The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers (34 page)

“Have you taken advantage of his kindness?” she demanded, jealousy thick in her voice. “I see you’ve been more than busy.” Now that I was close, her eyes narrowed on my expanding waist. “Another bastard? Who’d have thought you’d have the wit to rise so high. But beware, Mistress Perrers; you’ll rise no more.”

I swallowed a smart retort. Isabella was an intelligent woman and I must appeal to that. I walked beside her, keeping step even when she quickened hers as if she would shake me off. Isabella had no idea how single-minded the Queen’s erstwhile damsel could be.

“He can’t be too ill,” she announced. “He invited me here to participate in a celebration.”

“I know.”

“He said he was arranging a tournament.”

“Yes.”

“Would a man who was ailing commit himself to a tournament?”

“No.”

“When is it to be held?”

“It isn’t.” That stopped her. Once again we faced each other like two cats posturing on a roof ridge. “There is no such arrangement,” I stated.

“Who wrote the letter?”

“I did.”

I heard the intake of breath, saw her nostrils narrow, and awaited the outburst, but it did not come. Rather her stare turned speculative. “To what purpose? You would invite me here?”

“You sound surprised.”

“If you wanted to rule the roost, you would not bring me back to England. We both know my inclination is also to rule.”

“That I know.”

“So why?”

“The King’s spirits are low. The Prince’s state of health is uncertain, and his little son is dead. The King’s in no mood for tournaments. Unless you persuade him, of course.”

“I’ll speak with him.” She eyed me thoughtfully.

I smiled thinly. “I wish you well, my lady.” And I did. Edward needed the distraction. “And I should tell you: The King does not know I sent for you.”

I watched her go; the energy in her step was undoubtedly a flounce. She would not like what Latimer had to show her. I sighed and looked down to Braveheart, who pressed against my leg. God help me! Had I invited a vixen into the chicken run?

Isabella was in a conflagration of temper when I walked through the gardens to join the royal father and daughter and test the air between them.

“I have been turned out of my rooms!”

“Turned out?” Edward chuckled at the drama of it. “I expect you’ve been provided with something larger and far more fitting—you’ve brought the children, I presume.”

“The rooms were mine—you had them built for me!”

“So I did. But they were empty. Why not make use of them? You rarely visit, and Alice finds them very comfortable.”

Did I not say? Edward had moved me into the sumptuous royal apartments. When I had listed what I had wanted, I could not have envisaged what I got: the suite of palatial rooms constructed for a princess. And how I relished them.

A taut silence fell on us like a hoarfrost, sharp and cold, broken only by the strident cry of a magpie in the stand of trees. Isabella took a breath. I wondered what she would say, whether she could manage to be diplomatic. The line of her jaw had the tension of a bowstring. She stopped on the path with a swish of embroidered skirts, and turned foursquare to Edward.

“You would put your mistress in my room?”

No diplomacy here. Careful!
I breathed.
Careful, Isabella! He may be aging, but his pride is as strong as it ever was.
In confirmation, Edward’s hand closed tightly into a fist.

“I think you should ask pardon for that,” he remarked mildly enough.

“Do we pretend she is not? That she was not, in all those years when my mother was alive?”

The ermine mantle of royalty slipped invisibly but impressively back onto Edward’s shoulders. Even they braced as if to take the weight of it.

“I’ll tolerate much, Isabella, but not that. You will not judge me or your mother. I have given Alice the authority to administer my household.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to. You are a guest. If you do not like it, there is no compunction on you to remain.” Isabella’s lips parted, then clamped together. “Exactly! You are not without intelligence.” Edward smiled, but the warning was still there. He knew exactly what he had achieved for me. “Now that the formalities are over, how long will you stay? We must see what we can do to entertain you.”

Isabella’s glance slid to mine. I left them planning. They were two of a kind when it came to outward display and spending money. So Isabella would stay for some weeks, but I was secure in Edward’s favor. Daughter and mistress could work very well together when they had to, to ward off the dread melancholy.

Isabella had other ideas, of course. She whispered in my ear as we entered the Great Hall together for supper. “Don’t expect to win my regard. You won’t succeed. You’re an upstart, Mistress Perrers.”

True. I was, and always would be, but I had worked hard for my position. I decided to flex my claws a little.

“I don’t need your regard, my lady.” I remained solemn as she raised her brows. “His Majesty needs me in his life far more than he needs you.”

“He’ll listen to me.…”

“No, he will not. Ah…” Edward was there to lead me to the chair at his right hand. “Perhaps your daughter should take the preeminent position,” I suggested smoothly. “For tonight, at least. As an honored guest…”

I showed my teeth in a smile. Isabella returned it but with a flash of eye as she sat. It was an excellent evening, with food and wine and music and entertainment. The King’s spirits revived under his daughter’s ready wit. She paced beside me as we left the chamber.

“Have a care, Mistress Perrers.”

“I always do, my lady! I always do. As I have a care for the King.”

She was furious, she would remain my enemy, but I knew she saw the truth in what I had said.

I left the field to Isabella through necessity, for I could barely see my toes over the swell of my belly. When the child kicked incessantly and I began to find life at Court wearying, I announced my intentions. Edward kissed my lips and my hands and packed me into one of his royal barges as if I were a precious piece of glass.

I had just acquired the house and manor of Pallenswick through Greseley’s clever negotiation and my borrowed gold coin, courtesy of the royal Treasury. And Pallenswick was a gleaming gem of a property on the banks of the Thames, to which I had moved my sons and my whole household. My access to Edward and the Court was as easy as donning a pair of silk slippers.

“I’ll come if I can,” Edward assured me.

“I’ll do just as well without you.” I knew he would be engaged in the progress of the war, and would be barred from the birthing chamber, King or no. Isabella would keep his spirits in good order.

“I’ll have Masses said for your safe delivery. Send me word.”

“I will.”

“I’ll be content if you bear me a daughter.”

“As long as she’s less combative than Isabella!”

“Difficult not to be.” Edward’s laughter startled the ducks that quacked in the shallows. Then, as I settled myself against the pillows: “Don’t go!”

The tightening of his hands around mine was a consolation, but I knew I must. In some matters I valued my independence. I wished to be under my own roof when I gave birth. And so I left Court. There was no secrecy now. My departure was marked with banners and pennons and a royal escort, such that all the world was aware that the King’s Concubine would bear him another child. Isabella found other affairs to occupy her so that she would not have to pretend a degree of concern. Good practice, all in all.

My wolfhound traveled with me, nervous of the water. A more misnamed animal I had never met. I carried Windsor’s dagger in my sleeve.

A basket of new-laid eggs rested on the table in the kitchen at Pallenswick, where I was engaged in helping my housekeeper to clear out boxes of wizened fruit from the previous autumn. And tucked between the eggs was a letter. An unconventional delivery, forsooth. Intrigued, keeping an eye to Joanne, my new daughter, who slept in her crib beside the hearth, I retrieved it and unfolded the single page. A brief note, no superscription, no signature, no seal. So someone wished to remain anonymous but had gone to a lot of trouble.

It is necessary for you to return to Westminster. Personal circumstances must not be allowed to stand in your way. It is for your good and that of the King.

A clerk’s hand. But from whom? I tapped the note lightly against the brown egg on the top of the pile. Not Edward. It was not his style, and why the need for secrecy? Wykeham? He would not stoop to unsigned missives. He would not need to, surely, as Edward’s Chancellor. Edward’s physician? If Edward were ill, a courier would have arrived with a horn blasting out its warning. Certainly not Isabella…None the wiser, I dropped the letter into the fire with a wry smile. Who would actually want me to return? I might be the acknowledged concubine, but most would happily clap me in a dungeon as far away from the King and Court as possible.

For the length of time it took me to walk from kitchen to parlor, the sleeping infant now in my arms, I considered taking no heed of it. But then—it was a warning. It was for the good of the King. I could not afford to ignore it—or could I? I did not appreciate an anonymous request that smacked of an order. I would think about it overnight.

I wished the anonymous writer a close association with the fires of hell.

I was, of course, up betimes, ordering my belongings packed and a barge made ready. I kissed my new daughter—fair and blue eyed like her father, named Joanne after Edward’s beloved dead daughter who
had been taken by the plague. I had balked at the name, it being uncomfortably reminiscent of the woman who had disparaged my low birth and consigned me to a life of drudgery, but on this occasion Edward’s wishes took precedence. So I bade my daughter and sons farewell, admonished nurse and tutor with a multitude of unnecessary instructions, and set off for London within the hour. The writer of the note would make himself known soon enough.

I arrived to find that in my absence Edward had summoned a Parliament. It did not disturb me in any manner. With a new campaigning season approaching, a parliamentary session to give approval for taxation to raise the moneys to pay the English forces was an obvious step. It gave the palace at Westminster, where Edward was in residence, an air of turmoil. There was an unusual scurry and bustle, the stabling overcrowded, and accommodations for lords and bishops at a premium. The commons had to make what shrift they could. It would not affect me. Closing my door against the commotion without, I sighed with the pleasure of arrival. But not for long. I expect I scowled.

“You took your time!” John of Gaunt announced.

“What are you doing here?” I was not gracious. Why was I rarely gracious around John of Gaunt? And to find him here in my rooms, without my invitation. I think I always feared him. Gaunt was as ever impervious, sitting on the window ledge, his foot braced against the stone coping.

“I’m waiting for you, Mistress Perrers.”

He’d had little to do with me since our initial agreement. Oh, his public recognition of me was superb. He might be forced to accept my importance to Edward, but still I thought he despised me. So what was he doing here? Unless…Suspicion began to flutter over my skin.

“I came as soon as I could,” I said.

“I expected you yesterday.”

I was right. He was plotting again. “So you sent the letter, my lord.”

“That’s not important. It brought you back. It should have been sooner.”

I resented his tone—the peremptory demand, his overt criticism. My response was biting. “You didn’t have the courage to sign it, did you, my lord?”

“Nothing to do with courage. More to do with discretion.”

“So that no one knows you sent for the King’s paramour? How unfortunate for you that you are driven to consort with such as me, having to admit that you actually have a need of me. Once was enough. But to have to ask again! How can you tolerate it, my lord?” How savage my taunts, but he had caught me on the raw.

Gaunt was on his feet, striding toward the door. I had pushed his arrogant pride too far.

“Wait!”

He halted abruptly, his face stony. “I don’t have need of you. I was mistaken.”

“Obviously you do.” I removed my mantle and hood, giving myself time to struggle against the inclination to let him go and slam the door at his back. It must be serious for Gaunt to come to me; therefore it was for me to make the first gesture to this man whose conceit was vast. “Let us begin again, my lord.” I stretched out my hand in a gesture of conciliation. “Tell me what the problem is and I will answer you.”

Serious indeed! Gaunt needed no second invitation. “He refuses to do it. And he must. You are the only one he’ll listen to. Regrettable, but a fact. You’ve got to persuade him.”

Typical of the man to dive into the middle of the problem without explanation.

“I presume you mean the King. And I might persuade him if you are more specific. Come and sit with me, my lord, and tell me what’s stirred this particular pot. Is it Parliament?”

“By God, it is!”

He sat and told me all in short, incisive sentences.

Parliament had begun the session in unfriendly mood. Their list of complaints would carpet the floor from Westminster to the Tower. All the money granted by the previous session—what had happened to it? Vanished without trace and with no achievement for it! England’s proud name had been ground into the mud of Europe. Gascony was more or less lost. Where was the English Navy? Were there not rumors of French invasion plans? And now the King was daring to ask them for more finance. Well, they wouldn’t provide it! It was throwing good money after bad.

I listened, honestly perplexed.

“I do not see how I can help in this matter,” I observed at the end.

“They are looking for scapegoats,” Gaunt snarled, as if I were witless not to see it. “They are unwilling to attack the King directly, but they are intent on drawing the blood of his ministers, accusing them of poor judgment. And unfortunately Parliament has discovered a weapon. What do all Edward’s ministers have in common?”