The Fiddler (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 6 - "I do love you ...is that not strange?"

We move to Liechester. And there we settle into an easy routine. I'm rarely if ever summoned to court. At most it's to show up for holidays. Thomas is forever managing the wars with the Scots. And I'm content to be involved in none of it.
I play my fiddle where anyone can hear me. Some afternoons Maud will come and sit and listen. Nothing more. But we take meals together now. And we'll talk. About the weather. About a horse or dog race. About going to a party neither of us wish to attend. And then we don't go at all and stay home and she'll read aloud as we sit by the fire.
I wake up with nightmares less. I'm past twenty years old, both of us are. And I can finally breath I think. I'm not drowning. Old terrors are still there. But we talk everyday. I've never been in love before. So I wouldn't know what it's like. But it's got to be something like this.
"It's your birthday soon," I say, it's just after New year, and we didn't go to the fine feasts instead staying in and doing as we pleased with our staff. I'm working some accounts while she sews by the fire, both of us trying to lean into the fire light rather than go to bed and wait for morning.
"Yes I know, usually in Lent though," she says, "Well sometimes."
"Not this year. Obviously I'm getting you something I'm not telling you about now, but, do you want to do something? Open another house, or go up to London for a few days," I say. She's not fond of the city much more than I am we both prefer to stay home. But she's got some girls she grew up with and the like that she enjoys visiting. She's got her half brothers she sometimes will visit.
"I want," she bites her lip, frowning, "I want you to take to me someplace you were happy."
"What?" I frown looking up.
"You know. I took you to that street in London with all the bakeries, where it smells good all day, and the cobble stones reflect that torch light in the rain, where I went when I was a little girl. Something like that. Something you remember fondly," she says.
"What if—hypothetically speaking—I don't have that many, fond, memories?" I ask.
"Even small, not when you were a child. I know it's not easy to talk about—life sometimes," she says. I don't speak of growing up at all. She's gathered it wasn't great she doesn't know why. I don't know why. But I've told her I don't know how to talk about any of it. She knows I'm trying.
"But, someplace you enjoyed visiting, I'd like to share something happy with you," she says.
I nod. She's right. It isn't a bad idea. "You sure? It is your birthday?"
"Yes, it'll be fun, I mean, we can go before my actual birthday," she says.
"Good because the menagerie said that they weren't going to hold it any longer."
"You don't even have to be joking I love pets," she laughs.
I smile slyly. I love making her laugh. She does love pets I'm getting her a ferret. I don't know what it is but it sounds soft and I think she'll like it. Gaveston said they were poisonous. I had to ask Edward for help getting it which meant I talked to the owner of the rest of his brain. The menagerie would hold it longer but too much longer and Edward will probably try to affectionately steal it and trade me for it.
"Okay, your choice. We're going to the place I learned to how swim. Or started to," I say.
"Oh," she knows I don't like water or swimming. "Interesting."
"Bath," I say.
"The city or the actual Roman baths? You've been?" She asks.
I nod, "Have you?"
"No. Will they let us go in together or is it separated?"
"It's separated but I don't want to go if other people will be there. They'll let us in," I say.
Winter is a decent time to go, so we ride out. We're not doing much anyway. And unlike my last trip we shan't be missed so we take our time. It's a pleasant enough ride south. We're good at making pleasant conversation, and Maud asks me no more about why I learnt to swim in a bath and why so late. That's good. I don't want to live in that world. I want to live in this one.
When we get to the Baths I go and talk to the attendants. Invoking Lord Edward's name does the trick, and I get the key to let us in after dark.
So we go and walk around the cold, ancient city.
"Isn't it odd to think a thousand years ago probably people were coming here for the springs?" Maud asks.
"Yes," I look up at the darkening sky, an arm around her shoulders in the cold, "It's comforting really. That none of what we do matters."
"It does matter though, to us, right now."
"To us," I say, giving her a squeeze. I can feel my pulse quicken holding her like this. This much happiness is dangerous I know.
We return to the baths after dark. I let us into the main building, where we went before. The steam warms the room instantly
"You can—go and look at the others too. This is just where we went—Lord Edward took me, for my neck," I explain.
"It's beautiful," Maud says, leaning on a pillar, staring at the dark water, then at starry sky above.
"You want to get in?" I ask.
She nods.
I walk away, to the other side of the pool, and start to strip my clothes. I don't want her to see me. I don't want her to see me tremble as I enter the water. I turn around and wade in, assuming she'll leave on her under things.
I assume wrong.
As I step into the warm water, I look up to see her sliding her dress off her head. A crumpled pile of deep red fabric at her feet. Then she slowly takes off her shoes. Then the under dress, white and pure off her pale skin. I see for the first time the curve of her hips, her back, the soft knots of her neck as she shakes down her dark hair. She's slim under all that fabric. Coarse dark hair on her legs, and as she turns, a line of hair down her belly. I definitely blush and step back, fully aware the effect she's having on me.
She smiles a bit, stepping carefully into the water. Her breasts are soft rounded lumps, one a bit off from the other. She slowly lowers herself into the water. I'm clearly still staring at her. I blush. She does too, ducking her head. That's when I realize she's been staring at me as long as I've been staring at her. I feel insane.
No, I'm not drowning.
I don't say anything, just wading closer. I reach out a hand to take hers, under water, where it's safe. I feel so oddly alive.
"Have me," Maud whispers, twisting her fingers in mine, soft dark eyes staring into mine.
I lean forward and kiss her, a hand sliding onto her shoulder. Not awkwardly as I imagined. She moves readily into my arms, her body warm against mine.
Our legs tangle under water as I feel her pleasurably slide against my skin. We're still kissing, her tongue in my mouth, my hand on the back of my neck. Her kissing me with no reservations for how my head is bent, just kissing my mouth then tipping her head back to let me work my way down to kissing her neck.
We twist in the warm water. Mostly floating, her crawling into my arms. My vague thought is that I didn't plan this and that I am so glad I did it anyway. And that if I am hurt later god this will have been worth it.
I make love to her there in the water, our first time and it's so much better than in some darkened bedroom. We're bathed in moonlight like misbehaving gods. She looks like angel. I feel like some sort of god.
We kiss till our lips are bruised, and then we lay on the stone steps where I have her again, she grips my arms in pleasure, and I bury face in her dark wet hair. I definitely feel insane. I also don't want this sort of feeling to end. I feel, terribly, impossibly safe here in the water, with her in my arms. I want to keep this feeling for the rest of my life. This feeling that everything might go right from now on.
We only leave when dawn is warming the sky. Giddy, and both laughing. Like children who've broken some rule.
"Do you want me to help you?" I ask, I dressed first. She lay on the steps and watched me.
"Here," she nods, letting me help tug on the thick wool dress. She takes the opportunity to kiss my lips. I smile.
We return home, obviously more in love than before. If our staff notice they are polite enough not to say anything.
"Come to my room now and then," Maud says, hand in mine, "You can."
"I can't actually. After Lent passes and you still want me then tell me when you'll have me," I say.
"What if you're not of the humor?" She asks.
"I think I always want to love you," I whisper in her ear. She blushes.
"Well you had better," she smiles.
And I do. But that beautiful night aside I have very few good memories in bedrooms. Could I wake with someone else there? What if I struck her? Would I still feel so sick when I look about the room? The only way to know is to try. And I know she wants me. It's different. I can imagine we're still in the water.
I get the ferret from London, and a note from Gaveston thanking me for getting the poisonous thing away from Edward who keeps petting it, and a note from Edward saying he'll miss it and I never bought him a ferret he thinks he'll cry. He has a unique sense of humor. I think he's joking anyway.
It's soft and cuddly and all white and never tries to bite me. I might also have a unique sense of humor.
"What's my present?" Maude asks, "Why do I have to stand here?"
"Close your eyes, and hold out your hands, and open your mouth," I say.
"You'd do this if it was a cut of cloth though," she says.
"I would yeah, close your eyes. Open your mouth. Hold out hands," I say, hands behind my back.
Maud laughs, obeying though.
I put the ferret in her hands and kiss her mouth.
She laughs, "Henry—oh he's so pretty!"
The little white ferret has a blue bow on it, and a nice little leather harness so it didn't get lost. Edward did both of those. He had an accurate but offensive knowledge of my lack of skill with animals.
"Where did you get him?" She laughs, petting it.
"London, well Lord Edward, he's the man if you want a pet, so," I say.
"Thank you," she hugs me quickly around the waist as she holds the ferret, "He's adorable."
"Good," I smile. I like seeing her happy. I like pleasing her. I like having her here.
I shouldn't be surprised that I decided to finally lie with my wife directly before mandatory abstinence. Meaning no matter how much I'd like to be back in her arms I don't get to be with her. I'm not right with god but I wouldn't do that to her. She should be free of sin despite my unholy desires for the curve of her back or the way her legs twisted with mine and worse, the way she dug her fingers into my shoulders as I had her.
Lent lasts an age. We're invited for Easter. We decline we were always going to do that. I pretend it's of no consequence. My happiness always is. And now I've found another guilty pleasure. I can enjoy my memories I always live in my head anyway. Just because I got some solace from living in reality for once. Well all right some genuine pleasure.
No, I get pleasure in living every day now. For the first time I truly think I like my life. I can be a real person. And go to my wife. As she wants me.
By the time Lent is ending I start to wonder if that is the case. Maud declines to go riding with me once. And then she doesn't join me for a late dinner having already gone to bed. As I say them they sound logical. However my old fears get in the way. By the time last the day of Lent comes I'm entirely sure that she not only doesn't love me but never has.
And yet, on the last night of Lent, right after supper, Maud says, "Come to my room tonight."
"It's still Lent isn't it?" I don't know why I said that I'd have her on this table if she would let me.
"Not at midnight."
"You make a good point," I say, kissing her hand. She grins conspiratorially.
Interestingly enough my lust can override my nerves. I wash and pace and wait for midnight. I decide showing up at her door at precisely midnight is exactly what she intended. Not a few minutes after. She said at midnight. I'm going at midnight.
I arrive when the moon is sufficiently high that I deem it's midnight.
"It's Henry," I knock, standing in the cold hall. Can I do this? In her room? Which should be sacred? I probably can I want her enough.
"It had better be," Maud says, opening the door for me because I clearly wasn't going to. She's only in her nightdress her hair down. She looks beautiful as ever in the moonlight streaming through her window. The fire is going and the room is surprisingly warm.
"Let me kiss you here, not the bed," I say, cradling her face in my hands.
"Go on," she says, gently loosening her night dress.
I kiss her, tugging it from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. And I take her in my arms, still kissing her, hands sliding down her smooth back all the way to her hips—
My instinct is move away but instead I grip her arms tighter, sobered drastically as I stare down at her nakedness.
"You're with child," I breath.
"That's what I thought. They said there's no proof till there's a quickening, I think I'm going mad," Maud whispers.
"What? You're having a child—our child," this is what a stroke feels like. Definitely.
I slide a hand down her belly. At the start of the year when I first held her, she was slim with our youth, nearly flat bellied. Now there is a clear swollen roll around her middle, just below the navel, bulging out over her hips.
"I told my ladies. They said I can't tell this soon—not if I only conceived six—seven weeks ago," she says, "They said it's weight."
"You're pregnant," I say, realizing I'm still griping her arm, "Why—why am I here?" It's a sin to lie with her when she's with child already.
"I didn't know! They said I can't know I feel it—I had to have you hold me and tell me the same you saw me too," she says, voice nearly shaking.
Saw her too when she was last a maid. Before I had her and got her with my child. That's what she means.
"Come here, shh, come here," I take her in my arms, "Do you feel well?"
"I'm fine. A bit tired. I was—I didn't know how to tell you when they said it wasn't sure," she whispers.
"It's—it's sure," I say, cupping her little belly with a hand. She wasn't this way before. I know it I memorized her. "Are you happy?"
"Of course I am I—I prayed I'd conceive after that day," she says, blushing.
"So we did, born of water," I nearly laugh, smoothing my calloused fingers over her soft skin.
"Well won't tell it that," she laughs.
"You're going to freeze let me hold you, come," I draw her to bed, wrapping her gently in furs. Her little gut sags a bit over her hips, in a way I'm sure it did not before. She lays a hand on it, awkwardly. She moves less sure now, like uncomfortable with the added weight.
"I'm just weepy. I'm happy. I swear it, I'm weeping because I want it to be true," she says, leaning against me.
"It's true, what you think you're getting chubby for no reason? We've been fasting," I kiss her forehead, cradling her in my arms.
"All right when you say it it sounds better I don't know. They were surprised I thought I knew when I conceived."
"Well we don't know if it was in the pool or on the steps," I say, slyly.
"Yeah," she laughs a little, "I don't think I've ever loved anything this much."
"Nor have I," I say, folding my hand over hers, over her belly.
"Will you stay?" She asks.
"Of course," I say.
The panic sets in, two hours later. I don't sleep at all. She falls asleep cuddled against me, head on my chest. I'm over that and comforting her and then I get my own personal panic. It starts that I'm having a child. I am going to be somebody's father. I think about dying everyday. I am having a child.
Followed by.
I need to protect this child. I will move Heaven and earth to protect this child. I don't know fully where to direct my energy but I need to come up with a plan. To start with I quit sleeping and pace all night. Maud finds this out and tugs me in her room.
Two weeks I've had this knowledge. Two weeks and I'm barely coming up with a decent plan and any secrecy we had is fading. Maud comes to luncheon in a light summer dress and by now her belly is clearly showing through the folds of fabric. We're losing precious time. And I remember why I feel like I should panic about people knowing. This is bad. Proof of my love for her is growing now obviously inside her, now she's something that can be taken away. I can't have that.
I come to Maud's room that night. She knows I've had some nervous energy so she's not overly surprised as I pace and she curls up on her bed, hugging a pillow over her rapidly thickening belly.
"All right, I have something to tell you. And you're not allowed to take it negatively because at first you're going to hate it then you'll let it simmer for a bit and you'll actually love it and me," I say.
"Okay," Maud says, frowning. Not as concerned as she should be but that's all right.
"We're leaving. And no one can know you're pregnant. We're going to another house and you'll go by a different name and be my mistress and then when the baby comes if it has red hair, we slowly introduce it as my bastard," I say.
"That's—why?" She asks, "I need to know why. On this one."
"Because years ago, before we were lying together, I told my brother Thomas you can't have children," I say, sighing.
"Why—would you say that before we were lying together?" She asks, justifiably amused at best when she conceived the first night I had her.
"Because—," I sigh, "All right I'm aware this is completely my issue and I need not have said it. But. He made—he said that he and Alice were having no children one of us should have a legitimate heir."
"Okay," she nods.
"And I said something flippant about it to brush it off as we weren't lying together and I hardly intended to for him. Said it wasn't bloody likely. He made some, lewd comment said you'd probably bear a child fine, and that if I wasn't going to do it he would," I sigh.
"What?" She stares at me.
"I know it was probably completely off hand and meant nothing people say things like that but you know me, I panic, I told him we'd tried you could have no children and I'd had a child out of wedlock so it wasn't me it was you because I didn't—,"
"No that is incredibly creepy of him, Henry, no that is not you panicking that is weird," she says, hugging her belly, "Run, run by me again what you said?"
"That I knew you couldn't as we'd tried and nothing, this was nearly ten years ago before you say anything no one will believe it's a miracle I know I thought of that. Let's just go with my first plan," I say.
"You thought your brother would come here to rape me? That's why you're never wanting to leave me alone or if you do acting like we'll be under siege?" She asks, horrified.
"I—yes," I admit, "Not—I think anything. I think he'd do anything. I won't let anyone hurt you. And now when he finds out I lied clearly, lied, he'll—he wants to get back at me. But he takes it out on things I love. He ruins things I love."
"Oh my god," she whispers.
"I am not saying this to upset you I could be wrong he might not do that—,"
"What has he raped girls before?" She asks.
I stare at the floor, completely silent. I take a long breath. Everything is locked away.
"Henry," she says, softly. There are tears in her eyes.
"We're going away, to probably Wales. You have this baby. And we'll be safe. We bring it back say you took pity on my bastard no one knows its fine," I say.
"Henry, look at me," Maud says. I wasn't.
I drag my gaze over to her. She's still crying a bit, as she stands up.
"This is your legitimate child, Henry. Boy or girl. If I'm carrying your son he gets your titles. If it's your daughter she gets a good marriage. Not a bastard. And I'm not living our lives in fear. I know you were alone once you are not anymore. I'm going to have your baby. And maybe more I don't know. And if anyone comes for us I'll kill them myself, because I'm not going to let anything happen to this baby either, do you understand me?" Maud asks, hand on her belly. She smooths the dress to show me the swollen bulge.
I walk over, carefully putting a hand over it. She closes her hand over mine.
"I want to protect you," I say, quietly. I'm talking to them both.
"You will. You are. And if you die and he were to come after us I promise you I'll run. But not today. Today we are in your house where it is safe, all right?" She asks, squeezing my hand which is closed over her belly. "You deserve to be safe now."
I collapse to the bed, weeping. She takes me in her arms. I haven't wept like this before her.
"You're not alone, I swear it," she says, tucking a hand through my hair, "Shh. Breathe."
"It's my fault. Every time I care—everything I touch is destroyed," I say, hand her swollen belly, "I don't want to ruin you too. Or this child."
"You ruin nothing. What—ever—has happened to you. Is not your fault. And you deserve to be happy. Not because of anything you did or didn't do, you get that for free," she says, hugging me.
"I"m so sorry," I whisper. Please. Please. Please.
"We'll do whatever it takes to keep this child safe. I would not be here having it if I didn't want you both," Maud says, putting a hand through my hair.
Please. Please. Please.
"Shh," she says, hugging me, "I'm right here."
"Please don't leave me. Please," I say, tears running down my face, "I'm drowning."
"I'm right here. And I will never, ever leave you," she says, kissing my face, "I swear it."
I spend that night curled up in her bed. And more nights than not thereafter. And I refuse to drown. I will not lose.
Summer comes. I tell no one about the baby. Let rumors circulate if they've a mind to. Thomas is safely at war in Scotland. Edward begs me to come and go hunting. I decline and don't say why.
By the time June comes the midwives aren't even questioning the pregnancy. Not that we had any doubts. It's a hot summer and poor Maud gains weight by the day. My child seems determined to be tall as I am, stretching her poor belly. The baby is due come fall but that seems a long way off now. I start ordering things for the nursery. That quite ruins any secret but at five months gone Maud is obviously pregnant, with a decently big round belly protruding out from beneath constantly adjusted dresses.
Other than the weight gain and obvious physical change she feels fine, no illness in particular, and cheerful enough. Now that it's clearly coming she's happy. And I'm working on taking pride in having my expecting wife on my arm. I don't intend to see anyone of note but the royals come hunting nearby and I'm expected to make a showing.
"They'll know eventually," Maude points out.
"I'm not keeping you from it I'm saying I wouldn't go if I were you," I say.
"Do you want to talk to them alone?"
"So we leave at dawn."
It doesn't go as badly as I anticipated. I'm weirdly embarrassed but my wife's condition isn't relevant to anyone else. They don't much seem to care other than for the women to ask her how far along she is. The answer is five and a half months yes she knows she's big.
Richmond is there and he knows things usually I suspect he already knew, "Congratulations by the way."
Gaveston is hanging next to him. The Frenchman stares at the air like doing complicated mathematics in his head.
"My wife's with child," I say.
"Thank you," he says.
"Pregnant woman I walked in with, would be her," I say.
"You ready to be a father?" Richmond asks.
"I don't think a bit," I almost laugh.
That's our last and only social engagement till the child's seventeen. Maud says I don't have to be joking about that. She's worn out now. Most of her dresses are fully let out to accommodate for the baby which finally stops growing every week. We retire to Leicestier to await the baby's birth.
I order the nursery set up obsessively. it gives me something to think about at least. Hiring staff takes age. Apparently I'm 'terribly threatening' and 'need to stop threatening fourteen year olds'. My wife is judgemental this close to motherhood. That's a joke I know I have problems.
Summer comes to a close and still nothing threatens our sanctuary. I quit sleeping, fearing child birth. I pray multiple times a day over it. I can't lose her. I really don't want to lose the child.
"Your baby knows your voice," Maud tells me one night. Summer's over and now our child is but a couple short months from coming into the world. Her belly's big and sagging, breasts sore and ready to nurse the babe.
"Does it? How do you know?" I ask, hand over hers on her great belly, which is leaned partly against me so she can get a few hours sleep in on her side.
"Moving around a little," she says, guiding my hand. I feel a gentle shove from within. I feel myself smiling.
"Does that feel weird to you?" I ask.
"No, actually it's comforting. I know my baby's right there safe," she says, rubbing her belly.
"We'll keep you safe," I say, kissing it.
"Stop frightening the staff."
"Absolutely not."
We both laugh.
I don't write to my mother. Then she finds out somehow and writes to me asking why I didn't tell her. And so I can't tell her its because I was afraid if I wrote she'd never reply. Or to ask if she plans on doing anything with the information, like come and see her grandchild. Or if it's just information she thought she should know. I can't say any of that. And so I say I sent a message and it got lost along the way. It's something close to true. Something got lost along the way I don't know what. Because I thank her and say yes we're happy. But she didn't ask that.
Thomas writes thinly congratulating me and implying it took me long enough to get 'us' an heir. I tell him to save his congratulations till it's red haired.
So that's my family. Maud really doesn't have family but she has some friends. A couple of women come to visit before she has to go into confinement.
I hire midwives and surgeons six weeks early. When Maud asks why, I remind her how I've never been fine with anything ever and she just shrugs.
She goes into confinement. I'm not sleeping so I go out into the courtyard to stand beneath her window and play. I play for hours, until my fingers bleed. Then I go inside and sit on my bed and think of as little as possible. I play chess with myself for hours. Then when dawn comes I sleep a few hours before going about my day. According to popular rumors (my staff) I am going more mad than my heavily pregnant wife.
The child comes early one sunny fall afternoon. I'm barely informed of the labor at midday, I collapse on the floor sobbing and praying. The phrase 'better deliver that child quickly for his sake' is floated somewhere around me, a lot. I lie there weeping and making a dozen deals with god to keep them both safe, for apparently two hours which people have the audacity to say is not a long labor.
People don't always come in based off the number of people who tell me that mother and child are resting. I think they're saying that. I can't hear anything and I may be unable to breathe.
Maud is sitting up in bed, sweaty and exhausted but blessedly alive. She's cradling the child wrapped in white clothes.
I come and collapse on the floor by her side, I still can't hear things or possibly speak. I always thought caring was painful. I'm not in pain I've just gone mad I think.
"We're fine, they said you weren't," Maud says, affectionately, "Come meet your daughter."
The baby is little, I don't recall seeing a child that small before. With rosy cheeks like her mum, entirely bald, skin red and blotchy. She's asleep now content in her mother's arms.
I kiss Maud's cheek and gently lay a hand on the child's chest.
"We're fine, she's strong," Maud smiles.
"She's perfect," I whisper, I can hear my voice shaking. I have a daughter. Nothing terrible is ever allowed to happen to her. "Thank you."
"Yeah she is isn't she?" Maud smiles.
They both sleep. I think I'm supposed to leave. I don't. I pace and watch them sleep. When the baby cries I stare at people till she's soothed. This happens twice till someone decides to put my nervous energy to use and sets the baby in my arms. Someone is Maud.
"If you're going to stand here scaring people when she cries talk to her she likes your voice," Maud says.
"I don't know how to hold babies," I say, holding my tiny daughter in my arms. She of course ceased crying and is staring up at me curiously.
"She thinks you do," Maud smiles, amused, "We have to name her."
I assumed that was her job. "I just thought a boy would be called Henry, that's all I thought of," I admit. I didn't want a boy but that was my single unused thought.
"Correct. Girls are usually called after the father's mother," Maud says.
"Okay," I say, as convincingly as possible.
Maud frowns, "So—,"
"I haven't slept in two weeks and I call her 'mother'," I say, defensively, "Ah—," she's french I have a decent shot at this. "I'm going with—,"
"Your mother's name is Blanche you should know that!"
"I do. Generally," I say, defensively.
"It's a pretty name. We can call her something else," she says.
"That's fine," I say, I don't care, "Or name it after you?"
"Next one after me," she says, lying down.
"Oh next one?" I laugh.
"Yeah someday. That one already likes you best."
I smile down at the child. Nothing terrible is allowed to happen to her. Nothing. My vigilant observations of how the nurses hold her borders on the obnoxious. They tell me this. I remind them I'm paying them they remind me that I sacked everyone else in northern England and that they are the only ones who passed my extensive interviews.
Maud and I are equally precious with our daughter so when she's cleaning and changing for bed or the like I'll go and mind the nursery. My daughter loves this, the nurses do not.
"Hello little love," I say, as the baby reaches her arms up at the sound of my voice. She already has tufts of soft red hair and her eyes are turning pale blue.
Maud comes in just when I'm reprimanding people for not fixing the baby's blankets the moment they were rumpled.
"She's fine. Henry she's really fine if her tiny sheets are bit wrinkled I'm also terrible but, she's fine," Maud says, taking our daughter who hopefully stretches out a fist for her mother.
"We don't know how this happened to my neck," I say, a bit quietly, "My mother said they laid me down wrong or held me wrong or something after I was born."
"Yes, and that's—okay I was thinking of a way to say this tactfully but this is my best—you were definitely dropped, or something equally damaging, as an infant," she says.
"What— really?" I ask, confused.
"Yes, Henry, think about it. Women in service will tie their babies to their chests or backs while they go about their day, and they'll sleep with them in their bed as well, and for the most part everyone is fine. She's not going to be permanently injured if someone holds her slightly crooked," Maud says.
That makes logical sense. I quickly begin to suppress any thoughts that are rising to explain my mother's confession.
"Maybe a nurse or your mother had you in bed and you fell out of it? Or your cradle broke? Plenty of things could have happened that she didn't bother to get into or maybe no nurse confessed so she let it go as you're fine," Maud points out, "I'm sure she and whoever was there were terribly upset of course but."
Or it wasn't completely accidental. I don't say that though.
"What if we're prone to it or something?" I ask, touching little Blanche's fist as she bats at me. The babe curls her chubby fingers around one of mine.
"Then you are, we're doing our best for her and she has very very good care. If her neck does start to tighten then that's not so terrible is it?" Maud asks, "You're essentially fine and we're better off you know how to abate pain or compensate."
"You're not worried?" I ask, quietly, "You wouldn't care if a child—looked like me?"
"No of course not. Also she already looks like you," Maud smiles.
She's right. In feature the little girl resembles her mother but she has my pale complexion and soon a head of bright red hair. She is a happy child, pleased with our attention and completely spoiled. One or the other of us is often holding her, and Maud will cuddle her in her own bed and nurse the child herself to get her to sleep. I know because I'll usually come in and sit with them. Some nights I read aloud. Some nights I'll go to the nursery and play the fiddle till the baby falls asleep. Mummy and papa are the child's first words, and nothing is too good for her, whatsoever, she has the finest toys, softest cloths for her bed and little dresses.
And just when I've actually begun to sleep again and not fear day and night, Maud gets upset primarily about my family.
"I think we need to circle back to where you genuinely thought your brother was going to come and do me an injury and how likely that is."
"Why are you in my room?" I ask, jumping and holding up a dagger before I realize it's her.
"And that gut reaction to your wife coming in your room."
"I mean I know why but I don't think about it or anything that happened between my birth and when our child was conceived why do you ask now?" I ask.
"How likely is—someone—to come after our baby?" Maud asks.
"I mean—in my head very that's why I check the nursery every two hours each night sometimes more if I can't sleep."
"She's never leaving this house," Maud says, crawling into bed next to me.
"Agreed," I say, kissing the top of her head, "See ,I thought I'd have to talk you into that."
"No, I agree now."
"Logically I'm no fun to abuse anymore. If I'm called to parliament I vote with Thomas, our mother isn't even in England, Thomas has his wife and Scots to torment, logically we're safe," I say.
My mother returns on a trip to England and Thomas goes to see her I wish her safe travels then get a summons to come and see her. Our little Blanche isn't yet two years old.
"Clearly too young to travel, I'll go alone," I say.
"Are you going to be all right alone?" Maud asks, "I'll come with you. I don't like you—going into that alone."
"Well I'm not taking Blanche to see them and I'll feel better you're here with her," I point out.
She concedes that but begs me to be careful.
"A few days. They're at Pontefract. I'll have supper and leave," I reason.
"If they ask about me I will be the bitch—it is fine. Use me. Say I won't let the little girl leave say I'm a shrew I truly don't care at all blame me all you want, say I demanded you home," she says.
I nod, "I may take you up on that."
"Just—try to ignore them. And come home to us," she says, kissing me.
"I shall," I smile for her.
I haven't been away from little Blanche that long and have a long chat with her about how I'll be back.
"I love my special girl so much. I will be home soon, I promise," I say, kissing the child's chubby cheeks.
"Papa don't cry," she says, patting my face with her tiny hands.
"Papa loves his perfect girl," I say, kissing her forehead. I don't want her to think I've abandoned her. And I haven't left her before. Maud follows my competent and probably obsessive recommendations for safety while I'm going, namely our usual no visitors rules.
I'm primarily thinking of our parting, and planning not to be mentally present the entire visit. I have a couple of chess games going simultaneously in my head by the time I arrive and am lead up in.
Thomas is practicing archery in the yard. I'm shown to join him. If I avoid it he'll ride me for that. I might as well get it over with.
"Little brother," Thomas smirks, "You didn't bring the wife?"
She has a name but I hardly want him speaking it. I know how to play him. I want to say how they are perfect. And that no I left her with our lovely little girl. I don't. Say nothing. Just play the game.
"No, not going to spend the money dragging her along," I say, dismissively.
"No son yet? Took you long enough and you only got a girl," Thomas purrs.
Oh I did not know how much I'd want to strike him for that. My face had better not betray me. I love my daughter. And we aren't particularly trying for another child. If it happens it happens we're in the habit of kissing in stairwells and sometimes out in the fields where no one can find us. We don't just need another child. We weren't trying for this child really not that we're opposed obviously. I think that's how normal people are.
I smile thinly that's the best I can do, "Time will tell."
"You'll be a proper person yet," Thomas says, setting down the crossbow, "Do you know why the old woman summoned us?"
"No, you talk to our mother more than I. She had to bring father's bones back to England. Said she'd see us I suppose she wants to see we're still alive," I say.
"I do believe the idea was you bring whatever child you managed to get," Thomas says.
"That wasn't explicitly stated," I say. I should add in something about not being worth dragging a daughter about. I can't. I like her. Maud's words echo in my mind. That we will stay safe. But we are not hiding. That's my legitimate child and heir unless we do happen to have a son that can then be the heir and take care of his sister. It's tradition and anyway then she doesn't have to fight any distant relatives over it or worry about marriage. I decided a few weeks ago while watching the baby sleep that I was not going to marry her to anyone ever. I'm also not committing her to the church.
"It was implied I should think, ah well. You get to explain it to her. We'll have supper soon," he looks up at the sun.
"Aye I'm leaving in the morning I have business in Leeds while I'm up," I say.
"What business?" He asks, "You don't do anything."
"Business of my wife not being about and needing rest and relaxation after this," I'm going to pick up some cloth I ordered for dresses for my girls (and somehow the ferret winds up dressed in scraps) and specifically some very soft velvet I got for toys for little Blanche, I paid some seamstresses to sew into cuddly little dolls for her. That's what I'm doing then I'm riding all night home.
"You do know you can keep whores at home and she can't do anything? That is an option?" Thomas says, disdainfully.
"This keeps her quiet," I say, "I'm not as bold as you."
"Working on it though, at least you got the child that's a start," he says, hand on my head, tipping it a bit painfully. I don't move away.
Our conversation is interrupted by a servant summoning us to our mother. We are equally confused. I know when Thomas is lying he's not lying he's suspicious I did something. I'm rightfully suspicious he did something. He's generally doing things it's a logical assumption. But him casting me suspicious glances means that he truly believes that I'm the one who did the thing this time.
Our mother calls us to a parlor. Just like when we were small children and had to come up and prove to her that we still lived. I haven't seen her in years I wonder how bad this is going to be.
Terrible.
Our mother is seated on a sofa, she looks older but no kinder, and regards us with barely a glance. Behind her stand two serving girls, clearly terrified, clearly crying their eyes out. Both are in the mid stages of a pregnancy.
"Well, would the pair of you care to explain exactly which one of you has been whoring with the staff here at Pontefract?" Our mother asks, by way of greeting.
I have never been here before. Unfortunately my first thought is that maybe she should know that.
Thomas replies, with no hesitation, there is no even awkward pause between what she said and what he chooses to say, "They're Henry's."
"What—me—?" I say, completely surprised. Not only are they not mine I've never seen these girls before in my life, it's his bloody house, and I haven't even fucking been here before in my life.
"Are they?" Our mother asks, looking at me.
Thomas looks at me with poison in his features. I'm taking the fall for this clearly. However unfortunately because nobody prepped me I'm clearly getting this information right now.
"Yes," I say, looking at Thomas in confirmation I'm doing it.
"I let him keep them here so that his shrew of a wife doesn't find out," Thomas says, lazily.
The girls are still sniffling, it's significant that they too are simply staring at him, the father of their children who they've been living in sin with.
Our mother rises and comes over to us. We're both taller than her now. She strikes my face, which I did expect.
"And you should not be helping him. He has a wife he can go to her, no wonder it took so long to have a child," our mother says, striking Thomas as well.
"Yes, mother," Thomas says.
"I'm just a man," I say.
"Become a better one," my mother says, walking to the door.
I stand there, my face stone.
The girls are still crying.
"Take them home with you. Show your wife. In two weeks time I will write to her and tell her. And when the bastards are born you will drown them," our mother says, from the door.
"Is that what you would do?" I ask, my stomach turning. The girls start sobbing afresh. I make a general subtle gesture to them that I am definitely not doing that. It doesn't work they aren't looking at me they're looking at the father, which is Thomas.
"I would do what needs to be done. You have a wife who can give you children go to her. If I hear of such behavior from either of you again it will be more than your face I'm striking. And more than your bastards I wish dead," and then she leaves.
Thomas slowly looks at me with murder in his eyes, "I speak your name and you say 'what me?'? This isn't what I've taught you. Clearly you've forgotten your lessons."
"You didn't prep me! You need me to take responsibility for bastards fine, but you have to prep me—nobody is drowning any children ladies calm down—-FUCK," I actually cry out because he strikes my head so that it should turn but it doesn't my neck is so stiff. I fall completely to the floor.
"They will be drown if you're not giving me sons I can use," Thomas snarls, standing over me.
I cower. Of course I do. I won't forget what he taught me. That there is no escape.
"Better," Thomas laughs. He moves to strike me again and I wince. He laughs harder.
"Okay let's go. Ladies come, we're going to go," I say, dragging myself painfully to my feet.
They look at Thomas in utter horror. If he doesn't allow it they can't make a move. I know how this works.
"They're staying here don't be stupid. If they bear boys I'll have use of them," Thomas snarls. I notice it's their fault if the children aren't boys and not his, but it's my fault I had a girl. I like my girl, but I'm noticing conflicting reasoning. I can't bring it up, but it's there.
"If they have girls, if one or both are girls, bring them to me. I'll have ladies in waiting for my daughter it matters little to me I already have one girl," I say, "We'll tell my wife it's mine she doesn't want me in her bed as it is she cares not."
Thomas shrugs, "As you will."
"I will," I look over at the girls. One nods a little, hand on her swollen belly. The other just weeps quietly.
Thomas kicks me in the shin, fully knocking me over again. I bite my lip to stop gasping in pain.
"You fought back once. You're not thinking of fighting back, now are you?" Thomas asks, dragging me up by my hair as he tries to straighten my neck, one hand on my shoulder. I cry out in pain of course my head barely moves.
"No," I whisper.
"Say it," Thomas says, tightening his grip on my hair, "Say it."
My voice trembles, "Please. Please, brother let me go."
"Say it again."
"Please," I whisper.
He kicks me in the groin. Incredibly hard. He's laughing, "See if you have children after that." He laughs harder, walking way.
The girls are crying. I'm leaning against the wall struggling not to cry. He likes it too much.
"Get out, now," Thomas says, "Both of you get on that sofa. My mother won't come back for hours."
The girls move to obey. I limp towards the door. I can't leave them. I also can't do them any good.
"If it is girls just send them to me," I can't walk fuck that hurt, "As you said I'll sire no more children now."
"You barely did to begin with," Thomas scoffs.
"Leicester Castle," I say, making eye contact with both girls as they shed their clothes for him.
I leave, limping down the stairs. I could go and see my mother. I don't. There's a weird anger burning in my chest. She believed him again. She left me with him again.
Riding is painful but I manage. My desire to go home overrides my desire not to be on the back of a horse. I get back to Leicester after dark, but Maud still comes to greet me with our daughter in her arms. I catch them both to me immediately, kissing their cheeks as tears run down my face.
"What happened?" Maud asks, hand to my cheek. I'm sure I'm bruised.
"My family. It's nothing," I say, as little Blanche wraps her arms around my neck. I kiss her soft red curls. "I'm well now. It was typical that's all."
"Okay," Maud says, leaning against me.
"Papa I missed you," Blanche whispers.
"I missed you too my angel, but it's late you should be in bed? I'll come read to you," I say.
She kisses my cheeks and puts her soft little face against my bruised neck.
We take the child up to bed and she drops off as I read a poem to her. Maud then wordlessly leads me back to her room. I'm fine kissing her but she wants to examine my injures and to know what 'typical' means.
"Just typical. My brother did this. My mother doesn't care. Thomas has some women he's having children with out of wedlock he told our mother they're mine so our mother's probably going to tell you don't believe her I said it because I had to because Thomas is himself. I told the girls they could come here especially if the children aren't boys there was talk of drowning them I don't know you know how I panic. Typical," I say.
"All right. Multiple points there—for one of course I wouldn't believe you had bastards somewhere you don't ever leave I always know where you are don't worry about that—,"
"Oh you're right," I nearly laugh.
"—for another YES bring them here don't leave them around your brother of course they can come here—,"
"I didn't want to say it without asking but yes I don't leave people around Thomas—,"
"Right right, for another WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE WAS TALK OF DROWNING CHILDREN?"
"Our mother said to drown the bastards. And Thomas said he'd do it if it was girls," I say, "That's again rather typical of them they don't even like me."
"Being typical of them is still incredibly terrible," Maud says, dabbing one of my bruises with a damp cloth. I don't think that will make it better.
"You'd care even my brother's bastards or—which is not at all possible—mine?" I ask.
"Yes, Henry. In a completely fictional world where you not only leave this castle but talk to someone else and have children, no, the child didn't do anything. No child asked to be brought into this world," she says, horrified. And now she's completely upset. This is why I don't talk.
"I'd never betray you," I say, taking her hand, "You need to know that."
"I do know that. I'm upset at your family's reaction not with you—I mean I'd be hurt yes but," she sighs, holding my hand.
"I won't see them again, just stay here in Leicester," I say, rubbing her hand, "Eh? Never leave."
"You may have to see them again. But I'm coming with you," she says, "I don't want you doing that alone."
"I know how to handle them," I say.
She sighs, touching the bruise on my face, "Did he do something to your neck?"
"Yeah he twists my head if he's truly cross somehow he knows how much it hurts," I say.
She has tears in her eyes.
"No weeping for me. I'm fine. I've got you," I say, resting my head on her shoulder, "I'm so glad I have you."