The Traitor's Wife (72 page)

At St. Dunstan's, she found Elizabeth thriving with her wet nurse, John's vocabulary larger than ever and with a generous helping of English added to his repertoire as well, and Gilbert with such an extensive knowledge of London that he could have drawn a map of the place. Even Edward seemed a little less guarded in his manner. All of them were doubly precious to her after her visit to Sempringham, and she had hugged and kissed each of them, even Edward, three times over when Bella slipped into the room. Eleanor had forgotten how much Bella looked like Hugh, and when she saw Lady Hastings' face, a feminine, gentle version of her brother's, she gave way to her emotions entirely. Lady Hastings herself was greatly moved by the sight of her sister-in-law in her widow's barb, and it was a long time before she had sufficiently recovered her composure to say, “Nelly, dear, you have not seen everyone yet. Come upstairs with me. I have a pleasant surprise for you.”

She led Eleanor to a small but comfortable chamber where a girl in her teens sat sewing. “Isabel!” Gladys had told Eleanor in Lincoln that Isabel had gone to visit Lady Hastings, but had not told her that she would be at St. Dunstan's with the rest. She hugged Isabel, then saw the baby sleeping in a tiny bed in a corner of the room. “Then this must be—”

“Edmund, Mama,” said Isabel.

Feeling both very joyful and somewhat elderly, Eleanor held her first grandchild.

That night after the rest of the household went to bed, Eleanor and Bella sat by the fire. “Bella, do you think Isabel will return to her husband?”

Bella shook her head. “As far as I know, neither has sent any message to the other since the day I took her from Fairford.”

“They never liked each other, not when they were little, not when they were of age to consummate their marriage. We should have let them out of it, his parents and Hugh and me.”

“How could you have known, Nelly? Many couples start out disliking each other and grow into love, or at least into mutual affection. I was married to my first husband a full month before I warmed to him.”

Eleanor smiled. “For you, Bella, that must have been great dislike indeed!” She looked at her workbasket in a corner, which already contained the beginnings of a smock for Edmund. “But even men who dislike their wives warm to their sons, and Richard seems to want nothing to do with Edmund either, does he? That I do not understand. He is a beautiful little boy.”

“He looks at him and sees Hugh, whom he blames for his father's death. I think Richard loved his father very much.”

Bella's voice faltered. Eleanor took her sister-in-law's hand. “Bella, I have been rather sheltered in my cocoon, but you have had to face the world all these months. It must have been dreadful for you.”

“It was hard, Nelly, but not as bad as it might have been. My stepchildren by Ralph have been good to me, and Aline and I have been able to write to each other and visit. Hugh and Thomas and Margaret have been the best children I could ask for. Even my turncoat son-in-law has been kind to me. He sends me so much venison I expect to grow antlers any day now, and he is good to Margaret, I must admit. Amie has been very good company—I want to look for her a husband, but she will hear nothing of it yet—and I have some of my old friends still. I cannot complain.”

“Have you been able to get your father's body for burial?”

Bella ducked her head. “No, Eleanor. I see you were never told. His head is in Winchester still, but his body was cut up and fed to dogs.”

Eleanor closed her eyes. “Bella, I am so very sorry. My guards kept that from me.”

“My men kept it from me, too, until I started to send a petition to the king, in my own dreadful scrawl, and then they had to tell me, which they did very gently.” She took a deep breath. “I can talk of it now, which is more than I could before. It was, after all, just his body; it matters not where it is.”

“No, Bella.” But she felt such an intense rush of hate for Isabella and Mortimer that her body trembled. What would it have cost those two to let Bella and her sister, who had done so little to offend them, give their old father a decent burial?

Bella brushed at her eyes. “But I have a pleasant thing to speak of now. Did you know I have another brother? Well, I do. My father's bastard. His name is Nicholas, and he is but a boy still. We have visited back and forth several times, very quietly, because it would not do to let people know whose son he is, not the way things are now, but I like him a great deal. Papa wanted him to be a monk, and he is agreeable to that, but my sons have taken him falconing, and he enjoyed that immensely.”

“I do so want to meet him. Is he like—?”

“Hugh? Not physically, he resembles his mother more than Hugh or my father. He does have Hugh's laugh, though. The rest is too soon to tell. Perhaps now that the weather is so fine he will come to London for a visit. Papa wanted him to be professed at Westminster, so it is good that he should have a look at the place. I suppose you wish to remain in London while you are awaiting word from the king?”

“Yes, I had better. I hope he will make a decision soon, for I have imposed upon your hospitality greatly.”

“Nonsense! Though it
is
expensive keeping Gilbert in pies!” She laughed. “He would be as plump as a pig, but he spends so much time sneaking around London that he runs it all off.”

“I must get him a tutor before he turns into a savage.” Eleanor frowned, for after the presents to her guards, a generous contribution to Sempringham priory, and the expenses of their journey back from Lincoln, her store of cash had dwindled quickly. And there were more expenses besides a tutor. Bella could not be allowed to keep paying Isabel and Edmund's upkeep out of her own purse, and the children could all use some clothes, particularly Edward, who was at an age to be keenly sensitive about looking shabby. And if the king granted her some lands, there would be the expense of traveling to him to do homage for them, and the expense of furnishing her household. Except for what she had taken into captivity with her, everything she and Hugh had owned had gone into the hands of the queen and her supporters.

Except for what she had taken from the Tower. Eleanor lay awake much of that night, considering. She had vowed to give the treasure to the Church, and she fully intended to do so. But surely there was no harm in using some of the items as security for a loan in the meantime…

The next day, over the strenuous objections of Bella, who would have given her all that she needed, she packed some of the treasure into a small chest and went to the offices of Benedict de Fulsham, the pepperer who had been present when she had surrendered the Tower. He looked startled when he saw her, as if seeing a ghost from those days of murder and pillage when London had run amok. With the unease Eleanor was quickly growing used to, he stammered, “Lady Despenser? So you are free. I am glad of it.”

“Thank you. I have only my freedom for now, but I hope to soon regain some land. In the meantime, I and my family must live. I wish to borrow money from you, sir.”

“I do lend sums from time to time, my lady, but only with security. It is a necessity, the more so in these uncertain times.”

Did he think she was asking for alms? That she was offering something else to him? With a haughty expression that would have pleased her queenly ancestors and namesakes, Eleanor gestured to Bella's manservant and opened the chest that he sat on a counter for her. “Be assured, sir, that I can do business with you properly. As you can see, I have brought more than adequate security.”

Benedict stared in the chest. “Where did you get these, my lady? Surely they are not your husband's property, forfeit to the crown?”

“You forget that I am the granddaughter of a king and the daughter of an earl, sir. My father left me many precious things upon his death, and so did my mother, and I have bought and been given fine things over the years myself. I was allowed to keep these personal items in the Tower with me.”

“I beg your pardon,” said the pepperer, thoroughly abashed.

Presently, they agreed upon a loan. Only when Eleanor signed the note to Benedict as “Eleanor le Despenser, late the wife of Hugh le Despenser” did her hand tremble.

T
HE KING'S COURT, GRACED AGAIN BY MORTIMER AND ISABELLA, WAS making its way to Northampton for Parliament when, one April night, Mortimer came to Isabella's room. He undressed and climbed in bed beside her, but his words, as they so often were these days, were ones of business. “I think we should give that Despenser creature her lands back.”

“Why on earth should we?”

“The king and his council wish it, for one.”

“Bother the council!”

“Lady Despenser is not hated as her husband was, Isabella. She is a granddaughter of the first Edward, who unlike his son was held in high regard—”

“You needn't remind me of that.”

“She is a granddaughter of the first Edward, and there was respect for her brother as well. Many think it unfair that her sisters should have their lands and she have nothing because of the marriage her grandfather made for her.”

“Fine, we give the creature back her lands. So what of her husband?”

Mortimer looked at the queen as if she were slightly daft. “Despenser? Could he possibly be more dead?”

“Her next husband, you fool! Do you think the heiress to Glamorgan will remain unmarried? She's only in her thirties. Aside from the land, she's amiable enough, and she's not unattractive, if you like orange cats. Some men do.”

“She might take a vow of chastity. I have always heard that she was fond of that wretch Despenser.”

“She wasn't fond of him; she adored him. I can't tell you how many times I have sat and listened to a litany of the virtues of Hugh le Despenser! But that doesn't mean that if a man was kind to her and her wretched brats, she wouldn't marry him. Hers is an affectionate nature, and I don't think she is averse to being bedded either.” She scowled. “I could smell him on her sometimes when she came to my chamber, fresh from his bed. The slut!”

“Be that as it may, the king wants her to get her lands back, and as we are going to have to cram this Scottish truce down his throat, we ought to give way on this minor matter. After all, she has to get the crown's permission to marry, and after her spell in the Tower, I can't imagine her not getting a license.” He laughed. “And what's to stop me from finding a suitable husband for her? She might even do for one of my sons, for a first wife anyway. The wench has probably got some babes left in her, and a young man might appreciate some experience in bed, not to mention Glamorgan. I'll have to think about that.”

“Very well. I shall tell Edward to give the order.”

Mortimer settled back against the pillows more comfortably. “By the by, what shall we do about the bun in the oven Despenser left behind him?” Thomas Wake had kept quiet about the birth of Elizabeth le Despenser, but Mortimer had a spy or two among the guards, who had been more forthcoming. “Shall we help Hugh's salvation further along by bestowing another of his girls on the Church?”

Isabella started to chew a fingernail, a bad habit she had developed since Edward's death. Mortimer slapped her hand, and she withdrew it from her mouth. Though she had spent many pleasant evenings picturing Lady Despenser's face when her girls were hauled away, the pictures were not so pleasant these days. One of the provisions of the proposed truce with Scotland was that her own daughter Joan, not quite seven, was to marry Robert Bruce's little son. It was a provision the queen could live with, especially as the Scots had promised the English twenty thousand pounds, but she did not look forward to telling the child that she was to go across the border to dwell with the man whom most Englishmen regarded as a mortal enemy. Nor did she look forward to parting from the girl. “Let the woman keep the brat,” she said irritably.