house, no land, no name.’
Mary sat up straight, chin jutting forward. ‘Townley is a fine name.’
Heavens but the child’s heart was loyal. Most inconvenient. ‘You are not so simple as that, Mary.You know what I mean. The name brings nothing with it.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘No, not now. And why should you? But you will care soon enough – when the babes come. They must be fed, clothed, kept warm and safe.’
Mary folded her arms across her chest. ‘I shall marry no one but Ned.’
Alice shook her head at the girl’s stubbornness. ‘We shall see about that.’
‘You would treat me as your uncles treated you? You would make me a whore?’
Alice slapped Mary’s face. ‘You do not win an argument with insults. Now get to your chores. I cannot abide slothfulness.’
A whore. Did Mary hear nothing? Alice meant to find a good husband for Mary, not a royal lover.
It was early evening, a time Mary saved for chores that required either thought or space, as Cecily and Isabeau accompanied Mistress Alice to the great hall for supper. The silence of this time of day was a particular blessing. Cecily and Isabeau could not abide silence; they filled any room they inhabited with incessant chatter and the rustle of their lovely clothes as they paced, fidgeted, rearranged, fussed. Ned had often kept Mary company during these quiet hours while she completed her chores, entertaining her with tales of his life of action. Mary must not think of that now, for thoughts of Ned churned up the sea of emotion she was trying to ignore while she finished her work.
Tonight Mary was rearranging Mistress Alice’s gowns and shifts in the wide, shallow chest that allowed the gowns to be laid flat. The contents had shifted when the chest had been moved a few daysbefore. Mary shook out the shifts and shawls, folded them with care and stacked them on a bench; then, one at a time, she lifted the gowns of softest wool, silk, and velvet out of the chest and arranged them on Mistress Alice’s bed. Then one by one she returned the gowns to the chest, lovingly smoothing them with her hands. On top she placed the folded linens, shawls, and stockings.
All the while Mary had been thinking about her plan. Now she knelt down and prayed for courage. It was a brief prayer. She must not dally, else Mistress Alice might return before she was away.
Mary gathered some clothes and sundries and put them in a leather pack. She moved quickly with an efficiency born of Mistress Alice’s frequent impulsive decisions to leave court and move to her house in town. For protection, Mary took the knife Ned had given her, an elegant weapon with an ivory hilt that arched into the neck of a swan. She tucked the knife into her girdle; she wanted it quick to hand in case of trouble. Tonight she was travelling only the length of the King’s castle, but it was dark, and Daniel’s death was on her mind. Best to have a weapon handy.
Now she was ready. Donning her cloak, she bid a silent farewell to her comfortable life and slipped out into the dimly lit corridor.
As she left the protection of the building, Mary pulled up the hood of her cloak and hugged her pack to her for extra warmth. The knife pressed against her hip, giving her a sense of security. Her plan was to stay concealed in Ned’s old room until dawn, then hide near the gate and wait for a party of servants or merchants to mask her departure through the castle gate. She had once thus escaped the castle to meetNed down on the Thames; it should not be difficult. There was nothing about her appearance to call attention to herself. The journey beyond Windsor would be more difficult, but it was her only hope – to make her way to Lucie Wilton’s apothecary in York, where she knew she would be safe until Ned returned.
Mary stood uncertainly in the dark courtyard of the upper ward, wondering how best to sneak down into the lower ward. To her right loomed the motte and bailey of the Round Tower and the gate
Mary sat up straight, chin jutting forward. ‘Townley is a fine name.’
Heavens but the child’s heart was loyal. Most inconvenient. ‘You are not so simple as that, Mary.You know what I mean. The name brings nothing with it.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘No, not now. And why should you? But you will care soon enough – when the babes come. They must be fed, clothed, kept warm and safe.’
Mary folded her arms across her chest. ‘I shall marry no one but Ned.’
Alice shook her head at the girl’s stubbornness. ‘We shall see about that.’
‘You would treat me as your uncles treated you? You would make me a whore?’
Alice slapped Mary’s face. ‘You do not win an argument with insults. Now get to your chores. I cannot abide slothfulness.’
A whore. Did Mary hear nothing? Alice meant to find a good husband for Mary, not a royal lover.
It was early evening, a time Mary saved for chores that required either thought or space, as Cecily and Isabeau accompanied Mistress Alice to the great hall for supper. The silence of this time of day was a particular blessing. Cecily and Isabeau could not abide silence; they filled any room they inhabited with incessant chatter and the rustle of their lovely clothes as they paced, fidgeted, rearranged, fussed. Ned had often kept Mary company during these quiet hours while she completed her chores, entertaining her with tales of his life of action. Mary must not think of that now, for thoughts of Ned churned up the sea of emotion she was trying to ignore while she finished her work.
Tonight Mary was rearranging Mistress Alice’s gowns and shifts in the wide, shallow chest that allowed the gowns to be laid flat. The contents had shifted when the chest had been moved a few daysbefore. Mary shook out the shifts and shawls, folded them with care and stacked them on a bench; then, one at a time, she lifted the gowns of softest wool, silk, and velvet out of the chest and arranged them on Mistress Alice’s bed. Then one by one she returned the gowns to the chest, lovingly smoothing them with her hands. On top she placed the folded linens, shawls, and stockings.
All the while Mary had been thinking about her plan. Now she knelt down and prayed for courage. It was a brief prayer. She must not dally, else Mistress Alice might return before she was away.
Mary gathered some clothes and sundries and put them in a leather pack. She moved quickly with an efficiency born of Mistress Alice’s frequent impulsive decisions to leave court and move to her house in town. For protection, Mary took the knife Ned had given her, an elegant weapon with an ivory hilt that arched into the neck of a swan. She tucked the knife into her girdle; she wanted it quick to hand in case of trouble. Tonight she was travelling only the length of the King’s castle, but it was dark, and Daniel’s death was on her mind. Best to have a weapon handy.
Now she was ready. Donning her cloak, she bid a silent farewell to her comfortable life and slipped out into the dimly lit corridor.
As she left the protection of the building, Mary pulled up the hood of her cloak and hugged her pack to her for extra warmth. The knife pressed against her hip, giving her a sense of security. Her plan was to stay concealed in Ned’s old room until dawn, then hide near the gate and wait for a party of servants or merchants to mask her departure through the castle gate. She had once thus escaped the castle to meetNed down on the Thames; it should not be difficult. There was nothing about her appearance to call attention to herself. The journey beyond Windsor would be more difficult, but it was her only hope – to make her way to Lucie Wilton’s apothecary in York, where she knew she would be safe until Ned returned.
Mary stood uncertainly in the dark courtyard of the upper ward, wondering how best to sneak down into the lower ward. To her right loomed the motte and bailey of the Round Tower and the gate
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