‘Madam, I am sorry to tell you that your lord father passed away two days ago at Swanscombe of a seizure,’ the messenger announced, head bowed.
Joanna took the sealed letter, the words ringing in her ears. She had been prepared for this, given her father’s state of health, but expecting the news was not the reality. Stiffly, she thanked the man and instructed him to be ready to ride with a reply.
‘It is God’s will,’ Guydo said as the messenger departed.
‘Yes,’ she replied with outward composure and looked at the piece of parchment. ‘I shall have masses said for him.’ All the unresolved issues churned inside her like threads waiting to be stitched into a tapestry, but now she lacked a needle and the threads were drifting in the wind. ‘One day’ had become ‘never’.
William arrived, walking swiftly. ‘Ah, Joanna, I am so sorry!’ He took her in his arms. She leaned into his embrace and gripped his sleeves tightly.
He called for a reviving drink, and Mabel brought her some hot wine with a grating of sugar.
‘I will come with you to Swanscombe,’ he said.
Joanna swallowed, and nodded gratefully. ‘My half-brother is not of age to inherit and that means a warden must be appointed. I do not want the estates falling into my stepmother’s hands.’ She shuddered with visceral revulsion. Her eyes were wet, but she did not know where the tears had come from.
‘We shall speak to the King and make all arrangements,’ William soothed, stroking her spine.
Joanna bit her lip. Whenever she had to deal with matters concerning her parents she always returned to the memories of her mother in her tomb, her father’s swift remarriage and the end of childhood. ‘No, I shall do it myself,’ she said, pushing away. ‘It is my duty while my half-brother is in his minority. I am the eldest child and he is my responsibility, as my father wished.’
‘Your half-brother is of squiring age. I will do what I can to help – take him into my household if you wish.’
‘Yes,’ she said, glad of his strength and practicality. ‘It would be a good idea I think.’
By the time Joanna arrived at Swanscombe, her father had already been buried because of the sultry summer weather. The grave slab, lying beside her mother’s, was carved with a foliate cross that had come from the mason’s general stock rather than being personal to her father, but which could be replaced later with something more ornate. Joanna knelt on the cool stone floor to pay her duty if not her respects with William and their two oldest children at her side. Margaret and the baby were at the manor with their nurses. Joanna’s stepmother, thank God, had already departed for one of her dower properties and would not return.
Her half-brother was present with the knights and servants of the household. Guillaume at eighteen was a sullen youth with a blemished, oily complexion, lank, fair hair and hostile grey eyes.
Later, when Joanna showed him the writ with the King’s authority to put him in wardship to her and William, until he was twenty-one, he recoiled in fury. ‘I am old enough to rule Swanscombe! If the King’s son can rule Gascony, then I can be responsible for my own estates!’
‘That is a different thing entirely,’ Joanna said curtly.
‘Hah, it is not. My father has raised me to care for these lands since my birth. I know you have always wanted them – you cannot accept that I am the heir, not you!’
Joanna recoiled as if he had slapped her, but part of that recoil came from knowing that a poisonous splinter of that accusation was true, and she was ashamed.
‘That is enough!’ William warned. ‘Your sister has your welfare at heart, and so do I. If not us, then someone else would have been put in charge of your interests.’
‘Then I would rather someone else!’
‘Who would milk the land without care,’ William said. ‘You share the same father, and your sister’s mother is buried here. She will administer for the best and with the King’s goodwill, and we will see to finishing your education and given affinity at court.’
‘You think I should be grateful to snakes?’ Guillaume shouted, beside himself. ‘You want this for yourself. Everyone knows you are a greedy, grasping Poitevan thief !’
William seized a fistful of the youth’s tunic and almost lifted him off the floor. He thrust his face into Guillaume’s. ‘If my wife or I wanted this, we would take it and there would be nothing you could do, believe me. Perhaps everything you “know” from what “everyone” says is true. Perhaps we shall do away with you and make it very simple indeed!’ He released the boy with a shove of contempt. ‘You are under age for three years yet, and a guardian must be appointed. Better your family and close to the King than anyone else. You have a choice. Use your time productively, or spend it in scowling belligerence. It matters not to me or your sister. Now, go and prepare your things.’
White-faced, Guillaume glared at him and then stormed off, yanking the door curtain off its rings.
William breathed out hard and dug his hands through his hair. ‘I should not have lost my temper. If he riles me now, how much more difficult is he going to be when he is my ward?’
Joanna looked down. ‘He is right in a way. I do feel as if this should be mine. It is hard to know it belongs to him, but I ask myself what Cecily would say, and she guides me. Perhaps he will change. Boys of his age are often sullen and unruly.’
William raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Perhaps, but I doubt it. I shall do my best with him.’
They departed Swanscombe with Guillaume in their entourage, still scowling like a thundercloud. At least she could administer Swanscombe for the time being, Joanna thought, and keep an eye on her half-brother, although she suspected William was right in doubting that they could turn him around.
26
Tower of London, Autumn 1255
