The Shadow Queen: The Sunday Times bestselling book – a must read for Summer 2018. Anne O'Brien
spoke calmly, with faux assurance.
‘I cannot marry William. I am already married. I already have a husband.’
If I had ever dreamed of making an impact on a busy room, this was it. Silence fell. The only sound the priest, who, still writing, promptly dropped his pen with a soft flutter to land on the birds and flowers that adorned the painted tiles. I watched the expressions form and change. My mother astounded, then full of recrimination. My uncle expressing disbelief quickly subsumed into fury. Lady Elizabeth and her daughter-in-law both simply perplexed. The priest also full of anxious puzzlement. The servants with their silver flagons and ears pricked for any tasty morsel had been struck into immobility. And Will – William! – full of unholy joy at the debacle I had just created.
‘You should know,’ I added, ‘that I have been married for more than six months. Since April of this year.’
‘You do not know what you say.’
My mother took one long step to seize my wrist in her hand. It was not a gentle grasp.
‘But I do know, madam. And I have witnesses to my marriage.’
‘And who is this husband, of whom we know nothing?’ My uncle Wake, his brow thunderous.
I must of course tell them.
‘My husband is Thomas Holland. Sir Thomas Holland. A knight in the royal household. You all know him well.’
And in that moment a species of black anger shook me. For my husband of six months had wilfully abandoned me to face this situation alone.
A hot barrage of question, denial and opinion was levelled at me from mother and uncle, all of which I attempted to answer as Countess Catherine had the good sense to shut the servants out of the chamber, relieving them first of the wine.
‘What possesses you to make so outrageous a claim?’
‘It is no mere claim. It is the truth.’
‘And you have said nothing? All these months?’
‘We thought it would be politic to say nothing, until Sir Thomas returns from the war.’
‘This is naught but a mess of lies, Joan. Have you no sense of morality?’
To which I would not respond.
‘An exchange of foolhardy kisses and foolishly romantic promises, I expect.’
It was more than that. Far more. I thought it was not wise to say so. Countess Catherine was simply looking from one to the other. Lady Elizabeth hid her mouth with gnarled hands. Will smirked.
‘This gets us nowhere.’ Finally my mother raised her hands and her voice in exasperation. ‘Speak to her, Father Oswald. We need to know the truth.’
The priest thus beckoned, so that we moved a little away to the end of the chamber where our only audience was from the stitched birds and hunting dogs, all keen eyes, teeth and claws which seemed uncommonly prescient. He bent his head, his tone a holy reprimand although his eyes were kind. I had known him since I had known anyone in my mother’s household. I might even hope for compassion here, unless he lectured me on the penalty for sin. He held a parchment and the recovered pen as if to note down all my foolishness that made my claim invalid.
‘My daughter. You must indeed tell me the truth, as if you were in confession. Come now, no one can hear us. I am sure that you are mistaken. What has this young man said to you, that makes you think that you are wed?’
It was so easy to answer.
‘He asked me to be his wife. And I agreed.’
‘But there were no banns called, no priest to give his blessing. How can this be so, then, that you think that you are his wife?’
I knew exactly how it could be so.
‘We made our vows together. We were married because we expressed a wish to marry. We spoke them aloud and there are witnesses to it. Thomas said it would be legal and I know that it is.’
He looked at me, worry on his brow, and lowered his voice further. ‘Were you forced, my dear? You must say if you were. There would be no blame on your head if it was against your will, persuaded by an ambitious young man against your better judgement.’ The tips of his fingers touched my cheek in compassion. ‘Was that the case?’
I thought about the wedding. There had been no force at all. I had been a willing bride.
‘No, Father. There was no compulsion. He did not have to persuade me.’
‘What did you say to this young man?’
I thought back over the six months, and repeated as nearly as I could recall, what I had said to Thomas and what he had said to me.
‘Ah ...!’ Father Oswald nodded.
‘It is legal, is it not, Father?’ I asked as he fell into an uncomfortable line of thought, his face falling into even graver lines.
Upon which he flushed. ‘It could well be. But… ‘ He hesitated, then said, more brightly: ‘But, of course. There is another matter to be considered for true legality. The matter of consummation. Without this, there is no marriage at all, my dear girl, no matter what vows were spoken.’
My gaze was steady on his, admitting no embarrassment. ‘Our marriage is consummated.’
‘Are you certain? You are barely of an age to be wed.’ His cheeks were aflame. ‘It may be that you are not quite aware of what…’
‘Yes, Father. I am certain. I am well aware of what is required for consummation and it is more than a quick kiss. And I am of an age to be wed.’
Father Oswald fretted, his fingers tearing at the quill so that it was all but destroyed. He had written nothing. ‘Even so… Your lady mother will not like this. For all sorts of reasons.’ He looked back over his shoulder, to where my mother and uncle were in deep conversation with a distraught Countess of Salisbury, and Will looking merely bored. ‘Where is he now, the young man in question?’
‘Fighting somewhere in Europe. When I last heard.’
There was a faint easing of the consternation.
‘And you have not heard from him for six months?’
‘No, Father.’
‘So it may well be that…’
I did not want to guess at what he was thinking. Six months of silence from a man engaged in warfare could mean any number of things. Mentally I swept them aside, for it was a path my mind had long followed of late.
‘Sir Thomas assured me that the vows were binding,’ was all I would say. ‘He assured me that I am his wife.’
‘I am afraid that I agree with him.’ The priest sighed, took me by the hand and led me back to the lowering group who had resorted to finishing the flagon of wine.
‘Well?’ My mother faced us, demanding and expecting a retraction.
‘She speaks the truth, my lady,’ Father Oswald pronounced with all the authority of Holy Mother Church invested in him. ‘She and the young knight are married. Not in the manner that the Holy Father would smile on, but it is a lawful union and it is in my mind that it will stand up as such in any court.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘It is so, my lady.’ The priest was proud to display his erudition dropping into impressive Latin. ‘A marriage per verba de praesenti.’ He was nervous but pursuing, sure of his legal grounds. ‘The young people expressed their intentions. In the present tense you understand, and before witnesses. I regret but it is a binding union.’ He turned his regard to me. ‘Who are the witnesses, Mistress Joan? You did