The King's Mistress (13 page)

Arriving at Fair Meadow as the lady of the manor was a very different experience from my earlier visit. Now it was a homecoming, and the servants warmly welcomed me. I could not imagine being happier.

J
ANYN DEPARTED
before dawn on the day he was to hunt with the former queen. I rolled over to enjoy what lingered of his warmth and scent, but as his side of the bed cooled I grew restive, my feet too cold despite the bedclothes, the curtains around the bed shielding me from drafts, and the brazier I could hear simmering out in the
chamber, close enough to keep the chill from the bed. My feet being cold usually bespoke fear, and though I lay there trying to convince myself that I was not anxious about meeting the queen mother, I had been praying for days that I would please her, and in so doing please Janyn.

It would be midafternoon before the hunting party returned, and the house was ready. We had worked hard for two days arranging all that we’d brought from London, planning the meals, the sleeping arrangements. Janyn, Dame Tommasa, and Gertrude had, in truth, had little need of me, but I had watched with care, asking questions and committing it all to memory for the next time. I meant to take my responsibilities seriously. Yesterday a company of the dowager queen’s servants, including a lady-in-waiting and a priest, had arrived with many chests and some furniture.

I was confident that Gertrude was already up and reviewing the plans with the household. Gwen would be there as my eyes and ears. So why could I not drift back into a calming and renewing sleep? Beyond my anxiety about pleasing her, I feared Isabella of France. It appeared most people walked softly in her presence.

The daughter of the King of France and the Queen of Navarre, she had been bred to be a queen. Her betrothal to the young Edward of Caernarvon had been urged by the Pope as the best hope for peace between England and France. Beautiful, educated, and fabulously robed, according to my grandmother, she had arrived in England to discover that her handsome young husband had already lost his heart and pledged his undying devotion to his comrade-in-arms, Piers Gaveston. Not one to concede defeat Isabella had quietly encouraged the barons’ natural animosity toward Gaveston, and devoted herself to the young king, her husband, making herself his indispensable partner.

Years after Gaveston’s execution another handsome knight, Hugh Despenser, usurped Isabella’s role as Edward’s partner. Despenser was not satisfied with fortune and favor like Gaveston, but thirsty for power and ruthless in taking it. Isabella sailed to France, arranged for her son, Edward’s heir, to join her there, and allied herself with Roger Mortimer, an English baron whom Edward had exiled and stripped of lands and titles. She shared Mortimer’s bed and with him planned and executed an invasion that led to Despenser’s long, painful, and very public execution and eventually the murder of King Edward, her husband
and father of the present king. Even in her waning years Isabella was a powerful woman, entertaining the ruling families of Europe in her elegant palace at Castle Rising or one of the other royal residences.

I had not known a woman could hold so much power. And even if she had wielded it while queen, to have retained some of it after her lover arranged for the murder of her husband, an anointed king, went against everything I’d ever been taught about the role of women, or our abilities. I imagined her having male genitals hidden beneath her elegant skirts and a demon for a familiar on her left shoulder. But everyone in the household spoke of her as beautiful, profoundly feminine, graceful, and just, if not overly merciful.

Thinking of Isabella was not calming me. I rose and sent for Gwen, intending to go riding before I dressed for the dowager queen’s arrival. Serenity was saddled and ready for me when I stepped out into the yard. Janyn’s father stood beside his own horse.

“I welcome your company, Father,” I said as I kissed him on the cheeks, “but a groom would have sufficed as my companion.”

“Not today, my dear daughter,” he said. His eyes were merry, and in them I read that he had leaped at the chance to escape the last-minute flurry of preparations.

The morning was beautiful, a beneficence of warmth—for late October—and sunshine after a stormy night. My father-in-law was loquacious, recounting past feasts in the company of Queen Mother Isabella. Hearing the temerity in my questions, he cast all his stories in the light of the dowager queen’s affection for our family.

But I returned home only slightly less frightened than when I had departed.

Gwen and Dame Tommasa hurried me to my chamber to bathe and dress so that I might be present in the hall the moment the herald announced the royal visitor approaching. Despite Dame Agnes’s warning that I should not wear red when entertaining the dowager queen, my mother-in-law had insisted on it, brushing aside the well-meant advice with assurances that the Lady Isabella would approve of my wearing it. I was to wear my wedding garb, but of course this time my hair was gathered up off my neck and partially covered by the beautiful red brocade headdress. I was now a married woman, welcoming a great lady and her company to my home—someone I had never met and already feared and distrusted.

Dame Tommasa kept up a flow of chatter as she assisted Gwen, determined to see me smile.

“It is proper that you are fearful lest anything should go amiss, Alice, but rest assured that you have the best help, and the household knows what is expected of them.”

“Not to mention the ten servants, a cook, and a lady of the chamber,” Gwen murmured, her eyes amused.

But I found it impossible to be lighthearted. “I have never been in the presence of royalty, yet now I am about to welcome the mother of my king into my home and converse with her. I am frightened, Dame Tommasa.” There. I had said it, though it embarrassed me to admit it.

My mother-in-law’s response made me regret having so spoken. She shook her head at me and with a half smile said, “You
would
ride out this morning. Now you are weary and making much ado about nothing. Her Grace is your guest, Alice, and you shall be a most gracious hostess.” She gave my hands a vigorous rub, then chucked me beneath the chin. “Now I must finish my own dressing.” With a last hug that seemed intended to shake me to my senses, she sailed out of the room.

“Would you like to see the chamber we have prepared for Her Grace, and how we have decorated the hall?” Gwen suggested.

I gathered myself and resolved to enjoy myself. “Of course! The chamber first, then the hall.”

We descended to the lower level, where a beautiful chamber that Janyn used for his meetings with merchants or his steward when he wanted more privacy than the hall might afford had been transformed into a bedchamber for the dowager queen. A large, grand bed had arrived two days earlier, together with chests bursting with wall hangings, bedclothes, and cushions. I had at first been offended by the implication that we had nothing fine enough for Her Grace, but Janyn assured me that Isabella always provided her own bed and bedding if possible. It was the custom of nobles.

“But what could possibly be more beautiful than what we might provide?” I had asked.

Janyn’s laughter left me feeling naïve. It was a jolly, full-throated laugh, as if I had said something very funny. “I forget that you have never seen a royal residence, my sweet, innocent Alice.” He looked at me, then hugged me to him. “Forgive my laughter, my love. God knows I would not insult you. I delight in your innocence. I will be
sorry when you have seen all that I have seen, when I’ve nothing new to show you.”

Now I looked at the gold and silver thread, the lapis lazuli pigments on the tapestries, the bed curtains, the coverlets, and saw that it was true; we had nothing so fine. On the window ledges cushions of indigo embroidered in gold and silver thread welcomed one to sit and gaze out at the fields and woodland. Several maidservants sat sewing near the south window, and one was stirring something over the brazier. Lady Jane, Isabella’s lady-in-waiting who had been sent ahead to ensure that all was ready for Her Grace, kept them well in hand. At dinner the previous evening she had been sweet company, making up for the priest who was a dour Frenchman, too rude and dismissive for my taste.

A great wooden bath stood in one corner, by the brazier, and an intricately carved wooden screen nearby, ready to shield Her Grace from drafts.

“All seems ready,” I said. “Let us move on.”

Down in the hall there was little evidence of the frantic rushing about of the past few days except for the transformation of the great chamber. Unlike our home in London, the hall at Fair Meadow was not tiled but stone-flagged, and softened with rushes, a true country house. The fresh rushes were strewn with fragrant herbs to sweeten the room, and a fire merrily burned in the fire circle. No dogs lounged about, and the great trestle table was set up, covered with a brightly painted cloth, the benches piled with colorful cushions.

Gertrude appeared, trailed by a serving boy carrying more cushions, so many that he looked ready to topple over with them. I wondered where she meant to put them, and then I saw—there were more benches ranged along the wall.

“How many will be in Her Grace’s company?” I asked Gwen.

“Thirty at least,” she said, “but that includes the twelve who arrived last evening. She has been known to bring as many as fifty.”

“I should think she’d seldom travel if it requires such a party!”

Gertrude sent off the serving boy and joined us. “Mistress, how beautiful you look today.” Her smile was sweet and she gave me a little bow.

“I am pleased with all you have done,” I said. And so grateful that she had experience of such events.

We all turned toward the yard as a horn sounded.

“That will be her herald,” said Gertrude. She gathered her skirts and hurried from the hall.

Once more my hands turned to ice. “Where shall I stand?” I asked Gwen.

But it was Dame Tommasa who answered, sweeping into the hall, “You shall stand at the hall door when all the party has dismounted, Alice. Until then, let us sit by the window and enjoy the breeze.” She guided me by my elbow to one side of the hall, beneath a long window.

We were soon joined by Lady Jane. “Oh, Dame Alice, what a vision you are!” she exclaimed as she gracefully perched beside us and gazed at me, then the room. “It is no wonder my lady loves this place. I have been walking in the gardens, and cannot remember so peaceful and beautiful a morning.”

“Have you seen Dame Tommasa’s garden in the city?” I asked. “It is a wonder of peace and beauty in the middle of noisy, crowded London.”

“I should love to see it someday.”

“You would be most welcome,” said Dame Tommasa with a beatific smile. She gave me a little bow in thanks.

My heart leaped at the sound of the hunting party’s arrival, but when I began to rise Lady Jane stopped me, gently resting a hand on my shoulder.

“They will not dismount at once. I pray you, be at ease awhile longer.”

Though I sat still I was anything but at ease. When I was finally guided to the hall door my knees wanted to lock with every step. The yard, so peaceful when last I’d walked through it, was now roiling with people and beasts moving in all directions. And then I spied Janyn, resplendent in hunting green. He was speaking to a woman who must be Isabella of France, the quiet center of the pack. She stood beside a black horse unlike any I had ever seen before, so sleek, so graceful, yet large, and with a hint of wildness in his eyes. Isabella wore widow’s weeds of style and elegance. Over a black gown she wore a black leather surcoat, with matching long gloves and hat. I imagined that the leather had been chosen to protect her clothing from the horse’s sweat. It created a dramatic contrast, the black against her pale hair and skin. She knew the effect she had, I was certain.

I wondered for whom she wore the weeds, for whom she mourned—her late husband or Roger Mortimer? Or if she simply mourned her own lost queenship.

As if she had sensed my regard she swept around to face me, looking right into my eyes. Though we were at least twenty strides apart, I felt that her gaze penetrated to my heart and she saw my fear. She gave me a cold smile, then turned back to Janyn.

He and all the others bowed to Isabella and moved to one side as she proceeded through the crowd, everyone allowing her to pass. Did they, too, watch her in awe beneath their lashes? I wondered. She glided, as if her feet merely skimmed the ground. She looked neither to right nor left, but neither did she watch where she walked, which I certainly would have done in an unfamiliar yard, with horse and dog droppings likely to be all about. But her eyes seemed fixed on the lintel of our great door. What confidence she had that no one would allow her path to be befouled. As she drew close, she lowered her gaze to note our little gathering in the doorway—Dame Tommasa, Master Martin, and Lady Jane standing behind me.

I bowed low and managed to welcome her to Fair Meadow as my mother-in-law had rehearsed me. When she was within a few arm’s lengths of me I realized with surprise that Isabella was shorter than I was—from afar she had seemed to tower over the others. Her eyes were hazel, like mine, her expression one of impatience barely masked by a polite smile.

“The hunt was glorious and we are weary, Dame Alice.”

Only then did I notice the shadows beneath her eyes, how shallow was her breathing.

Lady Jane stepped forward, offering to lead her mistress directly to her chamber.

As they progressed through the hall the line of servants bowed, and then several scurried off to fetch the heated water for Her Grace’s bath.

Now a wry-faced nobleman, dressed almost as elegantly as Isabella, stepped up to me.

Janyn introduced him as a count; I no longer remember of where or what his Christian name was. I do recall him bowing to me and declaring himself heartsick that his friend had found me before he had a chance to woo me himself. I fear it turned my head a bit, and I floated away with him and his younger, English companion, Sir David, to sit with them while they enjoyed some wine and cold refreshment. Janyn went off to dress for the feast. Lady Jane had informed me that Sir
David often acted as the dowager queen’s courier between her and Janyn, and that I would see him often. The count was a distant relation of Isabella, no one I need remember.