The Traitor's Wife (44 page)

“In whose charge are they to be put?”

“What woman do I trust more than your wife? I will put the queen in her charge, and my son John. I was thinking of Ralph de Monthermer and your sister for the girls.”

“It will anger her.”

“What else can she expect? After all, she is French, and we are in a war with France. Perhaps it will give her some incentive to use her influence against Charles. And speaking of Charles, it will give him the idea that we are not to be trifled with.”

“It does sound like a good idea,” admitted Hugh, still a little vexed that he had not thought of it himself. But then, he and Edward had reached the point in their relationship that they could complete each other's sentences, so why wonder that they were thinking alike? “Shall I make the arrangements?”

“Yes, you and Bishop Stapeldon.” Bishop Stapeldon, the Bishop of Exeter, was the royal treasurer. “But I suppose we also should consult your wife.”

“You sent for me, Hugh?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Sit down while I finish this. It won't be long.”

Eleanor sat on a window seat and listened to Hugh finish the letter he was dictating to a clerk. Never had she seen anyone thoroughly enjoy dictating a letter as much as Hugh did. He would settle back in his chair, feet upon a stool, and hold forth, measuring his words to the exact pace his clerk needed to keep up with him. He never fumbled for a word, never forgot what he had just said, never changed his mind and had his clerk cross something out. Eleanor loved to listen to him; so did the king.

As promised, it was not long before he finished. Dismissing the clerk with a breezy wave, he turned to Eleanor and smiled. “This is rather formal, my summoning you here, isn't it? But it is a matter that requires immediate attention. This French nonsense. It's an irritant, but I trust it shall soon be gotten over. The king and I, however, are concerned about the queen's role in all this. She has, after all, divided loyalties. Has she ever confided in you about this business?”

“She confides nothing to me, Hugh. We have had very little to say to each other since she begged for your exile. And there was not much intimacy between us for some time before that. But in truth, I do not think she would work against England, Hugh.”

“Still, it would be well to ensure that nothing passes from her to France during this delicate situation. The king and I have a suggestion to put to you. How would you like to be her housekeeper?”

“Her housekeeper?”

“Look over her accounts, superintend her correspondence. Sit with her council at its meetings. Screen her visitors.”

“Spy on her, you mean?”

“I doubt you could spy on her. As my wife, you are hardly likely to be a confidante of hers, and I doubt she would do anything to betray herself before you. But your presence would certainly hamper her ability to intrigue with her brother, if that's her game. It may not be. But she has done, after all, very little to help the situation with her brother.”

“True.”

“But now I suppose you will have scruples about doing what I have asked you to do. So this is all I can say: I do not think you would be acting merely to spite the queen, or to please the king and me. I think you would be acting for the good of England. And—”

“Hugh, there is no need for one of your speeches. I will do it.”

“Eleanor?”

“I will do it because of what I mentioned just now. I cannot forget that the queen begged the king to send you and your father away, knowing what happened to Gaveston. I cannot forgive it. I should, and I have tried, but I cannot. And I remember that she blamed you and the king for Tynemouth, with no justification. So if there are to be sides taken, with you and the king on the one and the queen on the other, I will side with you and the king, and I will do what you and he feel needs to be done. To a point, of course.”

“A point, my dear?”

“I will not act dishonorably to the queen. To that point.”

“Well, of course not. The king and I would not ask you to do anything dishonorable. But there's more, my love. You are to be in charge of John of Eltham's household. Bella is to take charge of the girls. Young Edward, of course, will continue in his present arrangements.”

Eleanor stared. “All this responsibility to me and Bella? Hugh, it is an honor, I suppose, but—The queen will despise all of us for it!”

“I don't see why she should. They are of an age to be in their own households anyway, being royal children. In any case, the queen will not be prevented from seeing them.”

“Does Bella know of this?”

“I will write her straightaway. She will likely enjoy the company, poor thing, with Ralph de Monthermer's health failing.”

Eleanor nodded sadly. Age was at last catching up with her debonair stepfather, whose gout sometimes kept him in bed for weeks at a time. Yes, the company of two lively little girls would indeed be welcome to Bella. “Does the queen know of this?”

“Her lands are to be confiscated,” said Hugh dryly. “As I haven't heard shouts or heavy objects being thrown anywhere, probably not. The king and I will undertake that agreeable task shortly.”

The queen, however, took the news with dignity, which should have been a warning to them all. “I am sorry you feel these measures are necessary, Edward, but I will abide by them.”

“It is only until this business is over,” said Edward, much relieved at her reasonableness. “And it is no slur upon you. I am merely anxious to protect against what your brother may try. Most of your lands are on the coast, and always vulnerable to attack.”

“And without your knowledge, he may be using certain members of your household to gain information,” put in Hugh. “Therefore, it is the wiser measure that my wife be your housekeeper.”

“I can think of none better,” said the queen. She gave Eleanor a smile so radiant that it must have hurt. “It will be like the old days, when Lady Despenser was one of my ladies in waiting.”

“Indeed, your grace.”

John of Eltham, who was now eight, seemed no less pleased with the new arrangements. He had always been fond of Lady Despenser, whom he considered a soft touch as far as sweetmeats were concerned.

Bella came to Porchester Castle in person to collect Joan and Eleanor, the king's young daughters, who were to go to Marlborough Castle in Wiltshire. She knelt to the king, whom she had seen but a few times, shyly. “Your grace.”

“You need not be so formal, Lady Hastings. I shall be at Marlborough and the vicinity quite often to see my daughters, and you will soon be very used to my being around. Well, girls! Here is Lady Hastings. She is to superintend your household.”

Eleanor and Joan, aged six and three, looked at Bella dubiously. “Papa says we are to move to Wiltshire with you,” said Eleanor.

“Yes, my dear, you are. You are getting to be big, old enough to have a household of your own, because you are the eldest royal daughter, the greatest lady in the land save your mother. And your papa thought you and Joan would be happier together than apart, so she shall go with you.”

“I will miss my papa and mama.”

“Of course you will, sweet, but they will visit you very often, I warrant. And you will like my husband, Lord Monthermer. Did you know he can pull a penny from his ear?”

“From his
ear
?” put in Joan.

“Lady Hastings is right,” said Eleanor. “Lord Monthermer is my stepfather, Eleanor and Joan. He pulled many a penny from his ear for my brother and sisters and me.” Her eyes stung, as they did whenever she thought of her sisters, but she added, “I used to wonder that his head did not clank, so many were in there.”

“Well, does it? Clank?”

“No,” said Bella. “He walks very carefully so it will not.”

Hugh, lounging in a window seat, said, “And there are more wonders in Wiltshire besides Lord Monthermer. My sister Lady Hastings will show you the Giant's Dance, I warrant. Have you heard of that? It's a wondrous strange place, these stones set side by side by no one knows who for no purpose that anyone can make out.”

“Yes, we will go there.”

Young Eleanor, however, was still thinking of Lord Monthermer. “I want to tell Mama about the pennies,” she announced.

“Me, too!” Joan hurried off behind her older sister.

Hugh laughed. “Well, Bella, you broke the ice with them fast enough! Speaking of Lord Monthermer, I hope he is better.”

“No, Hugh, he is not. He grows worse every day.”

“Ah, Bella, I am sorry.”

“I know he is not a young man, but still it is hard to accept.” Bella brushed her eyes. “But he can still pull a penny from his ear, I am certain. He did it on our wedding night.”

“On your wedding night, Bella?”

“He told me he wanted to show me he had yet another trick up his sleeve,” said Bella with a smile and a blush.

The girls hurried in. “Lady Despenser, Mama wants you. She is getting ready to write some letters.”

Eleanor suppressed a sigh. The queen's correspondence thus far had proven not to be treasonous, but very tedious. There did not appear to be a cleric in England who did not want some favor from the queen, and each had to be answered. She turned to a page. “Fetch me the queen's seal, please.”

In January 1325 the court, stationed at Langley, received news of a death, though it was not, as it had been anticipated, that of Ralph de Monthermer. It was Joan, Margaret and Gaveston's thirteen-year-old daughter. A messenger had scarcely arrived from Edward's sister Mary at Amesbury, bearing news of the young girl's illness, when a second arrived bearing news of her death.

Professed as a nun as a child by her reluctant parents at the urging of the first Edward's strong-minded mother, who had wanted family to keep her company when she herself retired to Amesbury, Mary had managed to find an outlet for her thwarted maternal instincts nonetheless when her nieces and great-nieces had been sent to stay at the convent. First had come the Clare sisters, and later there had been Joan de Gaveston and Eleanor de Bohun, daughter of the king's sister Elizabeth. “I mourn her like a daughter,” wrote Mary of Joan, and the king did not doubt her sincerity. Probably, the king thought, perhaps unfairly, the girl had received more love from her great-aunt Mary than she would have received had she stayed with Margaret.

The king himself had occasionally seen his great-niece. He had granted her and her cousin Eleanor a generous allowance and had arranged a marriage contract between Joan and John de Multon, a royal ward whose mother was a daughter of the Earl of Ulster and whose father had been the lord of Egremont. Edward had looked forward to having Piers's girl married in great style, as would have pleased her father, in a year or so. He had liked the idea, too, of watching England fill with Piers's grandchildren and their grandchildren, even if they would bear the name of Multon instead of Gaveston. But now this would never be, and his last link to Piers was gone forever.

He told this to Eleanor, for he felt a certain awkwardness about discussing Piers with Hugh, and if there had ever been a time where he could have confided his sorrows and joys to the queen, it had long since passed. Eleanor was silent for a long time, remembering her last long conversation with Piers Gaveston.

“Uncle, there is a secret I must tell you. I have kept it for a long, long time. It was Piers's. He had another child, a bastard, a girl named Amie. She is at Shaftesbury Abbey. I know she is still there, because I have written from time to time and sent money for little treats for her. Easter robes and such like.”