An Honourable Estate (26 page)

“Sir Edmund has asked me to conduct a betrothal ceremony,”
said Father Gilbert.

“So soon?” exclaimed Mabel.

“You will not be married until your mourning is over.” 
No, thought Mabel, but a betrothal was as binding as a marriage.

She had expected it to take place in a day or so, but when
Father Gilbert led her from the bed chamber she saw Sir Edmund get up from
where he was waiting, in William’s chair beside the fire, and she realised that
the ceremony was to take place that day.

Mistress Palmer and Edith were called as witnesses and Mabel
saw Bella and Amelia standing wide-eyed, watching but not really
understanding.  She moved to go to them but Sir Edmund’s hand closed
around her arm.  “Later, my lady,” he told her firmly.

Almost without comprehending what was happening, Mabel found
herself standing beside Sir Edmund at the chapel door as Father Gilbert
prompted the vows that she should repeat.  As if from a distance she heard
her shaking voice saying the words “I will take you to be my husband.” 
Then Sir Edmund took her hand in his and was about to push a ring onto her
finger when he saw that she was still wearing the one which William had given
her.  He hesitated and there was a long awkward moment until Mabel
reluctantly twisted and pulled it from her finger.  She held it tightly
and wept as the new one was put on in its place and the priest blessed the
union.

She managed not to flinch as Edmund Neville leant towards her
and she felt his lips press briefly against hers.  “As soon as your
mourning is over, we will be married,” he told her.

Sir Edmund stayed to take supper with them, to celebrate the
betrothal, but he took his leave soon after, telling her that he might be away
for a while as there were many matters around the county that needed his
attention.  He kissed her cheek, nodded his head to Bella and Amelia, and,
as she watched him mount his horse and raise a hand in brief farewell, Mabel
leaned against the door post and sighed a long breath of pure relief.  He
had agreed that they should not be married until the following year and she
still clung to the hope that something might change as the seasons turned one
by one.

Another difficult winter followed.  Their barns were
less than half filled, although she had to acknowledge that the bailiff,
Fossard, was quick witted and able.  And, thankfully, there were no more
deaths at Haigh, even though snow covered the ground for many weeks and the
streams and woodlands were spangled with ice and hoar frost.

Sir Edmund celebrated Christmas at Middleton and Mabel was
not sorry.  It meant that she and her daughters could walk alone through
the snow to the church at Wigan to hear the Christ’s mass and to say special
prayers for William’s soul.  Afterwards she provided the usual dinner for
all the tenants in the hall.  The food was meagre but there were minstrels
to play on horns and lutes, evergreen branches had been brought in for
decoration and the villagers danced and sang, although Mabel couldn’t help but
compare the day with all the Christmases past when William had been
there. 

Amelia and Bella were subdued as well, perhaps catching her
sorrowful mood.  They had said little about their father since the day she
had struggled to find the right words to tell them that William was dead. 
They had cried and she had cried as she comforted them.  They had all
clung in each other’s arms for a long time, drawing what strength they could
from the physical union, whilst knowing that something precious had gone from
their lives that could never be replaced.  Haigh would never be the same
again without William.

Just after Epiphany, Sir Edmund Neville came to visit
them.  He arrived with only a couple of hours’ warning, having sent a
messenger on ahead through the snow.  He would not spend the night, he
said, but would be glad to take a meal with them if possible.  They had
rushed to prepare and, by the time food was being cooked and the hall had been
swept and tidied, Mabel barely had the chance to attend to her own appearance
or that of her daughters before she heard the horses come up to the door.

She curtseyed to him as he came in, wrapped against the cold
in his dark cloak with his reddened cheeks intensifying the blue of his
eyes.  He kissed her hand in greeting to his icy lips before going to warm
himself and Mabel felt unaccountably angry when he sat down, uninvited, in
William’s chair.

After he was warmed he took off his cloak and picked up the
bag he had unstrapped from his saddle and brought in.  Mabel watched as
Bella and Amelia were presented with gifts – fine leather gloves and a length
of cloth each to sew new gowns.  Then Sir Edmund handed her a parcel
wrapped in linen.  Mabel sat down on the bench and carefully drew back the
folds.  Inside lay two neatly folded lengths of sarcenet ‒ one blue
and one white and a pair of silk stockings with garters.

“For our wedding, my lady,” he told her.  “I hope that
my choices please you?”

“They are very fine.  Thank you,” she replied as she
realised that the marriage she had tried so hard to dismiss from her mind would
come about, and that she would be married to him wearing a wedding gown sewn
from the cloth he had brought.  And when she glanced up at his face she
saw in his eyes that he would take pleasure in the removing of the clothes as
well as in seeing her wear them.  Her stomach contracted as fear flooded
through her.  When William had looked at her like that she had felt desire
and excitement, but now all she felt was apprehension − and as she took
the cloth away to stow it in her coffer in the bedchamber, she was thankful
that it was only his gaze that followed her.

He stayed to eat with them, providing his own gifts of food
and wine to supplement their meagre stores.  He remained polite and asked
no more familiarity from her other than being allowed to take her hand. Yet it
was a hand that bore his ring, a symbol that bound her to him and Mabel knew
that it was only because he was sure of having her that he was content to bide
his time.

In the spring he sent builders to make repairs to the roof
and to add another bedchamber for Bella and Amelia, on a mezzanine floor above
the back of the hall.  Mabel was grateful for that as she had worried
about what would happen after the wedding.  The girls were growing older
and Bella knew well enough what went on between the ram and the ewes before the
lambs were born, and Mabel was shamed to even consider that her daughter might
overhear the similar attentions that she would be forced to endure from Sir
Edmund.

The
springtime of 1318 had been sunnier and warmer than that of the two previous
years and, as Mabel walked around the village to visit the tenants one day
towards the end of May, she was thrilled to learn that two of the women were
with child again.  She prayed that these babies would be delivered strong
and healthy.

She had just finished congratulating the blacksmith’s wife on
her good news when she heard horses approaching along the Wigan road and, as
she watched, she saw Sir Edmund coming towards the manor house.  She
excused herself and walked to greet him.

“My lady.” He took her hand in his firm grasp and kissed it,
allowing his soft lips to linger for a moment on her skin.  She did not
pull her hand away, but waited anxiously to hear what he had to say. “Are you
well?” he asked.

“Quite well,” she replied.

He smiled warmly.  “Do not look so worried, my
lady.  I am the bearer of good news.  I have a writ that exonerates
your late husband of any crime.”

He placed a hand under her elbow and ushered her inside as
his squire led the horses away to the barn.  Then, standing in his usual
place by the fire, he showed her the signed parchment that pardoned Sir William
Bradshaigh.

“Now there is only one more obstacle between us and our
marriage,” he told her.  “I have also brought a writ which asks for an
inquiry into the ownership of Haigh and Blackrod, though it is a formality
only.”

On
the Monday after midsummer, Mabel watched as the local noblemen were shown into
the newly decorated hall to sit before Sir Henry Dalton who was to hear the
inquiry.

The jurors agreed that because of Sir William Bradshaigh’s
pardon the lands were no longer forfeit to the crown and that Sir Peter Lymesey
had no claim.  On the death of Sir William, the lands had reverted to Lady
Mabel Bradshaigh, and Sir Robert Holland gave her wardship to Sir Edmund
Neville to whom she was already betrothed.

The documents were then signed and witnessed and seals were
pressed into hot wax.  The visitors drank cups of the best wine and ate
all of the little honeyed cakes that had been handed round on platters. 
Then, after expressing their best wishes to her and Sir Edmund, they called for
their horses and rode away to their homes.   

“Are you content, my lady, now that both your land and your
late husband’s reputation are recovered?” asked Sir Edmund when they were
gone.  She saw that he was hoping for gratitude and possibly some show of
affection

“More content than when William was called an
outlaw,”   she told him.

“Lady Mabel.”  He stopped and she watched as he tried to
find the right words to say something.  “Mabel,” he repeated.  “I
understand that you loved Sir William.  But I hoped that, if you were
given time, you might come to have some feelings for me.”

“Feelings are not something that can be put on or taken off
like a gown,” she replied.  “I cannot force myself to feel something for
you.” 

He frowned in disappointment.  “Perhaps,” he said, “when
you are my wife you may speak differently.”

Mabel turned away.  She had heard many people comment on
Sir Edmund’s appearance and it was true that he was an attractive man, but she
could conjure no love for him. She supposed that this was what marriage was
like for many women and that she had been fortunate to have experienced a love
match with William. But she would do herself no favours to anger him and her
marriage vows alone would force her to be meek whatever her true emotions
were.  She supposed that she would not be the first wife to resort to a
little pretence to keep her husband sweet.

“I will try, my lord,” she promised and she saw that her
words pleased him.

A
month later the marriage was celebrated in the church at Wigan.  Bathed
and perfumed and dressed in her new gown, Mabel walked the last few steps to
the grey porch of the church as if a penitent, her eyes on the ground and her
spirits low despite the blessing of sunshine.  The previous day, Father
Gilbert had become unusually severe as she had once more poured out her fears
and misgivings to him as he heard her confession.  He had urged her to
make the best of her situation and reminded her that she was better off giving
herself compliantly to Edmund Neville than risking him changing his mind and
finding herself with Peter Lymesey instead.  At his direct words she had
nodded and seen the sense in it but, as the swallows swooped in to their nests
in the tower and she saw Sir Edmund awaiting her at the church door, she could
only remember a similar day when she had looked up to meet William’s hazel eyes
and been glad because she had loved him.

Sir Edmund smiled at her and she did her utmost to return his
smile, though she felt it fleetingly fail as a sigh of regret and resignation
escaped from her lips instead.  She saw Father Gilbert frown slightly and,
in a last attempt to fulfil her promise to him that she would not weep and wail
her way through the ceremony, she gulped back the tears and placed her cold
hand into that of her betrothed and repeated the wedding vows in a tremulous
voice.

After the brief ceremony, Sir Edmund kept her hand gripped in
his as if he feared that she might take sudden fright and run off into the
forest − a thought that had tempted Mabel as they had come out of the
stone-cold church into the sunlight.  His horse was waiting, decked out
with bells on its harness and ribbons in its mane.  He loosed her hand to
grasp her around the waist and lifted her easily into the saddle for the
procession back to Haigh.

The warm sun shone down on her head.  The wedding and
the summer weather should both have been a cause for rejoicing, but the
villagers of Haigh were subdued as the couple seated themselves at the top
table that had been set out on the green.  The servants and retainers
brought by Sir Edmund came forward with a roasted swan and other fowls, a
salmon and pies filled with meats and fruits and sweetmeats.  There was
claret and burgundy wine and best ale, and as the guests ate and drank and were
entertained by musicians and minstrels and jugglers and acrobats they began to
talk, and then to laugh, and finally to dance and sing.

Mabel remained mostly silent, a taut apprehension growing
within her as the time to go to the bedchamber with her new husband drew
closer.  Sir Edmund was attentive.  He made sure that her platter and
her cup were filled, though she barely touched the food and wine.  He kept
a watchful eye on Bella and Amelia too.  The girls were dressed in new
gowns and wore new shoes.  Amelia threaded some daisies together and hung
them around her neck and Sir Edmund told her that she looked like a fairy
princess.  He was kind to her daughters, thought Mabel, and though he
could never replace their father they had warmed to him as he had tempted their
affection with his generous gifts.