Authors: Susan Higginbotham
She might not see him for months, as he had said, might not see him again. Hugh had told her once about the battle of Sluys, one in which so many men had drowned. More than once, he’d said, he had thought he would not come out of it alive. What if the sea crossing turned into another Sluys, one where the battle went to the French this time? What if Hugh met his death in Gascony?
He had wanted so little from her, really. A night with his wife to think back upon in the weeks to come. And she had not only spurned him but hurt him deeply with a comparison he had done nothing to merit.
Just a few weeks ago, there had been a terrible storm raging at the time Bess had gone to bed. Even behind the thick walls of Hanley Castle, Bess was afraid of the thunder and lightning, but she had said nothing, ashamed that a girl of her age, and a twice-married one at that, should have such a fear. Yet Hugh had guessed her secret. “Shall I stay awhile? I haven’t in some time,” he had said. Then he had climbed into bed and held her, stroking her hair and squeezing her hand each time a clap of thunder or a bolt of lightning made her flinch. By the time the storm abated, she had fallen fast asleep in his embrace.
Much later during the night, the storm nothing more than a gentle shower of rain now, she had awoken and realized that she was not alone in her bed. Hugh, fully dressed, lay beside her; evidently he had drifted off while holding her. She had studied him shyly as he slept, turning aside and feigning sleep when he began to stir. Then she had heard him sit up and quietly make his way out of her chamber, but not before he had leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. What if he had known that she was awake? Perhaps one thing might have led to another and they would not be in such misery now.
She could still make it right, she realized with relief. She would go to his chamber and apologize, and if he still wanted her, she would give herself to him. If his ardor had passed, perhaps at least they could sleep side by side and wake in the morning as friends.
Bess slid out of bed, grabbed a lantern, and went to Hugh's chamber, where she pushed open an outer door. Between that and an inner door were sleeping two young pages on pallets. One of them sat up and blinked, then muttered, “My lady, you can’t—”
“Of course I can. Hugh is my husband.”
The half-awake page being too dazed to muster a coherent argument, Bess swept past him and opened the door to Hugh's chamber. It was strange, she reflected, that she had been in his sleeping quarters at his various castles only one or two times. How could she have been so incurious about the man? She pushed open the heavy bed curtains and looked down at her husband. Hugh had once told her that between his prison years and his years of soldiering he had learned the knack of sleeping anywhere at any time the opportunity presented itself, and once asleep, he slept soundly. Evidently he had not been exaggerating, and the wine had probably helped on this night, for he did not stir at her approach. Bess reached to nudge him awake—shyly, because his bare chest and arms indicated that he was one of those who preferred to sleep in his skin alone—and then froze as she saw what the faint light had not revealed before: a sandy-haired figure next to Hugh, rising up on one elbow.
“Mother of God,” whispered Emma.
Bess slammed her hand against Emma's cheek just as Hugh stirred. “Er?” He blinked. “Oh.”
Bess turned and fled the room.
Only at dawn, when the castle began to come to life, did she stop sobbing into her pillow. She rolled over onto her back and listened as people scurried about outside, inside, in her own chamber. Someone, probably Mary, called, “My lady?”
“My head aches. Go away. I wish to rest in peace and quiet.”
Never before had she spoken so snappishly to Mary.
A clinking outside her bed curtains indicated that ale and bread had been brought to her to break her fast, but she ignored the sounds and the pleasant smells that were filling her room and continued to lie staring at her bed canopy. The sun was higher, and Bess still in bed, when she heard another step, one she knew well by now. Hugh parted the bed curtains. “Bess?”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Well, I do to you. We’re getting ready to leave.”
“Who? You and your whore?”
“My men and I.”
“Be gone, then.”
“So I shall. Good-bye.”
He let the bed curtain that he had pushed aside fall back into place, and in a moment Bess heard her chamber door closing firmly. Not even the commotion of Hugh and his men's departure some minutes later tempted Bess out of bed. It was faintly scandalous for anyone not an invalid to be abed at such a late hour, but Bess did not care.
It was an hour or so later that a knock sounded at her chamber door. Lady Welles's voice called, “May I come in, my lady?”
“Yes.”
She let Emma do the work of pulling back the bed curtains and fastening them against the posts. When Emma was done, she said, “I have come to tell you that I shall be leaving for my own home, my lady. With your permission I will send for my things later, when I can hire a cart. It is difficult today because so many have gone with—with Sir Hugh and his men.”
Bess was faintly pleased to see the beginnings of a bruise where she had slapped Emma's cheek. “No doubt he is traveling slowly. If you hurry, perhaps you can catch up with him. Or will there be no room aboard his ship for his whore? Maybe he can apply to the king for a larger vessel.”
“My lady. Please. Let me explain.”
“Explain what? Do you think I am so naïve so as to require an explanation?” She plucked a little ring off her finger and chucked it in Emma's general direction. “Take this vile thing. Give me the one I gave to you. Then get out of my sight forever.”
Emma tugged at the identical ring on her own finger, then slipped it off and placed it carefully on Bess's outstretched palm. “Fare thee well, my lady.” She backed out of the chamber, then softly closed the door behind her.
Alone again, Bess tossed the ring against the wall. It was still bouncing around the chamber, clanging, as she climbed back into bed and buried herself underneath the covers. Then she gave herself up to the luxury of sobbing afresh.
She had cried herself to sleep when someone shook her. “My lady, you must get up.”
“Go away, Mary!”
“But you do not understand. Your lord father's man is downstairs. The Earl and the Countess of Salisbury will be here tomorrow. They are coming to pay you a surprise visit.”
“Well, look at this! Katherine, she's a woman now!” Her father embraced Bess, then passed her on to her mother, who squeezed her tightly. “The image of her fair mother,” the Earl of Salisbury said fondly.
“But taller, if I’m not mistaken,” the countess said approvingly. “I always knew that she would shoot up, and I was right.” She waved to one of her ladies, who dutifully measured the two of them as they stood head to head. “Yes, she is taller—and more womanly too, I see. I suppose Hugh has claimed his marital rights by now.”
“Yes,” said Bess. After all, her mother had not asked if he had succeeded.
Her mother clucked approvingly. “When the time comes, I will send a midwife to you. I know that there are some in these parts, but she is the best I know.”
“I am not with child,” Bess said firmly, perhaps too firmly.
Fortunately, her mother took her tone for disappointment. “Well, there's plenty of time. You and Hugh couldn’t have been at it for long.”
“No. Not at all.”
Upon hearing of her parents’ expected visit, Bess had longed to throw herself into their arms and confide her troubles to them, but as she thought about it, she had changed her mind. Mama had told her before her wedding day that men strayed, after all, though surely it was reasonable to expect them to keep away from one's closest friend. What if her parents told her that she was being foolish? Or worse yet, what if, faced with Hugh's straying in reality instead of in the abstract, they became infuriated with her husband? Her father had never had a quick temper, but this might be sufficient to rouse it. Angry as Bess was with Hugh, it would still be horrid for all concerned if her father decided to take vengeance upon his son-in-law. Besides that, she had been proud of how well she had adapted to her role as Lady of Glamorgan. It would be humiliating to let her parents see just how badly she had bungled things.
The earl chuckled. “Your mother's eager for grandchildren, can’t you tell, Bessie? Pity this business in Brittany has taken Hugh away from his duty at home.”
“Let me show you that tapestry I wrote to you about,” Bess said. “Then we will be having dinner.”
She had used sickness as an excuse yesterday to take her dinner and her supper in her chamber, knowing that everyone in Cardiff Castle was gossiping about her failure to see Hugh off to war and about Emma's hasty departure. Now she thanked heaven that her parents were here, to sit beside her at the high table and to give the wondering household something else to focus their eyes upon. And it gave her some comfort when her mother admired the household livery, which had been of Bess's selection, and when her father praised the musicians, whom Bess had engaged. Here, at least, was something that she had done right.
Her relief, however, was short-lived. As she and her mother sat sewing afterward, her father having decided to ride off his dinner, the Countess of Salisbury said, “I notice, child, that Mary is your only damsel. I thought you had another lady, a widow, keeping you company. Was I mistaken?”
“No. Lady Welles is off visiting her family.” Too late, Bess wondered if she had told her mother that Emma had no family. She hurriedly scrambled out of the pit that she had dug for herself. “That is, her very distant relations. Someone—ah—fell ill and wished to see her.”
“Well, if she does not return soon, perhaps one of your sisters can visit for a while. It must be lonely for you without Hugh.”
Bess stared as intently at her sewing as if her life depended on the neatness of her stitches. “Yes,” she mumbled. “Mama—” Her voice choked.
“What, child?” Then her mother said, “Poor dear, you do miss him, don’t you?”
Bess nodded feebly.
“I am glad in a way, because I know you were not pleased with him as your chosen husband. It's good to see you’ve got past it. Still, child, you must learn to bear these separations. Men were born to fight and women to wait, and we must be of good cheer while we do so.”
“I will try. But—”
“Why, what is the matter now?”
“I—My monthly course is upon me, and I ache dreadfully. Can you show me that remedy you use for it? I have forgotten what it was.”
Her parents left the next day after dinner. “Hugh ought to be proud of you,” said her father. “I certainly am. It seems that you have things well in hand here.”
If only he knew, Bess thought.
“Don’t get the girl too puffed up,” her mother said fondly. “Hugh has been gone only several days, after all. How things are running on the estates a month from now will be the test.”
“My clever Bess can handle it.” The earl hugged Bess and slipped some coins into her hand. “Just in case you want to buy yourself something frivolous.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
“I’ve a feeling I’ll be in Brittany soon myself. Shall I give your husband any message if I run across him?”
“No.” She added hastily, “I suppose I will have heard from him before you get there.”
“True.”
Bess hugged her mother good-bye. Katharine said, “Now, child, keep yourself busy, more than usual, and it will seem no time at all before Hugh is back safe and sound. That is how I manage during your father's absences.”
“Oh?” said the earl. “You told me that you cried yourself to sleep every night when I was the French king's prisoner.”
“Hush, William. The child needs encouragement.”
“And I need to keep my mouth closed. I’ll pass on that bit of marital advice to Hugh if I see him, Bessie. It works without fail for us menfolk.”
Bess watched wistfully as her happily married parents and their retainers rode away, shouting farewells. When they were out of sight, she climbed the stairs to Hugh's chamber. She had not been in it since that dreadful night, and she half expected it to be in the state it was when she had left it, frozen in time as a testament to her humiliation. But of course it was nothing of the kind. The linens had been changed and the bed made, decorously awaiting its lord's arrival home.
As she stared out of Hugh's window, seeing the view that he saw, she realized that what she had said to her mother the day before was true; she did miss her husband: his friendly presence next to her at meals, his rides with her around their estates, his good-night visits to her chamber. She had come to enjoy the latter; at Mold, she’d caught herself more than once listening hopefully for Hugh's light knock on her chamber door, and back at Cardiff, she had felt almost cheated by the hasty visits Hugh had been paying her in the hectic days before his departure. For the first time, she wondered if she might have come to enjoy his spending the entire night, with all that it entailed.
And now she might never know, for Emma had taken him away from her.