“Come with me to the storerooms, and I’ll tell you,” Orva said, and he followed her eagerly. “He has decided it will be safer for Lady Cicely to be fostered by another family,” Orva began. “And I’m to go with her!”
“Lady Cicely is being sent from Leighton?” Bingham was surprised. “So the countess has had her way in the matter.”
“My lord does it for his daughter, not for the countess,” Orva said sharply. “And into whose household are we going? We are being sent to Queen Joan herself!” Orva crowed. “We’ll be a part of the royal court!” Her eyes scanned the bolts of material.
“God’s boots!” Bingham swore softly. “How did the earl manage that? Leighton isn’t an important house.”
“He says it was pure good fortune that put him in Queen Joan’s eye,” Orva said. “I think Saint Anne, to whom I always pray, looks out for her namesake’s child.” She reached for a bolt of medium blue velvet and, unrolling it to the length she desired, took the scissors on her girdle and cut the piece. Folding it, she then set it on a small table.
“Praise God and his blessed Mother that the child will be safe,” Bingham replied. He was Lady Cicely’s great-uncle on her mother’s side. “The others will be glad to learn your news, Orva. May I tell them?”
“Shout it to the skies if you will,” Orva said, taking another bolt down, this one of burnt orange brocade, and cutting the piece she wanted.
“I’ll leave you then to your picking and choosing,” Bingham answered. “Lock the door from the inside, Orva. That way you’ll not be disturbed.” And he gave her a broad wink. “The mistress isn’t pleased at all this morning, I’m told.” Then he left her.
Orva took his advice and turned the big key in the lock before going back to her task. There was much to chose from, and Orva took her time. To the blue velvet and the burnt orange silk brocade she added a dark green, a cream, and a burgundy-colored velvet, along with a violet silk brocade, a medium blue and a grass green silk. She took a length of deep blue wool and another of rich brown to make cloaks for her mistress, as well as a packet of rabbit fur and another of marten to line the cloaks. She took linen and lawn for undergarments and veils, trimmings, buttons, several narrow lengths of satin, and another of leather to make girdles. The shoemaker belonging to Leighton would make Cicely new shoes and boots.
In a dark corner Orva found a small dusty box almost hidden beneath several bolts of heavy wool. Curious, she opened it. Seeing its contents, she smiled. Inside the box was a narrow gold chain with a small jeweled cross, a simple band of red gold, and a tarnished wire caul. The gilt flaked from the caul as she lifted it up. These few small possessions had belonged to Cicely’s mother, Anne. The chain and the ring had been Bowen family jewelry. Robert Bowen had given them to Anne in pledge of their love. The little wire gilt caul Orva remembered the earl buying for his love at a Michaelmas fair. She could still picture Anne in her mind’s eye, tucking her thick auburn hair into the caul and twirling about happily as she showed it off to Orva and to her father.
“These should belong to Cicely,” Orva said aloud to herself. The chain and the ring were hardly impressive pieces, and the little caul needed to be regilded. But the serving woman knew that her little mistress would appreciate that these items had belonged to the mother she had never known. She added the box to her pile. Then, unlocking the door, letting herself out, and relocking it, she hurriedoff to find some servants to aid her in taking her prizes back to the cottage, where she would begin to fashion the gowns her little mistress needed.
When the earl came to visit his child later that day Orva showed him everything she had taken from his storerooms. The earl nodded, thinking to himself that Cicely could not be in better hands than Orva’s. The serving woman had taken enough material to make his daughter a wardrobe fit for a princess. Then Orva showed him the box with the few small pieces of jewelry that had been Anne’s.
Robert Bowen’s eyes welled up. “I had forgotten these,” he said softly, fingering the chain with the crucifix. “Aye, Cicely should have them. You were right to bring them, Orva. But the caul has seen better days, hasn’t it?” He smiled at his remembrance of Anne’s squeal of delight when he had bought it for her.
“A bit of fresh gilt, my lord,” Orva assured him, “and ’twill be fine.”
“My daughter should have a real gold caul, and some bits of good jewelry,” the earl noted. “I will see to it.”
“Remember, my lord, she is still a little girl. Perhaps a strand of pearls, and two or three rings. As she grows older you will gift her,” Orva advised.
Several days later Robert Bowen brought his daughter a beautiful long strand of pearls, several gold rings decorated with brightly colored gemstones or pearls, a fine golden caul, and a gold headband with an oval piece of green malachite in its center. And when another week had passed he arrived with a beautiful dappled gray mare with a black mane and tail for Cicely, and a sturdy chestnut gelding for Orva.
The weeks flew by, and then it was Midsummer’s eve. There was dancing, and there were games, drinking of sweet honeyed mead, and bonfires on the hillsides. In just a few more days Lady Cicely Bowen would be leaving her childhood home to be fostered by the widowed Queen Joan. The new king, rumor had it, was preparing for war against France. It would be an exciting time to be at court.
On the morning before her departure Cicely slipped from the cottage. Orva was busy finishing the packing, and would not consider where her little mistress had gone; nor would she worry about it, for Cicely was completely safe on Leighton lands. Walking across the fields Cicely made her way to her father’s gardens, and secreted herself within a large hedge. And then the three nursemaids came, bringing with them her three little half brothers. She watched them silently, smiling at the antics of the two elder, wishing she might be allowed to play with them. Charles looked like their father, she was happy to see. The other two favored both their parents. Finally she could sit no longer.
“Farewell, little brothers,” she whispered softly. “I doubt we will ever meet again. May God and his blessed Mother protect you all. Bring honor to Leighton.” Then Lady Cicely Bowen crept quietly from her father’s gardens, making her way back across the fields to the cottage where she had spent all of her life.
“Where were you?” Orva asked her when she entered.
“Out walking, and saying my farewells to Leighton,” the little girl answered. “I still wish we didn’t have to go. Oh, I know the great advantage this is for me, for my family, but I should have been content to remain here forever.”
Orva sighed. “I know,” she sympathized. “This has been my home for all my life too, and now I wonder if I will ever see it again, my little lady.” She sighed again but then said, “Still, it is a great adventure we are about to embark upon. It could be worse. Your father’s wife could have convinced him to put you in a convent for the rest of your days.”
“I would have made a very bad nun,” Cicely said, giggling.
“So would I,” Orva agreed with a chuckle.
“Do you think my father will come to say good-bye, Orva?” Cicely wondered.
“Did he not tell you, child? Oh! Perhaps he meant for it to bea surprise,” the serving woman said. “Your father is to escort us to Havering-atte-Bower.”
Cicely clapped her small hands together with delight. “Ohh, we shall have time together before he leaves me. I am so glad!” She danced about the room.
Orva smiled to see the child happy. This sudden change in Cicely’s life was a difficult one to make for a child so young. Orva prayed silently that all would be well, and that her little mistress would be happy in Queen Joan’s household. She hoped the earl’s daughter would find a friend among the other little maidens certain to be there. She slept restlessly that night—the last night in the cottage she considered her home. The earl had assured her the cottage would be there for her when Cicely was grown and no longer needed her. It was the one comfort she had in all of this great change.
The following day dawned gray and gloomy. Certainly not the most hopeful sign, Orva thought as she directed the loading of the trunks onto the baggage cart. It would take them a week to reach Queen Joan’s residence, which was some fifteen miles east of London. The earl had sent word ahead to four convents and three monasteries requesting shelter for his party. Each night they would stop at a religious guesthouse, where they would be given a bed and two meals in the safety of the establishment’s sturdy walls. They would travel with a dozen men-at-arms from Leighton to keep them, and Cicely’s baggage cart with all her new gowns and other worldly possessions, safe.
