The Rose Without a Thorn by Jean Plaidy Page A

kissed and caressed her and spent the night with her under the sheets in her bed.
    My grandmother was horrified, and this was too important a matter to be set aside.
    She sent for me and, as soon as I arrived in her room, she seized me, slapped my face, tore off my gown, pushed me on to her bed and with her stick beat my bare buttocks until I screamed with pain. I think she might not have stopped until she killed me if she had not exhausted herself. Her hair was falling about her face, her eyes were wild; she looked like a witch intent on evil, and that evil was directed at me.
    Then the stick slipped from her hand; she fell into her chair and she sat looking at me lying across her bed. I rose and tried to pull my clothes about me.
    “Do not attempt to show modesty to me, slut,” she cried. “Do not simper and play the child, you little harlot. I know of your lechery with Francis Derham.”
    I cried out: “It is not fair to talk thus. I am his wife … may not a wife caress her husband?”
    “You are what! Oh, what pain you cause me! What have I done, I ask God and all his saints, what have I done to deserve this?”
    “There is nothing wrong, Your Grace,” I began.
    “Be silent, you little whore! How long has this been going on? Under the sheets …” she moaned. “After midnight … with Derham. Are you with child?”
    “Your Grace, you do not understand.”
    “I understand. I understand too well. Do not deny this … harlotry. Derham has been your lover, has he not? He will die for this. When the Duke hears …”
    “Oh, I pray, do not tell the Duke.” I thought of that cold-eyed man who had condemned Anne Boleyn. We should have been better without such a kinsman. And now his anger would be turned on Francis and on me. What would become of us? Andthere had been nothing wrong. We were husband and wife. How often had we said that?
    “Stop muttering to yourself, girl. You cannot tell me they have lied. If that were so …” She was almost pleading to me. She wanted me to say that what they had told her was a lie. She wanted to continue to delude herself into believing that. But she knew it was true. Had she not seen us in the Maids’ Chamber, and that was a clear indication of how it was between us.
    I said nothing. I knew it would be no good.
    “How could you?” she cried. “Have you no regard for your virtue … for your family?”
    I persisted: “Your Grace does not understand. Francis Derham and I love each other.”
    “Love!” she sneered. “Rolling about under the sheets. You could not even wait for nightfall to hide your shame. You must try it on the floor.”
    “It was not so.”
    “I saw it with my own eyes.”
    “It was just … fun … as you say … a little romp.”
    “Romp! Fun! Is that what you call it when the name of a noble house is desecrated! Holy Mother of God, this is too much to be borne.”
    “I will explain. Francis and I are troth-plighted. That is enough. We are married. We did nothing wrong.”
    “You are even more stupid than I thought you. I had hopes for you. A place at Court. It might well be. The King will marry again. There is no doubt of that. The new Queen will need ladies-in-waiting. There was a chance there might be a place for you. What do you think will become of you, you stupid child? What hopes have you if it is known what you have been about? These girls know … the men too. By all the saints, it will go ill with them if they whisper it abroad. And you, addle-pate, talk of troth-plight. Derham will suffer for this. As for you … you deserve to be turned out of this household.”
    I said nothing. I could only think of what might happen to Francis.
    She tired of railing against me at last, and when I begged leave to go, she granted it.
    My body was sore and bruised, but my heart more so. This was what we had always feared. What would they do to Francis? That was the fear which dominated my mind. If only he had made that fortune! If only we could have been