Lose my reason! Her words had sent me back to the Hôtel de St.-Paul. I was hearing that wild voice calling for help. I was seeing my son bemused by the sight of The Maid. The abbess had reminded me of the shadow which hung over my family.

Be calm, I said to myself. Think of other things.

But I could think only of Owen and the children around us…a bright sunny day…and such happiness suddenly shattered by the sound of horses’ hoofs coming toward the house.

I was alone. The abbess had left me in despair.

I started to think back over the years of my childhood, to my first meeting with Henry, to my life with him…the birth of my son. They were not unhappy days. But it was only when I knew Owen that I discovered what true happiness was. Few people find it as Owen and I had. What a tragedy that we should have had to hold it so carefully until it was finally snatched from us.

The words of the abbess kept coming back to me. “You will lose your reason.” There were times when I was not sure whether I was in the past or the present. Sometimes in the night I would think I was in the Hôtel de St.-Paul, lying close to Michelle for warmth while Marie prayed at the bedside. I thought: I must be calm.

The idea came to me that the only way in which I could live through the days was by writing it all down. Perhaps I should discover where I might have acted differently. Could this have been avoided? Was there a way in which Owen and I could have been together and there was no cruel parting? Was it just possible?

It was true that I felt better. The abbess was pleased that I had this occupation. She could see that it helped me.

Writing materials were supplied to me, and through the days I wrote. I became fascinated by the project, I think largely because for hours at a time I could lose myself in the past and shut out the desolate present.

The summer had gone. I had no knowledge of what was happening to my family. I was sleeping a little better now…I did not dread the long nights as I had, for, having written of the past and in a manner lived it again, I felt a certain exhaustion at the end of the day which I welcomed.

I would sometimes dream that I was happy again, that Edmund, Jasper or little Jacina was telling me what they had done that day, that little Owen was talking to me, in his quaint baby way. I cherished those dreams, for they brought a fleeting happiness into my dreary existence.

It must be nearly Christmastime. I was trying not to think of last Christmas. I had covered so much paper with my writing. I was getting near the end. It was almost unbearable now because I was writing about my life with Owen and the children, and all kinds of little incidents came to my mind…too trivial to record but precious to me.

One early morning I awoke in agony.

I had allowed my grief to overwhelm me. I had not thought of the life I carried within me.

My baby. Would they allow me to keep the child? They must. They could not part a mother from her newly born child. The abbess was no monster. If I could have my child with me, perhaps I could find some solace.

But there was some time yet.

It was two months before my child was due.

They were at my bedside. I had been oblivious of all else but pain. I had even forgotten the loss of my husband and my children.

There had been nothing but agony.

“My child …” I murmured.

I saw my dear confessor, Johan Boyers, and I thought: I am dreaming. But it was not so.

“My lady …” he said.

“Johan!”

“I came when they sent for me.”

“Johan…where is Owen?…Where are the children?”

He shook his head. “You must rest.”

“My baby …”

He lowered his eyes. “The birth was premature …” he said gently.

I murmured: “I see. Not content with ruining my life, they have killed my baby also.”

He said: “The child still clings to life, but I think I should baptize her without delay. What name shall she be given?”

I don’t know why I chose Margaret. It just came into my mind.

“Margaret,” he repeated. “She shall be Margaret.”

“Johan?”

“Yes?”

“You will not go away.”

“I will come back to you later,” he said.

I lay there, exhausted. So I was to be denied even the blessing of my newborn child.

Johan Boyers brought great comfort to me during the days which followed.

He said: “They sent for me when you were so ill.”

“I must have been near death or they would not have done so.”

“You were very ill…but you will recover.”

“Shall I, Johan?”

“The shock of everything…it brought on the birth…too soon …”

“And I lost my child …”

We were silent for a few moments. Then I said: “You were there, Johan…what happened?”

“I can tell you that the children are well.”

“With strangers?”

“The abbess is a good woman. She will do all she can for them.”

“They will want me. They will miss Owen. They will need Guillemote.”

“Guillemote is trying to get to them. The abbess is a compassionate woman. Guillemote hopes that she will be able to get into the abbey…to look after the children as she has always done.”

“Oh, God bless her!”

“And Owen …”

He was silent for a moment and I prompted him: “Please tell me. Tell me the truth.”

“He is in Newgate.”

“The jail?”

He nodded.

“On what charge?”

“Treason…in marrying against the law.”

“It was before the law was made.”

“That will certainly help.”

“Johan, you have done me so much good.”

“Would you like to confess?”

“What should I confess, Johan? I have sinned in these last months. I have railed against God for taking from me all that I cared for.”

“Let us pray together.”

“There is one thing, Johan. My first husband, the King, I did sin against him. He asked me to make sure that our son was not born at Windsor. Yet I allowed him to be born there.”

“Why did you do this?”

“I cannot say. It was some compulsion. I could have left Windsor before it was too late…but I did not. I stayed on. I cannot understand it now. Was it the prompting of the Devil?”

He shook his head. “God meant the King to be born at Windsor. That is why it happened.”

“Yes,” I said. “Let us pray together.”

It was wonderful to have him with me. He was part of the old days.

He did not go from the abbey until I was able to leave my bed.

Christmas had passed and January was coming in, with wintry weather.

I thought of the great fires we had had at Hatfield and Hadham, of Owen telling the children stories. They loved to hear of the Welsh mountains and the days of his ancestors.

I felt the tears falling down my cheeks.

I was very weak. I could not walk about my little room without feeling exhausted.

The abbess was alarmed. She said she must get the physician to see me.

I think people sometimes have a premonition that the end is near. I did, and it had a calming effect upon me. I knew this austere cell would not be my home for much longer. I knew now that I would never see Owen and my children again; and, oddly enough, I experienced a strange feeling of reconciliation because I could feel this world slipping away from me.

When this year of 1437 came in, I believed I should never see the end of it; and I knew that was not a fancy; it was a revelation.

I wondered that Henry had not come to see me. He would have done so, I was sure, but he was very much under the influence of his uncle Gloucester now. Gloucester was the heir presumptive to the throne. I trusted Henry would be well looked after. He would have come to me, I knew, if it had rested with him. He had always loved me, even though we had been so little together.

They must have been worried about my health, for Johan Boyers was sent for again.

His coming was a great joy to me—not only because he was a familiar face from my happy past but because he had good news for me.

He waited until we were alone, then he said: “Owen is free.”

“Free!”

“He has escaped from Newgate.”

“Oh…they will catch him.”

“He will not be caught. He will be too clever for them. He eluded the guards and got right away. He is in Wales, I believe. He got a message through to me for you.”

“Oh, Johan…is this true?”

“He says…he will be with you…as soon as it is possible. He said, ‘Tell the Queen that we shall be together again. It will be my greatest aim that this shall be so.’”

I was silent. I was unaware that I was weeping until I tasted the salt tears on my lips.

I shall never see Owen again. When he comes it will be too late.

Everyone around me knows it. They are very kind and gentle.

I was so shocked when I came to them. I became so weak…too weak to recover from the premature birth of my little girl.

So…I am dying. I still have the strength to hold my pen. My spirits have lightened a little. I no longer have to look ahead to long years without Owen and the children. I shall be reunited with them one day. I know it.

Today is New Year’s Day.

I had a gift which gave me great pleasure because it was from my son. So Henry had not forgotten me. He would have come to my aid if he could, I always knew. And this was his way of saying so. He had sent me a gold tablet on which was a crucifix set with pearls and sapphires.

My poor Henry! He is only fifteen years old. The tablet tells me that he would have helped me…if he could.

I prayed then…deeply and sincerely…for him, my son. May his life be easy. May the burden of the crown sit lightly on his head.

I am too tired to write more. It cannot be long now. I pray for Owen’s safety and for the happiness of my children and all those who have loved and served me well during my life, which is soon to end.

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