The Other Henry VIII

A Web of Lies

8th March 1523
"If this baby decides to come on the twelfth of March, do you know what I shall do?"asked Margaret. She sat at the modest dressing-table, watching Rebecca comb her hair over her shoulders in the small mirror with a dreamy expression on her face. It was definitely darker than it had been a year ago: more of an auburn than a ginger, which was somewhat of a relief. Rebecca's comb strokes were smooth and purposeful down Margaret's back, which felt strangely relaxing on her aching muscles.
"No, my lady," replied her lady-in-waiting, smiling. She ran her fingers through the Countess's soft hair to check if it was combed through.
"I shall give it an awful name and it shall have to spend the rest of its days in misery," Margaret announced with a giggle. Rebecca's smile widened, showing her slightly uneven teeth.
"Why, my lady? What has the poor thing done to offend you so?"she did not sound so surprised as gleeful, even without an answer.
"The twelfth of March is—was—the birthday of my brother's late wife. His first one: Queen Sophia. Do you know of her?" Rebecca began pulling the thick auburn tresses into a fat plait.

"I have been filled with stories, though I was very young while she was Queen. Did he love her very much?"
Margaret paused, a sudden chill writhing in her bones. Her body went rigid and cold, as if a strong gust of wind had just swept through the room. "Yes... I suppose he did. My brother fancies himself a ladies' man but she was one of the few that he really loved. I loved her too, Becca, though I was only a young girl myself. A young, unmarried girl whom the King wished to marry off to some ancient monarch in Europe..." Suddenly, the Countess found herself wanting to change the subject. Now was certainly not the time to be regretting her marriage or reminiscing about what might have been.  "But remember, marrying for love always has a consequence."

"Indeed, My Lady, you seem to have more than one," Rebecca said slightly more cruelly than she had meant. "I am sorry, I only meant..."

"It does not matter," Margaret brushed off apologies carelessly and stood up. This action took more effort than she had foresaw. "Have you decided that you shall marry for love then, Becca?"

Rebecca opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again, though she was still  unsure of what to say. Despite the growing trust between the two of them, especially on the Countess's part, she was still hesitant to breathe a word about her secret. To anyone else in court, Rebecca and Edmund's attachment was clear. It had only been allowed to continue because the Westovers had better things to do with their time and, after the family meeting a few weeks back, the Cavills were convinced that marrying into one of their rivals was worth it.

"Oh my lady," breathed Rebecca, stepping back as her mistress crossed the room slowly and sat on the bed. "I will marry for love. My family has given their consent to me marrying Edmund Westover and I do love him, so very much! We should be married by now, only my uncle is concerned about the dowry that the Westovers will demand. Oh, my lady!" And with that, she sat down on the chair that the Countess had been sitting on only moments ago with a new dreamy glint in her eyes.

Margaret raised an eyebrow, letting the silence last as long as she wanted it to. "You are young, Becca. Just keep in mind that marriage is forever and..."

"And, my lady?"asked Rebecca, still gazing into the distance. When there was no reply, she turned back to her mistress and her eyes immediately widened at the sight: the Countess of Rochford sat on her bed, staring down at her own upturned palm as if it were someone else's hand attached to her body. And on that hand, Rebecca was shocked to see, was blood. Thick, crimson blood. "My lady!" she cried out instinctively.