Well Deserved

England, 1502.

I smashed my lute into Sir Wauter's face, producing a haunting melody through the hall, startling even the portraits on the wall. Outrageous! My face didn't twist like a rat during my performance, as he claimed in front of the entire court.

A collective gasp and murmur arose as I dropped the instrument and gracefully departed. My father rose and apologised to Sir Wauter and his parents before rushing after me.

I entered my chambers and slammed the door shut. I removed my white gloves and poured a glass of wine. Standing in front of the fireplace, I drew a profound, satisfying breath. My father stormed in, his voice boomed like thunder, as I expected.

"I invited the richest man in all of York to seek a suitable husband for you, and you attacked him! When are you going to start comporting like a lady and fulfilling your responsibilities?"

"Oh, please, father, he was nineteen. He's too young for me. Find me a gentleman of tall stature, over thirty. Someone who can match my intelligence."

"Elizabeth, you are almost twenty-five. None seek an aged maid!"

"Shouldn't we be focused on emphasising our ability to lead ethical lives of personal fulfilment that contribute to the greater good?"

My father continued to lecture me about my duty and the importance of marriage. But men were not the key to my happiness or fulfilment.

Only two weeks later, my father had me playing dress-up again. One of my ladies in waiting informed me this particular Spanish gentleman had lost his nose in a battle and had a disease, which he recovered from.

His carriage arrived, and he had dinner with my parents. As the sun lazily made its descent, I found myself face-to-face with him in the front yard, by the gurgling fountain. Our parents stood on the balcony, watching us. A band of musicians were positioned in the garden of roses, playing their sweet melodies as we conversed. The Spanish gentleman, Lucas, was stylish, but he seemed brainless. His blue eyes distracted from his absent nose.

"My ladies informed me that you were ill a few months ago. Was it syphilis?"

"Ay, Dios mio, no no. It was a severe case of the flu."

"Are you better?"

"I am quite well now, milady."

"Here in England, we consume the blood of others to remain in good health. Is that a practice in your country?"

"Why, no. We do no such thing. We merely pray, rest, and eat well."

"Would you like to try it? You might find it serves as a cure for any lingering ailments."

"What do you propose?"

"Come to my chambers."

I winked at him and walked off.

He came to my chambers, and I blew out some of the candles to craft an intimate ambiance. I stood next to my bed and unfastened my gown's lacings. He bit his lips and shuffled closer. I felt his eyes burning into my skin.

I approached the bathtub filled with warm water and fragrant oils, with a bucket nearby.

"Are you ready?"

He nodded. I lifted my gown and retrieved my bloodied cloth. His eyes widened, and he gulped. I immersed the cloth in the water-filled pail and wrung it. He inched backward asI dipped a goblet into the crimson water and presented it to him.

His back hit the door, and tremors coursed through him. Staring at me, his fingers nervously fumbled to locate the doorknob. I beheld his swift escape down the hall, vanishing from sight, and I chuckled.

Moments later, a carriage graced the front of the mansion, and he ushered his parents inside. Their coachman hurriedly helped load their luggage. My parents rushed after them, confused and bewildered. I heaved my window open, only to catch Lucas screaming, "Witch!" as they left.

The next morning, I sat at my dresser. One of my ladies in waiting brushed my golden blond hair, while another adorned my pale, thin lips with a thick layer of red pigment. After they had finished, I opened my jewellery box and pulled out my most prized possession: the family heirloom passed down through generations. Upon reaching 17 years—the age of betrothal—my mother bestowed it upon me. My fingers grazed the gilded locket, embedded with a ruby at its centre and delicate pearls encrusted along the borders. Only once was the owner allowed to open the locket and place their written wish inside.

My father barged in, startling me and the ladies. Three of his lords in waiting followed behind with luggage.

"Father, what is the meaning of this?"

"Quickly now! Hurry, hurry!" my father yelled.

The lords in waiting opened my closets, pulled out my clothes, and began folding them into the luggage. My ladies in waiting followed the lords and gathered my shoes, jewellery, and other belongings.

"Father!"

"You, my dear, are going on a journey. Your mother and I have had enough of your extravagant spending and frivolous behaviour. It is time for you to seek a nobler purpose in life. You're going to France to stay with your uncle, Anthony, the Count of Ligny. And let no further utterance pass thy lips!"

I had no voice in the affair. My father wielded great influence as a nobleman, and his word was law. France was an unfamiliar country to me, yet my uncle lacked virtue. The French were a proud and wild people.

I walked to my carriage—my ladies were waiting, and the guards were ready to depart.

"Are you sure you don't want to leave your precious necklace behind? I promise to take care of it," my sister, Marie, begged. She always admired it. I often found her in my room, gazing at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

"Fear not; all shall be well."

I bid everyone farewell, and we set forth to France.