new owner has sufficient means.”
“Sold! Sold?”
I leapt out of bed and spun round to face him. “
Syderstone has been sold?
But it
can’t
be! It’s
my
home! I grew up there! You said that we would restore it, make it as fine a manor as it ever was, or even grander, and our children would grow up there! You
promised
, Robert,
you promised
!”
“Oh, Amy, will you not let it rest? Why do you keep on and on? Once you get something into your head, you
never
let go! You just don’t know when to stop, do you? Even when it’s for your own good,
still
you keep on dredging up the past! When I spoke those words, I was young and foolish; I was being passionate, not practical, and I got carried away,” Robert excused himself, shrugging it off as if it were nothing at all. “I was just dreaming aloud! Can you not understand that? You were young then too, and surely that foolish head of yours has harboured its share of outlandish dreams that you knew, even as you dreamed them, would never
really
come true. Restoring Syderstone simply is not practical. It would break us. The expense would be
enormous
. Even if we had the money—which we don’t—it would bankrupt us. And it is not conveniently located to suit my needs; it is too far from the court.”
“But it was my home, Robert—I grew up there!” I sobbed. “You had no right!”
“I am your husband, so I have
every
right to dispose of
my
property as
I
please—your inheritance became
my
inheritance when we married—and it pleased me to sell a house that was nothing but a burden to me and for which I had no use. It was nothing but an encumbrance! But cry all you want.” Robert shrugged. “Only do so where I can’t hear you. I need my sleep.” He rolled over onto his side and pulled the covers up higher. “But there’s really no point in weeping; it won’t change anything.” He yawned. “Syderstone is gone, and you must accept it.”
“I didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye,” I said softly.
“Oh, come now!” Robert snorted. “Saying goodbye to a
house
?
Really,
Amy, at times you are the very meaning of
absurd
—you make that word come to life and breathe!”
“But the furniture, and my things …” I persisted.
“There’s nothing there of any value!” Robert exclaimed. “As for your personal things, I assure you, anything worth saving will be awaiting you at Throcking. And I’ve arranged to have your cats sent there too—that fat, fluffy one and the silly black one with the crooked tail—so you shan’t lack for company with them to baby and croon over.”
“Thank you, Robert. I don’t know what I would do without Onyx and Custard—they are indeed like babies to me—but
I
should have been the one to decide.
I
should have been the one to … to …” I buried my face in my hands and broke down in tears.
“There wasn’t time for that!” Robert peevishly exclaimed. “Besides, the men I assigned to do it are most capable and not the sort to be swayed by sentimentality, like you are; they think with their heads,
not
with their hearts! If I had left the matter to
you,
it would not have been concluded by Doomsday, and the new owner would have had me in the law courts because of your dallying; then what would I do? I can’t give his money back; I’ve already spent it! I am sorry to say it of my own wife, Amy, but you asked, and so I have to answer, and, though it saddens me to say it, you are just not competent and efficient enough to be entrusted with such a task. If I let you do it, you would be weeping over every spoon, cup, and candlestick and clinging like a lover to every stick of furniture.”
“That is not true!” I sobbed. “I know Syderstone better than anyone, so none would be more suited to the task than I! And I have been managing large households since I was but a girl!”
“That is hardly the same thing!” Robert retorted. “Managing a house and dismantling a house are two
very
different things!”
“Well, if I cannot go to Syderstone, my father left me three other manors—Bircham Newton and Greater Bircham in Norfolk, and Bulkham Manor in Suffolk,” I reminded him. “Could I not go to one of them instead? I know they are much smaller, but I would much prefer that to living amongst strangers. I want my own home, Robert, to be surrounded by my own things, and people I know, not to be a guest in someone else’s house, partaking of their bed and board, having to sit and be gracious with no work to do except embroidery. I want my
own
home and work to do to keep me busy so the loneliness of missing you doesn’t drive me mad!”
“I have told you before, and I tell you again now, you
must
accept that you are the wife of a great man and conduct yourself as such; no more churning butter in the dairy, picking fruit, and working alongside the servants as if you were one of them. We shall have a fine country house later, when my position at court is more established; then I will find a country house worthy of me, or else I shall build one when I know I can afford to, but it will have to wait until then, for I shall have nothing but the best. I shall accept nothing less, and if that means waiting until there is more gold in our coffers, then you must be content to wait. And, for now, you will have to go to Mr Hyde’s, and I don’t want to hear another word about it! I’ve already arranged it; your things are doubtlessly being packed and sent to Throcking as we speak. And you don’t want to appear ungracious or ungrateful, do you?
That
would reflect
very
badly upon me, and I will
not
have such things said of my wife; Lady Dudley must
always
comport herself as a
perfect
lady, like an etiquette book sprung to life in female form. I will tolerate
nothing
less, and I warn you now, it shall not go well for you if I hear differently. Besides, you cannot go to Bircham Newton, Greater Bircham, or Bulkham; they have been sold as well, and you know you are not wanted at Stanfield Hall now that your stepbrother and his family have set up house there. Oh, and the sheep are all gone as well, so you needn’t start talking any wild nonsense about becoming a shepherdess and going to live with the flock, taking shelter in a cave upon cold nights and when it rains. Nor can you make your home in an apple tree like a bird in a nest; the orchards have been sold as well. Now, no more tears and absurdity, Amy. Come to bed. We both need our rest. And you’ve really
nothing
to fear. You will have a whole wing—the best one, of course—and you will like the Hydes, and they will like you if they wish to continue to enjoy my favour; one word from me in the right ear, and they are ruined, and they know it.”
“I never thought I would come to this,” I said in quiet defeat as I climbed back into bed, “that people would like me only because they were obliged or paid to, and not for myself.”
Robert sighed deeply and rolled over in bed, turning his back to me. “You
really
are the most ridiculous creature! You know
nothing
of the ways of the world! Now draw the bed-curtains, then lie down, and think about the story we just read until you fall asleep! I had hoped it would prove instructive, but you’re so dull and dense, I see I shall have to think of another way to make its lessons sink in. Your mother taught you nothing, obviously!”
Those were the last words my husband said to me, spoken as if he were issuing orders to an army of foot soldiers, as he snuffed out the candles and laid his head back down. And, obedient as Griselda, I obeyed. What good would it do to fight him? My childhood home and inheritance were already gone, sold, before I even knew it; I never even had a chance to say goodbye. I had taken it for granted that I would be coming back. I thought of the servants, the common folk who lived round about, who worked our land and tended our orchards and sheep, and always had a smile and a kind word for me. They would think I didn’t care! To think that I would never see them again, that I had left them without a goodbye. And I would never again walk amongst the flocks of woolly sheep and hear them baa-ing or sink my teeth into a Syderstone apple—it broke my heart.
Tears trickled down my cheeks, and in my mind I disobeyed my husband. I spared not a thought for Patient Griselda and fell asleep thinking only of Syderstone, the only
real
home I had ever known. Stanfield Hall had always been my mother’s—it was always understood that it would go to her son, my stepbrother, John Appleyard—but Syderstone had always been Father’s and mine. Even as it crumbled, our love for it never died.
I always dreamed of teaching my children—sons and daughters—everything I knew about managing a landed estate, of teaching my girls to be the perfect chatelaines, and my sons never to be wastrels who cared little and left all in the hands of their steward, and of sharing our traditions with them. I used to dream of taking my children out, wrapped up warmly against the cold, singing carols as we trudged through the snow to serenade the apple trees and drink a toast to their good health when the clock struck midnight to welcome the New Year; and of presiding proudly, with my children at my side, over our wonderful harvest celebrations, watching them taste, for the first time, each delicious dish made from our very own apples, and seeing them clapping their hands and bouncing on their toes, eager to join in the high-spirited country dances, and taking their part in the Candlestick Branles we danced on All Hallows’ Eve; and of watching them wading through the golden fields of barley, growing taller each year, and having them beside me at the shearing celebrations after the sheep were shorn nude and the wool sacks packed, and we all drank apple cider and feasted on crisp golden wafers and rich, sweet cream as a special, and most luxurious, treat for our workers. Now it was all just a dream that would
never
come true, and one that I needed to stop dreaming, for I knew each time I did would break my heart all over again.
With the late-afternoon light blocked out by the blue velvet bed-curtains, my tear-filled eyes turned resentfully, burning and accusing, to Robert’s naked shoulder as he slept soundly beside me, apparently at peace with himself and what he had done. No worries disturbed
his
rest! How could he do this to me? How could he take my dreams away? Make my past a bittersweet memory that would bring tears to my eyes and an ache to my heart every time I looked back, and deprive me, and the children I yearned to bear, of the future I had envisioned—a good and wholesome life in which we preserved our traditions, and even though we lived in a grand manor, it was also a home, a
real
home, not just a house where we ate our meals, entertained guests, and laid our heads at night. I wanted that life for myself and my family so badly, I could taste it, just like that first crisp, delicious, juicy bite of a Syderstone apple, but now, because of Robert, it could never be. How could he do it? How could he take it all away from me? All my hopes and dreams gone, banished and vanished without a qualm or a care! And without even consulting me! He only told me afterwards, when it was already done and too late to change anything.
“I can
never
forgive you for this!
Never!
” I whispered to his bare shoulder, even though I knew, had he been awake and able to answer, Robert would have said I was being sentimental, absurd, and foolish, thinking with my heart instead of with my head. But I didn’t care; I was being me. I didn’t know how or want to be anyone else.
William Hyde’s Mansion House in Throcking, Hertfordshire
January–March 1559
R
obert personally escorted me to Mr Hyde’s house. We travelled in grand style, escorted by my husband’s ever-increasing retinue of liveried retainers, all proud to wear the Dudleys’ bear and ragged staff blazoned on their blue velvet sleeve and to carry arms in case any dared threaten or insult their lord and master. Some of them I had heard were rather unsavoury characters, rough men about whom rumours of rape, murder, and robbery swirled, but my husband apparently had no qualms about having such about him. There had even been talk of brawls and tussles between them and the liveried retainers of some of the great noblemen at court who, for one reason or another, disliked and opposed Robert. He made such a show of our progress along the country roads that I was surprised there were not heralds blaring trumpets and minstrels singing our praises afore us and children scattering rose petals for our horses to walk upon.
As we rode along, side by side in silence, all we passed doffed their caps and fell to their knees. Whenever this happened, my cheeks flamed, and I ducked my head until we had passed them. It just didn’t feel right; to me it felt like putting on airs, as if I were pretending to be someone I wasn’t and taking something that was not my right. But Robert didn’t seem troubled by such notions; he sat straight and proud in the saddle, accepting it all as if it were his due, with his head held high as if it supported a phantom crown.