Yes, that was it. If she could not have Owen and the children she wanted to die.
She prayed for death. ‘Oh, God, take me out of my misery. I cannot live like this. I want Owen. I want Owen more than anything. I want my babies. Oh, God, how can You be so cruel?’
Some days her spirits would revive a little. She would fancy something could be done. She would ask for writing materials and write to the King. She would appeal to him, tell of her misery. He could not fail her.
But in her heart she knew that whatever she wrote to the King would not be allowed to reach him.
The Abbess and her nuns were growing anxious. There were times when the Queen seemed almost demented. At others she would be quiet as though she were already on the way to death.
‘She has an unequable temperament,’ said the Abbess. ‘Remember who her father was.’
The Duke of Gloucester, who was the most powerful man in the country, enquired about her.
‘Keep her well looked after,’ were his orders. ‘It must not be said that she did not have every attention. Of course she is a little wild. It may well be that she has inherited something of her father’s affliction.’
The Abbess and her nuns would do their best.
But her health grew worse. She became devout. She told the Abbess that she thought she was paying for her sins.
That pleased the Abbess. It was a good conclusion for her to come to.
‘You see,’ said the Queen, ‘I went to Windsor for the birth of the King’s son. “Do not go to Windsor,” he said. “I do not want my son to go to Windsor.” And yet I went to Windsor. I don’t know what possessed me. There was some prophecy. I was wicked. I think I have passed some evil spell onto my son.’
They tried to soothe her. God would forgive her, said the Abbess. If she repented, if she devoted herself to prayer and asked forgiveness sincerely enough she would be forgiven.
‘I never shall, I fear. I fear for my son Henry. I have dreams, Abbess, terrible dreams … that he is as my father was. You cannot understand, lady Abbess, what it was like to be shut up in St Pol and to know that a madman was there and that he was my own father.’
‘It is now in the past, lady. You have the future to think of.’
‘I have nothing on this earth,’ she said. ‘They took from me everything I loved.’
‘You must rouse yourself. Take an interest in life. Perhaps you could become one of us.’
‘There is only one thing that would make me want to live and that is if they give me back my husband and my children. I do not wish to live without them. I cannot live without them. Oh … if I could have some news of Owen. What do you think they are going to do to him? If you could come and tell me that he is free … that he is coming to me … I would be young again tomorrow. My health would come back to me. But I need him so much. I want him, Abbess. I care for nothing. If I cannot have him and my happy life I just want to die.’
‘This is sinful talk.’
‘I care not, Abbess. I want my husband who is so cruelly taken from me. I have had a sad life … and then it was happy suddenly. I came to England and I loved the King who was good to me … but that was nothing … nothing to compare with my life with Owen. Perhaps there never has been … for any …’
‘Then you should thank God that you were allowed to enjoy it even for a while.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I thank God for Owen … for my children … but to take them from me … what sort of God is it that can do that?’
‘You blaspheme, my lady.’
She began to laugh wildly. ‘I care not. Let Him take me. Let Him do what He will. He could not do worse than He has already.’
‘You should occupy yourself with prayer. Would that not be better than this wildness? You should pray for Owen Tudor. Perhaps then God would see fit to answer your prayers.’
Then she was silent.
She would pray. She would beg.
Oh God, give him back to me.
And so it went on.
Her health was failing. She could not sleep. She scarcely ate at all.
The nuns said: ‘She is dying.’
‘Should we send to the King?’ wondered one of the sisters.
The Abbess shook her head. The Duke of Gloucester had said there must be no communication with the King.
If she could only have news of Owen Tudor it would help her, but she knew nothing except that he was in Newgate.
She asked endless questions about Newgate. What happened there? How were prisoners treated?
And her children? It was easier to give her news of them. They were settling happily in Barking.
‘Children adapt themselves,’ said the Abbess. ‘They quickly forget.’
‘Not Edmund,’ she said. ‘Not Jasper. The little ones perhaps but not those two.’
But it was for Owen she mourned. Owen in Newgate … a prisoner who had broken the law by marrying her.
The Abbess was growing more and more anxious.
‘She is willing herself to die,’ she said.
Days passed. Listlessly, she was aware of time. The sun rose; the sun set. Another day gone and no news of Owen.
She took to her bed. She was too weak to rise.
‘Death, come and take me,’ she prayed.
Often her thoughts drifted to the past; then she thought she was in the Hôtel de St Pol, clinging to Michelle … poor Michelle, she was dead now … as I soon shall be, she thought. Oh yes, that is the best for me. In the past she had fought to survive, all through that hazardous childhood. Then Henry’s death which had seemed so terrible at the time. But it had all led to those ecstatic years with Owen and then … to this.
If I had not been so happy I should not be so wretched now, she thought. God raised me to the heights only to dash me to the depths. Cruel. Cruel! Why could we not have been left alone?
And Owen? What was he suffering? She was selfish to think of herself. He would be longing for her and the children even as she longed for him; and in some dark cold damp cell. At least she had a bed in which to be miserable, good food brought to her which she would not eat.
One morning she awoke and was not sure where she was. For one brief moment she had thought she was at Hadham and that she had only to stretch out a hand to touch Owen. But no … she was not there. Then where … where …
From a long way off she heard the nuns talking.
‘She is in a high fever. It was inevitable … Such neglect of her health …’
‘If there was only news of Owen Tudor she would recover.’
The fever grew worse; she would not take the nourishing foods they brought to her. She turned her head away when they prayed by her bedside. She had no interest in anything.
And then one day there was a visitor at the Abbey.
He asked if he might have a word with the Abbess, and as it was clear that he had news of importance the Abbess agreed to see him.
‘I come from Owen Tudor,’ he said.
The Abbess stared at him in disbelief.
‘He is in Newgate … a prisoner …’
‘No more,’ said the man. ‘He has escaped … with the help of friends.’
‘Where is he?’
‘That, lady, I cannot tell you. He wishes his wife to know that he is free and will find a means of coming for her.’
‘I cannot allow this. She has been put into my charge.’
‘You must tell her that her husband is free.’
The Abbess was thoughtful. She had orders from the mighty Duke of Gloucester. She was to keep the Queen here, virtually a prisoner though treated with the utmost honour. If Owen Tudor came here and took her away what could she answer to the all powerful Duke? He would be furiously angry; he would blame her, perhaps have her removed from her post.