The Tudor Bride (22 page)

‘I would not put it past you. Nothing daunts you, does it?’

My smile vanished. ‘On the contrary,’ I said. ‘Jacqueline of Hainault utterly defeats me.’

My heartfelt comment steered the conversation onto the subject of the duchess and it seemed that Geoffrey’s diplomatic work kept him well informed on activities at many courts and councils of Europe.

‘Duchess Jacqueline has a reputation for being one of the more vainglorious notables of our time,’ he observed, ‘but then she has also been dealt a tricky hand. Being caught between a manipulative mother and a moronic husband cannot be an easy path to tread.’

I pursed my lips. ‘I am sorry for her unfortunate situation but I have to say that England seems a random choice for her to make as a safe haven and I wish she had not latched on to my kind and compassionate mistress as her bosom friend.’

‘I think you will find it is no random choice. Having fled from her so-called protectors – I mean her acquisitive cousin the Duke of Burgundy and her grasping uncle, the Bishop of Liège – she needed to find a knight in shining armour and where better to look than in the court of the hero of Agincourt, who just happens to have two unmarried and powerful brothers?’ He cocked one quizzically curling eyebrow. ‘Do you follow my line of thought?’

I frowned and chewed my lip. ‘But she remains married to the Duke of Brabant, however mentally unstable he may be. How does she hope to snare the support of an English prince without being able to offer him the enticement of her territories of Hainault and Holland as a reward?’

Geoffrey’s expression became guarded. He muttered, ‘Well, you know, marriages can be annulled.’

When we reached Paris, Geoffrey insisted on escorting me all the way to Alys’s house and even fished out a small cask of wine from the panniers of our packhorse to present to my daughter and son-in-law Jacques. So a pleasant hour was spent distracting them from their work while we tapped the cask and celebrated our family reunion. It was such a joy to find Alys looking bonny and blooming as her time fast approached, and my heart did cartwheels when I saw little Catrine, now a sturdy toddler of two with a mass of bright-brown curls and a good deal to say for herself in her piping little voice. Geoffrey was enchanted by her and engaged her in a solemn conversation concerning her painted wooden doll. I caught Alys glancing from me to him as if she could barely contain her curiosity about what was his place in my life.

When Geoffrey left to take up his lodging at the Louvre, he promised to make a return visit after his work for the Council of Regency was completed and before his departure to England. Alys suggested that, if he gave us due notice of his coming, he might like to join us for a meal.

‘If it is not during my confinement, of course,’ she added shyly. ‘Ma and I might be a bit busy then.’

Geoffrey thanked her heartily. ‘I shall keep in close touch and make sure to avoid such a crucial time,’ he added. ‘May Our Lady give you and your baby a speedy and safe delivery.’

After he rode off up the lane, leading the pack-horse, I had to endure much ribbing from my daughter on the subject of Geoffrey Vintner.

Only ten days later, Alys was brought to bed and her second confinement was as uncomplicated as her first had been fraught with danger. The midwife scarcely earned her fee as another daughter was born and swiftly baptised Louise after Jacques’ mother, who had died in a coqueluche epidemic four years previously, when that terrible fever had swept across France claiming many thousands of victims. This was one baptism where I could play my rightful part and I was pleased to see how many of Jacques’ clients and fellow tailors and their wives attended, which showed how well he and Alys had settled into their Paris community. I had delivered the purse which Queen Catherine had entrusted to me for her little god-daughter and now I added one of my own for the new arrival.

‘I am sorry we have not named the child for you, Ma,’ said Alys when I tucked the purse under her pillow after the baptism, which of course she had not attended. ‘Jacques was very keen to commemorate his mother and, strictly speaking, it was his turn to name the baby. I promise we will call the next one after you.’

‘It might be a boy,’ I pointed out with a smile.

‘Well then, we shall call him Guillaume.’

I crossed myself. ‘Perhaps we should not make assumptions that there will be another,’ I said. ‘Just thank God for the safe delivery of this one and pray for good health to you both.’

Alys frowned. ‘It is not your usual habit to be cautious, Ma. I do not think I like it.’

‘It was the storm at sea,’ I confessed. ‘It made me realise that we should never take our lives for granted. We must thank God for what we have and not always expect Him to give us more.’

Alys shivered. ‘Well, speaking personally, I hope for a few more years yet and I dearly hope a good many more for you, too, especially if that nice man Geoffrey Vintner is involved. Have you heard from him, Ma?’

I chided myself for blushing, but found I could not help it. ‘Yes, I sent him a note to tell him that your baby had arrived and I received a letter today saying that he would be leaving France next week.’

‘Well you had better send one back and tell him to come on Sunday for dinner. You will have to cook it yourself, Ma, because I will not be churched by then.’

My infuriating blush persisted. ‘Actually, he asked me if I would like to visit the Louvre. He realised that it might not be convenient to dine here, but he says he will call to say goodbye to you and Catrine before he leaves.’

I had not told Alys of the coldness that had developed between me and Catherine, just as I did not show her the letter I gave to Geoffrey to carry to England on his return. I wrote it in a spirit of reconciliation, but I did not hold out great hope of success.

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To Her Grace Queen Catherine of England from Madame Guillaumette Lanière,

Loving and humble greetings from your loyal servant,

I am writing to tell you that I am safely arrived in Paris and that Alys has given birth to another daughter who has been baptised Louise. She had an easy confinement and this time I am glad to say we had no need of your jasper ring.

Alys and Jacques have established a good business in Paris and your god-daughter Catrine is thriving and looking prettier than ever. As you know she is two years old now and talks all the time that she is not asleep! If only you could see her I am sure she would make you laugh and she would love to play with Prince Henry and share her toys with him. I hope he is well and also thriving. I pray for you both every day and hope that you may be able to find time to send word to me of his progress and of your own health and well-being. I delivered your very generous gift to Catrine, for which Alys and Jacques send you heartfelt thanks.

As we agreed, I will stay here until Alys has been churched and is completely recovered from the birth and then, with your permission, I will make arrangements to return to England and to your service.

I remain your humble servant and ever-loving friend,

Guillaumette (Mette)

Written at Paris this fifteenth day of March 1422

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To Madame Guillaumette Lanière from Master Geoffrey Vintner,

Esteemed and trusted friend,

I write to you having heard the news that the queen will soon leave for France and therefore I assume you will not be returning to England as you hitherto intended.

Perhaps this is fortunate as I would have been unable to act as your escort owing to matters here at home which keep me in London; matters on which I admit I would have greatly appreciated your womanly counsel, as they concern my daughter Ann, who has presented me with a conundrum regarding a relationship with one of my legal apprentices which I neither condone nor approve. However I shall endeavour to tackle it without your help, in what I fear will be a somewhat inadequate fatherly fashion.

Owing to the queen’s maternal concern for her young son, I think it unlikely that she will remain in France permanently and so, although I would readily understand if you decided to remain with your delightful family in Paris, I may hope that in due course you will be returning with her to England.

Whatever your plans I entreat you to stay in touch as I remain your good and sincere friend,

Geoffrey

Written at the House of the Vines, Tun Lane, London on the 7th day of May 1422.

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Pleasant though I found the personal elements in this letter, the part that concerned Catherine caused my heart to flutter painfully in my chest. That the queen was coming to France was no surprise since King Henry would be unable to return to England, being heavily engaged laying siege to the city and castle of Meaux, less than forty miles east of Paris, but the manner of learning the news shook me. Why had Catherine not sent me word herself that she was coming? It was true that we had not parted on good terms, but I could not believe that our differences meant she did not want to see me back in her service; not after all we had been through together and all we meant to each other.

The courier who had brought Geoffrey’s letter had kindly said that he would return later in the day to fetch my reply, so I sat down immediately to compose one. I could not bring myself to admit any estrangement from Catherine, so I thanked Geoffrey for his letter and agreed that the imminent arrival of the queen meant that I would not be returning to England for the time being. I added that I hoped there was no serious problem concerning his daughter Anne, but that I was sure his fatherly wisdom would handle things more than adequately. Then I told myself firmly that I must wait and see whether Catherine made any contact.

The following week Paris buzzed with the news that the city of Meaux had finally opened its gates to the English besiegers. For five months the dauphin’s garrison had held out against all that King Henry’s guns could hurl at them and market gossip had spread terrible accounts of disease and casualties on both sides but, once again, King Henry’s military strategy and patience had succeeded, greatly assisted by the dauphin’s failure to send adequate relief to the beleaguered defenders. Monastery infirmaries all over the Île de France began to receive streams of sick soldiers and citizens, most of them suffering from a devastating flux which shrank the flesh from their bones. Even King Henry himself was reported to be afflicted by it and, after receiving the constable’s surrender, had retired to the royal castle of Vincennes to recuperate.

As the days went by, I became more and more distressed that I received no word from Catherine, although we learned that she had arrived in France and was travelling straight from Calais to Chateau Vincennes to meet the king. As she did not come through Paris, there was no opportunity for me to present myself or to deliver a letter. I had to content myself with what news I could glean on my regular trips to market. Then, in early June, I was filled with nervous excitement when I learned that King Henry and Queen Catherine were expected to make a ceremonial entry into Paris and set up court at the Louvre.

I stood amongst a crowd of strangers struggling to get a view of the royal couple as their procession passed through the city streets. Alys and I chose to watch from near the Châtelet, keeping our eyes averted from the gibbets where the latest condemned prisoners hung, and by skilfully employing our elbows managed to force our way to a position directly behind the line of marshals who kept the thoroughfare clear. I craned my neck over their crossed pikes, just in time to catch sight of the richly embroidered banners borne by the phalanx of knights in full panoply that preceded the royal couple. And there, suddenly, waving and smiling with regal finesse, was my Catherine, straight-backed and beautiful on a white horse, wearing a jewelled crown and a voluminous mantle of deep-blue velvet, scattered with gold fleurs-de-lys and trimmed with white ermine, which almost swept the ground behind her horse’s rump. Beside her rode King Henry, also crowned in gold and wearing the familiar scarlet and blue royal doublet quartered with English lions and French lilies. He was waving and occasionally flashing his crowd-pleasing smile, but I was shocked at the change in his physique. When he had left England, he had been broad-shouldered and muscular, as a knight of his skill and reputation should be. Now his fine apparel seemed to hang off his frame like the rags of a scarecrow and his face was gaunt, the scarred cheek more prominent than ever. He still appeared to ride his horse with panache, but he did not look like a man who would have the strength to couch a lance.

When I got home I immediately put pen to paper, but I did not write to Catherine. Instead I wrote to Agnes de Blagny and told her that I had watched the king and queen ride into Paris and asked if she would broach the subject of my recall to Catherine. Then I picked little Louise out of her crib, tied her in my shawl and called out to Alys, who was in the workshop, that I was taking her for a breath of fresh air. It was only a short walk to the great gatehouse of the Louvre where I handed the letter into the guardroom and hoped that it would be swiftly delivered to the queen’s apartments.

The next morning I was delighted to receive a visit from Agnes herself. We embraced warmly and were soon sipping a cup of cool buttermilk under a shady apple tree in Alys’s small garden. As usual Agnes was looking trim and neat in a gown of dark-blue linen, relieved only by a handsome gold cross, her head covered in a wired white veil. I reflected that although it was more than seven years since she and Catherine had abandoned their life of books and prayer at Poissy Abbey, Agnes had never left the convent entirely behind.

‘The queen is well,’ she said in response to my immediate enquiry, ‘but gravely worried about the king. He is ravaged by siege fever and cannot seem to shake it off.’