They had traveled no more than a few miles when the rain began, and it continued for the next two days. The earl had wisely considered that they would travel slowly, and so, while uncomfortable, they were able to reach the convent in which they would stay the night. The mother superior was impressed that Lady Cicely was to be fostered by the king’s stepmother.
“You are aware, though, my lord, of the rumors about Queen Joan, aren’t you?” the nun asked the earl.
“What rumors?” Robert Bowen inquired nervously. Were all his plans for his daughter to come to naught?
“Some say the lady practices witchcraft, my lord, although King Henry does not give such chatter credence,” the mother superior murmured.
“Why would anyone say that?” the earl wondered aloud.
“Well, my lord, her kingly father in Navarre was called ‘the Bad.’ And then she lived in Brittany for many years, and all know that witchcraft is practiced there. And then there is the fact that while she bore her first husband, the Duke of Brittany, nine children, and our own late king had six with Lady Mary before she died and he succeeded to England’s throne, together the king and Queen Joan produced no progeny. Both were young enough to do so. So why were there no more children?”
“Perhaps because of their large families their marriage was by choice a celibate one,” the earl suggested. “As I recall Queen Joan brought her two younger daughters with her when she came from Brittany, Reverend Mother, and they needed her attention. But as I am not a part of the court circle my opinion on the matter would be worthless.”
The nun smiled archly. “Your little girl is very fortunate, my lord,” she said.
It rained the next day as well, and the monastery guesthouse they stayed in the second night was very sparse, the supper and meal the following morning scant. But when they awoke the third morning the sky had turned blue and the sun was shining. The weather held for the rest of their journey, and late in the afternoon of the seventh day they reached the village of Havering-atte-Bower, and Queen Joan’s residence. The queen, however, was not there. She would be arriving on the morrow, the steward said, with Lady Joan Beaufort. He could not admit the queen’s new fosterling until she arrived.
Anticipating that he might need a seventh night of shelter, the Earl of Leighton had arranged it in the guesthouse of a small butprosperous convent just outside of the village. The mother superior herself welcomed them, smiling. She was quite unlike their hostess on that first night on the road.
“So you’re to live in the queen’s household,” the nun said. “You are a very lucky little girl, Lady Cicely. I have known the queen since she came to England over ten years ago. She is very wise and can be a lot of fun. Her daughters Marguerite and Blanche came with her then. Of course, they’re married back into France now but I remember them well. Two of the sisters and I used to take them berry picking. And the Decembers we had with all the feasting from Christmas to Twelfth Night. Queen Joan always invited us to her table then, for we are a small order. How lovely to learn there will be two little girls back at the queen’s house again to bring it laughter and joy.”
“I believe your words are comforting to my daughter,” Robert Bowen said. “She has never before been away from Leighton.”
“Oh,” the mother superior said, and she stooped down so she might speak face-to-face with Cicely. “You must not be afraid, my daughter. You have come to a good place, and within a few short weeks it will be and will feel like home to you. Do you like animals? The queen’s house here is always filled with dogs and cats.”
“I have a horse,” Cicely said. “My lord father gave her to me before we departed our home. Her name is Gris, because she is gray. I’ve never had a dog or cat.”
“Well, you shall probably find you have several once the queen is in residence,” the nun said cheerfully, standing up again. “Come now, my lord, my lady. We are about to celebrate vespers. Will you not join us? And then we’ll have supper. I know that Sister Margarethe has made a wonderful vegetable-and-rabbit potage for supper. I have smelled it cooking all afternoon.” She reached out and took Cicely’s hand. “But first we must go into the chapel and thank our dear Lord and his Mother for your safe arrival.”
The convent might be small, but the meal they were served after vespers was every bit as good as that served at the earl’s table. Therabbit stew was flavorful, the bread warm and crisp, and there was an egg custard flavored with lavender, served last. The beds given them were clean and fresh, free from bedbugs and fleas. And in the morning their second meal of oat stirabout, with newly baked bread and butter was delicious. The earl thanked the sisters as they departed, pressing a generous donation into the hand of the mother superior.
“I hope we will see you again very soon, Lady Cicely,” the nun called after them.
“Do you think the queen will like me, Papa?” Cicely asked as they rode towards the village again, and the queen’s residence. “What of the other girl who comes with her? Do you know who she is?”
The earl nodded. “You must not fret, poppet,” he told his daughter. “Queen Joan is a good woman, and she cannot help but like you. Everyone likes you.”
“My stepmother does not like me,” Cicely said softly.
“Luciana does not know you, and she is jealous of the love I bear you, and bore your mother. I wish it were otherwise, but it is not. Queen Joan will like you.”
“And the girl? Who is she, Papa?” Cicely asked anxiously.
“Lady Joan Beaufort is the daughter of the late Earl of Somerset, John Beaufort,” the earl began. “His father was the Duke of Lancaster, a son of King Edward the Third, called John of Gaunt because he was born to Queen Philippa in Ghent. The duke had three wives, and outlived two. John Beaufort, his brothers Henry and Thomas, and his sister, Joan, were the children of the duke’s mistress, and later third wife, Katherine Swynford. The Beauforts were born on the other side of the blanket, as were you, Cicely. But like you they were legitimated. They and their descendants are not permitted to be placed in the line of succession, but they are legitimate. You, my daughter, are, however, in my line of succession. When I die you will receive an inheritance along with your brothers.”
“So this other little girl is royal,” Cicely said. Her stomach stirred nervously.
“Aye,” her father admitted, “she is. But she is still an earl’s daughter, as are you.”
They were now approaching the queen’s residence, which, like the village, was known as Havering-atte-Bower. It was a large dwelling that had been built originally by King William, known as the Conqueror, to serve as a hunting lodge. Over the centuries since it had been added onto, and made into a large, livable home. When they had come yesterday it had been quiet. Now, however, the path to and before the house was filled with carts, and horses, and servants of various rank.
One of the earl’s men rode forward, shouting, “Make way for my lord, the Earl of Leighton! Make way!”
Carts were drawn to the road’s edge, and grumbling people stepped aside until a narrow path was formed, allowing their party through. The queen’s steward met them at the door to the house. Grooms hurried forward to take their horses as they dismounted. Robert Bowen took his daughter by the hand and beckoned Orva to follow them as the steward led them into the house and to the hall.
Cicely’s little heart hammered with a mixture of both fear and excitement. She had chosen her new burnt orange velvet gown to wear this day. It had a turned-up collar and long, trailing sleeves. She wore the gold chain with the little jeweled crucifix about her neck, and rings on several of her fingers. Her gold coronet was worn about her head, and beneath it was a delicate lawn veil barely hiding the rich russet of her hair. She knew she looked most elegant, because Orva had told her so. Still, she worried that she would not please the queen. She cast a quick glance about the hall.
Queen Joan stood waiting for the child to be put into her care. Seeing Cicely, she smiled. The little girl was absolutely adorable. Leaning to the right, she murmured to the child by her side, “Now, Joan, here is the companion I promised you.”
