Soon after the opening of Parliament we left Westminster. I was conducted to Waltham Palace, where I stayed for a few days and nights and from there went to Hertford. It was not Windsor, but it was almost as good, or I found my household assembled there waiting to welcome me. And among them was Owen.
When they all greeted me, he looked at me with such love and longing in his eyes that I could no longer be blind to his feelings for me; and my own response would have told me—if I had not known already—that I returned his love.
We were to spend Christmas at Hertford, which was an indication of what was to come, for this had already been decided for us and was not of my choosing. I knew that those who had chosen would now determine how and where the King should be brought up and were reminding me that they had not forgotten their duty.
I felt a certain feverish excitement that Christmas, I was on the brink of change. Poor Guillemote, she would suffer with me. We had to console ourselves. I would not think beyond this Christmas.
Guillemote said: “They may take him away, yes. But we shall still see him. You are his mother. He will ask for us…he will cry for us. They cannot deny the King his wishes. This has happened to all queens. They are never allowed to bring up their children after the manner of humble women.”
“The fact that it has happened before and to us all does not make it any easier to bear, Guillemote.”
She shook her head sadly. Then she looked intently at me. She knew me so well, and knew that I could not help thinking of Owen.
It was then that the thought came into my mind: I will not lose everything.
James of Scotland joined the household with the Duchess of Clarence and her daughter Jane. We were all caught up in the excitement of the coming wedding. The lovers lived in a dream of happiness which was wonderful to share in. And I did share it. I was uplifted by the knowledge that I too was loved.
I said to James: “How well everything has turned out. It is like a miracle.”
He agreed. “It was worth being a captive all those years to come to this. For think you, if it had not been so, I should never have met Jane.”
“And that makes everything that has gone before worthwhile for you?”
He looked at me, astonished that I could ask such a question.
“But indeed it does. To think that, if I had not been taken a prisoner by the English all those years ago, I might well have been in Scotland now, separated from Jane by hundreds of miles…never knowing the one woman in the world for me existed. Can you imagine a greater tragedy?”
“Perhaps, if you had never known Jane existed, you would not have missed her.”
“What a travesty of life that would have been!”
“So you would stay a prisoner if it was the only way you could be with her?”
“I would rather be in the darkest dungeon with her than on the grandest throne without her.”
That is love, I thought. And when it comes it must be taken with both hands. It is only fools who turn their backs on love.
I was not entirely surprised when Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, called at Hertford to see me.
I had met him on other occasions. Henry had mentioned him to me with respect and affection; and, moreover, Warwick had been in France at the time of our marriage and had taken part in my coronation.
Henry had said to me: “There is a man whom I can trust. Such men I keep close to me. I feel blessed that there are men like Warwick at my side.”
And I had always thought that Warwick deserved his confidence.
He kissed my hand and thanked me for receiving him so graciously, while I tried to remain calm, though guessing what he had come for made that difficult.
My fears were soon realized.
He said, “My lady, you will know that I was honored by the late King’s confidence, and to me he left the greatest of all tasks—the care and education of his son, our gracious King Henry VI.”
I bowed my head in acknowledgment.
“Your Grace has been in deep mourning this last year and I know that you have derived much comfort from living quietly with our dear lord, your son, who is very young yet.”
“That is so,” I said. “He is a baby still and he needs his mother.”
“It was noticed with what regal dignity he conducted himself at Westminster.”
I thought of the screaming infant who had manifested his disapproval at Staines by noisy and scarcely regal protestations. Henry was a baby, in spite of the miniature crown they had set upon his head.
The Earl went on: “It is time he was given his own household. He must begin to learn that he has a great position to fill.”
“I think he is hardly of an age to realize what that means.”
“It is never too early to begin to learn. The late King entrusted me with his upbringing and education and I am determined to do my duty in a manner which would have had his approval.”
“I understand, but he is…as yet…very young.”
“Responsibility descends early on royal heads, my lady. I have engaged for him a nurse in the person of one Joan Astley. A very worthy lady, the wife of Thomas Astley. She is well experienced with children and will be a careful and a loving nurse.”
“My woman Guillemote has looked after my son with the utmost loving care and he is very fond of her.”
“I am sure of that, my lady. But the King must have a qualified nurse and one who has the approval of the Council and myself.”
I knew it was hopeless. He had had my husband’s commands to form my son’s household, and in the eyes of these men, the matter of great importance was not that little Henry be surrounded by those who loved him but that he learn how to be a king.
I should have been prepared. I knew it had to come. I had in fact been expecting it all through the year. Yet I felt stunned. Whatever they said, whatever I tried to do, they were going to take him away from me.
I heard myself stammer: “This…Joan Astley…she is…er…kind …?”
“She will know exactly how to treat the King.”
“The King is but a child. He needs his mother.”
The Earl smiled at me benignly. “The King will have great responsibility. He cannot shelter forever in the loving arms of his mother.”
“In a year or so…perhaps.”
“The King is no longer a baby.”
What was the use? I felt angry. Why should some hardheaded man who knew nothing about the ties between a mother and her child decide our lives for us? My baby might be—rather sadly—a king, but he was only a child…my child. I wanted to rage and storm at this man who was smiling so confidently, sure that he knew what was best for my child.
“Mrs. Astley will be arriving within a few weeks,” he went on. “And, of course, equally important is his governess. I have chosen Dame Alice Butler…a most worthy lady.”
“You mean…she will be in charge of his household?”
He smiled and inclined his head.
I felt limp with dismay and anger. I knew that the Earl was only following custom. I knew it was the fate of all queens to lose their babies in this way…but that did not make it any easier to bear.
I wanted to shout: “No, I will not allow it.”
Wild plans were forming in my mind. I would run away. Guillemote and I would take Henry and find some humble place in which we could live in peace.
How foolish of me! I should have known that they would choose for me. They were going to take my baby away from me. Some would say I had been fortunate to have had him to myself for so long.
The Earl may have had a glimmer of understanding, for he was not an unkindly man, merely insensitive to a mother’s emotions.
“Your Grace will be highly satisfied with the ladies whom I have chosen,” he said. “They will be kind yet firm…exactly what his Grace the King needs. The Council have decided that, in view of the very important posts they hold, they shall be highly paid. In fact I can tell you that their salaries will be £40 a year, wh
ich is equal to the salary of a Privy Councilor. So you see, my lady, what importance has been attached to this matter. We are giving Dame Alice permission to chastise the King if that should be necessary.”
I cried out in alarm: “No!”
The Earl looked at me almost pityingly. “It is considered necessary for most children at some time. It will just be a little light punishment to teach the difference between right and wrong.”
I felt in despair. Facing it was even worse than I had imagined.
He went on: “The King will have his own Court and children of his own age—heirs to baronies and so on—to be brought up with him. So he will not lack company.”
No, I thought bitterly, except that of his mother!
“The King’s Court will become an academy for the young nobility, which seems a highly satisfactory arrangement.”
I was too emotional to trust myself to speak.
“Your Grace will find that the Council has been equally assiduous in its care for you. All the dower palaces will be at your disposal, the only exceptions being Havering and Langley, which, as your Grace knows, are in the possession of Queen Joanna, widow of the late King’s father, King Henry IV.”
I was not listening. All I could think was: it is as I feared. I have lost my son.
With a heavy heart I traveled to Southwark for the marriage of James and Jane.
How I envied them! They would be setting out on a new life. My ladies had shivered at the thought of the Court of Scotland and wondered how James would be received after spending so long away from his native land.
“It will be different,” said Joanna Courcy, “for there is no doubt that we are different from the Scots.”
“They are his people,” insisted Guillemote, “and blood is strong.”
“But he has become one of us,” said Agnes.
“Have no fear,” I told them. “He has Jane, and while they are together, they will be happy.”
They all sighed and I guessed they were thinking, with a little envy—as I was, of the lovers.
They were so radiantly happy, and as soon as the wedding was over they would set out for Scotland.
It was a very impressive ceremony, held in the church of St. Mary Overy, and immediately afterward we adjourned to the adjacent palace, which belonged to Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester. He was Jane’s uncle and delighted, of course, that she was marrying into the royal House of Scotland. The Bishop was one of the richest men in England, for he was the second son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Katherine Swynford, although the Duke had married Winchester’s mother after his birth and he, with his siblings, had been legitimized by Henry IV.
I was watchful of Winchester during the banquet. I had heard a great deal about his quarrel with the Duke of Gloucester, and I knew that the two were declared enemies and that, if Henry had been living, he would have taken sides with the Bishop against his own brother.
Gloucester wanted power. His lifelong regret was that he had not been born the eldest son. For a man such as he, to be the youngest was a tragedy…for him, but not indeed for the country.
I did not know a great deal about politics, but I was aware that Gloucester’s schemes were all for self-aggrandizement and that Winchester, in spite of his reputation for being haughty, arrogant and in his opinion as royal as the King, was a man of intellectual brilliance; and he did realize the importance of putting the country first.
I remembered Henry’s once saying: “A man may be what he wishes if he does but remember that he is an Englishman and owes his first allegiance to England.”
I felt sure Winchester did that.
I watched him at that time, presiding at the feast. All those things which had been said of him I felt to be true; and I firmly believed that Humphrey, with his wildly ambitious schemes, would be no match for him.
Margaret, Duchess of Clarence, was beside me. It was with great emotion that she had watched her daughter married to the King of Scotland.
I took her hand and pressed it.
I whispered to her: “I never saw two people so radiantly happy as those two.”
She smiled and nodded.
I returned to Hertford. They were already preparing to move the King’s household to Eltham.
I went into the nursery to look at him. He was asleep. I watched him in silence, and Guillemote came to stand beside me.
“Soon he will be gone away,” I said.
“Yes,” she answered.
“How can they do this to us?” I demanded.
“It is the custom and we knew it had to come.”
I did not answer.
“They will be kind to him,” she went on. “I have spoken to Mrs. Astley. She seems a good woman, overawed by her task. I think he will like her.”
“He will cry for us, Guillemote.”
“I hope not too much. He is interested in everything around him. There will be his new surroundings…new people.”
“You do not think he will forget us, Guillemote?”
“Oh no, no, no. But I hope he will not think of us too often…just at first …”
I stooped and kissed him. There would not be many more times when I could steal into his bedroom and see him thus informally…yet it was a blessing any peasant woman might have enjoyed with her son…day or night.
Who would be born royal?
Poor Margaret had her moods of sadness, too.
She said: “It was a beautiful ceremony; and Jane looked so happy, did she not?”
“Jane looked wonderful.”
“She was always first with me. I loved her more than I ever loved anyone else…from the moment she was born.”
“I know,” I said.
“And now…she has gone. I may never see her again.”
“You will travel to Scotland. It is not so very far. And they will visit the Court here.”
She shook her head.
“You must not be sad, Margaret,” I said. “Think of Jane. She is happy. I never saw two people so happy in the whole of my life. Remember her as she was at her wedding, Margaret.”
“I do. We both know that one of the tragedies of a noblewoman’s life is that she must lose her children. Why do they envy us…those tillers of the soil…those peasants? I know they must work hard for their livings, but they have their families about them. Ours are taken from us to be brought up in other houses …”
I put my hand over my eyes and she cried: “Oh, forgive me, Katherine. I am selfish. Jane is happy. It is what she wanted.”
“Yes, Margaret,” I said. “And they are going to take my baby from me. They are going to bring him up as a king…which they say a mother cannot do. They are setting up others to take care of him…those who can make of him a king.”
She put her arms about me and we wept together.
It was no use telling myself that what I suffered had been endured by every queen before me. I was going to lose my baby.
Guillemote had tried to comfort me. I should not lose him entirely. I could see him often. I was his mother, was I not? He would want to see me. He would demand it.
We smiled together and I was remembering the storms when he had refused to leave Staines in the litter. He would want to see his mother and he would demand to.
I thought of Dame Alice Butler, who had “the power to chastise.” Oh, no, I could not bear that.
I sent for Owen. I had to see him. I wanted to talk to him. I thought that he alone at this time could give me comfort.
He came and stood respectfully before me.
I said: “As you know, we shall be leaving here soon. The King is going to have his own household which…is what I have been expecting for some time. It will be soon. They are making plans now. I shall need…some new gowns.”
I faltered. It was useless to pretend I had sent for him to discuss purchases of material. I was horrified to find that my eyes were filled with tears. I said: “They are taking him away from me, Owen. My baby…he will be without his mother
…without Guillemote …”
“They say that Mrs. Astley understands children well. The King has already seen her. He seems to like her …”
“He will want his mother…and his mother…she will want him.”
He knelt before me and, suddenly taking my hand, kissed it.
“I should be brave,” I said. “I knew it had to come. For months I have been dreading it. They left us alone together longer than I expected. But now it has come. Very soon they will take him away. He will be as a stranger to me.”
“He will never be that.”
“Others will be around him. They will teach him to forget his mother. There will be others to take my place.”
“I think a child never forgets his mother, my lady.”
“But I shall not see him, Owen. I shall be alone.”
He put my hand to his lips and kept it there.
I went on: “The King of Scotland has left now…taking Lady Jane with him. They are so happy. They did not mind leaving us in the least, though they were kind enough to say they would miss us. But they want nothing more than each other. Oh, how I envy them! To love like that and to be loved. It seems to them that all the world is smiling at them. Her mother wept because she had lost her, but she was proud, I think. The Bishop was there…the Bishop of Winchester. He is very grand, handsome, dignified…and so royal …”
“Well, is he not, my lady, the son of the great John of Gaunt?”
“Legitimized by his loving half-brother…my husband’s father.”
“He was a wise king. He knew that it is better to have certain people with him than against him.”
“The Bishop indeed looked worthy of his royalty. He was pleased by the marriage. Everyone was pleased. What perfection…to love like that and to have everyone smiling approval.”
“Methinks they would have been happy without the approval.”
I looked at him earnestly. I felt there was something he wished to say and dared not. I knew that I should have to be the one to put away pretense, stop hiding behind conventions and speak the truth.
“Do you really think they would have been, Owen?” I asked.
“I am sure of it. With them it was true love. Who could doubt that?”
Jean Plaidy - [Queens of England 07] Page 19