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I considered replying that it was no concern of hers, as she had warned me. Instead: ‘No.’
‘You were married young.’
‘We were children. Another political marriage.’ Why not admit it? ‘Yes. I know what it is like to be wed for an alliance. I know what it is like to find no union of spirits in a marriage. We tolerate each other. We are also able to live apart. He has his heir.’
‘But would wish for another.’
‘What man does not?’
‘I think you suffer more than I. Your father never neglects me.’
‘Then you are fortunate.’ I kept my tone without inflexion. ‘It is perfectly possible to live without love. Those of our status do not expect it.’
‘Do you have no regrets?’
How persistent she was. ‘How do you regret something of which you have no experience? Life is far more comfortable without. I do not have to consider the state of Thomas’s emotions, as he does not have to consider mine. He never has, he never will. It is as good as any foreign alliance based on pragmatism between two parties who have nothing in common, and they work well enough.’
‘It sounds a cold existence.’
‘Cold, yes. He gives me the status I desire.’
Why was I indulging in confession to Joan Holland? It was not my intent to engage her pity. Still frowning, I stood and began to pace again, turning the conversation into a different yet no-less-painful path. ‘I need to know what is happening.’
‘Why don’t you go and find out? I am not dependent on your company for my contentment.’
Which was uncommonly sharp as she returned to stabbing her needle into the cloth. I responded in kind, since she had forced me to face my isolation, to acknowledge my ignorance of affectionate emotion. I had not enjoyed the experience.
‘How fortunate for you,’ I replied. ‘I doubt anyone is dependent on my company.’
‘I did not mean…’
‘Yes, you did. Here we are, two bitter and powerless women trapped in marriages we did not want. No matter.’ I turned my back on her, looking down again from the window. ‘I cannot go. I would be too obvious.’
‘Then send a servant to discover and report any developments.’
‘I’ll not open the coffers of our family affairs for servants to riffle through.’
‘They will know anyway. They know everything. They know that I am still a virgin. I expect they inspect the sheets regularly and inform the whole household.’
I looked back across the room with just a breath of pity. ‘I am sorry.’ Then turned away from the sudden sadness in her face. Her advice had given me an idea. I might not go. A servant was unacceptable, but…
‘I could send Dickon to be my messenger.’
‘An excellent idea.’
It was suddenly comfortable to be standing on less personal ground. ‘But Dickon, as ever when needed, is invisible. It is below my dignity to stand at the door and shout for him. Nor is he always amenable to orders when he sees no personal advantage.’
‘If you smiled at him, and offered a bribe…’
‘A bribe?’
‘What would he like most, that you could give him?’
‘I have no idea, other than an estate, a title and a chest of gold. As well as a mission to fight someone, somewhere in Europe. There are ten years between us. Our thoughts do not keep company.’
‘Does that mean that you have no knowledge of him? I suppose my family is closer than most. I always knew what my younger brother Edmund was thinking although, of necessity, we have now grown apart.’ Her eyes sharpened. ‘What I would say is that Dickon is a young man of interest. He might be useful to you one day.’ She paused. ‘I will ask him for you, if you wish it. I do not find him unamenable. He makes me laugh, when I don’t have much to laugh about.’
A day of revelations.
‘I think I have misjudged you. I thought you were a mouse.’
‘I think you have. A rat, more like, but I hide my teeth and choose not to engage in battles which I will never win.’ She regarded me with some speculation. ‘But then I think you often do misjudge those around you. I suppose it is easy for a woman with royal blood to consider herself superior. Even though my own blood is as royal as yours through my grandmother.’
Joan left the room to send a message to bring Dickon to us, leaving me discomfited. She was right, I admitted, even though I might not like the picture she painted. And why had I not been aware of Joan’s keen intelligence and wit? Because I had never made a true effort to know her beyond a superficial acquaintance. That was my fault, too. But now was not the time to consider any blemishes in my character.
Within a handful of minutes Joan returned with Dickon; he was dragging his feet, but at least he had been open to persuasion.
‘Constance.’ He looked wary. ‘What do you want? I was busy.’
It did not bode well. ‘Busy doing what?’
‘Whatever will allow me to keep out of the royal eye. Today might not be the day to advertise my connection with the families of York, Holland and Despenser.’
Succinct and accurate, he had had an ear to some closed doors.
‘We have a favour to ask,’ Joan said with an encouraging smile before I could hack at his lack of loyalty.
‘What’s that?’
Joan glanced at me.
‘I need an ear to the ground,’ I said. ‘An ear that is less obvious than mine. Go down to the Great Hall…’
‘They’ll hardly let me in!’
‘As I am aware, but you can merge with the hangers-on and question those who have knowledge. I want to know what’s happening. I want to know if John Hall has been questioned and if any of our family is in danger. If there is a threat to our lives or our freedom. I want to know if any one of our enemies dares to push for single combat. I want to know before Edward and Thomas are put under restraint.’
He opened his mouth, I presumed to refuse, but Joan stepped in, gripping his arm with both small hands.
‘My brother is in danger too, Dickon. Ask about the Duke of Surrey. And my uncle the Duke of Exeter. Will you do that for me?’
He looked unapologetically hostile as only a thwarted youth could. Then shrugged. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘I would also like for you to discover the King’s mood, as far as you can,’ I said.
Dickon grinned. ‘You mean will he throw us to the snarling dogs? I’ll do what I can, though I don’t see why we can’t just wait for the outcome.’ He caught the sharpness of my glance. ‘But I agree it might be best to know sooner rather than later. Are we planning a flight to the Welsh Marches if King Henry proves hostile?’ He paused, then grinned again. ‘I may need coin for bribes.’
At last Dickon’s eyes shone with the light of conspiracy.
‘I have none to hand,’ I said.
‘Then I won’t do it.’
But Joan discovered some in the purse at her belt and handed them over in a little clinking stream into his palm.
‘Thank you, Dickon,’ I said. ‘I will be very grateful.’
‘I’ll remind you of that.’ And when the greyhound, which had followed him into the room, showed a willingness to accompany him, he pushed it back. ‘Keep it: it might be the only bargaining tool that we have. The greyhound in exchange for Edward’s life.’
Which might have seemed horribly prescient.
‘Let us hope,’ I said as Dickon’s footsteps faded into the distance, ‘that it’s all like one of Henry’s subtleties at the end of the feast. All decorative wizardry and no substance, that collapses at the first breath of wind.’
Joan came to stand beside me at the window.
‘Nor should we forget that Richard is still under constraint. And his future so uncertain.’
No. We must not forget. It was easy to do so in this maelstrom of personal attack. While we awaited Dickon’s return I had visions of flight to one of our distant estates if Henry showed any leaning towards the ultimate punishment. Joan and I could make our escape, perhaps to the staunch walls of Conisbrough, before the royal guards reached us. Or, as Dickon had so flippantly suggested, to my estates in Glamorgan. How extreme this all sounded, fleeing for our lives. Meanwhile Joan returned to her sewing. Her wrists were thin and fragile, but she wielded her needle with energy, despite her professed hatred of it. The greyhound settled down at her feet since, for once, Joan was not accompanied by one of her grey cats. I remained at the window, watching the busy ravens, waiting for some sort of sign of good or ill fortune. Until Joan looked up at me, addressing me with an unsettling question.
‘Does your brother of Aumale ever consider his own closeness to the throne? Richard recognised the Duke of York as his heir, which would make Aumale next in line after his father. An excellent reason for Henry to rid himself of your brother.’
‘My thanks, Joan. You have just stoked my anxieties threefold. So it will matter not whether John Hall gives evidence against Edward. Henry will sign his death warrant.’ I bared my teeth against the awful prospect. ‘As long as he does not sign mine. You know that I’ll fight to the death to save us all from ignominy.’
When Joan at last abandoned her altar cloth, folding it, then placing her hands neatly on top, she tilted her chin and smiled at me, a sharp-toothed little smile.
‘I think I would not like you as my friend, Constance. But I would like you even less as my enemy.’
I bristled, on the defensive. ‘It is fortunate then that you are unlikely to have me as either.’
‘Who’s to say, in the future, you might even need me as a confidante?’
‘Why would I?’
‘You have no female friends, I think.’
No, I had not. A little silence fell between us, broken only by the hound twitching in its dreams and a soft fall of ash in the fireplace. I had never had female friends, nor had I felt the lack of them. Why would I need to bare my breast to another woman who would gossip and prove less than trustworthy? Better to keep my own counsel.
‘I have no need of them.’ I eyed her, resenting what could only be criticism. ‘Nor do I see you surrounded by a flock of admiring Court women.’
‘Ah, but I have sisters.’
Her smile was infuriatingly complacent, and I would have responded with even more astringency. But I did not.
‘Listen,’ she said.
I realised that every one of my senses had been held in tension. Throughout all our conversational meanderings I had been straining for the first intimation of Dickon’s return.
Chapter Six (#ulink_c43c9aad-33c0-5a2c-a843-8848cc2910f6)
The door was flung back and Dickon entered, bringing with him an excitement that caused the greyhound to leap up and bark as our spy gathered enough breath to announce:
‘It’s not good news. Not for any of them.’
‘Then tell us…’
He paused to gulp in air. Now beneath the excitement and flush of exertion I could see the suppressed horror, the pale skin around his mouth as if his lips had been pressed hard into silence. Whatever it was, it had been enough to shake Dickon’s engrained shallow heedlessness. His words fell over each other.
‘It’s this. The valet John Hall has been brought from Newgate, on the King’s orders. He is being questioned about the death of our uncle, Thomas of Woodstock, about what he knows and what he saw. But that’s not the worst of it. The King has summoned the Lords to meet with him.’
I shook my head, unable to dispel the dull beat of fear that Dickon’s news had delivered. ‘To what purpose? I presume that our family is still safe.’
‘You might say that. But not for long, I’d say.’ A feral expression twisted his face into that of a malign imp. ‘The King’s excluded from his audience with the Lords those accused by Bagot. The Counter-Appellants. So our Dukes of Aumale, of Surrey and of Exeter are all left to cool their heels in an antechamber while the rest give their counsel.’
The fear roared back into life with the agility of the hound that still leaped up against Dickon as he pulled its ears.
‘What about Thomas?’ I asked. ‘What about our father? Are they too banished from the King’s presence?’
‘I don’t know.’ Dickon subsided to sit on the floor almost at my feet, his back against the window seat, arms clasped around the hound, chin tilted. ‘What I do know is that the King is asking the Lords for advice. Should these maliciously evil counsellors named by Bagot be put under arrest?’
Worse than I thought, but Edward had warned me.
‘Who tells you this?’ I demanded.
His grin widened to accompany a self-deprecating shrug. ‘I have my informants.’
‘And what does your informant say? Will the Lords push for imprisonment?’
‘It’s still being discussed, but voices in the chamber were raised. Even I could hear them. There is much throwing down of hoods, I was told, which is bad, but no one has yet drawn his sword, which is good. The King is being circumspect and has made no decision so far but tempers are high.’ Dickon’s eyes gleamed. ‘I can go back, if you give me more coin.’
I considered a sharp refusal, but with this unforeseen twist knew that I must send him. The axe falling on our combined necks might just become reality.
‘Try not to find it all so enjoyable, Dickon. The outcome here can endanger us all.’
‘I know. But the atmosphere in Westminster buzzes like a beehive disturbed by a badger’s claw. Do I go back?’
Joan allowed a second stream of small coin to fall into Dickon’s outstretched hand, watching it disappear into his clenched fist. By now, as Dickon departed, Joan’s stitching was abandoned on the floor.
‘I don’t think there is any hope that the Lords will lean towards mercy,’ I said. There was nothing to be gained from wishing for the unobtainable.
‘But we don’t know,’ Joan fretted.
‘I think we do.’ And no point at all in trying to bolster her spirits when all pointed to a disaster.
But Dickon, who returned before the end of the day, flushed with his efforts, eagerly snatching the cup of ale from me and gulping it down, seemed on the surface to be more hopeful.
‘They’re still free. But that’s all I can tell you.’
‘Is that not good?’
