The King's Mistress (14 page)

Sir David brought news of my good friend Geoffrey, whom he’d met at a tournament. My friend had made a point of toasting Janyn and me by name, as it had been the day of our wedding.

“He is to join the household of Prince Lionel and his wife, the Countess of Ulster. Lionel is the king’s second-born son, and the countess of almost equally noble blood. It is quite an honor.”

I was happy for Geoffrey, and amused to hear that he already had a reputation for witty banter.

“Indeed he is very well liked,” said Sir David, “and will continue to rise in the noble households. Since you are favored by Her Grace, you will have opportunity to see your friend often, I should think.”

“I am grateful for such gladsome tidings,” I said. I had not thought to see much of Geoffrey now that our paths had so diverged.

The musicians had set up in a corner of the hall and began to play a merry tune. I felt as if I were dreaming, the hall so beautiful, the company so elegant—including myself—and the food and music promising a most delightful afternoon and evening.

M
Y DELIGHT
dimmed as soon as the dowager queen joined us in the hall. I could not imagine any queen more resplendent than Isabella—I was certain that her daughter-in-law the present Queen of England must feel lacking beside her. I certainly did. I had felt guilty about the splendor of my robes, jewels, shoes, veils, but saw now that they were modest in comparison with royalty’s—or at least with Isabella’s. The jet and obsidian adorning her dark silk-velvet gown caught the light with such a shimmer it seemed as if they were alive, as if she had gathered thousands of butterflies and commanded them to flutter their wings and cover her as she moved. Her robe scintillated so that when she was in the room the eye was drawn continually to her. And she wore it with ease and grace, absolutely accustomed to her own splendor.

To my great relief, Her Grace seemed to warm to me as the meal proceeded. Janyn had been speaking of how quickly I had learned to ride and teased me about my fondness for my slow-gaited mare, saying I had named her Serenity.

“But that is a very fitting name for a beloved mount,” Her Grace declared, and turned, tilting her head to one side, seeming to look at me for the first time. “She blesses you with serenity?”

“She does, Your Grace.” I searched for something to add. “The noise around me seems to recede when I ride her, and the air softens.”

She graced me with a breathtakingly beautiful smile. Her eyes lit up, her ivory skin gathered at her temples, and a dimple appeared to the left of her wide mouth. How her king could have looked at another when she was near, I could not imagine.

“Your husband tells me that you wish to hunt. You shall join me when you have had some experience. I like a woman who feels at one with her horse. I should think you might also enjoy hunting with a hawk.”

A while later I heard her comment to Janyn, “It is a pity her parents did not have her riding and hawking, but they did seem of simple stock. How fortunate that you plucked their swan from the nest before she sank to their level.”

Later, as she sat listening to the minstrels in the hall, Isabella fell asleep, her face slack, a thread of spittle slipping from one corner of her mouth. Both Janyn and his mother looked exceedingly uncomfortable, not disgusted but fearful. I did not understand their distress. Isabella was an old woman who put on a good display of vigor but could not sustain it. I had found it comforting to see this human side of her. Their unease troubled me.

In bed that night Janyn was fulsome in his praise of both Isabella and myself, almost too much so, as though desperate to believe that all was well. But perhaps I was being too sensitive. He was wild in his lovemaking, which must be a good sign. I did not speak of my anxieties and uncertainties.

T
HE NEXT
day Janyn and Dame Tommasa conferred with Her Grace in her chamber for several hours while I enjoyed a ride around the estate with Master Martin, the count, and Sir David.

At the feast afterward I caught snippets of exchanges between Janyn and his father about a journey to Lombardy in late winter. I sensed a tension between them, and prayed I was mistaken in this. The minstrels were singing, there were many conversations in progress, and it was possible I was mixing up the words of one group with another’s.

Isabella had been with us several days before she again turned her
attention to me. After instructing me on a point of etiquette regarding the way I addressed Gertrude, about which I was mortified despite having been warned she might say such things, she declared herself very glad that she had made certain our marriage would take place.

“I am as delighted with you as Janyn said I would be,” she said. “The effort to guarantee your union was not wasted.” She had leaned closer to say in a conspiratorial voice, “I see by the way your husband looks on you that your bed sport is everything he had hoped.”

That he had spoken to her of his taste in lovemaking seemed to suggest a relationship inappropriate to his station—as had been her relationship with Roger Mortimer. I studied her, wondering with dismay whether this exquisite bird of paradise had been my husband’s lover. How else would she understand his looks?

“Your Grace,” I said, “I am the happiest of brides, and deeply honored by your interest.” I managed to say it without choking on my sudden suspicion.

In bed that night, I was tense with questions and close to tears. Janyn noticed at once.

“My sweet Alice, my love,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “What troubles you?”

“What had Her Grace to do with our betrothal? How can she guess from your eyes that we enjoy our lovemaking?”

He said nothing for a while, lying back on the cushions, folding his arms behind his head. The soft black hair on his chest attracted my hand, but I resisted. I wanted an answer, and the moment I touched him I would doubtless lose my chance.

“She values my services, and knows that an unhappy man is a reckless man. Therefore she wanted me happily married once more, with a beloved wife and children to inspire caution in my travels, and she knew that you were my heart’s desire. As for my eyes, I cannot say.” He chuckled at the ceiling. “How strange that she spoke of that to you.” Then he turned on his side, his eyes caressing me as his hand idly skimmed my belly.

“Were you lovers?” I demanded.

“You are jealous? How delicious! But Isabella of France and Janyn Perrers, merchant? No, my beautiful Alice.”

He began to kiss me with an ardor I could not find it in myself to resist. Such was the pattern of our nighttime discussions.

I did not see at the time how he used our lovemaking to silence my questions, subtly suggesting to me that in wanting to know more than the little he told me I risked my happiness. I was only fourteen and so much in love.

• 1356 •

O
N THE
day the dowager queen was to depart, I awoke feeling sick to my stomach. Gwen suggested I ask Dame Tommasa to take my place in the hall, but I feared I might insult the dowager queen should I fail to bid her farewell. As it turned out, I need not have bothered. The Lady Isabella broke her fast in her chamber and remained there until the company was ready to depart.

As we awaited the dowager queen’s appearance, I asked my mother-in-law whether we had offended Her Grace that she should so sequester herself on this last morning of her visit.

“Her Grace is indisposed this morning. When she drinks too much brandywine she is beset with nightmares that shatter her sleep.”

I wondered whether she dreamed of her late husband’s execution, but before I could pursue the topic a flurry of activity heralded Isabella’s departure. She did indeed look pale and exhausted, yet dressed for riding. An indomitable spirit.

• • •

O
NCE WE
bid our guests farewell I permitted myself to contemplate the wonderful possibility that I was with child. My flowers, as Dame Agnes had taught me to call my monthly flux, had been unreliable since my wedding night, so I had not dared to hope. But after five queasy mornings … I enumerated my symptoms to Dame Tommasa.

With a joyful sigh she enfolded me in her arms. “My precious daughter, you must tell Janyn at once!”

It is impossible for me to describe the joy with which my husband received the news. His eyes, always so expressive, seemed to melt with love for me. He reached out for me, then seemed uncertain.

“I will not break under your touch, my love,” I assured him. “In truth, I need you to hold me.”

I slept in his arms that night, and it did not matter that when I woke I felt ill again. I felt cocooned in a nest of such love that I regretted nothing, not even the nausea. Indeed, though I’d already felt as if nothing were denied me, it had been nothing in comparison with the way Janyn and his parents and all the household now indulged my every whim.

I had only two regrets, that I could no longer ride Serenity and that we departed for London within a fortnight of Isabella’s departure. Master Martin could stay away from his trade no longer and Dame Tommasa felt that she should accompany him, and yet she did not wish to leave me at Fair Meadow with only the servants and Janyn to help me adjust to my first pregnancy.

Despite the regrets, I quickly cheered up, thinking of sharing my happy news with Nan, Mary, Will, and John. I returned to London in a cart well cushioned by bedding and covered in sailcloth.

We resumed a comfortable rhythm of domestic routine, church, and entertaining. Janyn made no delay in introducing me to his circle. He had only one concern.

“Make no mention of the royal guest we entertained while at Fair Meadow,” he warned.

“But surely folk know that you trade in her name.”

“Of course. But it is never discussed. And as for her favor, it is unusually personal, Alice, and might therefore inspire jealousy or suspicion.”

“Suspicion of what, my love?”

“The royal family are ever in need of money to fill their coffers, and those merchants and bankers—especially the bankers—who make them loans are most favored.”

“You have loaned money to Her Grace?”

“A little. But others would surmise that I have loaned her far more, and then, thinking I must have money to spare, would wish to borrow from me as well. I have none to give!”

“You spend it all on me.”

He laughed. “It is well spent, my love.” He quickly grew serious again. “Favor brings preference, and there are guild rules, though the royal family and the great barons are not bound by such constraints. So we do not speak of such things.”

“What of the servants? Surely some of them gossip; they are only human.”

“What matters is that we say nothing, my love, so there is nothing but the gossip of servants, which is hardly proof. Do you understand?”

“I shall not refer in public to Her Grace.”

He was well pleased. In truth, to say nothing of Her Grace’s visit was so simple that I found it no burden; but the prohibition chilled me. I worried that such a secret presaged trouble, and feared what might happen. The not knowing cast a shadow over my happiness.

Despite my condition, I was soon busy with the household. I shopped, sewed, and even hired additional servants, being certain to consult Gertrude, Angelo the cook, and Gwen beforehand. I enjoyed bargaining with merchants, choosing new materials to brighten up the house—Dame Tommasa had inspired me. In general I found my duties immensely satisfying.

But my moods were increasingly mercurial, and I was glad of the daily round of prayers at my new parish church, especially once I had found a confessor who put me at ease. John de Hanneye was a young priest assisting the elderly pastor, in preparation for his first preferment to a parish of his own. He knew Janyn and liked the Perrers family, but that was not why I was drawn to him. From the first I felt a strong connection to him, a familiarity I could not explain. Gwen liked him as well, and was good about wandering away to entertain herself while I spoke to him. I took the risk of confiding in him my anxiety concerning Her Grace’s influence over my marriage, my husband, and his mother—I’d taken the precaution of doing so in the protection of
confession. I appreciated that he listened with sympathy, but without offering empty reassurances. Together we prayed that God would protect my family.

I met a great many of Janyn’s guild fellows and their wives, and made some new friends. But there was one occasional dinner guest I disliked and distrusted from the start, a Fleming by the name of Richard Lyons. By his rough manner and the coarseness of his speech he was clearly of low birth, yet Janyn’s fellow merchants tolerated his unpleasantness because he was wealthy and very influential, particularly in the lucrative court circle. He leered when he first met me, with his bold gaze unclothing and ravishing me. I yearned to slap him.