To my very good and right worshipful sister, Cécile d’Armagnac.
The days and nights pass slowly as I pray for your deliverance and wait for news. I have asked the Lord to protect and keep you safe, yet I feel dissatisfied. I do not believe that it was simply fate that brought us back together. This is God’s work and with help He will find a way to reveal our identity.
As we travelled slowly towards London, I contemplated the many barriers before me, for how am I going to achieve anything without assistance? I had thought to speak with my new guardian, Lord Simon Marshall, Earl of Wexford, but he is as sullen as Madam Bellet, the convent cook, who never seemed to find joy in life. Anaïs, on the other hand, was most excited and babbled endlessly but said little of meaning. Though the task seems insurmountable, I have no intention of giving up.
We reached the capital within three days, entering through the west gate to make our way towards the river into Blackfriars, so called for the priory of black-cloaked monks whose property borders Simon’s estate.
‘Your neighbours are monks!’ I exclaimed, amused at the irony.
‘Huh! The “hounds of the Lord” they call them,’ he grumbled. ‘The only thing they hound me for is coin!’
I was most impressed with Lord Wexford’s London home. It is located in the nobles’ district, the Savoy Palace only a few blocks distant. His manor house is far superior to anything I could have possibly imagined, though scaffolding creeps up one side, repairs a constant necessity, I suppose.
Whilst I have been granted full access to its amenities, Anaïs was returned to her place in the kitchen, creating numerous difficulties and many unpleasant incidents for the servants. I cannot say that I am unhappy with this arrangement, for I no longer feel the bond that once existed between us. We had shared much at Denny Abbey, rare moments of gay abandonment that masked the harsh reality of poverty. We had scavenged from the kitchens and hid in the buttery, triumphantly devouring the burnt pastries as though they had fallen straight from a King’s platter. But perhaps I had not seen Anaïs in her true light, for I had few companions with whom I could compare her.
The morning sun brought with it a welcome reprieve from my stifled existence. As it was Sunday I was to attend the great Cathedral of Saint Paul. How I longed to cover my hair and dress in my habit, but that was strictly forbidden by both Monsieur de Bellegarde and Lord Wexford, so I changed my chemise and donned a gown borrowed from Anaïs. I was escorted in silence by my benefactor and you can imagine my surprise when, upon arrival at the church, he clearly stated that he would wait for me outside. That is right, dear sister, this Christian man did not attend Mass on the Sabbath!
Upon our return to Marshall House, I sought out Lord Wexford and found him lazing in his private chamber after the noon meal.
‘Lord Wexford,’ I began, my voice trembling with fear. ‘I feel that I must speak to you concerning your actions this morning.’
‘My actions? I am sure I do not know what you mean.’ He did not look up, instead focusing his attention on the numerous opened books and parchments scattered over his desk.
‘When you accompanied me to church I thought you would have sat beside me during the service.’
‘Ah, so you are disappointed with me because you had to sit alone.’ Waving his hand, he indicated that I should take the chair in front of him but I remained standing, unable to move.
‘No, Sir, that is not what I meant,’ I replied. ‘I had thought you were to attend the service yourself.’
‘Did you, now?’ He turned his attention to me, his gaze penetrating my soul in a most ungodly fashion. I reached for the door latch for reassurance, in case I felt the need to flee. My eyes occasionally darted upwards so as to observe him, but after a short while he seemed to forget that I was there. He continued to sort through a number of tatty documents. I was unsure what to do next, for he clearly had no intention of providing an explanation. I appeared to be no more than a petty disturbance. Deciding to wait no longer, I turned to leave.
‘Catherine, before you return to your room to fall on your knees and beg the Lord’s mercy for the saving of my soul, I think you might like to hear what I learned of the Holland family this very morning whilst sitting outside the cathedral, committing that heinous sin of which you are quite obviously accusing me.’
Somewhat annoyed by his blatant mocking of my beliefs, I spun around to address him, noting the extent of the smile that played about his cunning features.
Without waiting for me to make comment, he launched himself almost gleefully into the telling of his news. ‘Lady Philippa Neville is far gone with child,’ he smirked. I supposed he hoped to arouse my embarrassment and I felt myself flush. ‘It seems that Saint Paul’s is a little too stuffy for her at present and so she likes to sit just outside where she can hear the sermon but also breathe the fresh, sweet air of London,’ he quipped, as if this fact alone was believable, for London is a most foul-smelling city. ‘Because the good lady is the wife of my cousin, I thought it appropriate to sit with her and make idle gossip. It just so happens that Lady Philippa is somewhat of a friend to the Lady Holland but more so with her brother’s widow, Elizabeth, who now resides in Kent with her new husband, Sir Eustace d’Aubedcicourt. They are currently visiting with family in London.’ He smiled triumphantly, as though he had won a great tournament or joust, but I did not know what to say. ‘I am confused. I thought this news would be pleasing, yet it brooks no response from you at all.’
‘You misunderstand,’ I replied, slightly turning from his penetrating stare in the hope of hiding my awkwardness.
This is what comes of life in the convent, for I must tell you, dear sister, I am finding it most difficult to understand my place in this world. So much is foreign to me, strange and frightening, and I am finding it almost impossible to converse with anyone, particularly men I do not know well. ‘It did not occur to me that you would have family so close to the Hollands.’
‘Yes, well,’ he continued, returning his attention to his desk, ‘I have sent an invitation to the Aubedcicourts to take supper with us next week. Once I retire with Eustace you will have Elizabeth to yourself. Knowing her to be a gossip I feel sure that she will have a great deal to tell should you choose to ask.’
I wanted to thank him, for he certainly had made a great effort to assist me, but I was so unsure of myself that I did not know how this was to be done. The silence between us began to stretch and I knew that he was awaiting my response. ‘Thank you, Lord Wexford, I am most grateful to you and to the Lord for His intervention,’ I mumbled.
‘The Lord!’ he scoffed, pushing a large bound volume to one side. ‘I doubt He had anything to do with it.’
My cheeks were burning as I bowed my head, for I was being baited, taunted, and he was taking pleasure in it.
‘Afore you go I must inquire as to your gown. Is this the only style of garment you have to wear?’ His nose wrinkled as though offended by my appearance.
‘Yes, M’lord, as I have been forbidden to dress in my habit.’
‘That sack does not appear to fit you.’
‘It belongs to my maid who generously offered to lend it to me.’
‘The gift of an old corn bag is not generosity! I will order you something more flattering.’ His eyebrows arched as he took on the lewd look of the Devil.
I turned away from his prying gaze and hastily made to leave.
‘And, Catherine, don’t slam it as you go,’ he teased, his laughter ringing out as I gently closed the door behind me.
Lord Wexford was as good as his word, for that afternoon a seamstress arrived and after a couple hours of measuring she departed with the promise to supply a reasonable wardrobe, which will include chemises, surcotes and one good cloak. She had suggested a gown of infinite quality but as I have very little prospect of wearing such a thing I politely refused the offer.
I was surprised when only a day later a parcel arrived with more than half the promised items folded nea
tly within. I pulled back the ribbon and was consumed with sinful excitement, for the quality was unmistakable. As I examined the rich blue gown I could clearly hear Mary St Pol’s berating, as though she stood beside me. She would never approve of such indulgence. Yet I could not resist the urge to run my fingers across the band of embroidery on the surcote before repackaging the clothing. Unable to bear the guilt of wearing such apparel, I donned Anaïs’ brown kirtle and made my way downstairs to break my fast.
The salon was empty so I began my small meal alone, though I could not help overhearing the commotion in the kitchen. My heart plummeted as I recognised my maid’s shrill voice above all others. My face coloured as Lord Wexford entered the room, for he appeared irritated and annoyed. He sat heavily and began eating without explanation, devouring the entire contents of his plate before looking up at me.
‘Please excuse my rudeness but your maid has angered me.’
I nodded my understanding.
‘She states that she is unwell so will not be assisting you for the nonce.’
I blushed as his gaze travelled over me.
‘Is there something wrong with your new wardrobe?’
‘No, it is beautiful and I wish to thank you most sincerely, but I am afraid it is inappropriate.’
‘Why?’
‘It is not suitable for a novice.’
‘But you are no longer a novice.’
‘Not at present.’
‘So you intend to return to the convent?’
‘Of course.’
‘Why?’ he questioned as he filled both our tankards.
‘I have nowhere else to go and cannot continue to live off the charity of others,’ I admitted.
‘And if you had a choice?’
‘But I do not, so why contemplate it?’
‘What about your sister?’
‘I dare not risk endangering her.’ I hesitated momentarily before adding, ‘And she may not wish to make such an offer.’
‘I see. Well, in the meantime, humour me.’
‘Vanity is sinful.’
‘So is nakedness I am told. As I have instructed the maids to dispose of your rags I suggest you reconsider.’
I do not dare test my guardian, for I have no doubt he speaks the truth. He would certainly have Anaïs’ gowns burned if he set his mind to it, so I have relented. How very strange I feel, garbed as I am, sitting here alone, thinking of you. If only we could be together.
12 June
Even though I have resided in London for some weeks now, I wish I could write more of the city but I remain as detained as before, my weekly outings restricted to church visits on Sundays and holy days. Lord Wexford has made it very clear that my safety is paramount and that he dare not take any undue risks, particularly now that the King and his entourage have returned to the royal keep. It is more than a little unnerving to learn the Black Prince is nearby and I cannot help but wonder if you accompany him. More frightening is it to know that Salisbury is also present. For the first time I have no inclination to venture outside.
There is to be a great feast to celebrate King Jean’s signing of the truce and as one of King Edward’s courtiers, Lord Wexford is summoned to attend.
And what of you, my sister? How I long for news of you and Gillet.
15 June
Unable to sleep for the boisterous cheer that resounded through the streets all night long, the people welcoming an end to the war, I heard Lord Wexford return at dawn. Incapable of waiting for a respectable hour, I donned my gown and hurried downstairs, where I found him in his library. He was sprawled in his chair, sipping a goblet of wine, his stockinged feet wiggling atop his desk. At my entrance he held up his hand.
‘Before you lecture me on the evils of a bacchanal, perhaps you would like to know that I saw Gillet at the feast. Your sister is safe though she has been very ill.’
‘Oh my Lord! Where is she? How does she fare? Is she with the Prince?’
‘No, she is in a monastery in France.’
‘A monastery! But how did …?’
‘Catherine, my head is ringing louder than the bells of Westminster Abbey.’ He withdrew a parchment from his richly embroidered doublet. ‘Here, the answers you seek are written in your sister’s hand. At great peril to our skins, Gillet managed to slip me this letter. The poor lad is run ragged attending the Prince but he sends word that he will visit as soon as he may.’
‘Thank you, Lord Wexford.’ I took the letter and noticed him staring at me. ‘Is something amiss?’
He rubbed his red eyes. ‘No, nothing.’
Hurrying to my room, I broke the seal upon your news, praying that your circumstances had changed. But as I read my soul despaired. My dearest sister, how my heart weeps for you and I long to be at your side, but I am powerless to act without the support of my guardian.
Midsummer’s Eve
I had begun to fear that Gillet would never be released from his duties, when unexpectedly he appeared before the tolling of the noon bells.
I did not think it possible to see such changes in a man as I have with him. He sat beside me and seemed somehow defeated, haunted perhaps. I could only guess at the cause.
‘You look tired.’ Timidly I took his hand into mine.
‘I have barely seen my bed,’ he grunted. ‘Besides running errands like a common servant, I exhausted every opportunity to gain an audience with King Jean le Bon.’
‘I think it is you who are exhausted! Did you succeed?’
He stretched out his limbs with a deep sigh. ‘No. It was not to be. Did you receive your sister’s letter?’
‘Yes, thank you. How was she, Gillet?’
‘Much improved when I left. Her spirit has not been broken. Do not worry. Armand will take good care of her.’ He gathered my hands within his and gently stroked the knuckles. ‘The Prince of Wales is to escort Jean le Bon to Calais next week, there to wait until the ransom arrives. I have been granted temporary leave from my duties and will take rest here for two days before departing. Have no fear. I will see Cécile delivered to safety.’
An audible scraping brought our attention to the door. You can imagine Gillet’s reaction to discover Anaïs, shocked by her sudden exposure, squatting outside, listening to our conversation.
‘You little viper!’ he cried, grabbing her sleeve.
‘I wanted to see you.’
‘Then you need only knock.’
‘Ah, Gillet.’ Her countenance changed immediately as she reached out to take hold of him. ‘I missed you and thought you would have come to visit me by now.’
‘And I will, as soon as I have finished relaying my news to Catherine.’ He placed his hands upon her shoulders, pushing her back, but she darted away, slipping behind one of the high-backed chairs.
‘You will not be happy when you learn of how I have been treated. I was returned to the kitchen by that old, fat Lord Nobody. Well, a pox on him.’
‘Anaïs, I am sure it is just a misunderstanding, I will speak with Simon soon.’ He stretched out his hand with a contrived smile and she shimmied towards him, licking her lips like a satisfied cat. She placed her hand on his crotch. ‘I must talk with you.’
Gillet jumped, then removed her fingers from his groin. ‘My ears are located much higher.’
‘It cannot wait.’
He pushed her towards the door, rolling his eyes at me. ‘I will see you at dinner, Catherine.’
Evening 21 June
I have just returned from what was a very strained supper with Monsieur de Bellegarde and Lord Wexford. Although the meal was beautifully served, it seemed that Gillet had no appetite and the Earl was ill-humoured. At first I was unable to understand what would lead to such behaviour but as we dined it became apparent that the gentlemen had quarrelled. Both appeared sullen and neither would look the other in the eye.
Believing that my best course of action was to say nothing, I focused instead on the delicious and varied repast. Towards the end of the proceedi
ng, with not a word spoken at the table, I chose to excuse myself and return to my room. However, as I rose Lord Wexford indicated that his permission had not been given and that I was to remain.
‘Before you retire, Gillet will speak to you on a matter of a personal nature. I do not wish to spoil my meal so will take my leave.’
He was obviously displeased with Gillet and for some reason this bothered me greatly, but I know not why.
Gillet waved away the maids and took up two goblets and a jug of mead, directing me towards the opposite end of the long, oak table which was free of the remnants of the evening meal.
‘Sit,’ he said, filling my mug and settling himself opposite. ‘I am sorry, Catherine.’ His eyes betrayed the sadness so plainly etched upon his tired face, his apology was genuine.
‘Sorry?’ I was startled, for what could have occurred in the three hours since I saw him last? ‘Has something happened to Cécile?’
‘No, no, this is not about your sister. This is about Anaïs and me.’
Almost immediately, dread seeped through my body. Each time her name is mentioned I am left with a new and unforgiving emotion in my heart, and have to reproach myself for harbouring such ill feelings.
‘Anaïs is with child, one she claims I fathered,’ he sighed. He refilled his mug and took a long drink as I sat there struck by silence, for what could I say? I watched him as he waited for my reaction but when it did not come he continued, ‘She has insisted upon an agreement of marriage.’
‘You intend to marry Anaïs?’
Gillet seemed somewhat taken aback by the ferocity of my exclamation, for rarely am I known to raise my voice. ‘My declaration of impending fatherhood brooks no reaction but it would seem that vows do. May I ask why?’
The Lily and the Lion Page 10
