The Witch of Eye

by Mari Griffith

  Straightening up, the King went on: ‘I am anxious, therefore, that this deeply troubling case should be conducted in the proper manner and, importantly, that it should serve the interests of both Church and government. To that end, I have been advised to request that Archbishop Chichele, representing the Church, should preside over what might otherwise be seen as a secular hearing, because it is to be held at Guildhall. The date for this hearing has provisionally been arranged for the twenty first day of October, just over two months hence, which will give all those concerned ample time to consider every aspect of the case.’

  The King disliked making long speeches in public but he sensed he had the sympathy of everyone in the room and that was a great relief. He took a sip of wine to clear his throat before going on.

  ‘My Lords, it pains me to learn that there are people in our fair city who pursue the dark arts of necromancy, magic and witchcraft. I hear alarming reports about a superstitious sect of necromancers and persons charged with witchcraft and incantations.’ Again, he paused briefly to cross himself. ‘So I have agreed that a considerable sum of money, some twenty pounds in total, should be set aside in order that a committee of learned clerks, doctors and notaries can be commissioned to carry out a thorough investigation. Until that committee has produced its report, it has been decreed that all the persons thus far accused, both men and women, are to be kept in the Tower and securely guarded at all times. As far as my ... er ... my uncle’s wife is concerned, I understand that she has been claiming sanctuary in the Abbey at Westminster. I’m afraid that this can no longer be permitted. Henceforward, she will be held in royal custody and will be committed to Leeds Castle to await her trial.’

  The King looked across the table to where Cardinal Beaufort was watching him intently, nodding as his great-nephew enumerated every point he had been told to make.

  ‘Perhaps, my Lord Uncle, you would like to say a few words before I bring the meeting to a close?’

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness. In fact, I have very little further to add except to express the Council’s gratitude to you for your balanced view of the whole sorry situation and your clearly expressed determination to arrive at the best and fairest judgement of the case. I also speak for the other members of the Council in thanking Archbishop Chichele for agreeing to preside over the secular trial in October. It will not be a responsibility to be taken lightly. I would add only one more thing, which is that anyone hindering the Archbishop in the performance of his task, or anyone making any attempt to approach the Duchess or, indeed, doing anything else to obstruct the legal proceedings in any way, will be severely punished. And please ensure that this warning is disseminated as widely as possible. We must, at all times, abide by the rule of law.’

  ‘Thank you, my Lords,’ said the King, rising from his seat. ‘You will be given final details of the arrangements being made for the hearing at Guildhall as soon as they become available.’

  ‘Be upstanding!’

  The assembled Council members shuffled to their feet and inclined their heads respectfully as the King left the room.

  ***

  ‘No straw in your hair this time, Jenna?’

  The Duchess asked the question in a very arch tone of voice with her eyebrows raised exaggeratedly.

  Jenna blushed. Admittedly, she was late again and panting slightly but surely, after three weeks, her mistress had forgotten the evening when she’d given Jenna permission to visit Eybury Farm as long as she was back in good time to help her to bed. But Jenna had arrived back at the Abbey sanctuary long after the bell had been rung for Compline, hot and dishevelled after running all the way. Ecstatic in the moment, she and William had clung to each other in the hay loft, not wanting that moment to end, dreading having to face the chasm of anxiety which lay outside their newly expressed love for each other, not wanting to part.

  A hastily concocted story about Kitty needing her seemed to mollify the Duchess until she noticed the straw in Jenna’s hair. Then she turned on her, spitting like an angry cat, demanding to know the name of the man. Jenna protested that there was no man: it was a lie, of course, but there was nothing to be gained by telling the Duchess the truth, that the man in question was none other than the husband of Margery Jourdemayne.

  They reached a deadlock from which neither would step down when, to Jenna’s astonishment, the Duchess burst into tears and sobbed that no one cared about her and even her maid would rather lie in the hay with a man than look after the needs of her poor, poor mistress. And where was her own husband, Duke Humphrey? Why hadn’t he come to her aid?

  Ever since then, Jenna had done everything she could to please her and, slowly, Eleanor’s hostility melted until she eventually began to behave as though there had been no confrontation between them. For Jenna, the urge to run back to Eybury farmhouse had been almost insurmountable but she knew she must bide her time until something tangible happened. In her new-found confidence, she knew William would wait for her.

  The Duchess kept up her own spirits with the conviction that everything would be all right as soon as her husband returned to London. Humphrey would take charge of everything, she knew he would. He would inform the King of the true situation, the way in which Cardinal Beaufort and Archbishop Kemp were manipulating the Council, telling lies for their own benefit. Her husband would come to the Abbey and demand her release, then take her away from all this to La Pleasaunce. There, after a few weeks at their lovely home in Greenwich, she would begin to relax and forget this nightmare. Then everyone would be sorry for the way they’d behaved; they would have to apologise to her. They’d see that she was not just any woman to be manipulated and pushed hither and thither. She was Her Grace the Duchess of Gloucester. Everything would be all right in the end. And that end couldn’t come soon enough.

  But the days dragged by and, apart from the occasional visit from Abbot Kyrton, they saw no one. Jenna would go out, to the palace to fetch some item of clothing or into Westminster village to buy their few necessities and she’d return with whatever gossip she could glean.

  The caustic remark about straw in her hair took Jenna by surprise because this time, she was breathless only because she had rushed to tell the Duchess the news.

  ‘There was a big meeting at the palace this afternoon, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘All the members of the Council were there.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I saw John Solers and he told me.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He’s an esquire of the King’s household, Your Grace. He said –’

  ‘He’s not your man in the hay?’

  ‘No, Your Grace! As I said, he’s an esquire of the King’s Household. He ... he told me that they’ve been questioning him about Magister Bolingbroke.’

  ‘Bolingbroke? Why? What did they want to know?’

  ‘He said they asked him if Magister Bolingbroke had told him that the King would die.’

  ‘And had he? Did he?’

  ‘He didn’t say, Your Grace, but he said they’re questioning everyone in the palace, all the servants. No doubt I’d have been questioned, too, if I was still working there instead of being here with you.’

  Eleanor’s mouth was set in a grim expression. ‘This man Solers is an esquire of the King’s Household, you say? And you know who is Steward of the King’s Household, don’t you, Jenna?’

  ‘The Earl of Suffolk, Your Grace.’

  ‘Exactly. William de la Pole, the Earl of Suffolk, a friend of Henry Beaufort and as devious as the day is long, he and his wife, the frightful Alice. I wouldn’t trust either of them further than I could throw a pig by the soaped tail. They hate me, they hate my husband and – Oh God, where is Humphrey? Why doesn’t he come?’

  The Duchess was becoming agitated. Disinclined to upset her further, Jenna almost refrained from telling her the next piece of news, but she knew she had to.

  ‘John Solers said he’d heard you were to be taken into royal custody, Your Grace.’


  ‘Royal custody? What did he mean by that?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know, Your Grace. I imagine that means they’re going to take you away from here and ... I don’t know ... I really don’t know.’

  The Duchess was on her feet now, kneading her hands together anxiously, beginning to pace up and down.

  ‘Leeds Castle! It will be Leeds Castle, I know it! That’s where they put prisoners of the King. I won’t go there, Jenna, I won’t! It’s in the middle of a lake in Kent, miles from here. There is no escape. Once I go there, I’ll never come back! I won’t go there, Jenna, I won’t go there!’

  ‘Hush, mistress, hush,’ Jenna found herself soothing the Duchess as she would have soothed Kitty in a moment of terror. ‘Hush, hush, my dove, you’ll make yourself ill. I’m sure you won’t have to go there. The Duke –’

  ‘So where is he? Where is my husband? Have they killed him? Why doesn’t he come for me?’

  ‘I’m sure he will, Your Grace. You have to be strong. He won’t want to see you like this when he comes –’

  ‘I must get away, Jenna, I must escape! I can’t go to Leeds Castle, I’ll never come back again, I know it. I know it!’

  The Duchess was pacing the small room, the way she always did when she was upset, her arms half-folded in front of her, her right hand balled into a tight fist under her chin while she thought.

  ‘I must escape, Jenna. I’m no longer safe here. They will violate my sanctuary and there will be nothing that Abbot Kyrton can do about it. He’ll be powerless. So I must escape and you must help me. Tonight, as soon as it’s dark. No one will see us.’

  ‘No, Mistress. It’s too much of a risk...’

  ‘We’ll put on our dark cloaks and hoods and we’ll slip out, down to the river. We’ll find a boat and somehow we’ll get away, even if we have to row ourselves. We’ll go to Greenwich. We’ll be safe there.’

  ‘But, Your Grace, I’m sure you’ll be looked after, even if you are taken away from here. The King will not see you in need. His Highness will make sure you’re –’

  ‘No, Jenna. You don’t know my husband’s enemies. Beaufort, Suffolk, Kemp. They’ll do anything. They’re powerful men. They will stop at nothing. You don’t know them as I do. Perhaps they’ve imprisoned my husband already. Dear God, perhaps they’ve killed him! So I must get away, I must.’

  By now she was clawing at Jenna, clutching her arms, and Jenna was trying to back away.

  ‘Very well, Mistress. I’ll get a few things together. We can’t take much. D’you think we could borrow some horses –’

  ‘No, a boat, it must be a boat, Jenna. We’ll find a wherryman to take us to Greenwich and we’ll hide there at La Pleasaunce until my husband comes home. Go and make everything ready. We must get away as soon as possible.’

  Still pacing up and down, back and forth, totally distracted and with her shoulders hunched, the Duchess muttered oaths and threats under her breath while Jenna packed their belongings.

  Within the hour, as twilight approached, the same two hooded figures who had taken refuge in the Abbey just a few weeks ago slipped out again and moved stealthily towards the Thames.

  Near the Westminster steps lay an empty wherry with its oars shipped. The little boat was moored by its painter to a wooden pillar, river water slapping quietly against the hull. In the moonlight, it was just possible to make out the dark shape of the wherryman. He appeared to be relieving himself against a nearby oak sapling.

  ‘Now, Jenna, now.’

  With a frantic whisper, the Duchess broke into a run in the direction of the boat. This was madness. Jenna had little idea how to row and the Duchess probably had even less. But she had no option but to follow her.

  ‘Hey, you! Hey, you women! What in God’s name do you think you’re doing? Stop, I tell you! Stop at once!’

  At the sound of his master’s voice, a huge dog which had been curled up and dozing inside the boat suddenly leaped up and, with its front paws on the prow, started barking. Still lacing up the front of his braes, the wherryman gave chase. Running towards them with an alarming turn of speed, he caught the two women with ease, grabbing each of them by the forearm.

  ‘Let me go, this instant!’ said the Duchess. ‘Do you know who I am?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ the man replied. ‘You were going to steal my boat and that’s all I care about.’

  ‘But I am the Duchess of Gloucester and I wish to go to Greenwich!’

  ‘Aye, and I’m a donkey’s uncle and you two women aren’t going anywhere. Not Greenwich nor anywhere else.’

  The dog, a big, brown, shaggy-haired creature, had continued to bark loudly throughout this exchange. In no time at all, there were shouts and whistles as people seemed to come from everywhere, running towards the riverbank where the wherryman still held his two captives in an iron grip. The Duchess stood her ground.

  ‘You’ll pay for this, my man. My husband is the King’s uncle and when he finds out what you have done, he’ll have you clapped in irons. Now, are you going to take us to Greenwich or not?’

  ‘This man is not taking you anywhere, Your Grace. You’re to come with us.’

  Eleanor struggled to turn around to see who had spoken with such firmness. In the mêlée, neither she nor Jenna had realised that a barge, moored some fifty yards along the river bank outside the palace, was flying the royal pennant.

  ‘I’ll take charge of this,’ said the deep voice of authority.

  Jenna recognised two of the men in royal livery. One of them was Sir John Steward and the other Sir William Wolff. A dozen or so household servants stood behind them.

  ‘Let her go,’ commanded Sir John and the wherryman let the Duchess’s arm fall to her side. ‘Her Grace is coming with us.’

  Sir William Wolff turned towards Jenna. ‘And who are you?’ he asked. ‘Are you the Duchess’s maid?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord,’ she whispered, thoroughly frightened by the turn of events.

  ‘Then you will accompany us to the palace. Your mistress will be undertaking a journey tomorrow and will be in need of clothes, shoes and ... and, er, so on. Women’s things. You will pack them for her.’

  ‘A journey?’ Eleanor demanded. ‘A journey? Where to?’

  This time it was Sir John Steward who spoke.

  ‘To Leeds Castle,’ he said.

  ***

  There hadn’t been much sleep for either woman that night.

  With two guards stationed outside the main door to the Gloucesters’ apartments in the palace, Jenna had spent several hours in her mistress’s dressing room, assembling every item of outerwear, underwear, hose and shoes, plus jewellery, cutlery, silver and plate she thought would be needed for Eleanor’s stay at Leeds Castle. Jenna had been told in no uncertain terms that she would not be accompanying her mistress to Kent: Her Grace’s every need would be met by a group of women chosen by the Earl of Suffolk’s wife, Alice de la Pole.

  Eleanor herself had spent the hours of darkness on her knees at her prie-dieu, fervently praying for Humphrey’s return, alternately weeping, telling her rosary beads, and cursing her husband’s enemies then praying forgiveness for having done so. In her more lucid moments the Duchess knew she was facing harsh imprisonment. Jenna’s heart bled for her, but all she could think of was that, at last, she could return to Eybury Farm and William’s waiting arms.

  The following morning, after initially feigning illness and refusing to leave the Abbey, the Duchess was callously ordered to make herself ready to leave for Kent immediately, no matter how ill she claimed to be. Then, following a tearful farewell to her maid, she was taken away by her captors in a noisy eruption of bellowed commands, whinnying horses, jangling harnesses and rumbling carriage wheels.

  After the departure of the cavalcade, the silence had been almost deafening. Jenna, standing alone in the middle of the Duchess’s dressing room, was trying to come to terms with the turmoil of her emotions, an unfathomable mixture of elation and loss
. She didn’t quite know what she felt. The moment had finally come when she could fly to William: she ached to see him. And yet, having lived with the Duchess for so long, she felt strangely unnerved by the fact that, suddenly, she was answerable to no one.

  Dithering between wanting to leave for Eybury Farm immediately and her ingrained instinct to tidy up Her Grace’s apartment before she left, she wandered from room to room, folding and re-folding clothes, dusting some surfaces, trying to leave things as her mistress would want to find them on her return.

  Indecision was her undoing. She hadn’t expected to be disturbed so when the knock thundered on the door, she jumped out of her skin.

  ‘Open, in the name of Her Grace the Countess of Suffolk!’

  Jenna knew of Alice de la Pole’s reputation as a manipulative, hard-hearted woman. The Duchess had hated Alice as much as she hated her husband the Earl of Suffolk. What could she possibly want?

  Nervously, Jenna opened the door to admit the Countess of Suffolk, a tall, intimidating woman in her late thirties, her back ramrod-straight, her long, narrow face a mask of disapproval. Jenna curtsied deeply.

  ‘Were you the Duchess of Gloucester’s maid?’ The question was direct, without preamble.

  ‘I am, Your Grace,’ answered Jenna, straightening up.

  ‘You were,’ corrected the Countess. ‘You are no longer in her employ. You were her maid. You are her maid no longer.’

  ‘Your Grace?’

  ‘You have been dismissed.’

  ‘Oh. Er, yes, Your Grace.’

  ‘So what will you do henceforward, eh?’

  ‘I ... I don’t rightly know, Your Grace. Perhaps ... perhaps I will be able to return to my previous employment at the Monastery farm.’