Thwarted Queen (14 page)

As I sat there with my hand on Henry’s cold cheek, there was a stir, a glint from the diamond, and Richard arrived. He cleared the room with a look and went up to me.

“Well?” he demanded coldly.

“I do not know what happened.”

“You don’t know. Why not?”

“He was never strong.”

“No, he was not. And whose fault was that?”

He came over and gripped my chin with his fingers, so that I was forced to look into his eyes, hard and steely.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You should be. You have been extremely careless, madam, in the care of my son. Riding off to Lincoln in your condition, when you were six months gone with him.”

“I had to go to Mama’s funeral.”

“You should have waited until he was born to pay your respects to your lady mother. If you had done as I’d asked and stayed at Fotheringhay, he would have been stronger. And now we would not be dealing with the death of my heir.”

Henry was buried in the Abbey of Saint-Ouen.

After that, I did not see Richard for several weeks. As winter intensified its grip, I spent my days sitting in front of the often-smoking fire, cuddling Joan on my lap. One day Joan could not stop coughing. I thought she had a bad cold, but she started wheezing and making gurgling noises. I doused the fire, but it made no difference. I tried to force syrup down her convulsing throat, but most of it spilled onto her clothes. After a long struggle, she turned blue and expired. She was three and a half.

I clutched Joan to my breast while tears rolled down my cheeks. When the priest came, they forced me to drink a draught of poppy juice because I would not hand her over for the last rites.

When I came to, I ran to the window. Someone—it was Richard—was quick enough to grab me. I twisted my head to look at him.

“Let me die.”

“What of your immortal soul? That sin would land you in the fires of damnation.”

Everything went black.

When I came to, I was lying in bed and someone was holding my hand. As I gradually surfaced, something glinted through my closed eyelids. Richard sat on a stool by my bed. His face looked grey, new lines carving the flesh around his eyes and mouth.

“You’ve come back.”

I raised myself up and looked around. “Why am I not dead? I should be.”

Richard turned his head; the room filled with the sounds of people leaving. He sat on the bed and took me in his arms. “I thought we’d lost you,” he murmured, holding me close.

I felt the diamond hard against my bosom. I gently pulled back and looked at him. “But why do you want me? I’ve wronged you.”

“Cis!” he exclaimed, putting his hands on my shoulders and giving me a shake. He stopped abruptly as my eyes filled with tears. There was silence for many moments. “Don’t you see how much I love you? I want you, not someone else.” He kissed me gently on the lips.

“But I hurt you.”

“You’ve been punished enough.” And rising, he dashed a hand across his eyes, turned on his heel, and left.

I didn’t see him again for many weeks. We buried Joan in the chapel of Saint Romain, in the castle, so that I could visit her every day.

I made a slow recovery. By some miracle, I didn’t lose my child. Every day, I went with Margaret to visit Joan to pray for her soul. Every evening, I went to confession and confessed my sins to Père André, the castle chaplain. It took much time, but in the end I told him the whole story.

Père André was a wise man and a good priest. He did not fob me off with a few
Aves
here, a few
Paternosters
there. He systematically went over my sins, discussing them at great length. Then he recommended books that I should read, starting with
The Confessions of Saint Augustine
. But the most important thing he taught me was how to pray. I spent many hours on my knees praying during the winter and spring of 1442. That was how I gradually recovered my sanity.

“My lady, do you want to see your son?” Annette de Caux’s voice disturbed my reverie. Annette had stayed on after Henry’s death, suckling her own child and acting as a governess for little Nan. Now I engaged her as wet nurse for the new baby.

“Not until I’ve seen my lord husband.”

And there he was, standing in the doorway. I’d scarcely seen him since the day he’d pulled me back from the gates of hell.

Annette, Jenet, and the other women hurriedly bobbed their curtsies and left while Richard came over and stood by the side of the bed.

“A son,” he said, “You gave him a son.”

I was silent.

“Are you going to send word to him?”

“Do you want me to?”

Richard sighed and sat down on the bed. “At least you chose a nobleman. The master sergeant of the garrison told me that one of the archers was a nobleman of the House of Savoy. He disappeared the day I arrived.”

I fixed my eyes on Richard’s face. Did he know anything else? Did he know he’d spoken with my lover? How would he feel if he knew Blaybourne was a peasant?

“I’ll leave with the baby if you wish.”

Richard stared.

“Or, I could stay with you,” I murmured hastily, trying to soften his stony look.

“Of course you’re staying with me!” he shouted, seizing me by the shoulders. “I would never let you go. You know that.”

“Perhaps you would like another wife.”

“Do you want to leave me?”

I looked at my long-suffering husband as though I were seeing him for the first time. He wasn’t tall, but he wasn’t fat either. He wasn’t exceeding graceful, but he wasn’t uncouth. The recent lines around his eyes and mouth made his face more interesting, less bland. His eyes were his best feature, a clear blue-grey that reflected his every mood.

I hung my head. How stupid I’d been. Kind husbands who stood by you in a crisis were a rarity. And what of Nan? She needed me. It was my duty to hold my family together. I lifted my eyes and put my hand into his.

Richard wrapped his fingers around mine and held on tightly.

I lowered my lashes. Blaybourne seemed so dim and far away. Would I have been welcome if I’d gone to him? Who was he anyway? I wasn’t sure if I believed him to be a powerful nobleman, a scholar, or a humble archer. I opened my eyes. “I would rather stay.”

Richard drew me close. “The greatest wish I have is for my wife to love me. Could you?” His eyes bored into mine, going darker as they gazed at me.

I touched his cheek lightly with my finger, all hesitations gone. “Yes,” I breathed, and he kissed me with more abandon than he ever had before.

“I could never let you go,” he murmured over and over.

I leaned my head against his chest and frowned. “But what of the baby?” I asked hesitantly.

Richard stiffened. “Where is it?” he demanded, pulling away and rising.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Richard’s eyebrows drew together.

“I didn’t want to see him until I’d talked with you first.”

“I see.” Richard went to the door and signaled to Annette to bring the child.

“Would you like to hold him, my lady?” asked Annette.

I looked at Richard. Richard went over to look at the child. “He’s big and perfectly formed. He seems robust and healthy. He’d be a good fighter.” He fingered his beard. “You know what this means, of course.”

I shook my head.

“If I say nothing, he becomes my heir.”

I clasped my hands. “Is that what you want?”

BOOK III: THE GILDED CAGE

When she is fully readye she hath a lowe masse in her chamber,

and after masse she taketh something to recreate nature;

and soe goeth to the chappell hearinge the devine service, and two lowe masses;

from thence to dynner,

during the tyme whereof she hath a lecture of holy matter...

After dinner she giveth audyence to all such as hath any matter to shewe unto her by the space of one hower;

FROM ORDERS AND RULES OF THE PRINCESS CECILL

QUOTED BY JOHN WOLSTENHOLME COBB (1883)

HISTORY & ANTIQUITIES OF BERKHAMSTED

Chapter 12

Abbey of Beaumont-lès-Tours, Tours, France

Spring 1444