Chapter Sixteen
Early September
The bushes were trying to come back. Little buds had begun to form and Alixandrea inspected them yet again before she watered that particular hedgerow.
The entire length of shrubs that Audrey had planted against the western wall of the garden were showing signs of life after the weeding and pruning and cutting that she, Caroline and John had done.
Finally, the garden was emerging from its dormant stage with water and attention.
Every day, Alixandrea could see a marked improvement.
This day was no different from any of the others, except perhaps it was a little cooler.
The seasons were beginning to change and she hoped to keep the garden flourishing through the colder months to come.
Caroline joined her shortly, dressed in her heavy linen garments and having come to do battle with the prickly garden.
She saw Alixandrea stooped over a bush, pouring a bucket of water onto the roots.
“Alix,” she came over to her, her manner wrought with exasperation. “You should not be carrying that heavy bucket. Let me have it.”
Alixandrea shook her head even as Caroline wrestled her for the pail. “Caroline, I am fine, truly,” she let Caroline win the tussle. “I am perfectly capable of watering the garden.”
Caroline frowned. “You should be resting.”
“I feel fine.”
“But you must take care of that baby.”
Alixandrea grinned. She had done an awful lot of grinning lately, most noticeably, since the day she realized that she was pregnant.
That had been almost three weeks ago. No menses, tender breasts, a strong aversion to meat and a strange firmness of her lower belly told Alixandrea all she needed to know.
Caroline, much more knowledgeable about such things, confirmed it.
From that point on, there had been much joy within the walls of Wellesbourne at a time when there was little to be joyful about.
“Go tend the camellias,” Caroline instructed her. “That bush near the gate needs some pruning.”
Since Caroline had taken Matthew’s words literally and was seeing to nearly every aspect of Alixandrea’s life, she simply shrugged and went over to the camellia bush that was beginning to sprout deep green leaves.
Sitting on the padded leather cushion that John had fashioned for her, she was in the process of trimming a dead branch when John entered the small garden.
Head down, she could still see his feet.
“Ah, Johnny,” she said. “Just in time. Could you perhaps have the stable boys provide more horse droppings today? Just look what it has done for these camellia bushes. The flowers are thriving.”
John did not reply immediately. Alixandrea lifted her head and turned around. “John?”
He just stood there, looking at her. It was an odd stance. For some reason, it unsettled her. Unsettlement turned very quickly into fear.
“John, what is the matter? Why do you look so?”
John sighed heavily and took another few steps into the enclosure. By now, he had both ladies’ undivided attention.
“We… we just received a missive,” he said.
Alixandrea leapt to her feet and rushed towards him. “What did Matthew say?”
“It was not from Matthew.”
In her state, emotions were more prevalent than normal. Tears sprang to Alixandrea’s eyes.
“John, for the love of God, tell me what has happened,” she was trying not to weep. Caroline grabbed hold of her and they huddled together in fear. “Who sent the missive and what did it say?”
There was a carved wooden bench against the wall, put there by Adam for his wife those many years ago. John directed the ladies to sit. When they did, he knelt before them, taking Alixandrea’s hands tightly.
“Alix,” he said softly, firmly. “I need your calm attention, not your hysterics. Please do this. It is important.”
She nodded, though she was struggling. “Please tell me.”
John passed a glance at Caroline before continuing. “The missive was written by Viscount Lovell. Henry met Richard south of Leicester almost three weeks ago in a massive battle.”
“What happened?”
John did not know where to begin. He was still reeling from the news, making it difficult to relay. “Richard was defeated,” he said, hardly believing it as he said it. “We have a new king.”
“What about Matthew?” Alixandrea practically shouted. “Where is he?”
John patted her hands to calm her. “As near as Lovell can tell, he survived the battle.”
“What do you mean as near as he can tell?”
John sighed heavily again, grasping for words. “He saw him towards the end of the battle and he was still alive, as was Mark. But Luke…,” John abruptly faltered, wiping at the tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes. “Luke fell towards the beginning of the battle. Struck down by archers.”
Caroline sucked in a sharp breath and closed her eyes. Alixandrea, strangely, seemed to calm though there were tears on her face.
“Luke,” she murmured. “God be with him. What more did Lovell say?”
John struggled to compose himself. “He said that Matthew and Gaston sided with the Stanley brothers and came charging in when Henry took the field. They fought for Tudor, Alix. The Wellesbournes fought against Richard.”
Alixandrea’s eyes widened to the point where they threatened to pop from her skull. “That is not possible.”
“Lovell would not lie.”
“But… why? I do not understand any of this.”
John let go of her hands and stood up, agitation in his manner.
“Oh, Alix, it was a mess. I do not know why my brothers changed their fealty on the day of battle, but the fact remains that they did so. Together with Gaston and the Stanleys, they turned the tide in Henry’s favor.
Richard fell and Thomas Stanley took the crown off the dead king and crowned Henry right there on the field. ”
“But Matthew is alive,” Alixandrea said as if she had not heard anything else. “We are sure that he survived?”
John snapped at her. “Is that all you are concerned with? Do you not understand that we now have a new king?”
She met his fury. “Of course that is all I am concerned with. I care not who rules this country so long as my husband is still alive and we are allowed to raise our family in peace. To the Devil with this battle for the throne. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t glad it was over.”
John was clearly upset. He was reeling over the death of Luke and the change in loyalties.
“Matthew must have made the decision to support Henry,” his tone was almost accusing.
“He always makes the decisions; the rest of us merely following, trusting that the great White Lord of Wellesbourne knows what is best. Well, I do not know if I would have changed so easily. I do not know if I would have followed Matthew.”
“Do you not trust your brother?”
“I trust him, but I have my own mind as well,” John was twitching with anger, bewilderment. “Matthew must have promised Mark and Luke something great if they would change their loyalties.”
“Are you saying that he bribed them?”
“What else could he have done? Or… or perhaps he was bribed himself by Henry. Perhaps The White Lord was bought.”
Alixandrea struck him across the face, a sharp slap that echoed off of the garden walls. It was a brutal, sudden action and completely unexpected.
“You will never again express such doubts of my husband’s honor,” she hissed. “If he did in fact change loyalties, then he must have had a very good reason. You will not doubt him.”
John glared at her, but in the same breath, he knew she was correct. If Matthew sided with Henry, it must have been a sound and wise decision as he saw it. John adored Matthew; upon reflection, he knew there could be no other possibility.
“I must send word to my father,” he turned away from Alixandrea, evidently not wanting to discuss it further. “He does not know what has happened.”
Alixandrea grasped his arm before he could get away. “Did Lovell say where my husband is?”
“He did not. He only said he saw him towards the end. He did not say that he saw him leave the battlefield alive.”
John’s words struck her just as her small hand had struck his cheek.
He had only said that because he was disturbed, too, about Luke, the conflict, about everything.
All Alixandrea seemed concerned with was Matthew and not the overall implications of the battle.
But as soon as he said it, he was sorry.
“I am sure he is well,” he said quietly. “Matthew is stronger than you know.”
Her face was pale, her lovely features twisted in thought and dread. “When did you say this battle took place?”
“Around the twenty-second of August.”
“Then if that is true, Matthew has had almost three weeks to come home. Leicester is less than fifty miles away. It would not take him three weeks to travel fifty miles.” Her features suddenly tightened with fear. “John, where is he? If he survived, where is he?”
She was starting to become hysterical again. John grasped her hands tightly. “I do not know, Alix. Perhaps he has gone to London with the new king.”
“You must go and find him,” she insisted. “You must find him and you must also bring Luke home to be buried next to his mother. Johnny, you must.”
John’s mind was muddled. He needed to get away from the weeping women and think clearly. But as he tried to pull away again, Caroline came at him.
“And if Mark is also alive, why has he not come home?” she asked. “You must find out where they are, John. You could be the only Wellesbourne left.”
The only Wellesbourne left. Alixandrea could not hear anymore.
She turned away from them both and went back to her camellia bush.
Picking up her pruning knife, she resumed her steady cutting.
The battle was over and Matthew was not home.
If he was alive, surely he would have sent word.
But word had only come from Lovell. The more she cut at the bush, the more brittle her mind became.
*