Joanna’s dark eyes glittered. “Edward’s been drunk ever since he arrived. De Clare tore a strip off him last night for his inappropriate behavior, yet in truth the queen was not an overly devoted mother to any of her children. The king was her sun and her moon, the center of her universe.”
“She was married to Edward for almost fifty years, since she was a child of ten. The queen’s devotion is understandable.”
Joanna bent close so that only Jory would hear her words. “And yet I am willing to wager that the King of England will not tear himself from his war with France long enough to bury her.”
Jory was shocked at her friend’s cynical words, yet she realized Joanna likely spoke the truth. “You and Prince Edward will represent His Majesty at Queen Eleanor’s funeral tomorrow.”
“With my sallow skin, I look haggard in black, while the mourning color will flatter you beyond reason.”
Jory shuddered. She could not deny that black made her look ethereal. “I beg you go and lie down. Tomorrow will be a long, emotionally exhausting day. I’ll go see how Sylvia is faring.”
Sylvia de Warenne was ghastly pale and her eyes were red from weeping. She patted the hand of Alicia Bolton in an effort to console the distraught lady-in-waiting.
“There, there, my dear. It is difficult for all of us.”
“Lady de Warenne, I nursed the queen night and day and followed the directions of her physician implicitly. When her cough worsened, I applied mustard clysters to ease her suffering.”
“None could have served Queen Eleanor more devotedly than you, Alicia. Take consolation in knowing you did all that you could.”
“Whatever will become of me, my lady?” Alicia moaned. “Lady Catherine Percy and the queen’s other ladies-in-waiting have great families to return to. I was a ward of Eleanor’s because I have no family. I know not what will become of me.”
“Surely a young woman as attractive as you has marriage prospects, Alicia?”
“Alas, without dowry I stand little chance of marrying well. My only hope will be to find a position of lady-in-waiting in a noble household…like yours, Lady de Warenne.”
“After serving Her Royal Majesty here at Windsor, surely it would be a step down to become one of my ladies?”
“It would be an honor to serve you and become part of the de Warenne household at Hedingham Castle. Someday you will be the noble Countess of Surrey.”
“Then consider it settled, Alicia. We will help each other get through this tragic time.”
“Thank you for your gracious generosity, Lady de Warenne.” Alice Bolton, who had renamed herself Alicia, lowered her lashes lest Sylvia see the triumph in her calculating eyes.
A knock on the door prompted Alice to say, “Allow me to get that. If you’re not up to seeing anyone, I’ll make your excuses.” Alice opened the door and was surprised to find the newly wed Marjory de Bohun on the threshold.
Jory stepped into the chamber and spoke to both women. “You have my heartfelt condolences. It is especially sad for you devoted ladies who were in the queen’s service.” She spoke to Alicia. “Please convey to the ladies-in-waiting that Princess Joanna is most grateful for all you have done for her mother.”
Alicia dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and departed.
Jory hurried to Sylvia’s side and slipped her arm about her. “I am so sorry that Lynx cannot be with you.”
“Men are little comfort when it comes to sickness and death. I remember when my own mother fell ill, how distant and short-tempered my father became. Women must rely upon each other for succor and solace at times like these.”
“It’s such a shock. The queen seemed well at my wedding.”
“Actually, she began to cough that day we sailed on the royal barge before Princess Joanna’s wedding. We all assumed she would recover from such a minor ailment, but her contagion must have gradually worsened. Eleanor forbade any from telling King Edward that she was poorly for fear he would not leave for France.”
“Little danger of that,” Jory remarked.
“You are very cynical for a young lady of eighteen.”
“I’m sorry, Sylvia.” I’ll soon be nineteen, but under the circumstances it will be inappropriate to celebrate a birthday.
“Poor Alicia Bolton is racked with worry over what will become of her. Since she will lose her position here at Windsor and has no family to speak of, I have asked her to become one of my ladies and will take her back to Hedingham.”
Joanna dislikes Alice Bolton intensely, but I’d best keep my tongue between my teeth before I say something cynical again. “That is most kind of you, Sylvia. Is there anything you need before the funeral tomorrow?”
“Take this money to the chapel to pay for candles for Eleanor from the de Warenne family. Westminster Abbey will be ablaze with wax tapers tomorrow, but Windsor’s chapel must have them also.”
“That’s a lovely idea, Sylvia. I also will give money from the de Bohun family and ask that the candles be scented. Then I shall check on Joanna to make sure she is resting today.”
“I envy her the child she carries. She is obviously a woman who conceives easily, as her royal mother always did.”
Jory bit her lip. “Your time will come, Sylvia. Don’t despair.”
When Jory returned to Joanna’s royal apartment, she found Gilbert busy at the writing table. “I hope I find you well, my lord. I’ve just come from Windsor’s chapel. It seems all the flowers in England are withered; none can be found for Eleanor.”
“I’ve sent to the Isle of Wight for whatever flowers can be found. They won’t arrive until the last minute, I fear. Joanna’s resting, but I know she will benefit from talking with you.”
“Thank you.” Jory opened Joanna’s bedchamber door and sat down on the end of her bed. “Your husband has sent for flowers all the way to the Isle of Wight. He is very thoughtful.”
“Gloucester has arranged the entire funeral. He said the king would expect no less of him. He has taken care of everything.” Joanna sat up. “Do you remember when I did the Tarot? I got the death card, but I never dreamed it portended my mother’s death.”
“I too drew the death card in my layout. I hope there won’t be another, though ’tis an old superstition that death comes in three. I pray that none die in battle.” Please, God, keep Lynx safe.
Joanna shuddered. “Pull the curtains back and let some light in here. The darkness makes me feel morbid.”
Jory went to the tall windows and drew back the drapes. “Oh, it has started to snow. How pretty it makes everything look.”
“Good, I shall be able to wear my new black and white ermine cloak tomorrow. Be a darling and ask Maud Clifford to unpack it for me. Gilbert had it made for me to keep me warm when we journey to Gloucester. I am glad we will be close to each other. Gloucester and Goodrich castles are only fifteen miles apart.”
I hope we can spend a little time at our own Castle of Midhurst before we go. Humphrey dreads going to Goodrich because he fears fighting in Wales. Still, we must go sometime. “Get some rest. Our rooms are in the Lower Ward; send word if you need me, Joanna.”
Jory pulled up the hood of her cloak as she stepped out into the snow. She walked quickly from the Upper Ward, and as she entered the Middle Ward, she heard loud laughter and shouting as if pandemonium reigned. A gang of unruly youths was having a snowball fight, and when Jory peered through the veil of snowflakes she was shocked to see that Prince Edward was the ringleader. What an unseemly display when his mother has just died. Edward is no longer a child. He should know better!
Jory felt disgust rise up in her. He had six youthful attendants with him, all sons of noble families. Only one stood aloof, not joining in the roughhouse play. He was extremely dark, with a proud look about him, and suddenly Jory guessed who the youth must be. I warrant that is Guy de Beauchamp’s son, Rickard!
Jory stood staring for long minutes. Then she skirted the Round Tower, keeping as far away from the elegantly garb
ed louts as she could. A commanding roar split the air. The youths stopped dead as if turned to stone. Jory gasped as she saw Warwick stride across the Middle Ward. She pulled her hood close and stepped beneath the sheltered portico of the Norman Gateway so that he would not see her. Her heart pounded in her ears.
She watched wide-eyed as, without preamble, Warwick closed the distance between himself and young Edward Plantagenet. He raised a powerful arm and smote the Royal Prince across the head. Warwick paid no heed when the youth fell to his knees from the blow. The earl then strode up to his own son and dealt out an identical punishment. Jory doubted any other noble would have dared to lay hands on the king’s son. That’s why he’s infamous!
She stayed where she was until the Middle Ward emptied; then, on shaky legs, she made her way to the Lower Ward, where the de Bohun couple had been given accommodation.
Chapter 12
On the day of Queen Eleanor’s funeral, the snow stopped, the sun shone brilliantly, and the temperature plummeted. The cortege from Windsor to London’s Westminster Abbey plodded with a slow gait along streets filled with mourners. The men attending rode black, plumed horses and were led by Thomas of Lancaster, even though he was furious that the king had not made him regent in his absence. The less hardy mourners huddled in closed carriages.
The queen’s flowers had arrived from the Isle of Wight at dawn and were taken directly to the Abbey. The Earl of Gloucester directed all the proceedings, and his wife, Joanna, sat with her brother, Prince Edward, in the front pew reserved for royalty.
Marjory and Humphrey sat with Sylvia and her father, Roger Bigod, Marshal of England. Archbishop Winchelsey began intoning the Burial of the Dead: “I am the resurrection and the life…”
Jory kept her eyes lowered, lest she find herself looking into the purple-black orbs of Warwick. She tried to think reverent thoughts, but each time she caught sight of the candle flames, her mind took flight, reliving Joanna’s and her own arranged weddings. Though she tried valiantly to dispel the feeling of Warwick’s powerful presence, she failed miserably. I must not linger at Windsor or a meeting between us will be inevitable. She whispered to Humphrey, “Can we return to our castle of Midhurst tomorrow?”
Guy de Beauchamp’s attention also wandered during the service. He did not notice the small female until she removed the black fur hood from her silver-gilt hair. Then his attention became riveted. The candlelight of the Abbey seemed to form a halo about Jory’s head that held him in thrall. She is no bloody angel, Warwick reminded himself. He glanced at the tall young man beside her and silently cursed Humphrey de Bohun to hellfire.
His mouth set in a grim line. It’s your own god-damned fault, Warwick. You gave her dire warning about becoming your wife. He remembered his exact words: Whether it be yes or no, I will honor your resolve. What horseshit! The minute Surrey refused your offer, you should have abducted her and carried her off.
Everyone’s attention was drawn back to Eleanor as the queen was interred in a crypt in the Abbey. Soon a bronze sculpture would be cast in her likeness to rest upon her tomb so that future generations could visit and pray for her soul.
After the burial service, Jory followed Joanna from the Abbey.
“We finally had word from Father in Flanders. He is grief-stricken at Mother’s passing and has ordered stone crosses be erected between Lincoln and London at places Mother loved best.”
“Will you and Gloucester stay here to oversee the work?”
“De Clare has asked Thomas of Lancaster to take on the task. The uprising in Wales is spreading and Gilbert feels he must return to Gloucester before the winter weather worsens.”
Jory glanced at Humphrey and saw the blood leave his face at mention of more trouble in Wales. Sylvia de Warenne and her father joined them outside the Abbey. Jory’s sister-in-law began to cough and held her handkerchief to her mouth. “Sylvia, you mustn’t stand here in this bitter cold. Let us hurry back to Windsor. I’ll come and see how you are feeling later.”
Princess Joanna moved away from Lady de Warenne and pulled her ermine cape closer about her. “It seems that everyone has a cough. Did you hear all the people hacking inside the Abbey?”
In their carriage on the return to Windsor, Jory watched Humphrey with worried eyes. “I’ll pack tonight. I want us to have a week at Midhurst before we make the journey to Hereford.”
Jory’s plans to travel to Midhurst were thwarted by Sylvia’s illness. “Humphrey, I am afraid my sister-in-law has caught a contagion. I told her she should be abed, but she insists she will be better in her own bed at Hedingham Castle. Would you mind if we accompanied her? I’d like to see her safely home, and the sooner the better. I feel I owe it to Lynx.”
Humphrey, glad of anything that delayed their journey to the Borders of Wales, capitulated. “Of course I don’t mind, Marjory.”
“Everything is packed. We’ll leave at first light.”
Jory felt slightly dismayed as Humphrey’s eyes watched her hungrily as she undressed for bed. She was far from desiring a sexual encounter tonight, but hoped and prayed that wasn’t because she had seen Warwick again. She pushed the disturbing thought from her mind and slipped into bed.
Humphrey quickly slid his arms about her and she forced herself to respond to him, masking her lack of desire. She was surprised at his enthusiasm after the solemnity of the past days, but was at least glad that for once he did not treat her as if she were too fragile to touch. Vague feelings of pleasure began in the pit of her stomach when he held her breasts, but before the pleasure could intensify, Humphrey spent and rolled onto his back.
“You excite me so much, Marjory. I wish I could draw it out to last longer, but the minute I touch you, I want to explode.”
Jory curled onto her side, feeling conflicted. She didn’t know if she wanted their lovemaking to be longer or shorter. She was acutely aware that their encounters left her dissatisfied. It isn’t really lovemaking…It’s just a release for Humphrey. She sighed, trying to ignore the deep ache within.
Jory did not fall asleep until long after her husband. Scenes from Westminster Abbey floated through her mind as her eyes finally closed and she began to dream.
She was back in Westminster Abbey, but this time it was not for a funeral, but a wedding. She was garbed in her white silk night rail and inside she was bubbling with excitement. As she floated up the long aisle of the Abbey, she could see Guy de Beauchamp standing at the altar, waiting for her to reach his side. It seemed to take forever, but finally she arrived and gave him a radiant smile. His black eyes devoured her and he took her small hand and squeezed it. She closed her eyes as she felt Warwick’s great power flood into her and she heard the words: “I now pronounce you man and wife.” Jory opened her eyes and to her great dismay, Warwick had vanished and Humphrey de Bohun had taken his place. “Noooooooo!” she cried.
Humphrey took her by the shoulders. “Marjory, what is amiss?”
She blinked into the darkness. “A nightmare,” she said softly.
Once Jory de Bohun and her husband escorted Sylvia de Warenne to Hedingham, another nightmare began to unfold.
“She has coughed the entire thirty miles,” Sylvia’s tiring woman declared as Jory helped her sister-in-law from her carriage.
“She must go straight to bed. I believe she has a fever.”
Alicia Bolton, who had ridden in the de Bohun carriage, approached Jory. “I’ll get someone to unload all the baggage while you concentrate on making Lady de Warenne comfortable.”
“Thank you, Alicia, but you can leave all that in the capable hands of my husband. As soon as we get Sylvia settled, I’ll ask the housekeeper to find you a comfortable chamber in the castle.”
Jory helped Sylvia undress and then she tucked her into bed. One maid ran for drinking water, while another brought a bowl of scented water to bathe Sylvia’s hands and flushed face. “We will have you better in no time.” Jory masked the worry she felt. “I shall ask the steward to brew you a sy
rup. When I was a child he made an elixir of horehound and liquorice that tasted wonderful and cured me of chest inflammation.” Jory knew Lynx had taken his physician to France to tend battle wounds, so they would have to rely on the apothecary skills of Hedingham’s steward.
Jory gathered the household servants. “Lady de Warenne has developed inflammation of the chest and she is fevered. With good nursing and medicine we’ll soon have her on her way to recovery.”
A sennight passed slowly, but Sylvia showed no signs of recovery. Jory had a trundle bed set up in Sylvia’s chamber so that she could be with her through the nights, in spite of Humphrey’s objections that his wife was exposing herself to the contagion. Sylvia’s eyes were now swollen closed and her breathing was so labored and shallow that Jory had begun to fear the unthinkable. She remembered the death card when she had done the Tarot cards and began to feel hopeless.
An hour later, Sylvia de Warenne took her last excruciating breath and her tiring woman burst into sobs. Finally, she said to Jory, “There is nothing more we can do for her, Lady Marjory.”
Jory turned glassy green eyes on the woman. “She’s sleeping. She will be fine.”
Half an hour later, Humphrey came into the chamber and lifted his wife into his arms. “Sylvia has passed. You need to rest.”
“Put me down! I cannot leave her! Sylvia must not die! She is the mother of Lynx’s future children!”
The letter that Jory wrote to her brother was the most difficult thing she had ever done. She told him about Queen Eleanor’s sudden death and explained that Sylvia had caught the contagion while attending the queen’s funeral.
My heart is torn asunder, she wrote, and her tear-drops stained the parchment of the letter. Jory did not dwell on Sylvia’s illness and suffering, but focused instead on the beautiful spot she had chosen at Hedingham where Lynx’s wife was laid to rest.
Infamous Page 14
