Nicholas and Bess - part 8

[girlyswot]

Author's note: last chapter of this fic.

They were married in the spring.  A week before, Nick presented himself as usual on Sunday.

                'Here.'  He handed Bess a sheet of slightly crumpled paper.  'You must have been expecting this for weeks.'

                She looked confused but opened the paper.

                'It is your sonnet, love.  You can read it for yourself now.'  She blushed and began to scan the lines.  After a moment she held the paper out.

                'You read it to me.  I find I… cannot.'

                Nicholas seated himself with Bess comfortably on his lap, hiding her head adorably in his shoulder.  He read his own lines, achingly aware of the poverty of his words.  When he had finished, Bess spoke.  'Read it again, please.'

                Then she looked up into his face and read the truth of his love there.  She kissed him shyly and felt his arms close round her.  He tucked the folded paper into her breast.

                'Keep it.  And if ever you should doubt me, love, read it and know my heart is yours.'

                'It is so beautiful.  To feel that way.  Oh Nick!'

                'Not long now, love.'

                'No.  It is not long now.'

Nick had found them a little cottage out in Camberwell.  It had two rooms and space for a tiny garden.  Ned offered him the rocking-chairs from their lodgings.  'They were Will's, you know.  He would want you to have them.'  Dickon and Mistress Wyn had bought them a bed to serve as Bess's dowry.  Clean curtains hung at the small window and a newly hooked rug lay before the fire.  Bess brought sheets which she had hemmed and blankets edged with brightly coloured wools.  The house was neat and snug as he could contrive and he would be proud to bring his bride home to it.

Bess wore her new summer gown of pink.  She had done up her hair with small pink rosebuds, barely in bloom.  Her face shone, rosy with happiness.  The ceremony was simple and soon done.  The pair left the congratulations of their friends and family for the short journey to their new home.

Hand in hand they entered the little house.  Nicholas showed his wife the chairs and the rug and the simple cooking implements, then led her through to the second chamber.  Slightly smaller than the front room, it was dominated by the magnificent bed.  She recognised her own handiwork on its coverings and was comforted a little.  Outside, Nick pointed out where he thought the pig might live and where they might grow a few vegetables.

                'And flowers?' she wondered.

                'Yes, if you like.  Have you ever grown things before, Bess?'

                She shook her head.  She was no country girl.

                'I will show you how.'

Inside, Bess hung up her shawl and wondered if she should change her gown.  She did not know what to do, how to be married.

                'Nick?'  She joined him in the front room, looking nervously at him.

                'Yes, love?'

                'I…I…'  Without knowing why, she began to cry.

                In an instant he had crossed the room and taken her in his arms, soothing her.

                'What is it, sweetheart?  Are you regretting it already?'  Gently, he teased her.  'Or is it the house?  Tell me.  We can change anything you don't like.'

                'Oh no!'  She smiled up at him, through her tears.  'It's beautiful.  It's just so strange.  Being alone with you and not having Mother or Father or anyone to tell me how I should go on.'

                He kissed her.  'Tis strange to me too.  There is nobody who can tell you and I how to be each other's husband or wife.  We must tell each other.'  He smiled at her.  'Let's start with some food.  Look, here is bread your mother sent, and some milk and some stew, I think.  Can you do that, Bess?  Can you make our first meal?'  She nodded and wiped her eyes.

                'Good girl.  See, I will get down the plates and the pitcher.  And here, I will clear away my papers so that you may place things on the table.'

                She smiled at his attempts to be helpful.  'Leave it, Nick.  I will do it just as soon as I have my apron tied on.'

                When they had cleared away the meal, they sat in the rocking-chairs, either side of the fire.  Bess found the silence uncomfortable and determined to end it.

                'Can we read something, Nick?  Have you a sonnet or a play or book for me?'

                He smiled a lazy smile at her.

                'No time for writing sonnets this week, love.'  He stretched out his hand and she laid her own in it.  She felt his gaze resting on her and knew herself to be blushing.

                'Come, let us write a new sonnet of our own.'  He stood and pulled her to him.  She nodded, shyly, and followed him through to the back room.

Bess was blooming.  Her rosy cheeks glowed, not only with contentment but also with hope.  The seeds she had sown, months earlier, were now fine tall plants, starting to show their colours.  Soon, Nick said, there would be a harvest to reap.  Every day she brought water to feed her tender seedlings.  They had got the promised pig and paid a boy a groat a week to collect scraps for its feed.  Bess busied herself during the day in keeping house.  She learned to bake little honeyed cakes to tempt Nick's appetite during long, busy days at the Globe.  She made aromatic stews whose fragrance filled the cottage when he returned at night.

Each evening, Bess would sit herself in her rocking-chair before the fire and make her own preparations.  She sewed tiny dresses and caps and knitted bonnets.   Her mother had given her a bundle of cloths and gowns which all had to be sorted and washed and darned.  Every finished garment was carefully folded with a small bundle of herbs before being placed in the big chest which stood under the window.

Nicholas gazed in awe at her gradually swelling stomach and began to treat her as carefully as Venetian glass.  She laughed at first, but after a while his assiduous attentions began to irk.  She reproached him, protesting her strength and boredom in her enforced rest.  But as long as she continued in sickness he could not rid himself of his concern.  So Mistress Soer had been summoned to the little cottage, leaving Ned and Simon protesting but resigned. 

In the heat of the summer, Bess found her strength returning.  Nick took her for walks again on Sundays.  They did not venture far and she was glad of his strong supporting arm but it was so delightful to escape the noises and smells of Camberwell and find a quiet, flower-filled meadow in which to sit.  Nick would spread out the picnic she had prepared, watching her carefully to make sure she ate every mouthful.  Afterwards, he pulled her to him, pillowing her head on his chest, allowing his hands to tangle in her curly hair and wander over her bare shoulders.

'Oh, Nick,' she sighed, contentedly.

'Mmmm,' he agreed, brushing away a lazy bumble bee.  He remembered Will once doing the same for him and smiled.  And then he realised that he had not felt the familiar stab of pain.  Perhaps grief had gone, to be replaced only with memories and gladness that he had once known such a man.  He glanced down and saw that Bess was looking worriedly up at him

‘What is it Nick?’

‘Nothing.’  He smiled broadly.  ‘Nothing at all.’  He tickled her chin until she laughed and pushed him away and he could catch her in his arms and kiss her.  And be content.