‘And the moment you see an open door, you are straight out of it,’ her mother said, brows knitted. ‘That has not changed. Come, we shall talk.’
She drew Jeanette to the window seat and sat down, decorously arranging her skirts. Jeanette swept the straw from hers, and, belatedly noticing some dung on her shoes, tucked her feet under the shelter of her hem.
Margaret asked her how she had fared in Flanders – how far her education as a highborn lady of the Queen’s chamber had progressed, and what she had learned. Jeanette answered in a voice devoid of colour, giving her mother the hard, small fruits, and none of the harvest. What could she say that would not bring opprobrium down on her head? Let her ask Katerine of Salisbury if she wanted to know more, although for certain Katerine would say nothing since her own reputation lay at stake. The same for Lady St Maur.
Her mother’s expression grew more set with each monosyllabic reply, and Jeanette’s stomach tightened until she thought it must surely touch her spine. They had so little in common; it was like talking through a narrow gap in a wall, each of them speaking but not hearing what the other said – not wanting to hear.
‘I am glad to see you and I understand you are doing well,’ Margaret said, ‘but I was disturbed to learn that the Gascon marriage the King was planning for you had failed because of your skittish behaviour. Considering the state of your gown, you do not appear to have moderated it in the time since.’
Jeanette flashed her mother a resentful look. ‘The Gascon marriage failed because the lords in question were not sufficiently committed. They were flirting with the French too, and it did not suit their purpose.’
Her mother eyed her narrowly. ‘That may be the case, although from what I have heard from the Countess of Salisbury, you were certainly to blame in part, because it did not suit your purpose either. Now you are home, it is time to pay attention to that improvement of decorum. You will learn to behave as befits your womanhood.’
Jeanette let the words wash over her like water off wax.
‘I have your best interests at heart,’ her mother said. ‘Believe me.’
Jeanette said nothing. The interests of her mother’s heart were locked into the prestige and status of the family and there was nothing left for love – indeed, perhaps love was the enemy, for love was belief, not reason.
As soon as she could, Jeanette escaped to play at tables and hazard with the other young courtiers, Edward among them, and swiftly engaged herself in their company. When she did cast a side glance in her mother’s direction, she saw that Katerine of Salisbury had joined her, and also Katerine’s elderly but still robust mother-in-law, Elizabeth de Montfort. The women were talking together in a huddle like witches over a cauldron, and she saw them look at her.
‘That’s plotting if ever I saw it,’ Edward said with amusement as he prepared to cast his dice.
Jeanette sniffed and turned a little on her stool so that her back was to the women. ‘They are probably just numbering my faults between them and deciding how to put me in a cage.’
‘They’ll have a hard task doing that.’ He threw his dice, cursed at his score, and handed the horn shaker to Jeanette.
‘Yes, I’d rather die,’ she said.
‘Hah, rather them in the attempt!’ he replied, and grinned at her.
15
Reading, Berkshire, December 1340
Jeanette swirled amid the dancers at the Christmas court, gold stars shining on her dark blue velvet gown. More stars gleamed in her braided hair, and powdered her shoes. Prince Edward took her by the waist and lifted her, swinging her round and placing her down, his arms strong with developing muscle. Their eyes met in a moment of shared exhilaration and she experienced a pang in her stomach, of affection and physical attraction, although only a small fire compared to the all-consuming blaze she felt for Thomas.
There had been no word from him, but she prayed for his safe return every night before she climbed into bed, and tried to keep her faith, hoping he had not abandoned his of her. She had settled once again into daily life with the royal children, functioning as an extra pair of hands, part nursemaid, part royal ward. Ever since the King and the court had returned from Flanders in late November, she had been kept very busy.
The dance finished; Edward bowed and Jeanette curtseyed to him, and they smiled at each other. Katerine of Salisbury arrived, her gown of ash-pink velvet shimmering with crystals and gold bezants. Her husband had been released by the Frenchin a hostage exchange in late September and had returned to court with the King, and all was well in their world.
Katerine made her obeisance to the young Prince, who inclined his head but did not bow, and then she turned to Jeanette. ‘The Queen wishes to speak with you in her chamber,’ she said.
Jeanette looked at her in surprise. ‘What about?’ She had often attended on the Queen since November to rub her feet or comb her hair, but Philippa was pregnant again and had retired from the festivities to rest and Jeanette was not expecting a summons.
‘She will tell you,’ Katerine said briskly. ‘Make haste, do not keep her waiting.’
Bemused, Jeanette followed Katerine and an usher to the Queen’s chamber. As she left the hall, she looked over her shoulder at Edward, but he shrugged and opened his hands to say he was at a loss. She shivered, for away from the hearth and the press of celebrating people the air was icy and she did not have her cloak.
At the Queen’s door, the usher knocked and craved admittance and a steward bade them enter. The air was immediately warmer here, heated by a glowing hearth and strategically positioned braziers. A blaze of beeswax candles gave off a cumulative honey scent, and added more warmth and ambience. Philippa lay on her bed, swathed in furs and silk, comfortably propped up by a mound of silk pillows. Her pet squirrel Poppet sat on a velvet cushion near her head, manipulating a walnut in his dextrous little paws.
‘Ah, my dear.’ Philippa beckoned Jeanette to her side, rings shining on every finger. ‘You look beautiful. Are you enjoying the entertainments?’
‘Yes, madam, very much.’
‘I am glad to hear it, and I know how well you dance.’
At a gesture, a lady came forward with an exquisite small wine glass and a platter of pastries. Jeanette sipped the sweet, almost sticky wine and ate a pastry. Powdered Venetian sugar tingled on her tongue.
