The Witch of Eye

by Mari Griffith

  Table of Contents

  The Witch of Eye

  WHO’S WHO AMONG THE RESIDENTS OF WESTMINSTER VILLAGE

  PROLOGUE

  Part One

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Part Two

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Part Three

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EPILOGUE

  Historical Footnote

  Bibliography and Acknowledgments

  Published by Accent Press Ltd 2016

  The Witch of Eye

  Mari Griffith

  A love that leads to treason ...

  1435, England. Eleanor Cobham has married into the highest ranks of the aristocracy – she is now the Duchess of Gloucester. She and her husband, the Duke Humphrey, set up a court of their own to rival the royal court in London, surrounding themselves with fascinating and influential people.

  But Eleanor craves the one thing she lacks: a son and heir, and with him a possible route to the throne of England. Desperate, Eleanor turns to the one person she believes can help her: Margery Jourdemayne, the infamous Witch of Eye. Such help comes at a high price ...

  For Megan, Manon and Jessica,

  the next generation of young women

  who will have to make their way in the world.

  WHO’S WHO AMONG THE RESIDENTS OF WESTMINSTER VILLAGE

  At the Palace

  Henry VI, King of England and France

  Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester (the King’s uncle)

  Eleanor, Duchess of Gloucester (Duke Humphrey’s second wife)

  Cardinal Henry Beaufort (the King’s great-uncle)

  William de la Pole, Earl of Suffolk (adviser to the King)

  Alice de la Pole (his wife)

  Canon John Hume (secretary to the Duke)

  Magister Roger Bolingbroke (secretary to the Duchess)

  William Woodham (a member of the Duke’s administrative staff)

  Members of the Royal Council

  At the Abbey and the Monastery

  Abbot Richard Harweden

  Thomas Southwell (Canon of Westminster and Rector of St Stephen’s Royal Chapel)

  John Virley (supplier of inks and vellum to the monastery scriptorium)

  Workers on the Eye Estate

  William Jourdemayne (the tenant farmer)

  Margery Jourdemayne (his wife)

  Dairymaids and other farm workers

  PROLOGUE

  Early summer 1435

  ‘It’s going to be beautiful!’

  As her husband helped her to alight from the royal barge onto the landing stage, Her Grace the Duchess of Gloucester paused for a moment, shielding her eyes against the sun and looking around her. A short distance away from the riverbank she could see workmen clambering about on the wooden scaffolding that clad the front of a charming manor house. A broad, winding path led up to the entrance.

  ‘Such a heavenly spot,’ she murmured, ‘here at the water’s edge. When the building work is finished, it will be the most beautiful house on the Thames.’

  ‘It will be the most beautiful house in the whole of England!’ said Duke Humphrey. ‘At least, that’s my intention, though I dread to think how much money I have already spent on it.’

  ‘It will be worth every groat,’ his wife assured him.

  They had journeyed downriver from the Palace of Westminster to inspect the improvements being made to Bella Court, the manor house at Greenwich that the Duke had acquired on the death of his older brother, King Henry V. At present, the building was modest enough, though it benefitted greatly from its picturesque setting on a gentle curve of the river. Weeping willows dipped their long tresses into the water while graceful swans, with downy little cygnets perched snug and safe on their backs, glided serenely on its sunlight-dappled surface. Eleanor smiled as she watched: there was beauty in motherhood throughout the natural world.

  Stepping on to dry land, she tucked her hand possessively under her husband’s elbow and they began strolling towards the house, their attendants following in their wake.

  ‘Poor Henry,’ said the Duke. ‘He was really looking forward to taking his ease here, resting and celebrating his victories. He saw Bella Court as a place where he could relax completely.’

  ‘He didn’t have much opportunity to do that,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘No, sadly, he didn’t,’ Humphrey agreed. ‘The price of his success was that he was forced to spend most of his time in France.’

  ‘With you to help him in subduing the French,’ she was quick to point out.

  ‘I could hardly do otherwise. After all, he did save my life at Agincourt. I’ll never forget that.’

  ‘Of course. But, d’you know, Humphrey,’ said Eleanor as they walked, ‘I think it’s a pity that Bella Court is such a dull name, because it certainly won’t be a dull house, not after we’ve moved into it. Could we change it, do you think? Perhaps we should give it a French name to honour your brother’s memory.’

  ‘That would certainly be appropriate,’ he agreed.

  ‘Maison Agincourt, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh, no! Agincourt was the bloodiest of battles, despite Henry’s great victory. Our house won’t be a place of confrontation, it will be a house where everything is agreeable, enjoyable ... pleasing.’

  ‘Pleasing to all the senses?’

  ‘Mmmm,’ said Humphrey. ‘La Pleasaunce would be better.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a delightful name!’ Eleanor exclaimed, stopping briefly to hug his arm. ‘It’s perfect.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Humphrey said, pleased with himself. ‘So come, my sweet, let us explore the many delights of our new pleasure palace and see how everything is coming along.’

  ‘I’m so excited about this, Humphrey. When does the architect expect it will be finished?’

  ‘We’ve made ambitious plans,’ Humphrey said, ‘so, of course, the building work will take time, probably several months. Then the house must be furnished exactly to our liking. But we will certainly have taken full possession of it come springtime and we should be feeling thoroughly at home here by next summer.’

  ‘In time for my birthday in August?’

  ‘In plenty of time for your birthday. By August, I’m sure we’ll feel as though we’ve lived here all our lives.’

  ‘Then I shall insist upon holding a celebration second to none, a party everyone will remember as the best they ever attended. We will invite your nephew, the King, and everyone who is anyone at court. We’ll show them how to have a wonderful day, far away from dreary old Westminster or dull old Windsor. And all in celebration of my birthday!’

  Eleanor skipped a step or two in delight, thrilled at the thought of a glittering royal event in the presence of the King, where she was the centre of attention. Walking beside her, Humphrey regarded her rapture with a smile. He knew the work would take time, though teams of builders were already hard at work, extending the existing house and creating a bigger and better structure, as befitted the nobility of its inhabitants. The detailed plans that he had discussed with his architects included tranquil gardens on all sides, as far as the eye could see. These
had already been planted so as to be fully mature by the following year and shady river walks were dotted with sweetly scented, rose-covered arbours.

  Behind the main building was a spacious tiltyard where an audience of a hundred or more could be seated to watch a joust and, beyond that, two hundred acres of parkland offered the opportunity for sports, hawking and hunting of all kinds. With its soothing architecture, the house would welcome all who visited and the high wall which surrounded the whole estate would ensure complete privacy and safety for the guests. Though it was less than an hour’s journey downriver from Westminster, it could have been a hundred miles away.

  ‘This will be an enchanting place,’ Humphrey enthused as he and Eleanor neared the imposing main entrance with their guards and attendants following at a respectful distance. ‘We’ll fill it with good fellowship and with poetry, we’ll dance to the finest music. Our discourse will be with astronomers, astrologers, philosophers, writers...’

  ‘And what of entertainments, Humphrey? Will we have masques and dancing?’ Eleanor asked, seeing it all in her mind’s eye.

  ‘We’ll have all manner of entertainments, feasting, singing, jousting. And we shall take pleasure in the talents of the most skilled entertainers, the best poets and musicians.’

  ‘And will you read to me, Humphrey?’

  ‘Of course. What would you like to hear? Floris and Blancheflour? King Horn? Havelok the Dane?’

  ‘Yes, maybe. Or perhaps some of John Gower’s work? I’m very fond of the Confessio Amantis. And you must read me Chaucer’s Parliament of Fowls on St Valentine’s Day. But it doesn’t matter which. I love them all!’

  ‘And I love you,’ Humphrey said, bending his head to whisper in her ear, ‘especially when the happy ending to a romantic story puts you in the mood for a little romance of your own.’

  ‘Humphrey,’ she said, stopping for a moment and standing quite still. ‘How long do you think it will be before we can use our bedchamber here for its proper purpose?’

  ‘Sleeping, you mean?’ he teased her.

  ‘Oh, Humphrey! You know exactly what I mean!’

  ‘Alas, my Lady,’ said Humphrey with mock regret, ‘but until our love nest is prepared and ready for us, there is little we can do about what we both desire. We will have to wait until tonight, when we have returned to Westminster.’

  ‘You are easily dissuaded, Sir!’ Eleanor rebuked him, pretending annoyance by gently smacking his hand. Then, turning her face up to his, she gave him the look he knew so well. Her eyes, a deep shade of grey which darkened towards the outer rim of the iris, took on a sultry quality and the corners of her generous mouth began to twitch in a smile. Then the pink tip of her tongue appeared and traced the arc of her upper lip. He knew the signal.

  ‘There are plenty of secret places in the garden,’ she said. ‘Surely it is not always necessary to be a-bed!’

  ‘Indeed not,’ Humphrey agreed, ‘and if you were to dismiss your ladies ... and I my gentlemen ... we could make the excuse of inspecting the rose arbours!’ He freed her hand from where it had been tucked under his elbow and bent to kiss it. Looking at her from under his eyebrows, he slipped his tongue between her fingers and Eleanor gave a throaty chuckle, knowing exactly what he had in mind.

  They turned then and, to all outward appearances the epitome of decorum, continued their walk towards the house.

  ‘We can at least inspect the rooms which are to be ours,’ Eleanor said. ‘I’m very keen to see exactly where they will be. I have plans for them and I don’t simply mean choosing furnishings and tapestries.’

  What she was really wondering was whether adequate provision had been made for a nursery. She had waited long enough, now she must redouble her efforts to conceive a child, so she would send for Margery Jourdemayne as soon as they returned to Westminster. Surely, Margery would know of some medicine or decoction to do the trick. Perhaps she had a charm or a talisman which would help. Eleanor didn’t have any qualms about the dubious nature of such things.

  She was becoming desperate.

  Part One

  The Journey

  Love will not be constrained by mastery;

  When mastery comes, the god of love anon

  Beats his fair wings, and farewell! He is gone!

  Geoffrey Chaucer

  The Franklin’s Tale

  CHAPTER ONE

  Summer 1435

  In the parish of Kingskerswell, Devon

  ‘Try to keep still, my dove.’

  Betsy wrung out a cloth in warm water and applied it gently to her daughter’s ear. Jenna’s gasping sobs drowned out the sound of the kettle simmering on the fire.

  ‘Truth is, I don’t know if this is the best thing for a fat ear like this, but perhaps ’twill bring the swelling down.’ Betsy’s soothing voice belied her fury, her rage at the cruelty of the man. ‘What did you do to offend him this time?’

  Jenna squirmed in the chair, biting her lip so as not to squeal in pain under the pressure of the warm compress.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘Really, Mam, I don’t know. I’d been talking to Parson Middleton, that’s all. Just being polite ... but Jake said...’

  ‘Aye, let me guess. He accused you of wanting to warm Parson’s bed, I’ll wager.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jenna in a small voice. ‘Yes, he did. He says I didn’t ought to be talking to men like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, you know, he says I always talk to men like I wanted to lie with them.’

  ‘Take no heed of him. You’re just a young woman with a pretty smile and Jake’s jealous, that’s all, eaten up with it. Some men are like that. They hate seeing other men looking at their wives, but then they beat the wife, as if it was all her fault. Mind you, your Jake’s worse than most. It doesn’t take great heavy punches like he gives you to keep a wife in her place. He’d been bibblin’ again, had he?’

  ‘Of course. It’s always when he’s drunk too much that he hits me.’

  ‘And I suppose that stupid Adam Luxton he works for had been paying him in cider.’

  Jenna nodded, carefully. ‘He often does. Jake says he works better for it. But then he went to the tavern.’

  ‘Before going home? Why?’

  ‘Because Walter the miller’s wife has a new babe, a boy, and Walter was in the tavern buying ale and cider for everyone, Jake said.’

  ‘Makes you laugh, don’t it?’ said Betsy, with a grunt. ‘Strutting around the tavern like cocks, as though the hens had nothing to do with it. You’d think they were the ones who went through all the pain. Still,’ she sighed, ‘it’s a woman’s duty to bear children and a man needs a few youngsters around the place if he’s a farm to run. My Gilbert is very pleased that you’re helping with the milking. Saves him having to bend.’

  Despite her painful ear, Jenna wasn’t going to let her mother get away with that one. ‘It’s not just helping with the milking, Mam, you know that.’ Since Jenna had learned to do the reckoning, she had taken on more and more responsibility for the day-to-day running of the dairy. ‘If your Gilbert had to keep account and do the milk tallies himself, he wouldn’t like it one bit, would he? It’d keep him away from...’

  ‘You mind your tongue, my girl. It’s none of your business what your stepfather does in his own time.’ Betsy spoke sharply. The girl should be grateful that Gilbert had taken them in, a young widow and her child. At least they’d had decent food in their bellies and a roof over their heads these last twenty years and never had to beg for scraps from richer folk.

  She concealed her irritation by inspecting the swollen ear again. Jenna would have to hide it under a coif or comb her hair over it. No use provoking Jake any further, he wouldn’t want a wife with a puffball ear to remind him of his own violence.

  The moment of tension had passed. ‘Never you mind the old milk tallies,’ said Betsy, giving Jenna’s shoulders a small hug. ‘There are more important things. At least you’ve got a husband, and y
our place is to give him a child as soon as you can, before he gets one on another woman. It won’t take him long, he’s handsome enough.’ She began to busy herself, smoothing out the damp cloth she had been using, hanging it to dry near the fire, nodding, smiling, pleased at having suggested a solution to the problem. ‘A baby,’ she said, ‘that’s what you need. And pray it will be a boy.’

  ‘It’s not for want of trying.’ A lopsided smile tweaked the corners of Jenna’s bruised mouth and her mother smiled back at her, tender again. Things couldn’t be too bad between the pair of them then, she thought. And at least Jake’s great ham fist hadn’t broken any of her daughter’s teeth.

  ‘Aye, the sooner you get yourself with child the better,’ she said. ‘Perhaps Old Mother Morwenna will know of something to help you. Give Jake a babe or two and maybe he won’t beat you so often. Come, my dove, let me help you up. It’s best you be getting back to your husband. You don’t want to go upsetting him no more.’

  ***

  At sunset, Jenna crossed the bridge over the village stream with reluctant steps and was back at the small, low-roofed cottage she shared with Jake rather sooner than she really wanted to be. She found her husband slumped on the bench near the fire pit, seemingly sober. He sat motionless in the firelight, watching her take off her shawl and hang it behind the door. She had no inkling of his mood: perhaps he was feeling genuine remorse, but he might equally well be seething with temper, struggling to remain calm. Eventually he spoke, his voice low and regretful.

  ‘Sweet Christ, Jenna, I’m sorry. I don’t know what comes over me.’

  Not trusting herself to speak, she watched him rise and come towards her, flinching as he took hold of her arms and bent to kiss her, recoiling from the stink of stale alcohol on his breath. He stared intently at her then, as though trying to penetrate her mind, his eyes bloodshot in his handsome face.

  How she had once loved that face, adored it and lavished exuberant, extravagant kisses upon it, smiling with the pleasure of touching it. Now she felt nothing but an icy calm as she waited for what she knew would come next.

  Tears welled in his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean it, Jenna. You know that, don’t you? You know I didn’t mean it. I’ll never do it again. Never. You do still love me, don’t you, Jen? I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that. You know that, don’t you, Jen?’ He was snivelling now, butting his head against Jenna’s neck like a small child begging her forgiveness, making her swollen ear throb painfully. She struggled in an attempt to hold her head away from him and he suddenly tried to take her in a clumsy embrace. Knocked off balance, she stumbled, almost lost her footing and would have fallen had he not tightened his arms around her. Pushing against him with both hands, she tried to break away.