The Witch of Eye (15 page)

Margery Jourdemayne was smiling at her, reading her thoughts as she took in the possibilities she was being offered.

‘So, would you like to try it for a few weeks?’

Jenna hesitated. ‘No. No, thank you, mistress. Really, I can’t. I’d be letting the Master down. He really needs us all in the dairy. There’s such a lot of work to do.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about Master Jourdemayne,’ said Margery, waving her hand airily, as though brushing away a fly. ‘I’ll settle it with him. He’ll be perfectly agreeable to you doing it for part of the time.’

Given this assurance, Jenna didn’t hesitate. ‘Then yes, mistress, I would like to try it very much. As long as you’re sure the Master will agree. And thank you for considering me.’ Then she paused uncertainly. ‘Would I still be sleeping over the brewhouse? I don’t think young Kitty would forgive me if I went away and left her.’

‘Yes. My plan is that you’ll be working here in the farmhouse every day, in this room, not in that freezing cold dairy. But you’ll still be sleeping in the dormitory with the other women, so Kitty needn’t worry. She hasn’t seen the last of you. Though I don’t know why you concern yourself with the child. There are hundreds like her.’

‘I’ve become fond of her, that’s all. She hasn’t had a very happy life.’

Margery shrugged. She didn’t much care about the bond of affection between Jenna and the little orphan. She was only too pleased to have found an obviously intelligent apprentice who could read sufficiently well to follow a recipe and was capable of reckoning; an attractive woman, neither too young nor too old, who was sufficiently pretty to please her aristocratic male clients without alienating the ladies of the court, making them aware of their own deficiencies. And she had the smooth, unmarked skin which was often typical of dairymaids – but the ladies would be quite ready to believe it was entirely thanks to her regular use of Margery’s face cream. That would be good for business.

Jenna’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Perhaps, mistress, I could start the day in the dairy, rather than let the Master down. Then, when you need help, I could come up here to lend a hand and learn a little more about your skills.’

Margery stood, gathering up the two wooden cups on the table. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘we’ll try it like that for a while. But only so long as you don’t tire yourself too much. You dare not make mistakes if you’re working for me.’

‘I’ll do my very best, mistress,’ Jenna promised. ‘And if it gets to be too much, perhaps one of the other girls can take over my work at the dairy.’

‘Good,’ said Margery. ‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’ She intended to make the work so irresistible that Jenna would never want to go back to the dairy. She’d square it with William and he’d soon forget the girl.

‘Out of sight, out of mind.’

Though she muttered the words under her breath, it was nevertheless Margery’s fervent hope.

Apprentice

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G
et wisdom, get understanding ... Forsake her not, and she shall preserve thee: love her, and she shall keep thee.

Proverbs 4:5-6

July 1436

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‘T
he Abbot didn’t want to tell me he suffered from piles!’ said William a week or so later, as he and Robin Fairweather sat on a bench outside the Thames-side tavern at the sign of The Swan, watching the setting sun and enjoying a relaxing mug of ale together after the day’s work. He laughed. ‘As if I couldn’t guess! He had a face as long as a fiddle.’

‘Painful things, piles,’ agreed Robin. ‘Or so they tell me. Mercifully, I’ve never suffered from them. So Margery has a fail-safe cure, has she?’

‘She does seem to have a gift for making preparations which have the desired effect.’

‘A clever woman, your wife.’

William paused before responding. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Sometimes a bit too clever.’

Robin’s eyebrows rose questioningly. ‘Do I detect a note of marital discontent?’

‘To be honest with you, I could do with a bit more help from her,’ William admitted. ‘She’s a capable woman; she’s got every attribute needed to be a good wife.’

‘But?’

‘But she’s spending more and more time with her fine clients up at the palace, getting fancy ideas. Margery’s changed, Robin.’

‘Oh, surely not that much!’

‘Well, she doesn’t seem to want to have anything to do with the farm any more. Won’t settle for what she’s got. Between you and me, things haven’t been the same between us since I got her bailed out of that bit of bother six years ago, after she’d got mixed up with those clergymen, Virley and Ashwell.’

‘You’d think she’d have been grateful for that.’

‘She doesn’t seem to be. And, God knows, it cost enough. But she never used to be like this, not when we were first married. She liked me well enough in those days.’

‘Perhaps she married you thinking she could change you somehow, to get you round to her way of thinking. A lot of women do that, they tell me. A daft idea.’

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? Then again, perhaps I’m too set in my ways.’

‘‘Nothing wrong with you, William. You’re a good man.’ He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Is she making plenty of money with this enterprise of hers?’

‘So she says. Not that I ever see any of it. She says she’s saving for our future. She thinks we should have land of our own, rather than being at the beck and call of the monastery for our living. My brother Robert has his own farm in Acton. Margery thinks I should have one, too.’

‘So, if she’s spending so much time up at the palace, how are you managing? Who is baking? Brewing? Cleaning? Cooking? Generally running the place?’

‘Oh, we get by,’ said William, noncommittally, ‘we manage.’ He didn’t add that he was beginning to rely more and more on the help which was unstintingly given by Jenna and always with good grace.

Robin might have been reading his mind. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘how is Jenna Harding getting on? I was thinking about her only the other day. A pleasant woman. Attractive, too. It’s nigh on a year since she came up with our drove from Devon and I’ve hardly seen her since.’

‘She seems well,’ said William. ‘In fact, she’s settled in nicely. All right, I’ll be honest, she’s a great help. She gets on well with the other girls, keeps an eye on the younger ones. She’s persuaded me to buy four dozen more hens. She runs the dairy for me, she’s even come up with a new recipe for sheep’s cheese, just because I mentioned that the Abbot wants to try it. And she’s always willing to take a turn at ... well, anything, really.’

‘She’ll make some man a great wife one day,’ said Robin, ‘particularly if she’s as good in bed as she is at all those other things.’

William nodded, feeling his face begin to flush a dark red. He often thought along broadly the same lines. His friend looked at him shrewdly.

‘William,’ he said, ‘are you sure you don’t want to tell me something? Believe me, I can be the very soul of discretion and I’m hardly likely to blurt out your secret to all and sundry. I was never a blabbermouth. ‘

‘Oh, it’s ... it’s nothing. Really.’

‘Come on, William. It’s Jenna, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve gone as coy as a milkmaid.’

William sighed heavily. ‘There’s nothing to be gained by talking about it,’ he said. ‘It’s my cross to bear. It’s just that I can’t get her out of my mind. She just arrived here, with you, looking for work. I know nothing about her, she just shuts up like an oyster when anyone asks about her previous life. She won’t tell anyone about herself, not anyone. And yet I want to know everything about her, why she came here, what drove her out of Devon – made her leave her home and the good job she had ...’

‘And, above all, you want to know whether there’s a man lurking somewhere in the story, yes?’ Robin’s eyes never left his friend’s face.

‘Yes, that more than anything,’ said William.

‘You’re in love with her, aren’t you, you old dog!’

‘Something like that,’ William said, nodding his head slowly and reaching for his tankard. He took a deep draught of ale and wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist. ‘Yes, I am in love with her, God help me.’

***

T
here was something about Roger Bolingbroke that made the Duchess of Gloucester want to laugh and yet the last thing she wanted to do was hurt his feelings. He was a gentle creature but the sight of him always reminded her of a timid creature bending down to look more closely at something, much like an animal she had seen illustrated in one of Humphrey’s books, perhaps
The Travels of Sir John Mandeville
, she couldn’t quite remember which: her husband had so many books. But she did remember the creature was called a
jarraf
or something like that. Bolingbroke, a tall, gaunt man with a stooped back, had an extraordinarily long neck and seemed to peer down benignly from a great height, his precious spectacles perched on the bridge of his pointed nose.

He was very proud of the spectacles: they had been made in Southwark by a resourceful craftsman who had copied the Florentine design. To protect them from damage, Bolingbroke kept them in a little padded leather bag suspended from his belt so they were always conveniently to hand. He freely admitted he would never have been able to afford to buy anything so precious had he still been trying to eke out a living as a Magister at the University of Oxford. But since his appointment to the household of the Duke of Gloucester, such a wondrous thing as a pair of spectacles was within his grasp. He was deeply grateful.

Humphrey, himself a man of considerable learning, was anxious to surround himself with knowledgeable, cultured men who would always be available for debate or discussion. To this end, he had appointed Roger Bolingbroke to the position of personal clerk to Her Grace the Duchess. Bolingbroke was delighted by this, since his Oxford students were often tardy in paying him the modest fees he charged them for their education. Far better to work in the service of a patron, especially one as wealthy as the Duke of Gloucester. A priest by training and profession, Bolingbroke would have preferred to serve his patron in the capacity of personal chaplain but that position was already held by John Hume, a rather belligerent man who was nevertheless a highly respected canon of both Hereford and St Asaph.

So Bolingbroke contented himself with the more modest position and in many ways this suited him very well, allowing him ample time to pursue his own academic interests. The job itself could hardly be described as arduous, in fact he attended Her Grace only once a day, usually after the mid-day dinner, for a private meeting in order to assist her with her correspondence.

‘Was there anything you wished me to write for you today, Your Grace?’ he asked now, laying out parchment and ink. ‘Might I assist you with a letter to His Grace the Duke, perhaps, now that he has left for France?’

‘It is possibly a little early for that, Magister, the Duke has only been gone a matter of days. Perhaps we would do better to write to him when there will be more news from home to give him.’

‘Does he expect to be gone for long, Your Grace?’

‘I hope not. He said he expects to expedite his duties in France without undue effort. With God’s help, of course,’ she added, crossing herself, ‘though, according to the horoscope that Canon Southwell cast for my husband before he left, all the signs and portents point towards a great success in Calais and an early return home.’

‘
Deo volente,
’ agreed Bolingbroke. ‘It seems the Duke clearly deserves his excellent reputation as a military leader, my Lady. Not that I have much understanding of these things.’

‘You don’t need to understand them, Magister,’ said Eleanor, smiling. ‘Your expertise lies in your knowledge of astronomy and astrology and my husband values such knowledge very highly.’

‘As you say, Your Grace, he does. And he can easily hold his own in discussing these subjects with us. In fact...’

‘Yes, Magister?’

‘In fact, Your Grace, your noble husband did tell me before he left for France last week that if his commitments and responsibilities would permit such a thing, then he would try his best to locate a specific scientific instrument which would help me in my work.’

‘Indeed? I know nothing of this.’

‘Of course, it may not have been possible. He will have many responsibilities ... leading the army ... that sort of thing ... though I don’t know exactly what that entails. But I imagine he would have messengers and other minions who would be able to hunt out such things as these on his behalf...’

‘Such things as what, Magister?’

‘Well, His Grace did say he would do his best to find an astrolabe. There are very fine scientific instruments being made in Paris at present, from what I understand...’

‘An astrolabe?’ Eleanor had heard of such a thing, but was not exactly sure what it was. ‘Is that to do with stars?’

‘Indeed, Your Grace, the word is derived from the Greek. How perspicacious of you! That is exactly what it is.’

Roger Bolingbroke was often surprised by Eleanor. She gave the impression that she was a rather silly woman, obsessed with fashion and self-aggrandisement, but he suspected that under those elaborate headdresses, the jewelled cauls or the padded hennins, lay the shrewd mind of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and would learn anything she needed to help her achieve her ends. The Duke was a cultured, well-read man; the Duchess made sure she could talk to him on his own level, or something very close to it. Bolingbroke respected that.

What he understood less well was the depth of Her Grace’s single-minded motivation. She leaned forward, her face alert and interested. ‘I very much hope, Master Bolingbroke, that my husband will succeed in acquiring this wonderful instrument. Tell me, exactly what does it do?’

Bolingbroke’s eyes squinted excitedly behind the lenses of his spectacles. ‘It’s difficult to know where to begin an exact explanation, Your Grace, though if you wish to learn about it at your leisure, you would be wise to acquire a copy of a treatise on the subject which Master Geoffrey Chaucer wrote some forty years ago for his young son, Lewis. It seems the boy was anxious to learn how to use one. Sadly, the treatise is incomplete: Master Chaucer’s intention was to write it in five sections, but he only completed two of them. The remaining three are sketches of what he intended.’