The King's Mistress (22 page)

“And then to Scotland?” I groaned. “So far!”

“Joan is unlikely to return to Scotland with her husband,” the queen said, quietly, for my ears only.

I forced myself likewise to speak softly though I was screaming inside.

“Why must she be taken from her home?”

“You know why, Alice. For her own protection, just as your silence about how you come to be here is for yours.”

Of Philippa’s eight living children, her youngest son, Thomas, was but three years old, not much older than my Bella. Her two youngest daughters, Margaret and Mary, twelve and fourteen, were often in residence, and even the twenty-six-year-old Isabella was a frequent resident. The queen loved her children; she might understand my yearning to have my daughter with me.

“If only she might bide with me at court.” I was mortified to realize by the queen’s expression that I had said this aloud. “Your Grace, I pray you, forgive my outburst.”

“You are here to attend me, not your daughter. It is so with all my ladies.” She shook her head with irritation. “A commoner’s child being raised in my household—” She stabbed at her needlework. “It would invite gossip. Dangerous gossip.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

There were two levels of well-born women in the queen’s household, those of us who were of birth status above serving women but yet not of noble blood were her dressers and fetchers, and noble women were her companions and sometimes messengers. Throughout the day I was one of several responsible for assembling the queen’s robe for her various activities—gowns, headdresses, jewels, shoes, and cloaks, cleaning and mending as needed, as well as spending time most days doing the decorative stitching on new garments. I was also in attendance when the queen consulted the sempsters, designing her own gowns and the accompanying livery for her household for feasts and state occasions. And in general we attended the queen, serving her refreshments, accompanying her to chapel, walking with her when she had the strength, sometimes reading to her when she was unwell. The duties were not arduous, nor were they nearly as challenging as running a household. In truth, I was bored, which added to my misery.

I had been permitted to bring Melisende with me to court, and escaped to the stables to be with her as often as possible. I dreamed of
a time when she might once again reside in my own stables. But I felt that life receding further and further into the past. And the future was a gray cloud. Even my standing as “dame” Alice was taken from me, as the queen referred to women of my status as “mistress.”

Overwhelmed by the strangeness of court, confused by its rituals, and unsure what was expected of me, I made mistakes, overreached myself.

I forgot myself one day when Queen Philippa asked my opinion about the cloth spread out before her on the great bed in her chamber. Cloth of gold, richly dyed wools and silks, intricately patterned … though it was a more costly collection than I’d ever seen in one place, I felt comfortable with the familiarity of it all. I knew cloth. I asked what sorts of garments she was planning, for what occasions, and then made suggestions.

Too late I noticed the telltale sounds that indicated the noblewomen were taken aback by my audacity.

The queen heard them as well and turning to them, declared, “Listen to Mistress Alice and learn, all of you. She is all that I had hoped she would be.”

From that moment they were my sworn enemies.

They would sit to one side of the airy sewing chamber, idly plucking at their needlework while gossiping, their elegant headdresses trembling with suppressed amusement or indignation as they leaned closer first to one companion, then the other. Across the tiled floor we lesser women eagerly applied ourselves, delighted to handle the exquisite cloth, the silken thread, even the gold or silver wire that cut our fingers receiving our admiration. We would comment on the quality, and I would get carried away, expounding on the virtues of the various cloths on which we worked, their weaves, dyes, finishes.

“The pattern in this tabby weave is clever, is it not? Every third strand picked out, then every sixth, every ninth, and back to third,” I might note with enthusiasm.

“It is all of a color. You will ruin your eyes with such counting,” Lady Ann would say with a lazy laugh. The other headdresses shivered in glee.

Admiring a satin border we were sewing on a patterned silk bodice, I might exclaim, “Look how the indigo draws out the blue cast to the red in the patterned silk.” I could not help myself.

“Such an eye for color, Mistress Alice,” Lady Eleanor would say. “How clever of you. Is that how the mercers coax their fellows’ wives into debt, by such subtle description?”

I had not realized that the high born proudly feigned ignorance of such details.

“And what might this blue be called, Mistress Alice? Is it costly? Or might a fisherman’s wife afford it?” Lady Mary would ask.

Their amused glances at one another as they goaded me on to reveal the depths of my commoner’s mercantile knowledge eventually silenced me.

Among my peers I was considered arrogant. Among the noblewomen I was considered an inferior, a commoner who did not know my place, and I was treated as a servant when not in the presence of the queen. I kept a modest demeanor, praying that in time I might win acceptance.

Their sneers increased my discomfort about Bella’s august upbringing far removed from me. I was wretched, terrified that my own daughter would one day be ashamed of me or, worse yet, forget me. When I thought of her cheerful wave as she’d departed with Queen Joan’s party the pain left me breathless.

Only Philippa seemed pleased with me. Although her stated purpose in adding me to her household—to be reminded of the practical considerations in which a woman of the merchant class had been trained—had been doomed from the beginning by her own extravagance, she continued to consult me in all matters of dress. She spoke of the merchant class as practical, prudent folk, when in truth it was the wealthier members of that class for whom she yearned, those who had feasted and jousted with her family in Hainault. And so, instead of learning from me how to make practical choices, she taught me instead how to let go of my inhibitions and indulge my desires, my natural delight in all fine things. In my dress I spent lavishly on gowns of silk, escarlatte, and even one of silk velvet, enjoying the way the soft fabrics caressed my skin, and shoes and boots of supplest leather that seemed to lighten my every step.

Janyn encouraged such spending, considering it a sign that I was embracing my new life, and, in truth, it was worth seeing the light in his eyes as I twirled about showing off my latest gowns. He would lift me up by the waist and dance me round the hall, and I would forget all
my misgivings about my current situation for the joy of that moment with my beloved. But it was no substitute for his daily company, the intimacy of living with him.

Two winters had passed without my conceiving the child I prayed would reunite my family. In my desperation I consulted a Dominican friar, Dom Clovis, whose name was passed on in whispers among the women of the queen’s household. I asked him to concoct a love potion for Janyn and me. Clovis created a charm of holy words and fragrant oil, but it did not ease our estrangement. I could see that Janyn was ever more anxious, yet I could not reach him.

In the midst of all this came the awful news that Geoffrey had been captured by the French. For several weeks I spent hours in church with his parents, praying for his safe release. When word came in March that the king had ransomed him, Janyn and I joined a celebratory feast at the guildhall. Though I was overjoyed at the good news, Janyn hardly seemed present.

O
N THE
occasion of Bella’s third birthday in June, Janyn, Bella, Dame Tommasa, Master Martin, and I spent a wonderful month at Fair Meadow as a family. It felt a precious gift after seventeen months at court. Bella grew close to her father during that time. Janyn presented her with a pony and taught her to ride. I rode with her as well, but she much preferred preening in the admiration of her handsome, adoring father. The weather was glorious, and everyone seemed determined to be out of doors, riding, walking, gardening. At night, much to my surprise and joy, Janyn and I rekindled our love with renewed passion. It was a happy time, giving me new hope. Returning to the queen’s household in July was one of the most difficult things I have ever done.

After the happy month with my family loneliness plagued me more than ever, and, though I knew it for a sin, I found myself unable to conquer my self-pity. Even my familiar confessor had been taken from me, Dom Hanneye having been sent to Oxford. My new confessor, Dom Creswell, was a man of the court. He was kind in his counsel, seeing my unhappiness and expressing sympathy while gently suggesting that, as I had no choice in the matter, I could either be miserable lamenting what could not be or learn contentment with what was. I did recognize the wisdom of his advice. Dame Tommasa had urged me to do the same when I had wept in her loving embrace earlier in the year.

I could not deny that I was surrounded by beauty and had only to ask for most of my material wishes to be fulfilled. Music filled my days, as well as poetry, ballads, tales of far-off lands. There was much dancing and I enjoyed learning new steps, delighting in the heady feeling of being swept along by the music and my fellow dancers. There were weeks of feasting, with guests from royal houses and legendary bloodlines, and hunting, hawking, riding, watching jousts and tourneys. In the quiet in between we embroidered with precious threads on the most beautiful cloth and prayed in exquisitely fitted chapels, the servants ever ready with mantles and lap rugs to warm us if we felt chilled.

Still my heart cried out for my sweet homes with Janyn and Bella, and despite our happy coupling in June, he and I had as yet begun no new life. It seemed that God had other plans for me.

I
N SEPTEMBER
Janyn departed on a journey to Milan. It was to be a brief one, and he promised to send word of his progress via passing merchants on their return to London. But when November arrived and I had heard no word of him, I was terrified for my beloved and all the family, including Bella and myself. Despite his weaning me from him, I had not imagined that this time Janyn might not return.

While the queen’s household was at Sheen, so near to the city, I sought leave to go into London to visit Dame Tommasa and Master Martin, hoping to hear some news of Janyn. Surely by now someone journeying from Lombardy might have returned to London and reported seeing him. I caught the queen in a distracted moment, and she agreed as long as household guards escorted Gwen and me.

My page, Stephen, accompanied us to the city, and two guards followed us at a discreet distance. As I approached the Perrers’ house I grew horribly anxious, my mind spinning out tales of terror. I paused in St. Mary Aldermary to compose myself. The church was blessedly quiet as I knelt before the lady altar. Gwen covered me with a warm mantle and withdrew to join Stephen on a bench well behind me and away from the drafts. I knelt there for a long while, praying that I would hear good news, any news, of Janyn, praying for my daughter, for my husband, and for all our family.

My heart finally steadied, I felt I might continue to the house. As I prepared to rise, I noticed a drably dressed woman with a baby in her arms standing to one side of the lady altar, quite close to me. As I rose I must have jostled her, for she dropped her prayer beads. Seeing
it would be most awkward for her to bend down with her burden to retrieve them, I reached down. My hand froze midway. God help me, they were Janyn’s rosewood beads, the ones that were to signal my walking away from him and our families. I felt dizzy as I grasped them and straightened up. I must be mistaken. I had convinced myself that disaster was at hand, and thus I had seen what I dreaded seeing. I held the beads out to her in my shaking hand.

“You dropped your beads.”

“You are most kind, Dame Alice,” said the woman as she reached out, palm forward, to refuse them, “but you must keep them. Know by this from whom my message comes. He and his mother have safely crossed the Channel. They will not return. He commends you to the protection of the household in which you serve, and prays that you forgive and forget. As you vowed.”

“Forgive and forget?” I repeated, staring down at the beads in my hand. “How did you come to have these?”

When I looked up for her response she was gone, and now Stephen, standing beside me, was asking if the woman had harmed me. I shook my head and pressed the beads to my nose, inhaling, hoping to catch Janyn’s scent. But they were merely rosewood beads, though now they held such a horrible weight I could not bear to have them in my possession. I stepped up to the statue of the Blessed Mother and wound the beads round her wrist until they blended with the other offerings that adorned her.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, watch over my beloved.” I looked round for someone from the church who might know the woman I’d encountered, but Gwen, Stephen, and I were the only people in sight. “Is it not unusual to have a church in the middle of the city all to ourselves?” I said, more to myself than my companions.

“Do you know her?” asked Stephen.

I felt as if I were trapped in a nightmare. It would not have surprised me had my companions not seen the woman or the beads.

Stephen repeated his question. “I am responsible for your welfare, Mistress Alice. Why did she give you the beads? Do you know her?”

“She was a stranger to me. I had not noticed that I had dropped the beads. I’d forgotten I had them in my hands.” I lied, needing time to think, to comprehend what had just transpired. I did not want Stephen and the guards to insist on my returning to the palace without seeing Master Martin. “Let us continue to the Perrers home.”

I hurried now, anxious to learn what Master Martin knew, frantic for his reassurance. I did not want to believe the beads signaled my separation from Janyn. But the moment I stepped through the hall door I sensed an absence, a void in the spirit of the place, and knew that something terrible had happened. The servant who showed us in excused himself at once, which was not his custom. He was wont to ask after Bella and beg to hear what wonders I’d seen at court since we last spoke. As I waited I noticed clutter and dust, and the absence of some of the most colorful cloths that Tommasa used to cover tables and benches. The servant returned in silence, and still in silence led me to where my father-in-law sat in a small screened-off part of the hall in which he worked on his business records.