Chapter One

Everything depended on Bess’s ability to secure a husband. Times were rough and her family was barely eking out a living on their small half acre field. The only possibility for her family’s future survival was going to be this choice - this one choice - which lay in front of her. Bess sighed and splashed her face with some cold water from the water basin. The sun was barely rising over the distant horizon, and she had to hurry in order to finish the chores.

The work was long and hard. Every day they went to Lord Wynmont’s fields where they worked from the early morning until dinner, the midday meal. After this time, they were allowed to return home and work their own fields and tend their own animals, which generally took until supper, the small evening meal. Bess enjoyed working outdoors with her sister Mathilda (Tillie for short) and felt strong and capable. There was happiness to be found in this hard life and most of it involved being close to her family.

The manor of Wynmont was not large in comparison to other nearby manors. Bess knew this because she had traveled with her father and sister to the nearby market town on numerous occasions. They had to sell their oats, get it ground for flour, trade for certain items and tools which were necessary, and on rare occasions, buy cloth for mother to sew new clothes, or go to cobbler shop of William Goode, who, despite his name, would squeeze every hay-pence from their fingers in a heartbeat if father weren’t such a clever and capable bargainer. Most of Bess’s friends wore homemade leather sandals, but father insisted that his daughters wear real shoes. Castoffs, broken pieces, nothing too expensive, mind, but real shoes nonetheless.

And now all of this was going to change because Bess was to marry. Ever since the plague, the entire manor had been struggling, and there had been too much rain in the past two years. The land was soggy and conditions had not been good for growing crops. All the villagers whispered the excessive rain was a curse from God to warn Lord Wynmont to forego his bawdy evil ways. Bess wondered why God would punish the entire manor and not just Lord Wynmont himself, but mother had told her to hush and not question God’s mysterious wisdom. Meanwhile, the family had watched the oats struggle to sprout and reach up to the sun, only to be pelted with hail and rain right when they were most vulnerable.

The weather problems had begun two years ago, right as the plague was just starting to loosen its tight grip on the land, and the village still had not recovered from its effects. Though this spring had been less wet, it was still far wetter than normal, and harvest was looking to be slim to average. What they needed was a good year to refill their larders and Lord Wynmont’s coffers.

But that wasn’t going to happen, and so Bess had to marry. And fast.

If she married someone important and well off, that would secure both her and her family’s future forever, it seemed. She had never really considered what it meant to marry before. She was still a maiden, and not yet able to have children. Other village girls her age had already married, and her friend Linet’s pregnant belly was already so big it looked like it would soon burst.

Bess shuddered a bit. She was not sure she wanted to marry yet. As yet, no young men on the manor had caught her eye, least of all those who were the most likely to be able to ensure her family’s future. But she knew that whether or not she found her husband attractive should be the least of her worries. Everyone in the village warned their daughters about young Sal who had gone against her father’s wishes, and become pregnant by her fair-haired and wild lover, who had beat her to death when he had found out about the baby. He had not wanted to marry her, nor provide for the child. The village knew his decision was only logical, but the gossip and shunning had grown and grown until her lover had simply run away, ever more to be a tragic warning for young girls about what happens when one is guided by love rather than sense in marriage-making.

Bess followed behind her father, who was leading their ox to Lord Wynmont’s land for the morning work. They still had 30 acres of fields to till before they could plant the oats, rye, and wheat. Young Tillie followed behind, yawning. The sun was not yet all the way over the horizon.

“What have we here?” a loud voice boomed.

Bess looked up, startled. Her father answered, “God speed, Sir.” He looked Lord Wynmont directly in the eyes, a sign of respect and honesty.

“Is this the girl?”

Bess turned to her father, looking confused. What was he talking about?

“Aye,” her father nodded. Bess could detect a hint of sadness in the tone of his voice.

“Ye have chosen well, and your family will ever more be looked after. Come, girl.” Lord Wynmont was looking straight at Bess.

“Sir?” Was the Lord of the manor actually deigning to talk to her, a mere villein girl? She was nobody - less than nobody.

“She is perfect. It will be tonight. Come!”

Bess was stunned. What was happening? She looked at her father, who was nervously shuffling his feet in the dirt. Why didn’t he stand up for her? Surely he didn’t wish for her to marry this, this monster?

Bess’s eyes were filling with confused tears. She did not know what was happening.

“I said come!” The command was a barked order which was impossible to disobey.

Bess nodded and started forward. They were standing in his field, some hundred yards from the manor house. She was unsure of what he was asking her to do exactly, so she decided that she could not go wrong by showing extreme humility. When she was still a few paces away from him, she knelt down, her plain dress getting covered in mud.

She heard a bellowing, cruel laugh overhead. “That’s better!” The next thing she knew, Lord Wynmont had grabbed her hand - something which no man except her father had ever done - and jerked her up. He didn’t say another word to her, but his grisly grin revealed malicious thoughts. Bess felt feelings of revulsion overcoming her. A feeling of nausea was tempting to make her vomit.

Her younger sister Tillie had suddenly understood the danger of the situation. Her shrill scream pierced the silence of the morning, “Bess! BESS! Noooo!” She ran after Bess and tried to grab her other hand, but Lord Wynmont was already forcefully leading her towards the manor house. Bess turned to glance back and saw her sister’s wretched sobbing face, but mostly just her father’s sad eyes staring after her.

She was sure she would never see him again.

* * *

Bess was too stunned to notice all that was going on around her. It was not real. It could not be happening. It was unheard of. Why would the Lord of the manor choose - of all people - her? Why?

He had been widowed for six months and his period of mourning had just expired. Everyone knew he would soon be looking for a wife, but nobody expected a Lord - an Esquire - to choose a villein’s daughter.

“He’s gone mad, he has.”

“He just likes her for what’s ‘neath them skirts.”

“He has forgotten himself.”

“I don’ understan’ why he went for her when there be dozens of prettier things in this place.”

“The miserable creature. She won’t last. He’ll beat her senseless in a fortnight.”

“The girl looks too young to even be of marriageable age.”

“No, but her father said she was.”

“I heard from one of the women who knows the neighbors that she isn’t even on the rag yet.”

“That will make for an interesting wedding night.”

“FFFFFF-Pop!”

Bursts of laughter.

Bess stood silently in her shame. She was like a resolute statue while these bustling women - servants of the manor - scrubbed her body and fitted her into an oversized, stiff linen dress. There was no part of her that was not exposed to these women, least of all her feelings. But the women just acted as if she were a fence post, without any ability to respond.

* * *

The wedding took place the next day in the manorial chapel. The feast was small and rushed, and as the evening wore on, Bess became increasingly pale. The time was quickly coming, and she was horrified. She did not know how bad the wedding night would be, and she feared the worst. Her only consolation was that Lord Wynmont was known to be fond of drink. Perhaps he would just drink himself to exhaustion. Even she recognized how pathetically weak that wish was.

Finally, the dreaded moment came. “And now, to consummate this marriage! We shall - we shall away to bed!” He grinned at Bess, who stared at him. He growled, “Come, girl!”

Bess stood and followed him down the great hall of the manor. They were headed to the solar, the bedchamber of Lord Wynmont.

Bess closed her eyes. She could see her entire future spreading before her. A life of servitude and subjection to the appetites and cruelty of this beastly and terrifying man. He was at least forty, and she a mere thirteen. It would be a relationship begun on the dubious foundation of a rape. The church taught that women needed men to copulate with them in order to prevent the woman’s seed from coagulating and rendering them infertile. The church also taught that women’s appetite was so strong that men were doing them a service by frequently and habitually taking them. Bess knew this already; she knew this was just the way of things with her parents, her friends’ parents, and even the animals - but she was still a child, she could not even bear children yet…

Bess walked through the arched doorway after her husband - her husband? - Lord Wynmont. He was struggling to undress, but because he was so drunk, he was having a hard time of it. At least he isn’t asking for my help, thought Bess.

“You look - like a frightened - like a frightened mouse! You look scared shitless!” Lord Wynmouth laughed as if he had said the most hilarious words that had ever been spoken. He started to bellow a loud laugh.

Bess hung her head. Lord Wynmouth continued to laugh. When his laughing did not subside, she looked up. Was that laughing, or was that - gasping? Soon he was staggering, his shirt halfway off. He began to grasp his neck in his hands. Then he was on the floor. Bess stared in horror, but made no sound. She was standing in her wedding gown, watching her new groom, a horrible, despicable, disgusting man, dying at her feet. She was paralyzed with fear. Would the servants of the manor blame her if he died? But what worse things would happen to Bess if he lived?

Suddenly, Lord Wynmouth was coughing up blood, and Bess’s fear turned into harsh, cold logic. She knew what would happen to her if she were found like this. At worst, she would be blamed - though who could accuse a small waif of a thirteen year old girl from murdering a large, bellowing, violent middle-aged man? And if not accused, what would happen to her? Would the marriage be annulled - cancelled? Who would marry her then? She would be back in the same miserable position as before, only she would forever have this humiliating taint of “used merchandise”, regardless of whether or not it was actually true. The marriage could not be annulled. It must not be annulled.

The only way to prevent a marriage from being annulled would be to prove that it was consummated. Bess knew what she had to do. She took a towel from a side table and dabbed it in the blood of Lord Wynmouth’s mouth, soaking up as much blood as possible. She struggled to undress the beastly man from the waist down, no easy feat. She then tore off the covers from the bed and spread the bloody rag over the sheets. She took off her dress and lay on the bed in her shift, rubbing the blood between and along her thighs. And then she waited.

She did not wait for long. A male servant was at the door, listening in on her master. When no noise had been heard, the servant must have been suspicious. He timidly pushed open the door, saw the Lord lying dead on the floor, the blood on the sheets, and Bess shivering in her shift. The servant averted his gaze for modesty’s sake. “Child! What has happened?”

“I - I don’t know! I have been on this bed the whole time!” Bess lied.

The servant rushed to the corpse. After a few moments, he looked up in horror. “Child, Lord Wynmouth is...is dead!”

“Dead?” Bess repeated. But the servant was already running into the hall, spreading the news. Some of the female servants ran in, saw the scene and screamed. One of them swiftly gathered Bess along with the sheet, and amidst all the great chaos turned to her and said, “Child, you’ve had too much to deal with. You must rest. You must come with me.”

“Ma’am, what’s to become - what’s to become of me?”

“Why, miss, I believe you have just become the lady of Wynmouth manor.”

Bess stared in the mirror. Her - a lady? What? How could this be? Could it really be true?

And yet, it was true.