The Scandalous Duchess

by Anne O'Brien

  Which I had to accept. We could not be together, but our love would never be dashed against the rocks of volatile politics.

  ‘I’ll go to Kettlethorpe.’ I surrendered, reluctantly, to good sense. ‘I need to take Blanche home.’

  I did not wish to. I did not wish to be separate from him. My spirits had never been as low.

  ‘No, this is what you will do.’ The note of command was unsparing beneath the gentleness. ‘I need to know you are somewhere safe, away from the politics and the threats of riots in the city. I don’t want you where you cannot defend yourself, and Kettlethorpe has no defences. You will go to The Countess of Hereford at Pleshey Castle.’

  I had an acquaintance with the Countess of Hereford, but had no wish to take up residence with her. ‘I don’t wish to go to Pleshey. I’d rather go to Kettlethorpe.’

  The Duke remained unswerving, even as he dried my tears with my oversleeve and kissed my sullen mouth.

  ‘What you want has no bearing on the matter. You will go to Pleshey because I say it shall be, and you will give birth to this child in comfort and safety. Countess Joan will welcome you in my name, and you, my dear love, will be pleased to be there. I will arrange for Blanche’s burial beside her father at Kettlethorpe. It is decided.’

  I went to Pleshey Castle. The Duke kissed me and dispatched me with a substantial retinue, arranging high-handedly for Agnes in the company of John and Henry to join me there, as he arranged for Blanche to go home for the last time, where she would lie in peace beside the heart of her father. The Countess, as a close friend of long standing and blood relative of the Duke, opened her doors to me with a quizzical expression as she took stock of my figure.

  ‘When are you planning to give birth to this child?’

  ‘Two months ago, I think,’ I replied, heaving myself from the litter.

  Countess Joan smiled at me. ‘Come and be at ease. I will look after you.’

  It was there that I gave birth to a daughter, who emerged into the world with placid acceptance of her change of surroundings and predictably dark russet hair. I called her Joan in honour of the Countess who allowed me to mourn Blanche on her broad shoulder and kept me abreast of affairs beyond our walls when John could not, for King Edward had died, sinking the court into mourning and keeping the Duke fixed in London.

  ‘When you return, all will be well,’ Countess Joan announced with all her years of experience of court affairs. She set the cradle containing Joan rocking with one practised foot as we sat together in the nursery. She had two daughters of her own. ‘It’s a new reign and everyone’s of a mind to rejoice and look for new beginnings with a handsome young king at the helm. John’s being astute in his dealings with his enemies, and they’re of a mood to come to terms with the man who stands at the side of the new King.’

  It was a good omen. Had the Duke not knelt at the opening of the new Parliament at Westminster to swear his allegiance to King Richard, denying any charge of treason or cowardice on his part? Had not the peers of the realm and Parliament received the Duke with honour and begged him to be comforter and councillor to King Richard? Even the City of London asked pardon from the Duke for their past criticisms. The Duke was safe, restored to favour, no longer threatened by vicious Walsingham or self-seeking de la Mare.

  My mind steadied into serenity with the birth of my new child, my world tilting back so that my thoughts steadied and I was comfortable again. Blanche would always remain a scar on my heart but I would learn to bear my grief with gratitude for the loving child she had been. I would never forget her. All my fears for the Duke were unfounded. How foolish I had been. Even knowing that he had imprisoned Speaker de la Mare in Leicester Castle with no hope of a trial did not disturb me to any degree.

  And when the Duke wrote: Come to me at Kenilworth, I went.

  April 1378: Leicester

  It was one of those soft spring days that only April can produce, as if by magic, after the bleakness of a cold March. Shower-clouds had just cleared and the pale sun turned all the drops on thatch and wood and budding leaf to crystal. Even the rubies sewn into the Duke’s gauntlets and pinned to his cap were dulled in comparison.

  We were in Leicester together, one of the precious moments we would snatch before the Duke must turn his mind once more to English policy abroad and the continuing education of the young King Richard, and I to the building chaos that was Kettlethorpe and my trio of Beaufort children once more ensconced there.

  I had never been as content as I was that day in Leicester, for were we not together? My happiness was so intense that I could taste it, sweet as a new honeycomb on my tongue. Since my enforced sojourn at Pleshey I had learned to live from day to day, to savour every moment, and today it was enough to be with him. He would be away at war in France before the end of the summer, and there would be no more idylls for us to linger in. The English fleet had already sailed from England a week ago with the purpose of crushing the fleets of France and Castile, and the Duke must follow.

  But for now, I could be with him, confident in my position at his side even as I acknowledged the undercurrent of desolation that was always present, and always would be. I knew I could never experience true happiness, simply because of the life I had chosen for myself. There would always be that piercing grief that I could never have a permanence in his life.

  I found myself smiling, if a little sadly. How remarkably innocent I had been when I had thought that I could simply step into the role of mistress, enjoy the glory of being with him, and not have to pay any price of merit. How irresponsible. I had thought I could bask in our love without penalty. Now I was worldly-wise enough to see that there would always be a cost, and I accepted it, even the rank disapproval of the Duchess of Gloucester who turned a very obvious cold shoulder against me, making no effort to hide that she despised me. Did she not have royal blood in her aristocratic veins? I, of course, was nothing but a commoner in her eyes. I had become used to her superior condescension by now. I was no longer wounded.

  ‘My Lady of Swynford?’

  I blinked in the sunshine, recalled to my immediate surroundings. It was the Duke, regarding me across a motley of merchant hoods and felt caps and stalwart wool-clad shoulders.

  ‘Forgive me, my lord,’ I replied formally as I gathered up my reins, which I had allowed to slacken dangerously, and rearranged the voluminous folds of my skirt. We must be preparing to move off. I sighed a little at the prospect of more business.

  Instead, he pushed his mount towards me until we sat side by side, and he lowered his voice, eyes appreciative on my face. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Far away, I’m afraid.’ In fact, with my daughter Margaret, who, to her own satisfaction, had taken the veil at Barking Abbey. It was an honour and I was proud for her.

  ‘But not so far that I cannot reach you. Can we escape from this endless discussion of town rules and regulations, do you suppose?’ There was a jaunty air to the Duke’s manner, and his less than discreet comment surprised me. Impeccable as his courtesy usually was in company, he had grown weary of the merchants’ demands and the Mayor’s persistence over the contentious issue of taxes. Indeed, he waved them aside with casual indifference, blind to their annoyance, careless of the official disfavour of his high-handed rejection of their pleas to pay less. ‘I am finished here,’ he said, and turning from them to me: ‘Unless you, my lady, are of a mind to purchase a basket of oysters?’

  As he gestured towards the woman who advertised her wares with a voice worthy of a royal herald, I saw the gleam in his eye.

  ‘I might,’ I replied lightly, not averse to a flirtatious exchange since he was obviously of a mind to respond, even as I was uncomfortable with his ability to make enemies when the mood was on him.

  ‘Can I persuade you not to?’ Now the gleam was accompanied by a grin.

  My heart melted, my discomfort evaporated. The Duke was his own man and would order his affairs with the same nerveless assurance that he always did. As for me,
what other woman in the length and breadth of the country could claim to own the total love and adoration of the one man who filled her own heart? Was there any woman as fortunate as I? I thought longingly of the island of peace, isolated behind the formidable walls of the castle. We would eat together—probably not oysters. Walk in the gardens. Talk of whatever came into our minds. The Duke would read to me, if I asked him, weaving the enchantments of the old legends in his beautiful voice, which he now used to my persuasion.

  ‘I say we should make our apologies, before the Mayor can find some other matter to claim my attention. Such as the state of the town midden.’

  He turned his horse towards the castle, saluting a farewell to the Mayor and aldermen who still sat in a knot of frustrated corporate business, and I kicked my mare to follow him. Recalcitrant animal that she was, she promptly balked at a cur that snarled round her legs, and planted her feet. The ducal retinue came to a chaotic stop behind me.

  ‘Will you move, you foolish animal!’ I demanded, aware of my flushed cheeks as I used my heels to no effect.

  Without a word, the Duke turned his horse about to come to my aid. He grasped my bridle near the bit and hauled the mare into a spritely gait to keep up with him.

  ‘I’ll give you an animal with more spirit,’ he offered. ‘This one goes to sleep on every possible occasion.’

  He kept the bridle in his hand, forcing her to keep pace with her companion, as we wound through the streets, through the townsfolk busy about their own affairs, towards the castle; the Mayor, aldermen, cleric and our own retinue followed behind.

  ‘Have you decided where you will go next week?’ the Duke asked as we manoeuvred around a woman with her baskets of apples, small and wizened from the previous year’s harvest.

  ‘Yes, to Kettlethorpe. To see how the rebuilding is progressing. I may have a hall fit to receive visitors by the end of the summer. And to see the children, of course.’

  The Beaufort children. For a moment I felt the weight of his regard full of compassion for me, the brief pressure of his fingers on my hand, acknowledging that my Swynford children were no longer all under my care. But John and Henry and Joan waited for me at Kettlethorpe with Thomas Swynford. I smiled, to reassure him that Blanche’s death was not about to reduce me to a bout of tears as it could still sometimes do.

  ‘You’ll not see me in Kettlethorpe,’ the Duke gave solemn warning. ‘The fleet’s sailed and I must follow without more delay.’ He led me round a stall selling pans and cooking pots. One of the pans fell to the floor, dislodged by a climbing child, the clang and roll making my mare skitter again, and John laughed. ‘I’ll send you a gift.’

  I caught his glance. ‘An iron pan?’

  ‘Do you want an iron pan? I cannot imagine why. But if that is what you want…Why give a woman something she will not make use of?’

  ‘Like a chain of rubies.’ I nodded at the chain around his neck. ‘Your daughter Philippa once told me that you only give valuable gifts to people you don’t particularly care for.’

  ‘Did she?’ His eyes registered bafflement.

  ‘Like silver cups with lids.’

  ‘Have I ever given you one?’

  ‘Yes. But I think she’s right.’ I laughed. ‘So I’ll have the iron pan and the wagon-loads of wood or the prime venison or the tun of wine…’

  ‘Well, it must prove something if I’m concerned for the roof over your head and your sustenance,’ John admitted, still amused, still holding tight to my bridle, for the mare, scenting her stable now that we were in the environs of the castle, was keen to have her head and continue through the gateway. ‘I was not aware that Philippa was so observant.’

  What was it that made me look up, away from him? Something caught at my senses in that moment, like the threatening drone of a hornet before it stings. Except that it was no wasp. It was no sound that alerted me. I looked around at those who rode with us. The Mayor was occupied only with the list of complaints clutched in his fist, the merchants merely jostling for position. The priest might have drunk sour ale from the downturn of his mouth, but I had rarely seen him smile. I glanced at the Duke who had turned to cast an eye over an altercation between two men over the sale of a horse, and seemed entirely unaware.

  There was nothing for my concern here. We continued on our way, until the street became uneven and I took control of my own creature again, falling behind at the parting of the ways when the conversation once more ranged over rents and tenancies, and then the ducal party was alone.

  ‘What is it?’ John murmured, once more riding beside me on the final stretch, quick to pick up my unease.

  ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps nothing.’

  There was nothing here to give me cause for worry, to spoil these last days. Once in the castle courtyard, as I slid from saddle to ground, Simon Pakenham, our Leicester steward, approached and bowed as he took the mare’s reins from me.

  ‘I trust you enjoyed your day, my lady.’ His voice and face were sombre, but then when were they not? Few of the Duke’s officials were quick to approve of me.

  And there was the Duke walking beside me.

  ‘Are you anxious over something?’

  ‘No. Not a thing. Except that you will leave me.’

  Our leave-taking was passionate and bittersweet in private.

  Don’t leave me.

  Once I would have said it. Once I did. I no longer shamed myself or him by putting my longing into words. It was not the life we led, to be together, to be able to map out the pattern of our days for month after month. What purpose in my dreaming over an existence where our days together could be enjoyed without interruption? What I knew was that wherever duty called him, he would return to me.

  In private we allowed emotion to rule. In public he handed me over to my escort, formally putting me under their protection with a bow and acceptable words of farewell.

  My journey to Kettlethorpe was without incident, my reunion with Agnes and the children one of noisy delight. Not even a pair of squabbling storm-crows on the new roof of my manor gave me pause for thought.

  I had seen the little cavalcade of three horses and single baggage wagon from my chamber and idly watched it draw nearer. After two weeks at Kettlethorpe I had decided that Master Burton, Master Ingoldsby’s young and enthusiastic replacement, had my new hall well in hand. It had no need of my supervision, leaving me free to return to my position at Hertford. I would take Agnes and the children with me. The days of hiding my Beaufort children were long gone. They would join the nursery at Hertford.

  If I was not waylaid by chance visitors.

  I held Joan in my arms, pointing out the newcomers. Master Burton would offer them ale and bread and chivvy them on their way. The need to return to Hertford had begun to lay an urgent hand on me, even though the Duke would not be there.

  The travellers pulled into the courtyard, but not before, Joan still clutched hard against me, I was down the stairs and standing beside the leading rider. They had barely drawn to a standstill.

  ‘What is heaven’s name are you doing here?’

  Not the most unctuous of welcomes but, as I very well knew, this visitor had no taste for Lincolnshire seclusion. She slid down to stand before me and it was only then that I saw the expression on her face behind the weariness of travel.

  ‘Philippa! What is it?’

  I could not imagine what had brought my sister all this way from Hertford. And then when she simply looked at me without replying, terror rose in me, filling me to the brim like a winter storm drain.

  ‘Is it Margaret?’

  ‘No.’ Briefly her expression softened. Blanche’s death had touched us all. ‘Margaret is well. And my children too.’

  ‘Then the Duke—’

  ‘It nothing to do with the children or the Duke. No one’s dead,’ she interrupted. There was no mistaking the emotion in her eye, and it seemed to me that she had ridden the whole distance with some gnawing worry as her constant companion, a burr b
eneath her saddle that gave her no peace.

  ‘What has happened?’

  ‘The sky has fallen on your head, Katherine.’

  ‘What?’

  Pale of face, jaw clenched, she was making no sense.

  ‘And all things considered, on my head too. I thought it better if I was not part of Duchess Constanza’s household just at this moment.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It is not something that I will discuss out here.’

  ‘There’s no one out here to hear!’

  Her servants had gone, Master Burton directing the horses to my smartly renovated stables. There was no one to eavesdrop apart from Joan who was more intent on watching the ducks marching across the grass behind me.

  ‘I would still prefer to say what I have to say in the privacy of four walls. The words are not ones I normally find a use for.’

  I thought for a moment through the complicated weaving of my sister’s thoughts, still unable to imagine the cause of her distress. There was only one possibility.

  ‘Is it Geoffrey?’ I asked finally.

  And she burst into tears.

  Five minutes later we were in my chamber, my sister divested of her outer garments, seated on my bed with a cup of wine in one hand and a square of linen in the other. Her sobs had become mere hitches of breath although her eyes were still bright with tears and undoubtedly hostile. I sat beside her, Joan on the floor at my feet.

  ‘What has he done?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Geoffrey!’

  ‘It’s not Geoffrey I’ve come about. It’s you!’ Philippa dragged a breath into her lungs and expelled it. ‘How could you be so stupid?’

  It was as if she had struck me, a sharp open-handed slap.

  ‘What have I done?’

  ‘Only destroyed you reputation!’

  ‘No…’ This must be some mistake.

  ‘Do you want me to tell you what is said and written about you?’

  Not waiting for a reply, she told me. The words used against me filled my room with such vile hatred that I could barely stay enclosed within it, but as I stood, my sister’s hand shot out to drag me back and anchor me next to her on my bed.