Tudor Pavanne: A Change in Status

Since no one could think of any reason to delay, John and Belle had their wedding a bare week later, a tiny, private affair with only three invited guests to witness, one of whom didn't even show up – Henry, of course. As Catherine, standing in for Belle's family, gave the King's excuses as graciously as only she could, John shot his bride a tiny grimace, and she sighed, squeezing his arm sympathetically. At least he played his part to perfection, as he always did whenever in public, and never gave anyone the least hint that the marriage wasn't as real and enthusiastically engaged in as any. Belle did her best to match his acting, and thought she did all right.

She got a jolt just before the ceremony, when the couple were shown to the tiny confessional one at a time; she'd completely forgotten about that requirement. John gallantly deferred, so she winked at him and entered the box, pulling the curtain closed and kneeling on the tiny penitent's bench.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," she began without thinking, relying on her twenty-first century vernacular and vague memories of childhood mass attendance for camouflage. "It's been about... five hundred years till my last confession." She smothered a grin for her humor, and was about to launch in to a silly tale of tiny, imagined sins when she was interrupted.

"Señorita?" The priests voice was sharp and unforgiving. Glancing up in surprise, she saw two piercing black eyes lancing back through the woven screen, and gasped – inhaling the faint scent of incense and oranges that inevitably accompanied the Queen's own confessor, Fray Diego.

What is HE doing here? He was the last person, aside from the monarchs themselves, whom she wanted to cross or make suspicious. "Oh... forgive me, Father. My poor English..." She made a show of thinking of the correct words. "It is five... five days." Not needing to feign nervousness, she "confessed" to losing her temper twice, and having impure thoughts about her future husband, being sure to sprinkle a few "foreign" (Pig Latin again) words into the recital. The friar seemed to accept this as reasonable, only admonishing her to give her full attention to her wifely duties from that day forward. She thanked him, crossed herself rapidly, and scooted out of the box before he could take another breath.

John quirked his eyebrows at her, smirking, before wiping the amusement from his face and turning to present her to his friend and neighbor from the country, Sir Thomas Boleyn, who had arrived to witness in Henry's stead. An imperious throat-clearing from behind John interrupted further pleasantries, however, and Belle returned the smirk as he took his turn in the confessional.

Apparently John was much more practiced at passing that hurdle, as he was back out of the box before Belle could exchange more than a few words with Boleyn and the Queen. Then they took their places before the altar for the brief, perfunctory ceremony (performed by the King's own priest, oddly; Fray Diego seemed to disappear without a glance immediately after hearing their confessions). Later, Belle remembered not a word, bemusedly detached from the whole affair, as if she were watching someone else mouth the responses.

They joined the court afterward for the daily late afternoon supper, and Henry made a show of announcing their nuptials, to general surprise. None more so than Belle, however, when she was presented as "Viscountess Pendleton". Me, a Viscountess? Wait, what? For some reason, it hadn't even occurred to her that she'd also acquire her new "husband's" title and status.

Said status, along with his place on Henry's Privy Council, had also earned John a tiny suite of rooms within the castle (whichever one the court was inhabiting at the time – the larger ones, anyway), so after the supper was over, with much toasting and teasing, a band of lords and ladies forcibly "escorted" the new couple to their chamber and attempted to publicly put them to bed per the usual custom, still dressed in their wedding outfits. Sharing sardonic looks with each other, they suffered the ribald jokes and "suggestions" with equanimity, then John shooed the crowd out the door with pleas to leave them in peace to "get on with it".

Belle took the opportunity while his back was turned to slip back out of bed and into the tiny dressing room next door, where the large trunk with her clothes – accumulated over the past few months in gifts from Catherine – had already been brought. She slipped into the standard night clothes of the day – ridiculously overdressed, she always thought, especially compared to her former habit of sleeping naked – and returned to the bedchamber. Both "newlyweds" were suddenly shy; neither met the other's eyes as John took his turn in the dressing room.

He took an inordinately long time changing, but at last the door opened again and he stepped out, dressed in his own bedclothes and dressing robe. Again not meeting her eyes, he began to mumble something about the couch in the other room – but Belle interrupted by clearing her throat, and when he glanced sideways at her, she gave him a come-hither look and crooked her finger, beckoning him to the other side of the bed.

He took a few faltering steps, then stopped, beginning, "Madame..." That was as far as he got, before Belle reached beside her and flipped down the coverings –

– revealing a backgammon board, already set up.

Face clearing instantly, he threw back his head and laughed, the first full, free laughter she'd ever heard from the normally-reserved man. Taking off his dressing gown and tossing it over the nearby chair, he slipped into the bed across the board from her and scooped up his dice.

Then he speared her with a challenging glare. "En garde, Madame!" and dramatically rolled the dice.

^..^

So, over the next few weeks John and Belle, Viscount and Viscountess Pendleton, slipped into an easy camaraderie. They usually spent the late morning to early evening attending their respective monarchs, but the first and last hours of the day were usually theirs, and they spent the time indulging in court gossip, playing backgammon and cards, and discussing the world at large. John took a broader interest in that world than even the King, who was content to leave the actual governance of his kingdom to a group of advisors whilst he whiled away his days in his own leisure pursuits. John was not a member of that governing group, but he was friends with several, including Sir Thomas, and they kept him informed. The couple was occasionally invited to dine with Sir Thomas, as well his young family when they were in town from the country; Belle was bemused to catch glimpses of the then eleven-year-old Anne, destined (in Alpha Universe) to cause so much trouble down the road. She wondered idly what her fate would be in the altered timeline, but had no way of finding out.

Somewhere along that time, they also began the habit of Belle telling John stories, with wild plots and details that he, of course, considered completely false and unbelievable, including people riding around in noisy carriages, without being pulled by horses or anything else; buildings many stories high that towered to the sky; instantaneous communications over vast distances, even across the ocean to the continents which had only been discovered twenty years before. "What an imagination you have, Belle!" he would laugh, and she would laugh right along with him.

Henry, of course, had not forgotten Belle, just as he had semi-promised. They made quiet arrangements to meet every week or so in that little back room. It was actually even easier for Belle to slip away to those trysts than before, letting Catherine and John each believe she was with the other. She was careful never to hint of the ongoing relationship with Henry to John, not wanting to cause him the least amount of pain or jealousy. He probably had an idea, but was equally careful never to inquire.

Only one incident marred the perfect "honeymoon". A week or two after the wedding, Belle returned to their quarters a bit earlier than John, and went into the dressing room to change for the evening meal – and froze.

Something was wrong. Her eyes darted around, searching for whatever it was that had brought her up short, but she couldn't find anything out of place, not a single clue to explain her sudden unease. Finally deciding it was just her imagination, she took a deep breath – and froze again, her eyes widening in fear and shock. Suffusing the stuffy air were the faint but unmistakable twin scents of incense and oranges.

She dove for her trunk, which had never been completely unpacked, the detritus of months of discarded clothes, wraps, lace cuffs and handkerchiefs still left forgotten. She stopped and studied the contents for a long moment, but they didn't appear to have been disturbed, so she carefully dug down into them. At the very bottom were the clothes she had worn on her arrival, purchased in the costume shop in the future, which she had stopped wearing almost immediately, "carelessly" rolled up and "abandoned". She pulled the roll out and carefully opened it up, revealing the hidden contents: the med kit containing the syringe, needles, and several remaining doses of the newborn vaccine, the precious time jumper, and the book she'd smuggled back under Jared's nose.

Belle sat on the floor for many long minutes with those damning items on her lap, thinking furiously. Had Fray Diego found them? She didn't think so – surely he would have taken them if he had? But the trunk was no longer safe. She had to find another spot for the jumper and med kit. As for the book... she should never have brought it back. It was far too dangerous to leave lying around. John's voice replayed in her head, warning obliquely of treason.

She couldn't think of a better hiding place for her contraband, so she carefully rolled them back up in the old outfit and put it back in the trunk, arranging the rest of the odds and ends over it again, and pulling out one of her hairs to lay across the top of the pile. She'd know if anyone disturbed it in the future. Wish I'd thought of that before.

Taking a small, ripped and useless silk-and-lace French hood, she wrapped the book up inside it – thank goodness it was a thick but standard-sized paperback! – and got to her feet, closing up the trunk and pushing it back under her clothes rack. Stepping back with her contraband into the main room, she stopped to consider. The cold, empty fireplace mocked her; too bad it was still high summer, or she could have burned it right there. As it was, though, lighting a fire in this intense heat would only have attracted attention.

But there were always fires going in the kitchen. Slipping out the door, she made her way via the back stairs she'd come to know down to the lower levels, and across to the busy kitchens, ignoring the curious stares of the few servants she passed; they bowed her by without a word, having learned the value of discretion long ago. She found a fire blazing merrily on the hearth of a momentarily empty kitchen, and rapidly tossed the bundle into the center. Heart in her throat, she watched it catch alight, and started slowly to breathe again.

Footsteps were approaching. Whipping around, she spied a small bowl of fruit on the table and picked it up, turning back towards the door. Smiling distantly and waving the bowl at the returning servants as if that's what she'd come down for, she made her escape.

^..^

At last the long, hot summer faded into a cool, crisp, glorious autumn, and the kingdom was bringing in huge, bounteous harvests. The celebration was marred by news of another round of plague, hitting first London and then spreading slowly across southern England. But then another announcement was made that pushed the all the recent troubles from the nation's collective heart.

The Queen was pregnant.

And so was Belle.