The Bell Family
Founder: Ellis Bell (1561-1608), third son of Hudde Bell
Station: Peasant
Occupation: Farmer
Heir: none
Daughters: Thilde (1604-?); Agnes (1606-1611)
Wife: Joan Coffyn
Station: Peasant
Occupation: Farmer
Heir: none
Daughters: Thilde (1604-?); Agnes (1606-1611)
Wife: Joan Coffyn
Spring 1600-1604
In the spring of 1600, Ellis began searching for a mate. He courted several young ladies of the village, none of whom could keep up with his bantering wit and wildly mischievous streak. With a tender heart and callous wit, Ellis found himself tiring quickly of the innocent and uneducated village girls who asked after hair ribbons and sweets, and were bored with his discussions of poetry and his love of nature. Finally, in 1603, Ellis met Joan Coffyn who was immediately different than the other milkmaids and farmer's daughters. Joan had a wider view of the world, thanks to the travels of her family, and though she was herself not educated, she loved the poetry and stories that Ellis delighted to share with her. Their romance was like a flash of lightning and the pair wed within weeks of meeting. Though Ellis had no money, he wanted to give the world to his new wife, and he began seeking ways to earn money quickly, if not honestly. Soon after, he had what he needed: $20K to buy a farm and start a family of his own. When Ellis introduced her to the house, she nearly fainted in disbelief: it was huge, a two story house, like the ones gentlemen were proud to call home. She didn't like to think of distrusting her husband, but it all seemed too good to be true.
Ellis and Joan were overjoyed in 1604 at the birth of their first daughter, Thilde. She was beautiful baby with pink rosebud lips and wide brown eyes. Joan never tired of looking at her and singing to her. Ellis became moody and often teased Joan's lack of education, though he was not very well educated himself. His temper was as cruel as his smile was intoxicating, and Joan found that she could not resist his advances, however troubling his mood swings were and before the year was out, she found herself pregnant again. Summer 1605-1609
This pregnancy was different than her first, however, which had been as light and easy as a spring breeze. She was constantly tired and hungry, and never comfortable, and though she tried to eat, she could keep nothing down. Ellis's taunts and the baby's colick were no help to her. Quite suddenly, she found herself having strong contractions and passed out with the pain. Upon awakening, she was told the worst news--the baby, a boy, was lost. They buried him unnamed in the backyard: the grave was so tiny that Joan could hardly bear to look upon it. Before long, Ellis lapsed into a deep depression and nothing Joan could do seemed to shake him out of it. He began speaking oddly of "such things" husbands could do. Joan tried to comfort him, making him dainty foods and plying him with wine. She wooed him to bed and caressed his arms and forehead. He melted to her touch and promised not to speak so wildly. Soon, she found herself sick again with dizzy spells and nausea. The signs of early pregnancy were unmistakeable, and she hoped that this baby would cure Ellis's foul temper. For several weeks, he seemed back to his old self again, tending the garden, playing with Thilde, even giving her a mischievous grin. Life seemed normal and happy, until one day when a loud knock broke the silent house in the wee hours of the morning. She overheard Ellis conversing with the men and realized the worst: he'd accused her of witchcraft for the loss of her dear baby boy, as though she would ever have it in her to murder the lovely boy child growing in her womb. She snuck quietly to the hall and listened at the door, as she heard the taller of the two say they'd be back to "take possession" in two days. Until then, she would have to steel herself against the inevitable.
The next week was a blur of waking nightmares, as Joan found she could neither sleep nor eat. She forced herself to, for the sake of the new life within her, and the baby at her breast, now a fat jolly baby, dear Thilde who smiled more than she cried. When the guards finally came for her, Joan was prepared, even reticent, and held her chin up. Her resolve did not impress John Farley, the prison Warden, however, and he insisted that she come immediately and follow him away to prison. She found herself quoting Shakespeare in her mind: all that reading in bed during years of the plague she'd suffered as a girl had really given her an interest in literature, and it came back at the oddest times to her aid, like now, when she heard herself repeating the old familiar lines of Lear to Cordelia, "Come let's away to prison, we two alone will sing like birds in the cage." She couldn't help a little smile at the sleeping Thilde who gurgled quietly in her crib. It struck her suddenly that she would have no one to sing with in her cage, and her steely resolve melted. She seethed with anger, thinking how she'd never meant to let that brute John Farley see her cry. Finally, she agreed to leave, but not without giving Farley a good piece of her mind. She found Lear helpful again, as she spat these words in Farley's face: "You see me here, you gods, a poor young girl, As full of grief as motherhood; wretched in both! If it be you that stir this husband's hearts Against his wife, fool me not so much To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, And let not women's weapons, water-drops, Stain my more than man's cheeks! I have full cause of weeping; but this heart Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws Or ere I'll weep. O god! I shall go mad!" Farley didn't know what to say, so he reached for her outstretched hands and cuffed her, leading her to the waiting prison cart outside in the gathering gloom. A few weeks after settling in to her cell, she began to get used to the routines of the horrid place, and almost found she could sleep through the brutal hunger and incessant interrogations. Ellis never came to visit, and she was not allowed to write anyone, so she thought constantly of Thilde and of how big she must be getting, and of whether Ellis was minding her well, keeping her from the edge of the pond. Who was her wet nurse? The questions just kept coming ... until the morning sickness began and Joan realized she was pregnant--again--in this awful place. She knew now she had a reason to survive, and found her will again. She hid bits of food under her bed, and bribed the prison guard with bits of lace from her underthings (his wife was fond of such trivialities, and these were things Ellis had been free with, before the accusations started) to bring her extra water for bathing and drinking. She slept more often and finally, the prison chaplain appeared to have everything he needed to know. She knew in her heart she would be convicted, but was relieved in the knowledge that the sentencing would wait until the end of fall when her fledgling cagemate would appear. Agnes arrived early, in 1606, a tiny baby with bright eyes and delicate skin. She looked a lot like her father, Joan realized, cuddling her to her breast. With no crib, Agnes was forced to sleep on the hard stone floor, but Joan kept her as warm as she could, and tried to remain cheerful, though she cried often while Agnes slept. Just after Agnes's birth, Joan was delighted to find she was allowed to keep the infant to nurse, until she grew to a toddler. The years 1608-1609 flew quickly, however, and she still wondered how Thilde was growing, what was happening to Ellis, and when her sentencing would be given. Late in 1609, she overheard guards discussing her case, and the brutal truth struck her heart in twain. She had been convicted and faced death. Her poor motherless babes! Days passed, she hardly ate or slept, more hungry for information than comfort. When John Farley arrived to take Agnes he was even more familiar and lascivious than ever. He pinched her arms and tweaked her cheeks, rolling his horrible tongue at her through broken teeth. "Guess you'll be seein' yer husband soon enough." He said it repeatedly, not quite to her, or to himself--but more like a universal truth that had got to be acknowledged, and as though it were something of tidy tidbit to be returned to and enjoyed frequently. Joan thrust her chin out, refusing to say anything at all. The thought of seeing Ellis again was not the way to bait her--her husband was best forgotten. She would see him in Hell, she thought. Though it was only 10 in the morning, Joan could smell the reek of cheap brandy on his breath. She shuddered as he worked his tongue through his wide buck teeth and smiled at the baby who sucked her fist. Her only playthings had been bits of yarn torn from Joan's dress, and it was nearly impossible to keep her clean in this filthy hell hole, but somehow she'd managed to do what she could, and the baby was as neat and pretty as most peasant children of the realm. John sauntered over to Agnes and leaned in, as an evil grin overspread his face. "Betchoo don' know wha's happenin' to yer, do yer, eh? little mite?" He reached for, and Agnes cringed, looking to Joan. Always a sensitive child, Agnes screamed and tried to get away as John roughly gathered her up in his meat cleaver paws. "Stop yer squirmin'--ain't making any difference, y'hear?" he growled jovially at her. Joan demanded to know where he was taking her, but the only response she got was as he rounded the cell wall--she was certain she heard the words "orphans, the both of you'n" break from Farley's foul mouth as he disappeared down the corridor with Agnes. So, Ellis was dead? But he was barely fifty, and though quite rotund, always had been strong. She pulled the tattered image of Ellis out of her bosom. She remembered the day his likeness had been drawn, at the county fair and a budding artist--what was his name?--had all but insisted they sit for their likenesses to be drawn for only tuppence a piece. His crafty smile twinkled back at her, forever caught in a day of young romance and kisses stolen behind the apple cart. But try as she might, with her babies gone, Joan could find none of the girlish desire she'd had for him those many years ago. After that day, Joan resolved that she would find some way to escape the horrors of Warwickshire Tower. She endured John Farley's repeated visits and though he beat her brutally, she restrained her temper and bided her time. Only Father Samuel and Starla, the prison cook, showed her any sympathy. She saved up bits of the metal plates her food was brought on and slowly began to manufacture a key. Finally, word was given of her execution date and she learned she had only a matter of weeks to realize her plan. Though she was frequently medicated, she managed to make a key that withstood the cell door lock and began to search the grounds for a way out. The day of her execution, a bright fair day in 1609 dawned clear and beautiful. Joan had her plan ready and waited for the King and Queen to arrive and the execution hearing to begin. While everyone was engaged in a lively discussion of her fate, she quietly slipped through the front gates and disappeared into the vast forests surrounding the castle keep. Thinking only of her children, Joan began to wander south, toward home. She hoped that somehow, she'd be able to find them and reunite with them once more. |
The Bell Family
Head of Household: Joan Coffyn Bell (1579-?)
Station: Peasant
Occupation: None
Profile: Joan is a Neutral Fortune sim. After escaping from prison for a crime she did not commit, Joan hid out in the forests behind Lord Peter's manor in the Duchy of Warwick. Though she hoped the progressive young Duke would understand and help her plight, she has never believed him to be the rightful ruler of Warwickshire, and still maintains an allegience to King Edward, whose sentencing of her crime warranted her death by hanging.
Station: Peasant
Occupation: None
Profile: Joan is a Neutral Fortune sim. After escaping from prison for a crime she did not commit, Joan hid out in the forests behind Lord Peter's manor in the Duchy of Warwick. Though she hoped the progressive young Duke would understand and help her plight, she has never believed him to be the rightful ruler of Warwickshire, and still maintains an allegience to King Edward, whose sentencing of her crime warranted her death by hanging.
Fall 1610-1614
Joan slipped out into the night air, trying to keep out of view of the castle guards. The quiet crunch of gravel under her feet and the soft hoo hooing of owls were the only sounds, save an occasional lowing of cattle from the fields. She walked all night, only stopping for a brief rest to drink from a stream. When first light came, she nestled in under an overgrown hedge and caught several hours of much needed sleep. The only thought on her mind as she descended into a deep sleep was to reunite with her two dear daughters Thilde and Agnes, whom she hadn't seen in over a year. First, she realized she needed a place to stay where she would not be found.
When she awoke, it was late afternoon. She heard the baying of hounds and realized that John Farley was out looking for her. Trembling, she hid deep in the hedge, and peered out at him. Finally, after several agonizing minutes, the hounds caught the scent of a rabbit and bounded off in the opposite direction. When they had gone, Joan breathed a sigh of relief and edged her way out into the clearing. Seeing that she might reasonably fare worse if she tried to move on, Joan gathered a small bundle of firewood and made camp in the woods. With only a few wild hens and a hive of bees nearby, Joan realized the next few months would be difficult, but starvation was unlikely. After several weeks, Joan hears quite accidentally from a passing stranger that the Bell girls are staying with a village woman, one Vickie Thayer (follow link to read about Bell children). She inquires about Ellis, only to discover that he has died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Surprised to discover that news of Ellis's death still had the power to sadden her, Joan cursed her tender heart, refusing to feel sorrow for a man who never deserved her. Her children, she realized, were now quite orphaned in the world, and regardless of the risk, Joan determined she would seek them out. The next day, Joan rose with the sun and followed the small stream back into town, staying well within the tree line. After several hours hard trek, the Thayer plot came into view. She could just make out the forms of two girls playing, and knew them immediately to be her daughters, Thilde and Agnes. How they had grown!
Keeping well out of view of the road, Joan stealthily crept toward the small house. As she broke through the bracken, Vickie Thayer motioned the young girls into the house, and walked resolutely to meet her. |
After several minutes of conversation, Joan confessed that her only desire was to have a fair hearing in the presence of the King, that she might be pardoned of the unfair accusations of her departed husband. Vickie promised to do all she could to see Joan pardoned. Joan begged to see the children, but Vickie refused, telling her that the children were harrassed daily by prison guards asking for information about their mother. The best possible course of action was for them to know as little as possible. Joan agreed, though it broke her heart to realize how close she was to her children and still unable to see them.
Late in 1611, just as evening spread its wide arms across the sky, a terrible hail storm broke forth. Joan huddled under the hedges, fearful that the heavy ice stones would knock her unconscious. As she watched the skies abuse the earth she thanked the good spirits that her dear daughters were safely housed in a proper cottage and not in danger of storms like this one. |
Winter 1615-1619
One morning in early winter, Joan awoke to a wet nuzzling on her hand. Brushing the sleep from her eyes, she was overjoyed to see one of Ellis's old hounds, Brindle licking her fingers. Before long, the weather turned cold and Joan realized the winter would be a hard one. Thankfully, she had received some small bills from Vickie Thayer, who had promised to do all she could to help her. She thankfully traded this money with some eggs for a small tent from a passing peddler. At least the tent would keep the snow from her and provide some small shelter from the wind. Every day, Joan waited for word from Vickie Thayer to see if an appeals trial would be possible. Finally, in 1616, Joan was summoned to Lord Peter's manor by a messenger boy. When she arrived, she was met by her daughter Thilde, who was now practically a woman in her own right. She hadn't seen her since she was a babe, but she recognized her instantly, and had to restrain herself from embracing her. Thilde, now 12, was quiet and serene, but held herself erect. She had Ellis's soft mouth and twinkling eyes, but Joan though she could detect her own fierce will beneath her calm exterior.
Joan's Appeal
When everyone was seated in Lord Peter's drawing room at Warwick Manor, the King opened the proceedings to ask that the record be read aloud. The Queen, with her characteristic grace and compassion called for it to be brought forth. Joan studied Thilde's face, wondering if her eldest daughter held any anger for her, since she'd been away so many years. When the record had been read, Joan winced to hear of the way her exploits had been painted before the court. According to Father Samuel's account, whose hand had penned the official record, Joan had been a difficult prisoner from the day she'd been arraigned. There was no word given of the horrible treatment she'd suffered at John Farley's hands, though for this she felt grateful, not wishing Thilde to ever know what she'd endured in prison. As testimony was heard on the court's behalf, Joan's courage paled and she felt that the trial had been a ruse to recapture her. And then, Thilde was called to testify.
Thilde opened her remarks thanking the King for his favor to her family. She recognized her grandmother's service to his lordship as the Royal Nanny, and she acknowledged her own gratitude to him for granting her mother this opportunity to clear her good name. Joan marveled at what a clear spoken young girl she was, so sure of herself, and so upright in her demeanor. Though it pained to her to hear of how lonely the past years had been for her daughter, she was able to remain dry eyed through most of Thilde's testimony. Only when Thilde told the court of her sister's death, young Agnes, was Joan unable to keep her composure. "These last years have been cruel to us, Your Majesty, but the Good Spirits have helped us to prevail through this hardship," Thilde raised her deep brown eyes to the King. Her voice wavered only slightly before she continued, "My father was a good man. I bear him no ill will." She paused, gathering herself, "but he was mistaken. My mother has done no wrong, Your Majesty."
The Queen smiled benevolently at Thilde, and turned to the King. "This young woman speaks rightly, milord. Her words should be recorded into the register." Joan realized she would have to speak on her own behalf. It was a moment she had rehearsed countless times as snuggled into the thickly leaved floor of the woody thicket where she slept. Now, after having heard Thilde speak, she wasn't sure what she could say to paint her own scenario in a better light. How could this young girl, whom she barely knew, speak so eloquently on her behalf. Those events leading up to the loss of her dear little son, who died inside her before she ever met him--how could she recall those with clarity now, in the presence of her only living child? She knew she hadn't murdered the babe in her womb, as Ellis as accused, but those days were so far behind her now, so hazy with the passing of time. She spoke the only truth of her heart: "I have never sought to harm my babes, Your Majesty. I breathe my life with Finally, Lord Peter spoke. "In the interest of fairness, Your Majesty, we must find this young woman of the realm innocent. Her husband and babe deceased, the years of her life wasted, her daughter now a woman, all of this must not be in vain. This woman is young and fair and bright. She may bear your sire many sturdy sons to till the field and many fair daughters to suckle bold warriors in their cribs. We must, Your Majesty, allow her to clear her good name."
King Edward surveyed Lord Peter quietly, seeking any hint of insubordination in his impassioned plea. The rumors of the Duke's desire to rule were hard to corroborate, but even more difficult to quash. This trial may be a showpiece for his authority, King Edward realized. Still, to prove his own open minded fairness was, perhaps, important, and it would no doubt please the Queen whose grace and compassion delighted in happy outcomes. In that moment, King Edward decided to allow Joan another chance to prove her worth to the kingdom. Joan sat with baited breath as the King turned toward her and motioned for her to leave the proceeding. Her fate, he announced, would be decided upon at a later time, and a messenger would be sent to the woody copse to inform her of her due. Only the Queen's sparkling and infectious smile gave her hope that the King would be merciful. |
theirs, and I should not live myself if ever I aimed to harm even a hair upon their dear heads. I loved my husband--no wife ever loved more, but he was mistaken on this count Your Majesty. I beg your mercy, I beg your understanding, and ..." she paused, seeking the eyes of the Queen, "I beg your compassion."
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Joan returned home to the woody thicket where she'd spent so many years in
hiding. Though she loved the outdoors, she'd quite forgotten how comfortable a proper house was until her recent days at court. A brief, but heavy snowstorm, reminded her of nature's cruelty and Joan shivered violently, wondering how long it would take to for the King to decide her fate. Winter would be nearly unbearable in the wild, with little to eat and even less to keep her warm.
One afternoon, just after tending to her little flock of wild hens, Joan was overjoyed to see that Elpest, Ellis's other hound, had finally found her. After a tearful reunion, she slaughtered one of the hens and roasted it over the fire, sharing it with the two hounds. Their bellies full, the three sheltered in the tent and slept out the night as the cruel winds raged about the canvas.
One afternoon, just after tending to her little flock of wild hens, Joan was overjoyed to see that Elpest, Ellis's other hound, had finally found her. After a tearful reunion, she slaughtered one of the hens and roasted it over the fire, sharing it with the two hounds. Their bellies full, the three sheltered in the tent and slept out the night as the cruel winds raged about the canvas.
Weeks passed, with little change to the weather, and with every passing day Joan found her hope in King Edward dwindle further. Then, quite unexpectedly, her mother came to her and told her to expect His Majesty at any moment for a feast. The notion of her hosting a woodland feast was so preposterous Joan burst into laughter and tears at once. Her mother, Emma, was quite the same as the last time she'd seen her: vibrant, peppery, and sharp tongued, but she loved her, and Joan knew it quite well. She embraced her mother, quite without thinking of the potential consequences, and smiled at her full in the face. "Mother dear, how happy I am to see you. I fear I have very little here in my humble clearing that would please His Majesty, but I shall prepare what feast I may to honor His Lordship." Joan bustled about, gathering what few herbs were left from the fall, a handful of dried parsely and thyme, and a small basket of dried currants. She strangled two of her dear hens, the fattest of the lot, that looked too scrawny to feed a cat, and ground the last of her cornmeal into a paste with some clean snow. A feast indeed!
Joan looked up from her preparations and saw Thilde approaching. Her face was flushed with happiness. Joan greeted her and learned that the King would be not five minutes. All must be in readiness. Hurriedly, the three women swept the floor of the thicket and stoked the fire with what dry branches they could find. The King's trumpets sounded and his Majesty broke forth into the thicket. Joan moved to kneel, when the King stayed her hand. "Dear lady, I have come to issue you pardon. You are free as any birds of this realm." As night fell, Joan served the feast she'd prepared, apologizing for its simplicity. The King, however, seemed delighted in the peasant fare, and thankful for Joan's hospitality. "My daughter, your Majesty, is an excellent cook. Mayhap she could assist you in the Royal kitchens at Redmeade." Joan blushed to hear her mother speak so bluntly to the King, but the compliment warmed her. |
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Her pardon was a relief, but it did little to keep her warm, or fed. As winter set in, the
temperatures dropped further and the snow blew incessantly. Perhaps if she survived the winter, she would consider the King's offer to serve as a cook in the Royal kitchens. There was little chance of that if she froze to death, so every minute was spent trying to stay warm and fed. In the midst of a particularly ferocious blizzard, Joan ventured forth to find some food for the dogs, who were also in danger of starving. The wild hens had left weeks ago, and there were no berries or roots to be found. Only the inner bark of the trees was still edible, but it was no food for a dog. Even the fire refused to burn, and Joan realized death was near as she sank into oblivion only feet from the tent's flap. She was awoken hours later by a passing stranger, who rubbed her wrists and temples, and spoke kind words of comfort to her. He poured a warm liquid down her throat which revived her, and bade her rest.
Ralf Osteler was the kindest man she'd ever met. He stayed with her through the winter and nursed her back to health, and as he did so, he built a small home for her in the thicket, clearing away some of the trees and dense bracken. His liquid blue eyes and high cheekbones told her that he was no peasant, but Ralf never spoke of his people, or where he was from. He was guardian angel, her guardian, who had come from above to rescue her and make her life whole again.
Finally, spring neared and the snow thawed. The world blossomed at her new doorstep and Joan's heart filled with love. Ralf was intelligent and book learned, and she spent hours every evening learning to read. In the mornings, they strolled beneath the forest canopy and watched the first birds back from the south building their nests. One afternoon, quite unexpectedly, Ralf confessed his love to Joan, and asked for her hand. "I haven't got a fortune to promise you, but I give you my heart and my undying devotion." "That is all I could ever ask of you, my love," Joan breathed in his ear. They wed quietly at home with only the parish priest and woodland creatures in attendance. |
Hereafter, you may follow Joan's story in the Osteler Family page.