by Anne O'Brien
‘You look strained, Lady de Swynford. I trust you are not ailing? Is there plague in London? I would not wish any harm to come to my daughter.’
My lips curved into what would be interpreted as a smile by those who did not know me. ‘Merely the weariness of travel, my lady.’
‘Was the King graciously pleased to receive his grand-daughter?’
‘Yes, my lady. He has sent you this gift, as a token of his pleasure.’ I proffered the casket. She made no move to take it.
‘So he was in his right mind?’
Duchess Constanza did not mince her words. Even in seclusion as she was, the court gossip had reached her. A cold breath of air shivered along my arms in the heated room, and I swallowed before replying.
‘The King was well, my lady. The gift came from his hand. The sentiments were his own.’
‘I will thank him when I can travel again. It will be good to have his support for my campaign.’
It was all strikingly familiar. The luxurious setting of her apartments. My sister Philippa standing beside the door to my right, two of the Castilian damsels stitching beside the fire, chattering softly in their own language, a third with a lute in her hands. Mistress Elyot was stitching some small garment in fine lawn. And there was Constanza, quick of action and ever impatient, with the desire for her distant throne uppermost in her mind. Just as it all had been before I left.
But not so. Taking her daughter from the nursemaid, Constanza was standing by the window with the infant in her arms, inspecting her closely. Constanza had rarely held the baby in the days before I left for London.
I lowered my eyes, unable to watch.
‘Did you see Monseigneur in London?’ she asked, looking back over her shoulder.
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Does he come here to me?’
‘He has gone to Wallingford, my lady.’
Constanza wrinkled her nose prettily. ‘Ah, yes. The wedding. I wish I could be there with my sister.’
For Constanza’s younger sister, Isabella, made welcome at the English court, had found a most advantageous match with another son of King Edward: Edmund of Langley, the Duke of York.
But Constanza was not concerned with her sister’s marriage. Gilded by the sun that made a halo of her loosely veiled hair, she was smiling down into the face of Katalina. I had never seen her look so beautiful, so maternal and contented. The jewels set in the little domed lid of the casket glittered as my hands around them trembled. Here was reality in all its cruelty. Constanza’s pleasure would turn to wrath in the blink of an eye if she could read my mind.
I dragged in a breath.
Constanza looked up as if I had spoken. ‘Yes, Lady de Swynford? There is more that I should know from your lengthy sojourn at The Savoy? Is the English army soon to sail to Castile?’
I placed the casket on the coffer at my side, the fine metal clattering a little as I set it down, drawing, as I was aware, a speculative look from Philippa. I was not normally clumsy.
‘I know not, my lady.’ I felt perspiration clammily unpleasant along my spine as I considered my next words.
Ignoring me the Duchess smiled down at the baby. ‘My daughter grows more beautiful every day.’ She smoothed the linen coif from the baby’s head. ‘Look how dark her hair is. A true Castilian princess.’ And she bent to caress the fragile curve to the child’s ear. ‘I had forgotten how blue her eyes…’
Conscience was a slap to my cheek, a clenched fist in my belly, and I flinched, momentarily closing my eyes so that I might not see. I had thought Constanza unmoved by her child, but as she had regained her strength, maternal love had touched her.
Do it. Do it now!
Straightening my spine, firming my knees, I spoke clearly and carefully because there was really no other way.
‘I have a request to make, if it please you, my lady.’
Constanza raised her brows in polite interest. Then walked slowly towards me, and placed the child in my arms.
‘Whatever you need, Lady de Swynford.’
The baby whimpered and squirmed for a moment until, warm and sleepy, she settled with a sigh. My heart clenched at my awareness of the little body against my breast.
‘I wish to leave, my lady,’ I said rapidly. ‘I wish to leave your service.’
I felt the silence that invaded the room, as I marvelled at the evenness of my request. I felt Mistress Elyot’s sudden interest as her needle stilled. I felt Philippa’s stare, gouging like a bodkin in an inexperienced hand, between my shoulder blades. Even the Castilian damsels looked over with a cessation to their chatter.
‘And why is that, Lady de Swynford?’ The line between the Duchess’s brows was sharp-etched. ‘Has your sojourn in London, the superior accommodations at The Savoy, made you dislike our life here at Hertford?’
‘No, my lady…I need to go home to Kettlethorpe. My husband’s estates in Lincolnshire,’ I added when she appeared not to understand. ‘And now my son’s.’
‘I see.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘I understand that there might be matters of business for you to attend to in your son’s name. Then of course you must. But will you not return?’
‘No, my lady,’ I interrupted before she could say any more and my courage disintegrate. It seemed to me to be already in rags. ‘I need to leave your service.’
I heard the rustle of Philippa’s damask layers as she changed her stance. Mistress Elyot set down the stitching in her lap, making no pretence that she was occupied elsewhere. The damsels exchanged glances as the lute was discarded.
‘I wish to live permanently at Kettlethorpe,’ I explained. ‘It has become imperative that I do so.’ My lips were so dry that the words were hard to form.
‘Why would you wish to do that? I thought it was a poor way of life.’
‘Yes, my lady, but—’
‘Are you not satisfied with your position here?’ Constanza’s voice was suddenly harsh with accusation, and, I thought, astonishment.
‘I am more than satisfied, my lady. It is a position that I value.’
‘But I need you. To help with the child.’ Resentment was building fast and the Duchess flung out her arms as if it must be obvious to any person of sense. ‘You have only just settled into my household. I do not see that…’
Her glance suddenly landed on my face, searching, assessing, reminding me that this lady had a good supply of wit.
‘I am aware,’ she announced with a heavy dose of disapproval, ‘of the gift that my lord has made to you, in recognition of your services to me. And that is as it should be—I have no complaint. But such an increase in your annuity—I confess it is a surprise to me.’ Her tone had climbed a little higher than was her wont. ‘As I understand it, your annuity for service has risen from twenty to fifty marks. Some would say that is more than open-handed. Can you afford to dispense with such a sum? If your estates are so encumbered? I would say that fifty marks a year would make any woman content to remain in service to me. My lord has been extraordinarily generous. Some would say that you owe us your loyalty.’
I had not expected this level of attack, and felt a flush of uncomfortable hot blood mantle my neck as I heard the intake of breath from my sister. And yet I should have anticipated it, if I had not been so caught up in more pressing concerns. I wished with all my heart that Constanza had not seen fit to announce my annuity to the whole room.
‘I am grateful, more than I can express,’ I replied, mustering an air of acquiescence. ‘But I have a need to go to Kettlethorpe, my lady. The estates do not thrive. I had hoped that service in your household would enable me to remedy this.’ I took another breath to steady the nerves in my belly. ‘The truth is that I am faced with hostile voices from neighbours, and demands that I put into place improvement of the land drains. I am unable to ignore it. It is my son’s inheritance, and so it is my duty. It would be deplorable for me to allow him to inherit land of no worth, or with the burden of local opposition raised against him.’
It sounded plausible even to my ears. Behind me Philippa dug the toe of her shoe against the tiles.
‘I believe that I need to be there, to answer the complaints, and show that I am not unsympathetic to local problems. An absent landlord can sometimes stir up trouble simply by being absent.’
Constanza stared at me for a long moment. Would she refuse to release me? What would I do if she demanded that I remain? The Duchess raised her chin. I returned her gaze and prayed silently.
‘Very well. Perhaps one day you will return to us.’ Waving me aside, her displeasure was intense as she retired once more into formality, but all I felt was relief.
‘Thank you, my lady.’
My curtsy was heartfelt.
‘When is it that you wish to go?’
‘Tomorrow, my lady, if it please you.’
Relief was cold on my brow. I had known that to appeal to the importance of inheritance would sway the Duchess if nothing else would.
‘Then perhaps you must make arrangements.’
Constanza, gesturing to Mistress Elyot to take the child from my arms as if my hours in her employ were already numbered, walked away from me, her shoulder deliberately turned, to fall into conversation with one of her Castilian damsels. The lute player began to pick out a Castilian love song.
It hurt me.
But it did not hurt me as much as the impending consequences if I remained at Hertford.
I was surreptitiously blotting moisture from my cheeks with my sleeve when footsteps hurrying after me gave me warning, and there was Philippa at my side.
I marched on, even when she caught at my arm, conscious only of the chill rising from the stones that were no colder than my heart. Winter cold, I thought, with shards of ice to hurt and tear. Tears collected in my throat, only to be swallowed. I would not weep. I was free to go. That is what I had wanted, so what point in repining.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Why not? You know the problems with Kettlethorpe,’ I replied. ‘They get no better with time and my distance from them. And now there is a deluge of complaint to be answered…’ Which was not untrue. At least there was some element of truth in the whole episode, I thought bitterly.
‘I know all about that.’ Philippa gripped my sleeve so that I must perforce come to a standstill. ‘You came here to seek a position in the first place because you could not live without the money.’
I could not look at her. ‘There have been serious inundations on the land, in my absence,’ I said.
‘And your presence will make a difference?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t believe you. Why in heaven’s name do you need to go to Kettlethorpe? Why do you need to remain there permanently? You have a steward, don’t you?’
‘Yes, you know I do. Don’t be obtuse, Philippa.’ I shrugged her off with as much insouciance as I could muster. ‘I simply feel that I should be there. And with the legal settlement of the estate still not made…’
Philippa waved this aside in typical fashion. ‘And what about the children? Will you disrupt their lives again? Are you so selfish?’
‘Thomas and Margaret will come with me. Blanche will stay here.’
Before I could stop her she grabbed hold of my hands, forcing me to face her when I would rather not.
‘To take yourself off to the wilds of Lincolnshire when you fought so hard in the first place to have this position…’ She frowned, refusing to be reassured. ‘There’s something untoward here and you’re not telling me.’
‘It is nothing. Just the usual matter of a dilapidated estate and a steward who is growing old.’
‘So appoint a new one. The Duke will appoint him for you if you lack the confidence to do it yourself.’
‘Of course I don’t lack confidence. Just the money to pay some bright young man—’
‘And you never will have the money unless you stay in the Duke’s employ.’
I saw the trench I had dug for myself but by now had no choice but to leap into it, for good or ill. ‘Well, I cannot…Now, if you will let me go.’
She released me, but her tone no less amenable. It had acquired an edge. ‘By the by. I did not know of your vast importance, Kate! Fifty marks for your annuity, by the Virgin!’
‘For my service to Blanche, I expect.’
‘Didn’t we all serve her? I do not receive fifty marks!’
I pulled away and left her to her ill-temper.
Next day, our belongings packed onto a pair of sumpter horses, Thomas and Margaret ensconced in a borrowed litter while Agnes and I rode, I left Hertford with little in the way of farewells. There was not much to say between us. Constanza was not pleased, Lady Alice regretful and Philippa, lapsed into a furious silence, essentially disbelieving of any explanation I might give.
Of one fact only I was certain as I looked to the north and the towers of Hertford fell away behind. Discovering my absence, precipitate and without warning, the Duke would be hot foot after me, to demand an explanation. I imagined that he would think that I had lost my wits.
He would follow me to Kettlethorpe.
To slight a Plantagenet prince was to play with fire. I might play hazard with the truth for Philippa and the Duchess. I could not lie to the Duke.
Chapter Seven
It took three weeks. And since I had arranged to have fair warning of the Duke’s arrival when he and his retinue crossed the Trent, I was there in my hall, dressed with utmost care in a gown more suitable for court appearances than a countrywoman’s existence in Lincolnshire, despite the inadvisability of trailing skirts in damp weather. Master Ingoldsby stood on my right, a servant on my left. I felt a need to match like with like, and so I presented myself with all the authority of the Lady of Kettlethorpe, outwardly composed, prepared to knit my mood to his, whatever it might be. Forsooth, I would beg neither pardon nor understanding.
What was it I hoped to achieve? What outcome of this confrontation did I envisage? In all honesty I had no idea. I simply knew that I must show no weakness. My heart raced as the door opened. At the very least I expected the Duke to be marvellously furious. What I did not expect was the freezing, excruciating, perfectly executed politeness.
I should have expected it. I should have known that that is exactly how he would announce himself into my hall. Had I expected him to rant? To demand an answer as soon as his foot struck my threshold? That was not John of Lancaster’s way.
He arrived in the middle of a summer rainstorm that seemed to have soaked him to the bone, yet he gave no recognition of discomfort as he strode into my hall followed by two squires and a page, a body-servant and Symkin Simeon, the steward of his lands in Lincolnshire, all impressive if damp in Lancaster livery. When did he ever travel otherwise? I felt Master Ingoldsby stir, saw his eyes widen at the extent of the full Lancaster entourage that faced us, and that was occupying our courtyard, presenting a severe challenge to our kitchen and our stables.
Entirely unaware of the problems he would cause me, sweeping off his rain-sodden cloak, handing it brusquely to his squire, the Duke bowed to me, a magnificent chill courtesy in this man whose face was expressionless, whose spine and shoulders were rigid, while his voice was as flatly controlled as his features.
‘Lady de Swynford.’
I curtsied deeply. ‘My lord of Lancaster.’
‘I trust you are well.’
‘I am, my lord.’
He stripped off his gauntlets, thrusting them toward his page. ‘I was concerned for your safety, when I learned that you had left my service. It behoved me to discover your situation.’
The superb, lethally insolent formality of it lodged in my throat.
‘I am in good heart, my lord.’ I kept my voice high and bright. I would not be intimidated in my own home.
‘I am surprised to see you here, knowing the limitations of Kettlethorpe.’ He cast a quick glance round, before it came to rest on me again, uncomfortably bland, unnervingly smooth. ‘I take it that
it was a sudden decision?’ He bared his teeth, his studied gravity compromised, as my leaking roof caused him to step to one side and brush the drops from his hair.
‘Yes, my lord. It was very sudden.’
‘And you acted on it with great rapidity.’
‘I did, my lord. Once I had informed the Duchess, there was thought to be little need for me to remain. And I apologise for the state of my roof. Perhaps if you step towards the fire…’ I gestured, pleased that my hand was firm despite the tremors hidden behind the embroidered inset of my bodice.
The Duke did not move, even when more drops spattered on the shoulder of his brigandine. ‘The state of your roof is an irrelevance and does not concern me. On the other hand the reason for your leaving my employ is a matter for my attention, Lady de Swynford. If you have cause for complaint I should know of it. I would be gratified if you would grant me some enlightenment.’
Surprising me, steadying me, a little ripple of amusement developed to diffuse my present anxieties. I was being addressed as if I were a foreign delegation from a hostile state. The Duke was known to be a master at negotiation with enemy forces. Was I now seen as an enemy force? Was this cold blast to be my punishment?
I raised my chin, prepared to take the initiative to deflect the chill.
‘Will you be staying long, my lord?’ I asked with conspicuous conciliation. ‘Do your men require refreshment?’
‘Yes. We’ve ridden far, and out of our way. On what could be a wild-goose chase if I get no sensible explanation from you. My lady,’ he added through gritted teeth.
Superb! Punishment indeed, but I would not be swayed from my role as chatelaine in my own estate. ‘Where do you go, my lord?’
‘Kenilworth. My ultimate destination would also seem to be an irrelevance.’
I swallowed another urge to laugh. Would the whole of our conversation be conducted in this style? At The Savoy I had shared his bed. At The Savoy those fine hands clenched around his sword belt had caressed my body into delight.
