Chapter XIII

The Devil's Grip

When Bess awoke it was not yet dawn. Pulling a thick woollen blanket around her shoulders she slunk over to the window to watch the creamy moonlight filtering across the palace gardens. It was something she had done so many times over her months at court but tonight there was something different. The first time she had curled up in that window seat and gazed out into the silvery darkness it had all seemed so magical; the crust of the grass had looked like powdered icing sugar, the surface of the lake shimmered like a shard of polished glass. Now the grass was just grass, the lake was just a lake, the moon was just the moon. It wasn't until much later that the girl would realise why the world seemed strange that night; her surroundings hadn't lost their magic, it was she who had lost something. She had lost her innocence and the world would never look the same again. Bess' eyes itched, and she rubbed angrily at the tears forming there. She swallowed the lump in her throat and dragged the blanket tighter around her body. There was little point trying to get back to sleep. Bess felt a surprising urge to cry as she sat down; the place between her legs was an aching knot of pain. Carefully she pulled up her nightdress and surveyed the streaking, dried blood and finger-shaped bruises mottling the insides of her thighs. All the ecstasy and lust which had consumed her so entirely just a few hours earlier was gone, leaving Bess all alone with the pain and the shame and the confusion. She had whored herself and given her virginity to a man that was not her husband. The smell of his touch was still plastered all over her skin; nauseating and delicious at the same time. She had gotten what she wanted, hadn't she? Bess nibbled at her swollen, red-stained lips, ignoring the sharpness of her teeth, as she considered what had happened. From the first moment that she had seen Edward Seymour she had felt that undeniable stirring in the pit of her stomach, she had wanted him. So why did she feel so dirty, so used? She closed her eyes and imagined his face, the way he groaned as he finished inside her, the dark animalistic desire glinting in his eyes. Her skin tingled at the thought of it.

He still wants me, he said it himself. Bess thought, and if I am already a sinner, already damaged goods, already a slut…what is the harm in continuing? Be it one sin or a thousand sins, Hell still awaited. If it was already too late for my soul's salvation…surely there was no reason not to continue sinning.

No. Her mother had raised her better than that.

Bess interlocked her fingers, closed her eyes and for the first time in a long while she prayed. She pushed away the thought of Lord Hertford's face and focused on the ornate golden cross that hung above the alter in their village church.

Cleanse me of these sinful thoughts, Lord push away the Devil's grip.

After many moments of muttering to the Lord God, Bess fell once again into a state of fitful dreaming. Morning came swiftly, and the day's work seemed so much harder with the throbbing between her legs, but soon enough Bess was alone in her bed attempting to find sleep once more. Almost a week passed in this same way and Bess had still not been summoned to lay with her master again. The tangible disappointment she felt was inexplicable. She fretted over it more often than she would care to admit, worrying herself stupid that he had already become bored with her. Perhaps he was only excited by virgins and now that he had deflowered her she was useless to him. Bess didn't dare seek out Richard's comforting embrace, she had not given him an answer yet and she couldn't bring herself to deny such a sweet proposal. In her heart Bess knew that marrying Richard was the better option for her. They would move back to somewhere like her hometown to live quiet lives and raise a squalling brood of children. Perhaps Bess would wear the scent of lavender and teach her daughters how to sew by the fire, just like her mother had. Richard would take some labouring job to support them and when he returned, aching and exhausted, she would rub his shoulders and fetch his ale for him. It would be a simple life, probably even a happy one, but it would never be enough. Now that the sweet, spiced nectar of court life had touched her tongue Bess knew nothing else would ever satisfy her. She wanted diamonds and fine gowns and dinners with endless courses. She wanted a cloak with a real fur collar and servants of her own. But more than anything Bess wanted Edward Seymour.

"Has my husband tasted you yet?" Bess jumped in surprise and nearly dropped the polished cutlery in her hand. Lady Anne leant nonchalantly in the doorway of the dining room; her fingers folded neatly over a sweeping gown embroidered with purple thread. Her wedding band glinted on one finger. "Answer me." Her head tilted in irritation. It irked the Countess to be kept waiting. Bess swallowed as she laid down the crockery and turned to face her mistress.

"Yes, my Lady."

Lady Anne raised an eyebrow. "Just once?"

"Yes, just once." Bess fought to control the embarrassment and anger rising up inside her. She knew how much her mistress would be enjoying this, enjoying her debasement.

"Hmm, it appears my Lord husband has tired of you already." The Countess mused and the corner of her mouth quirked. The crofter's daughter pushed down the burning urge to smack the smugness clean off Lady Anne's face. The older woman twisted her wedding ring around her slender finger. "Isabelle is very pretty is she not?"

"She is, my Lady."

"Perhaps my Lord husband would prefer her company, since it seems you are now simply...what is that expression, used goods?"

Bess' cheeks were burning with humiliation and she could feel tears edging their way into her eyes. But she refused to cry in front of her mistress, the degradation would be too much. The girl gritted her teeth and spat out the words that she knew Lady Anne wanted to hear. "I apologise that I was not more satisfactory, my Lady."

"Pity." Then the Countess swept from the apartments, skirts rustling, and Bess was left alone with her anger.

Isabelle, bless her innocent heart, was blissfully unaware of the tug of war taking place in the Seymour apartments. As the two girls scrubbed the floors of the dining room that afternoon, Isabelle chattered away about anything and everything. Bess wasn't listening, in fact she hadn't been aware her friend was even talking, until Isabelle's well aimed throw slapped a wet thistle-brush against her side.

"Bessie, did you hear me?"

"What?" Bess sat back on her heels and dropped her brush into the bucket of soppy water tiredly. She tried to concentrate on something other than the ache in her knees.

"Where is your mind today?" Isabelle flashed her straight, white teeth teasingly. Her smile was much prettier than that of the Crofter's daughter. Perhaps Lady Anne was right and Isabelle would be more suited to ensnare Edward Seymour; she was well-bred after all, a proper woman. Bess pushed down the stab of jealousy she felt. "I asked if you wished to borrow a gown for the masquerade ball this evening? You simply must look your best for Richard." Richard. Bess swallowed guiltily. She hadn't told Isabelle about the proposal (or the scandalous undressing which came afterwards) because she would never be able to explain why she couldn't accept such a sweet and earnest offer.

"I do not think I will attend," Bess glanced away, dipped her brush into the bucket and re-started scrubbing. The cogs of her mind turned. The many, many tactics of court manipulation flickered across her brain in quick succession. Bess decided on her course of action and then sighed dramatically, faux-sadly. "I just do not feel up to it."

"Whatever is the matter, love?"

Bess sighed again, internally rolling her eyes, and placed down her scrubbing brush. "Richard is…involved with someone. I thought, for just a moment, that we may have had something special…but sadly, it was not to be." Because I stripped naked, spread my legs and let my employer have his dirty way with me.

Isabelle pressed a hand to her heart. "How heart-breaking."

"Yes, it was very difficult."

"He seemed so fond of you."

"Perhaps I misread the situation," Bess shook her head self-pityingly. "but I feel utterly embarrassed…and I do not think I feel up to the ball."

"Nonsense," Isabelle replied easily. "It is his loss. You have turned plenty of heads during your time at court, another worthy man will come along soon enough. Besides it will be fun, we should go together."

Knowing that the blonde wouldn't let the subject go, Bess smiled mildly. "I will promise to go to the ball, if you promise that you will not say a word to Richard and you help me avoid him."

Isabelle tossed her braid over one shoulder and giggled. "I believe that is a fair deal."

That should save me some trouble.

The girls continued with their scrubbing in comfortable quietness. Bess focused on the regimented back-and-forth of her brush instead of the lie she had just told. It really was becoming too easy to manipulate those around her. Perhaps she should have felt concerned, but in truth, Bess was a little proud. She had learned more at court than how to lace a corset properly; given another few years Bess might have gained everything she wanted in life through her wiles alone.

Later that evening after the girls had dressed their mistress in a rustling peach gown and jewelled face mask, Isabelle and Bess were alone in the apartments for the first time. They danced around in their petticoats and giggled and sorted through the available gowns. Eventually Isabelle selected the same pale blue that she had worn on the day they arrived at court. She looked as beautiful as she always did, and Bess' stomach churned with unwanted jealousy once more.

"I thought you could wear this one." Isabelle presented a black silk and golden brocade gown with a flourish. "It would suit your hair favourably."

"It is so fine, Isa. I couldn't."

"You can and you will. Come now let me fix your hair." Isabelle tutted as she brushed out Bess' curls. "You really must take better care of yourself Bessie, this hair is truly a mess." The dark-haired girl rolled her eyes good-naturedly. It was better to stay silent than to fight Isabelle on matters of fashion. "I mean really Bess, could you not take a comb to this every now and then?"

"I apologise your Majesty."

"You should apologise." Isabelle slapped the top of Bess' head with the back of her hairbrush and laughed. "Give me time to work in peace and perhaps I can make you look half presentable."

After a while Bess asked, "Will you wear a mask this evening?"

"Yes and so will you, I had two commissioned."

"Does your organisation know no bounds?"

"Thankfully not, it is after all one of my stronger suits."

"I do imagine that it is."

"There," Isabelle proclaimed. "Finished." She handed Bess a black velvet mask embroidered with golden thread. "Now put this on, we have a ball to attend."

As they entered the great hall Bess' heart was thudding against her chest cavity. Lord Hertford would undoubtedly be there (probably with his beautiful and elegant wife) and the thought of seeing him made her blood pump faster through her body. The hall looked so beautiful that it took her breath away; fresh candles flickered upon the heavy cut-glass chandeliers, servants circled the room with trays of champagne flutes and fruit, glorious bouquets of roses decorated every available surface. It was decadent and intoxicating. Bess plucked a glass of champagne from a roving serving man and sipped it anxiously.

"Shall we dance?"

"Go ahead, Isa. I will join you later."

The blonde melted away into the ever-moving crowd and Bess leaned against a pillar to watch the festivities in silence. Her eyes shifted from face to face until she spotted the one person she was looking for.

There he is.

Lord Hertford was surrounded by his peers, the most influential and powerful men in the English parliament. Even when he appeared so uninterested he managed to look handsome and regal. He, like many of the important men, had deigned not to wear a mask. It seemed to be mainly women that had hidden their faces. Perhaps they felt the need to be mysterious. Bess drank the rest of her champagne and motioned to a servant to refill her glass. All she wanted to do was get drunk, to dance, to feel a man's hands on her. The mask she wore made her feel dangerous, made her feel seductive, and suddenly Bess understood why so many other women in the room had covered their faces. It made them feel empowered. Shaking her head, Bess resolved to fight the urge to accost her employer no matter how much alcohol she consumed. Her mind flitted back to the alcove that she and Richard had occupied just a week ago and she felt the burning urge to drag Lord Hertford there and rip his clothes off. Bess sipped her drink carefully as she watched the dancing. Isabelle twirled and spun like a natural, her golden hair glimmering in the candle light. The crofter's daughter wondered what it would was like to be her; to have a father than honoured and adored you, to be awarded fine gowns, to be fawned over by any man with a decent sense of sight. She truly was a lucky young woman. Bess' mind drifted back to her own family. She was the youngest of nine; five sons and 4 daughters, who all lived together under a tiny, badly-thatched roof that leaked in the winter. It was difficult to remember any time of plenty in that house; her mother had done everything in her power to provide, but at the end of the day her father's wages couldn't have stretched to four children let alone nine. Times were hard and winters cold, but now…now Bess stood in the Great Hall of the King's palace surrounded by every influential person in England. Alcohol flowed freely, and the food was unnecessarily rich. Bess thought of her father with his hunched back and salt-and-pepper hair still toiling in the fields and it saddened her. All her sisters had married and moved away, her brothers had taken jobs or taken wives, and there was no one left to look after their dear father. He was all alone. Bess' mind summoned Richard once more. If they married they could move back to her hometown in the frigid North, she could care for her father and her husband simultaneously. Perhaps she could cook the vegetable soup the same way her mother used to. Her father would like that.

"My, my, you look…delicious."

Bess' spine stiffened. A spindly finger ran the length of her bare throat. She turned slowly and soaked in Thomas Seymour's smirking face. "My Lord." She curtsied respectfully.

"Let us dispose of the pretence, shall we?"

"What pretence do you speak of, my Lord?"

"The tension that is so blatant between us." Unlike many of the distinguished men in the room Thomas had decided to put on a mask for the ball. He was clearly a lesser man than his brother. Bess' eyes flickered down to his crooked, self-indulgent smirk. There were the marks of red wine on his lips and teeth and he was clearly intoxicated. He ran the pad of his thumb across Bess' bottom lip before he continued. "You and I…we should lay together. I want you, you want me…."

"My Lord, you mistake me."

"No, no, no...no. I do not believe I have. I desire you and Iwill have you."

Bess shrank away from his grasp in horror. "No, my Lord."

"Do not disrespect me, girl. I am your better. You will do as I ask."

Bess steadied her nerves. "You are not my master, sir, and I am not obliged to fulfil your needs. This is entirely inappropriate." She tried to slink away but his hand clasped the crook of her arm in a steely grip, his fingers digging into her flesh painfully. Bess' skin paled several shades beneath her mask. "Please remove your hand." She implored; careful not to overstep her station but too frightened to remain silent.

"You listen to me, girl, I will not ask twice." Thomas growled. "Give yourself to me or I will take what I want by force."

"That is quite sufficient, my Lord." The voice of Lady Anne sliced through the tension, quietly, frostily. Thomas turned and regarded his sister-by-law's steely composure with irritation. She took a step closer, her dark eyes glittering dangerously, and continued in a low, serious voice. "If my Lord husband was not abundantly clear during your conversation yesterday, allow me to reiterate. Our family is on the precipice of absolute influence and I shall not allow your dastardly behaviour to put our position in any risk. Remove your hand from my servant and then remove yourself from this hall, you have more than sufficiently humiliated yourself this evening."

Thomas Seymour's gaze shifted from his sister-by-law's icy expression to the trembling farm girl several times before he did as she asked. He pointed a finger at Lady Anne as a warning, though he didn't dare raise his voice at her. "Do not mistake yourself for my mistress, woman." Then he stalked from the hall and Bess exhaled a breath she hadn't realised she was holding.

"My L-"

"Enough, Bess." Lady Anne's gaze shifted to her. "If you embarrass my family name in such a manner again, it will be your very last day in this palace." The woman looked her up and down in disgust. "Remove yourself from my sight immediately."

Bess did as she asked, bowing her head as she walked. Her heart was still beating too quickly, and her cheeks were tinged pink with embarrassment. She disappeared into the cool dimness of the hallway and leaned against the wall to think. In all honesty Thomas Seymour frightened her. The thought of him forcing his sour, red-wine stained tongue into her mouth turned her stomach. Bess wrung her hands in despair. Lady Anne had protected her once, but what about the next time? What would happen if he found her alone in the Hertford apartments? He would make her suffer for keeping him waiting. The pain had been terrible with Edward and she had wanted him, Bess couldn't imagine how much it would hurt to have sex forced upon you. She seriously wondered if she should inform her master. But more likely than not he wouldn't care, or worse still he could award her body to his brother like a prize for good behaviour.

Court was dangerous. Power was dangerous. Sex was dangerous.

Bess had never truly appreciated how vulnerable she was until that moment. Her safety depended on the whims of a man she hardly knew. She was utterly and completely powerless. Then, out of nowhere, Bess made a decision that would change the course of her life. She would never be entirely safe at court, nor would she be safe while associated with Edward Seymour, so there was only one reasonable solution.

Richard.