The King's Mistress (45 page)

I was less sanguine regarding myself. I would be twenty-three years of age in September, when my child was due, and felt far less responsible for my life than I had imagined I would at that age. It was as if when I’d gone to court I’d tumbled back into late childhood. During my first pregnancy, I’d admitted to Dame Tommasa that what most frightened me was that I felt too young and inexperienced to be a good mother. She had assured me that as my child matured within, so would I mature, and when my child was ready, so would I be.
That is how we become wise, by living each day attending to the lessons God puts in our path
. How I missed Dame Tommasa’s calm presence. Once again I was caught up in the fear that I did not have the wisdom to raise the child in my womb, this time because my child was of royal blood, or half-royal blood. Dom Hanneye’s attempt to reassure me only raised further worries. He’d said that if the child was a boy, I would have little to do with his upbringing, and if the child was a girl, I might bring her up as I wished, that the king would hardly care about another girl. Either way, it sounded as if this child would bring me sorrow.

I
N EARLY
summer I was invited to Bishop Langham’s residence near Ely—Edward would be there for a fortnight. He saw this as a lovers’ tryst and insisted that we share a bedchamber.

Mostly we walked and talked and slept tangled in each other’s arms. As we shared the large chamber with sergeants-at-arms and servants, who slept in an anteroom created by wooden screens, we did not indulge in lively lovemaking, although we managed a few stolen afternoons. The mere fact of my conceiving a child by him had cheered Edward and invigorated him.

On our last day together I dared to speak of my fears for the future.

“I do not wonder at your concern, sweet Alice. But Philippa’s only comment on the news was to order me to see that you had the best care.”

I admired the queen’s mask of reserve, and ached to think on the feelings she so elegantly concealed. “Her Grace is most kind.”

Edward patted my hand. “While the child is yet an infant, you will not be so much with the queen. You shall have a wet nurse, and any servants you require. When you are with the queen, you must have someone to care for the children in a home in Windsor. When you are
with me at Sheen, Eltham, Havering, or beyond, likewise Bella and our child shall be near at hand so that you might see them often. Is that to your liking? You’ve only to ask for what you desire, Alice.”

That you might be my husband
, I thought. “Yes, my love.” I rushed to cover my imagined complaint with the more practical, realistic plans he’d come to expect, for I was moved by his awareness of my concerns for my children. “I should like to make some extensive repairs to my house in London, and perhaps use some of the street property for shops and tenements to lease. To provide more for Bella’s dowry.”

He squeezed my hand. “That’s my Alice.”

The trouble was, I did not like all that he perceived in
his
Alice; I did not like the role of spy among my peers. He would name some merchants he wished me to approach when I returned to London, and asked about others with whom I’d dined in London or elsewhere since we had last had such an opportunity to talk. I took care to tell him all I knew of the former, all I had discerned about the latter, but I felt unclean. I prayed for God’s guidance in learning to accept my situation. Edward had his reasons, and he was my lord as well as my lover. I must never forget that.

I was glad to return to Southery and retreat into my pleasant cocoon.

W
HEN MARY
arrived in September for my lying in, she was bursting with the news that Geoffrey was betrothed to a young lady who had been brought up in the queen’s household, the daughter of a Flemish knight.

“How grand! Are you not happy for him, Alice?”

“Is it Philippa de Roët?”

Mary looked disappointed. “You already knew.”

“No. But she is the only unwed young lady of Flemish descent in the queen’s household at present.”

“So what do you think? Is she beautiful?”

“She is lovely. High spirited.” Not at all the sort I would have thought to Geoffrey’s taste.

“They are whispering that the betrothal has already been consummated, and that she is with child.”

I prayed that it was Geoffrey’s, not the bastard of the Duke of Lancaster. There had previously been rumors of a liaison between Pippa and Lancaster. The news stirred up too many emotions in me, too
mixed, and I asked Mary if we might speak of something else while I thought on this.

I prayed that they would be happy. Of course her connections and noble birth were just what his parents had always wished for him.

I
N LATE
September I was safely delivered of my first boy.

“A son.” Tears filled Edward’s blue eyes.

Tears. I had not expected them from him. He already had five living sons.

“Since I sent Edward, Lionel, John, and Edmund out into the world, I have keenly felt their absence. Thomas is eager to follow after them and I cannot hold him back much longer. Now I need not despair, for I have a new son to teach.”

“He will be fair like you.” I could see it already. Bella had looked darker, furrier. Just as beautiful but different. “Your joy is like a blessed balm to me, Edward.”

He’d arrived but two days after our son’s birth, descending upon me in my little bower like a god of old, large and bellowing and overwhelming. And then, with the utmost gentleness, he’d lifted our child in his large hands and whispered, “You are a miracle, my son.”

I wept and laughed at the same time.

But it was plain that I would not long enjoy my son’s company. His godfathers were to be the Duke of Lancaster and John Neville, so his name would be John after the duke. I was disappointed that Edward had ignored my suggestion that my brother John be our son’s second godfather. My brother was a fine young man whose company I greatly enjoyed. He had matured into a steady, generous man, and I wished I might so have honored him. But Neville was a northern baron key to border defenses and I understood why Edward wished to honor him. I did have my way regarding his godmother, my sister Mary. But I knew that it was merely a courtesy. Our son would be fostered in a home appropriate to a king’s son, and neither Mary nor I would exert much influence in his life. And yet, how could I regret that his father loved him so?

M
Y FIRST
communication from Queen Philippa after John’s birth was a summons to the Christmas court at Kenilworth, the palace of the Duke and Duchess of Lancaster. Queen Philippa wished to make the journey for once. Whenever my lady Blanche spoke of Kenilworth,
her voice rang with happy memories and her eyes shone. But for my dread of the queen’s anger and the pain of leaving John with the wet nurse, I would have been excited about being included.

I escorted my household from Southery to London before I continued on to Windsor and then Kenilworth. I wished I might stay with Dame Agnes, to comfort her, for Grandfather had died shortly after John’s birth. But she would find consolation in the presence of her grandchildren. They would soften her grief.

Geoffrey and Pippa were in London, staying with his parents. I paid them a visit before I left for Windsor. The Chaucer home had always been one of my favorite places, pretty and warm and always slightly crowded at meals; Geoffrey’s parents both enjoyed a hall filled with people who loved to talk, eat, and drink—his father was a wine merchant, after all. I looked forward to seeing them and divining how my friend fared.

“How goes your little one?” Geoffrey asked.

“John is not so even-tempered as Bella was, but he has captured my heart. And Bella’s. She is a loving sister.”

“I’ve heard that the king is most pleased with you. It was clever of you to bear him a son.”

“Clever? Is that your word or the gossips’?”

“The gossips’, of course. Do you think me such a fool as to believe you could arrange the sex of your child? I presume you are going to the Christmas court?”

“I am.”

“Then I feel it my duty as your good friend to warn you to be wary of those who compliment you and seek your advice or support. They see you as their way to the king. He has not kept his promise to you to be more discreet about your relationship and your son.” Geoffrey looked most uncomfortable to be telling me this.

I gave him an affectionate hug. “Be at ease, my friend. I already know.”

“It is not merely your son. The wording of Richard Lyons’s public humiliation was such that all now see you as a business partner to the royal family.”

I frowned. “I thank you for the warning.” If one could be thankful for troubling news. But I
had
asked him to be my ears.

“How fare you with Lyons?” Geoffrey asked.

“He knows that it was not my doing, that I still value his friendship.
Indeed, I have retained him as an adviser. But I pray you, what do you hear of Her Grace, how she received the news of my son?”

“You dread the reunion with your mistress?”

“I’ve worn out my paternoster beads praying for peace between us. What hear you?”

Geoffrey shrugged. “Nothing. She is silent on the matter.”

I crossed myself.

As Pippa had joined us, I said, “But let us speak of happier tidings. How do you fare with the child?”

She touched her belly and made a face both happy and rueful. “I did not expect to feel so crowded already!”

“That is nothing compared to how you will soon feel.”

We spoke of children and of setting up households, a pleasant exchange.

I regretted that I could not stay longer in London. I wished I might crawl back into the womb of Southery, the gentle summer spent wrapped in dreams of my child. But I could no longer delay my reunion with the queen.

T
HOUGH MY
heart had been heavy as I rode from London to Windsor, once I passed through the gate my mood lifted, for it felt a homecoming. I stepped lightly behind the page who led Gwen and me to our familiar chamber, and began to relax as I warmed my hands and feet by the brazier and quenched my thirst with watered wine, eyeing the soft bed. Gwen was warming stones for my feet when a page arrived to escort me to the queen’s chamber. My momentary cheer dissolved. It was not like Philippa to rush a weary traveler. I whispered Hail Marys while Gwen dressed me.

“You are so slender, one might forget you’d given birth less than three months ago,” she murmured.

“Her Grace will not forget.”

To reach Philippa’s chamber I must needs pass among the ladies gathered in her antechamber. They greeted me with a variety of nods, bobs, knowing glances, smirks, and wishes for my good health. I was shivering by the time I stepped through the doorway and bowed to my mistress.

“Stand up straight, Alice, let me see you,” Philippa commanded as she motioned for the page to withdraw and close the door behind him.
“Turn.” She grunted with satisfaction. “You look well. Good. We have much to do.”

I turned back to face her, saddened to witness the ravishes of the past half year. Her face, neck, and hands were flushed and swollen, her breathing labored. As she rose from her chair her limbs tangled in the voluminous folds of silk and I rushed forward to assist her servant in supporting her. My face was but inches from Philippa’s as she straightened. I witnessed the play of emotions—fear, self-loathing, and then, registering my nearness, regal reserve.

“Your Grace, I am your faithful servant,” I murmured. When I felt her gain her balance I stepped aside.

“You see the enormity of the task before you,” the queen said flatly.

I hesitated to respond, uncertain what to say, unable to divine her mood.

She lifted a fold of shimmering silk. “The sempsters believe that I am so exalted my feet need not touch the earth. Only you know to hem my gowns.” Her face softened into a teasing smile.

God is merciful
, I thought as I breathed out. “I shall see to it at once, Your Grace.”

“Tomorrow is soon enough, dear Alice.” She held out her hand, and I knelt to kiss it.

And so I resumed my role in the queen’s household. Philippa’s hunched and twisted frame was now impossible to disguise, and Edward’s choice of a falconry theme had resulted in gowns layered with feathers that quivered with her intermittent tremors and emphasized her short and wide physique. She looked like a frightened chick, not a queen. I spoke privately with Edward
—you are tall and long of limb, your posture still wonderfully straight, but Her Grace …
—and received his permission to render Philippa’s emblems of falconry in embroidery and gemstones in colors that imitated those of the raptors’ feathers. The drape of her garments was also increasingly important, and the sempsters had cut everything too straight as well as too long.

I worried that the journey to Warwickshire might prove too much for her. When we reached our first night’s resting place her face was pinched and her breathing shallow. She offered up her pain in expiation for the sins of loved ones who had died. By the time we arrived at the beautiful palace of Kenilworth Her Grace was in such distress that it was several days before she appeared in public, and even then she was
brought to the great hall in a litter and stayed only a short while. My fussing with the drape of her garments proved unnecessary.

In the grace of design and the richness of the furnishings, the palace of Kenilworth outshone any of the grand royal homes save Windsor. And the light! The amount afforded by the long window embrasures in the great hall, even in the depth of winter, astounded me by day. At night a multitude of torches, candles, and lamps pushed back the darkness. The colorful clothes and jewels of the courtiers were dazzling in the brightness, creating a swirling forest of enchantment.

The queen’s inactivity allowed me freedom to move about the festivities and enjoy myself more than I had anticipated. My own falconry motif was a feathery headdress that I’d sprinkled with pearls, and a trim of feathers on the dagged edge of a short green cape I wore over either a deep gold or pale green-and-gold brocade gown. Along the spines of the feathers we had attached small pearls and I’d sprinkled pearls all over the bodices of my gowns.