‘The palace is no longer safe. It may surprise you to learn that the kingdom has greater problems than those of Cécile d’Armagnac. Word has reached the Dauphin that Philippe de Rouvre, Duc de Bourgogne, has paid Edward a sum of 200,000 moutons to leave Burgundy.’ His mouth stretched into a grim line. ‘As we speak, the King of England is on his way to set siege upon Paris. He has issued a challenge to the Dauphin and the city may well become a blood bath.’ I stifled my horror as he stretched out his long legs and scuffed one boot against the other. ‘I must return to England to discover Salisbury’s whereabouts. If he now marches with his King, as I suspect, then at least here at this inn you are unknown. Bribery is just as easy in a royal garden as it is in a den of thieves.’ He glanced at my face and his voice softened. ‘I have already sent word to your father and I await his instruction.’
A silence fell between us as I digested this information. The pain was easing and I managed a smile. ‘How did you know that I was in danger?’
His face pulled taut. ‘I did not. The palace servants informed me you had gone to Les Halles but it was sheer providence that I rode past the smithy when I did.’
‘Then it could be said that my jaunt was not all in vain. I did escape the palace.’
‘Only female brains could think that,’ he replied, his gaze indecorously slipping to my breasts. Here was the scrutiny that I had found lacking in our first meeting and I clutched the sheet, suddenly reminded.
‘Odette tells me she was at the market and the woman, Marguerite, was busy in the salon when I was brought to the inn. I would know who undressed me.’
Two apples of red instantly coloured his cheeks and with an artist’s stroke, flourished to the tips of his ears. His boots became worthy of a prolonged inspection.
‘You took it upon yourself, Sir?’
He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Since carrying your wardrobe from the palace may have raised some eyebrows, Marguerite has kindly offered to lend you some of her clothing. Be thankful that she approximates your height and build. For now, your own gowns are lost.’
‘Do not try to change the thread of this conversation. How dare you take such a liberty! Was it not enough that I was injured? That you should take advantage of the situation is despicable! Good God! I was unconscious! You … you … uncouth, plebeian swineherd. ’
He shot to his feet, wrenching his cloak from the stool, and retrieved something from within the folds. Your parchment and the first pages of this missive landed on the bed. ‘I was able to collect this. Careless of you to have left it lying around. Finish your letter to the one woman who seems to want to know you better, though only God knows why!’
He walked stiffly to the door, pausing as his hand hit the latch. ‘Yes, Madame Marguerite was detained in the parlour. The High Constable, Monsieur Lunoir, happened to be dining here when his assistant brought news of a foul attack in the Rue de les Marchands.’ He spun suddenly with exasperation. ‘You really are an amazing creature. You spare not one bad word for the filth that plunged a dagger into you, and yet you …you …’ He inhaled deeply, his nostrils pinching. ‘News travels fast in Paris. Apparently I am now sought by the authorities for your abduction and, whilst Marguerite distracted the good Constable, someone had to stop you from bleeding to death! You overestimate your own importance, Mademoiselle. I have far subtler ways of getting women into bed.’ The door swung shut behind him with an almighty slam.
I admit that I may have slightly misjudged the situation and possibly overreacted, but that knave’s manners are as pleasant as a dose of dysentery.
My incapacity has given me plenty of time to think. My cousin, Armand, would be pleased. He always said thinking was the one thing that I did not do. Still, at least I am done with the malicious tongues at court. I suppose I shall be trundled back home, to remain until I can be dusted off and presented to a less discerning buyer. Monsieur de Bellegarde suggests that before his return, if my health allows, I could make myself useful as a kitchen maid. He added that services rendered would save his purse the cost of my room. He amuses himself at my expense.
Which brings me to the matter between us. Do you really want to know me, Mary Catherine? I was sorry to hear of your misfortune, and looking around this room I can begin to understand what it is to be all alone in this world. Faith be, my only true company has been your letter. It would please me to have you continue writing.
Written by Cécile d’Armagnac, Thorn and Thistle Inn , Paris, 28 March 10 Jean II.
Head bent against the elements, Gillet de Bellegarde drove his spurs into his mount, the sudden lashing of rain stinging his face. His horse complied, snorting wildly. Like an evil spectre spewed from the depths of Hell, the black figures sped for the coast.
‘Of all the ungrateful, wanton, spiteful wenches!’ He dug his muddy heels harder.
His departure from the city had not gone unnoticed. A wild chase through the back alleys of Paris had seen his clothing ripped, and a low-hanging sign almost decapitated him.
A vision suddenly rose before him, an angel to the devil clawing his insides. His hands jerked the reins and Inferno instantly slowed his crazed pace. Tresses of pure gold veiling luscious breasts with an artist’s skill, with the girl’s bleeding staunched, his eyes had shamelessly taken their fill. Pearly skin, graceful limbs and a thatch of straw-coloured hair that hid untold delights, soft, perfumed and beckoning his touch. A siren, a playful muse, and definitely more trouble than he could afford.
He cursed King Edward’s exchequer for the shortfall in the ransom. He cursed the Dauphin for not releasing the prisoner. But most of all he cursed the message he had received from Jean d’Armagnac. How in God’s name the man knew, almost before he did, that he would soon be returning to Paris, defied all manner of thinking. Yet return he must to collect Edward’s favoured courtier, and … Sacré bleu. Armagnac’s daughter certainly possessed a mouth! He would pack a knob of soap for the next visit. But her lips were not lacking. They definitely required a decent kissing. Even in a pout, they were adorable.
His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten. He turned his horse towards the grey dawn, to the village nestled in the dale. He’d barely been out of the saddle in two weeks counting the days spent in Paris. And somehow the much-needed sleep evaded him. His gloved hand rubbed the grit from his eyes and he glared at the red-roofed buildings below. Perhaps a serving of hot potage would help. He urged his horse on and set to cursing again, foul weather, chickens that wouldn’t lay, fleas and, most of all, his own folly for ever having laid eyes on Cécile d’Armagnac.
To Lady Cécile d’Armagnac, be this letter delivered.
I wake each morning as the sun rises, the early light of day penetrating the timber shutters. I watch, mesmerised, as the beam creeps across the wooden floorboards, relishing the silence of the usually noisy inn. Closing my eyes, I try to imagine what you might be doing. My heart is filled with a burst of warmth and I cannot help but smile, for you are my own sister, family, something for which I have longed all my life.
Though I rarely ask the Lord for personal considerations, I have done so these last days as I begged him to speed your reply to me. However, I could not have foreseen the manner in which it was delivered.
I had been breaking my fast with Anaïs when Gillet de Bellegarde returned. Never have I seen him so angry, his face a mask of displeasure as he frowned upon me. His dark glance towards Anaïs sent her scurrying from the room.
‘Sister Mary Catherine, I know not where to begin.’ His ample saddle bags slipped from his shoulder to land unceremoniously on the floor. ‘I rode with all haste from Paris to ensure your safety and yet all the while you have blatantly disregarded my instructions.’
‘You should not have concerned yourself. As you can see, I am well,’ I whispered as my grip on the table tightened.
‘Concerned myself?’ he shouted. ‘I have been deeply worried. You seem to forget that I am responsible for you.’
‘No, I do not,’ I
mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.
‘So please explain your actions to me, for I cannot believe what I know must be true.’
‘I am sorry, but what sin have I committed?’
‘I am told,’ roared my guardian, pacing like a lion, ‘that you have been parading yourself up and down the village square, dressed in your habit, with your companion walking beside you.’
I nodded, for this was true.
He stilled. ‘So you admit it?’
‘It was early and I only thought to attend mass.’
‘Did you not think that you would be seen? I am surprised that you made it as far as the church! The road is full of thieves and villains who would happily detain you for their personal entertainment.’
‘Not a nun, surely?’ I declared, risking a glance at my accuser.
‘I cannot believe your naïveté. Salisbury and his hench-men are looking for a novice from the Abbey and you make no attempt to hide your identity. Remove your veil.’
I lifted my eyes to stare at him, for surely I had misheard his command.
‘You are to remove your veil and change from your habit into one of Anaïs’ gowns.’
‘But I am to take holy orders! I am a member of the church, a novice!’ My disbelief overwhelmed my shy tongue.
‘No, Catherine,’ he mocked, ‘you are mistaken. You are a fugitive.’
‘Please do not ask me to do this,’ I whispered.
‘You will do as I say!’
I felt the colour drain from my face as I meekly stepped away, suddenly afraid of this man.
‘Remove … your … veil.’
His eyes bore through me and I knew that I was unable to refuse. I wanted to turn and run, I wanted to hide my shame, for never had I undressed in such a way before another. My hands were shaking as I struggled with the folds at the back of my neck. Untwisting the wimple, I slid it forward, resting it momentarily in front of my flaming cheeks before placing it on the tabletop. My hair, hidden until my final vows would see it cropped, slowly uncurled, the long blonde tail falling across my shoulder.
Silence filled the room as a single tear slid down my cheek to land on my hands, now clasped in prayer. I was simply too embarrassed to look up at him but knew that he was staring intently at me. His voice was softer now and tinged with despair.
‘I will not allow you to cross me as your sister has.’ He turned away, his back rigid beneath his dirt-encrusted cloak. I was filled with remorse, for surely it was I who had caused him such worry and grief.
So I sat, my dear sister, within my room, dressed in a serviceable gown of brown wool, my hair trailing loose, like that of a maiden. I cannot conceive that Gillet will ever forgive my carelessness, so angry was he.
He left for London the following morning and I had no opportunity to speak with him again. His instructions had been plain. I was to remain hidden. It would seem that I have traded one form of imprisonment for another.
My melancholy was not reflected upon the face of Anaïs, so changed is she. I do not expect her to yearn for Denny the way I do, yet the joy she attaches to her freedom is more than a little disconcerting. I often detect her scowling and believe that she may now disdain our friendship. Were she privy to the heated conversation the previous day, she made no mention of it.
‘Do you still want to learn more about your family?’ she asked.
‘Of course, you know that I do.’
‘Then perhaps you should thank me, for I may have inadvertently found a way to assist you. Whilst partaking of one or two ales yesterday a gentleman of fine attire boasted of his connections at court. He claimed that he resides in Romsey, which I know is not far from Broughton.’ Refilling my cup, she leaned uncomfortably close to my face. ‘He was easily persuaded to meet with you here and share what knowledge he has.’ Her eyes flashed with triumph, for she had indeed done me a great favour.
‘Thank you, Anaïs, I am very grateful. May the Lord bless and keep you.’
‘No need for that,’ she interrupted. She snatched up the bag of coins, presumably left for us by Gillet and, uncovering a corner of the mattress, picked at a small hole until it was large enough to conceal the item within.
‘Why do people hide things?’ I asked.
‘Silly! So others cannot find them.’
‘But why?’
‘You can be so stupid at times.’ She sauntered to the door. ‘I hide it because it is valuable.’
I can only conclude then that we must be worth something, to be hidden from not only each other but also from the world. Your betrothal to the Duc was broken on a claim of poor hereditary right. If that be the case, what of your future? I imagine that you will be expected to marry. But what if it is discovered that we are of rank? Surely your chances would increase. Why hide us away if we are of no importance? ’Tis a confusing riddle.
Unwilling to break my promise to Gillet, I agreed to see this man but only if we were to meet within the walls of this establishment. Perhaps any discovery I make might atone for the terrible pain and loss I have caused you, for which I feel enormous guilt.
The gentleman had agreed to visit the King’s Arms sometime after noon that same day. By nones I was beginning to suspect that he had changed his mind when suddenly he entered through the main door. Anaïs had slipped the innkeeper several coins for the procurement and privacy of the storeroom, which contained enough food stocks to feed twelve nuns until Christmastide. Smoked fish hung in rows across the back wall, their beady eyes seeming to follow me as I entered the room. Bunches of onions and garlic, dried cloves and cinnamon sticks overflowed from every corner, their distinctive aroma mixed with the unmistakable scent of pickled eel.
‘John Moleyns at your service, my dear. I assume it is with you I am to meet?’ he asked.
He was an older man with a large and ugly scar running down his cheek, but it did not make him look sinister or ill-intending – quite the opposite in fact. His countenance was open and friendly and I instantly felt sorry that this mark had so altered what would have been a handsome face.
‘Yes, M’lord, and might I begin by apologising for the secrecy? You see, I have much to lose and no one to trust,’ I whispered, lowering my gaze to the floor.
‘You may trust me, gentle lady,’ he replied, ‘for I have not come to harm you, only to inquire what you could need of me.’
‘Thank you, Lord Moleyns. I am hoping you can provide me with information concerning the family who lives at Broughton.’
‘Broughton?’ His eyebrows arched. Seating himself upon a barrel, his gaze slid scrupulously over me. ‘May I ask who you are?’
‘M’lord, that is precisely what I am attempting to ascertain. I was, until recently, of the belief that I was orphaned, raised instead by a kindly family in Cambridgeshire, who gave as much as they could but whose wealth was limited. I have since discovered that I may have a connection to a family at Broughton and am hoping to discover if there is any truth in this.’
‘I do not know that I will be of any help to you.’ A wry smile appeared on his lips, ‘for I barely know the Holland family.’
My heart skipped a beat for here was the connection between the two.
‘Any information you have will be most gratefully received,’ I added, in the hope that I would appear convincing.
‘I see,’ he began. His hand, resting neatly upon his thigh, opened to reveal a strange sight, his first and second fingers joined together as one. It was as though he had four fingers and not five, the others connected by a thin membrane of skin, much like the tail of a fish. ‘All information is worth something, is it not?’ It would appear that the greatest of noblemen are no different from those found begging on the street, for Anaïs knew immediately his meaning and, stepping forward, placed a gold coin into his malformed palm.
‘The family of Holland, Thomas, Earl of Kent, and his wife, Joan, reside at Broughton, a demesne northeast of Salisbury in Hampshire. They have a large family, three of each, sons and daughters. The
Lady Joan is a beautiful woman and much admired at court. I am unaware of any wards they may have in their care but should you have any connection to that estate, be it even as a child of one of their many workers, I am sure the Earl would happily find a place for you there, or perhaps in a convent nearby, for you seem quite pious,’ he smirked.
‘M’lord, I wish to thank you for your help.’
‘I am only too glad to assist, although I must say you appear almost too finely bred …’
‘I must ask you, Sir, to keep our meeting most private,’ I quickly interjected, fearing that Lord Moleyns’ assumptions were about to reveal a deeply rooted truth. ‘I would not wish to bring ill repute to an innocent family, should my inquiries reveal little or no connection to the Earl.’
‘Of course.’ His hand once again opened in the hope of receiving a payment for silence. This time I nodded to Anaïs and she slipped the best part of our small reserve to the nobleman as he rose from the barrel.
‘I hope that was worth it,’ stated Anaïs as we watched the figure retreat.
‘I believe it was.’ I would have parted with any amount of gold for what I had learned.
One week later Gillet de Bellegarde returned. He was not alone.
Summoned to our communal eating room I was greeted by a harried Gillet, the depth of his concern very much in evidence.
‘After much consideration I decided to call upon an old friend for assistance,’ he began, seating himself opposite me at the long table. ‘Lord Wexford has agreed to remain in England with you whilst I return to Paris and ascertain what must be done with your sister.’
I nodded, keeping my eyes upon Gillet, for the accompanying stranger leaning against the mantel was all but concealed beneath a dark cloak, though it failed to hide his ill humour.
‘Simon has been my friend for many years and will guard you as I would.’
I glanced at the tall gentleman who seemed somewhat disinterested, his stare fixed upon the empty hearth.
The Lily and the Lion Page 4
