‘Sometimes it makes us do things we do not expect, even of ourselves.’ Isabella’s gaze seemed very pointed all of a sudden. ‘Maybe sometimes they’re the wrong things. Maybe we have regrets, but often there’s no choice. You’ll understand that when you fall in love yourself some day.’ There was a brief pause. ‘Unless you have already?’
‘Me, your lady?’
‘You’re an attractive young lady. You must have admirers. Is there no one you favour? No one you love?’
Mathilde’s mouth went dry. She cared for Henry, she seemed to spend half of her life worrying about him, she was even prepared to risk the damage to her reputation by meeting him, but love was too strong a word...wasn’t it? She hadn’t let herself dwell on her feelings too deeply while there was still no hope of a future together, but maybe she could talk to the Queen about them? Surely she, of all people, would understand what it was like to care for someone you shouldn’t? A Mortimer especially? And maybe Isabella would tell her that it was all right, that Henry’s birth didn’t matter and their secrecy was all forgiven. Maybe she would even offer to help them...
It was on the tip of Mathilde’s tongue to tell her everything, only the memory of Cecily’s warning made her hesitate. What if the Queen didn’t understand or approve? She had the power to ensure they never saw each other again. How could she take the risk?
‘I’ve no dowry, my lady.’ She evaded the question instead. ‘I cannot afford to fall in love.’
‘A practical answer.’ Isabella’s eyes narrowed slightly before dropping to the gold brooch fastened to her girdle. ‘I have not seen this before. A gift?’
‘Yes, Your Grace. Lady Cecily’s eldest son, Edmund, gave it to me. To remember her by.’
‘Edmund... I would like to have met him.’
Mathilde almost laughed out loud with relief. Obviously the Queen had no idea about Henry if she was asking about Edmund. ‘He reminded me of her a great deal, Your Grace.’
‘Mmm.’ Isabella looked thoughtful. ‘Well then, you may go. I’m prepared to overlook your behaviour this time, but it must not happen again.’
‘It will not, Your Grace, I promise.’
‘Then we’ll say no more about it. Your loyalty does you credit, Mathilde. I would that all of my ladies were more like you.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
London
—spring 1327
‘You need to get out of here.’
Mathilde started at the sound of Henry’s voice in her ear. Quickly, she spun around, searching the hall for some indication of danger. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘Nothing new, but the Queen and Mortimer will be busy with the council for hours. This is the perfect opportunity for me to show you London.’
‘Show me London?’ she repeated, gaping as if he’d gone mad. ‘I can’t just leave court!’
‘Why not?’ He quirked an eyebrow. ‘We should make the most of whatever freedom we have. Besides, you deserve some time to yourself. She’s had you running around for weeks.’
‘And she might need me again today. I ought to be here just in case.’
‘Mathilde, how many times have we had a chance to talk properly over the past three months?’
Frowning, she opened her lips and then closed them again. He was right. They’d barely had any opportunities to meet since the coronation in February. Isabella and Mortimer had been appointed co-regents until the new King was old enough to rule by himself and they were busier than ever. Which inevitably meant that she and Henry were, too.
‘She has other ladies.’ He jerked his head to where Katharine was sitting beside the great fireplace. ‘They can attend to her, if necessary.’
‘I suppose so...’ Mathilde chewed on her bottom lip indecisively. Katharine had returned to court two weeks before, not quite her old self again, but better than when she’d left. ‘But I don’t want to burden her with anything.’
‘She offered.’
‘When?’
‘A few minutes ago when I suggested you could do with a day of adventure. She said to go and enjoy yourself and that she’d think of an excuse if the Queen called for you.’ He raised his hands when she looked at him sceptically. ‘Those were her exact words, I swear it.’
‘But I can’t just go off into the city with you. It wouldn’t be seemly.’ Despite the primness of the words, Mathilde felt a tide of excitement start to rise up inside her, tempted despite her better judgement. She’d never seen London except from horseback or as part of the Queen’s entourage, and the prospect of escaping the court for an afternoon with Henry was both intriguing and exhilarating. If she could only be sure that the Queen wouldn’t summon her... As she wavered, Katharine met her eye and gave a small nod.
‘Think of it as a day of misrule,’ Henry murmured, his hand touching lightly against the small of her back. ‘Now, no more excuses. Meet me by the main gate in half an hour and wear something plain.’
He left before she could think of another excuse, not that she tried very hard, throwing Katharine a grateful smile before running up the stairs to her room and rummaging through a coffer for one of her mother’s old gowns. Despite their age and ragged appearance she’d been reluctant to leave them behind in France and now it felt good to see them again, as if she were greeting old friends. Hastily, she pulled the scratchy fabric over her head and then draped an old, waist-length grey cloak about her shoulders, drawing the hood up so that nobody would recognise her from a distance.
* * *
‘You came, then?’ Henry was sitting on a barrel outside the gatehouse as she approached, his handsome face breaking into a wide smile at the sight of her.
‘You made it sound too exciting to resist.’ She grinned back. ‘Now I want to see everything.’
‘Then everything it is.’ He cocked his head, his gaze warming appreciatively. ‘You were wearing that dress on the first day we met.’
‘Was I?’ She glanced down, surprised to realise he was right. ‘You have a good memory.’
‘I’m a spy. I remember details, especially pretty ones.’
‘You told me I looked nervous that day.’
‘Nervous and pretty.’ His gaze flickered past her shoulder towards the keep.
‘What is it?’ Mathilde glanced around, too.
‘Just making sure we’re not being watched. Ready?’
‘Ready.’ She nodded and he took hold of her hand, lacing their fingers together as he led her through the gatehouse and out into the city.
Like Paris, London was huge and sprawling, with more than a hundred parishes, each one of which sounded as if it were ringing its bells simultaneously. Mathilde had no idea where they were going and, after a few twists and turns along streets that became increasingly narrow and more winding, no idea where they were either. There were houses and shops on either side of them, most at least six floors high and shadowed with balconies or overhangs that turned the world into a series of interconnected tunnels with only thin slivers of sky above. She glanced upwards, looking for a reassuring glimpse of blue, and saw only grey chimney smoke. In such a maze, she knew she was entirely reliant on Henry to help her find her way back again, but the thought didn’t bother her. She trusted him. Even Katharine appeared to trust him and her approval was the hardest of anyone’s to obtain.
At last, they entered a bustling marketplace and she tensed, feeling as if all her senses were being assaulted at once. The scene was a jumble of noise and colour and smells, with just about every type of shop she could think of—blacksmiths and silversmiths and apothecaries and pelterers and spice traders all working side by side—as well as street vendors carrying trays of pies and bread on wooden trays. The combination of aromas alone was overwhelming, like leather and fish and herbs all rolled together.
Henry must have sensed her unease because he let go of her hand and slipped an arm around her
waist, drawing her against him so that the whole sides of their bodies were pressed together. Despite her fear, she felt a frisson of excitement at the contact. She knew that she ought not to allow such liberties, especially in public and broad daylight to boot, but today was different. What had he called it? A day of misrule. They weren’t members of the court any more, just two citizens wandering freely about the city. It made a pleasant change to feel so at liberty. And if they chose to walk together so closely, who was going to object? Who was ever going to know?
‘We’ll be through all this soon.’ Henry raised his voice above the hubbub. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘Where are we going?’ she shouted back.
‘To the r—!’
‘Pardon?’
‘To the r—!’
She gave up trying to understand, concentrating instead on not bumping into people and breathing a sigh of relief as they finally turned and made their way down a side street, the sounds and smells and crush of the marketplace gradually receding until they were standing alone on an empty jetty beside the Thames.
‘Oh!’ Instinctively she reeled backwards, a sudden onslaught of panic clawing at her throat. With her eyes cast downwards, she hadn’t been aware of the river until that moment.
‘Mathilde?’ Henry turned towards her in surprise. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Ye-es.’ She dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to distract herself from the fear, but they were standing so close to the edge, the water swirling in tight circles like a bubbling cauldron below her feet, that she had the feeling of being on the edge of a precipice. ‘I n-need to get my b-breath back. The market was so crowded.’
‘Sorry about that. I’ll find us another way back.’ He gave her a sympathetic squeeze and then lifted his arm, pointing downriver. ‘I just thought you’d like to see the view from here. Impressive, isn’t it?’
‘View of what?’ She followed the direction of his hand and then gasped in amazement, her fear momentarily forgotten. She’d heard tales about London Bridge, but it surpassed anything she’d imagined, spanning the entire width of the river on nineteen vast stone pillars. Then there were the arches—twenty in total—on top of which were built hundreds of timbered houses and shops, each in a different style, with precarious-looking hautpas extending over the sides on massive wooden struts.
‘It’s incredible.’ Even despite the water rushing beneath, she couldn’t stop staring. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it a bridge or a building?’
‘Both.’
‘Do people live on it?’
‘Live, work, bake pies. That’s where we’re going by the way, to the finest pie shop in the whole of London. England probably.’
‘Oh.’ She dragged her gaze away from the bridge. The last thing she wanted to do was set foot on such a structure, but Henry looked so pleased with the idea that she couldn’t bring herself to say so. ‘Are you telling me that we’ve left the royal court to visit a pie shop?’ She swallowed her unease, teasing him instead.
‘Would you prefer more partridge?’
‘No!’ She laughed, shaking her head with mock horror. She was sick to her back teeth with Isabella’s favourite delicacy. The court had to eat it almost daily. ‘Pie sounds delicious.’
‘Then let’s go. I’m starving.’
They made their way along the jetty, then up some wooden steps on to the main thoroughfare, dodging their way between riders on horseback and several large carts laden with boxes and barrels. As it turned out, the bridge wasn’t half as intimidating as she’d feared. With shops on both sides blocking the view of the water she could almost forget that they were walking above a river, allowing her to relax again. One of Henry’s arms was still around her waist and she slid her own out from beneath her cloak to curl around him, too. He darted a quick look sideways, but she only lifted her chin and smiled. It was nice to surprise him for a change.
‘How do you know London so well?’ she asked, still smiling.
‘I stayed in lodgings here while Mortimer was in the Tower. There wasn’t much to do except explore the city and wait for instructions.’ He turned his head, his mouth brushing lightly against the top of her ear. ‘I tried a lot of pie shops, but this is the best.’
She sucked in a breath, the feeling of his lips against her skin making her pulse quicken. It reminded her of the last time they’d kissed in Bristol, months ago now. He was right, it had been too long since they’d had more than a few stolen moments together. And it had been much, much too long since he’d kissed her.
‘Here we are.’
She sniffed the air appreciatively as he pointed towards an unobtrusive-looking wooden building, so narrow that it seemed to have been rammed in between two others as an afterthought. The smells emanating from within, however, were mouth-wateringly delicious, making her stomach growl with anticipation. Henry handed a few coins over the counter and an ancient-looking woman passed them a hand-sized pie each. Mathilde nodded her thanks. The pastry was freshly baked and still hot to the touch, making her fingers sizzle.
‘Can we sit?’ Henry offered the woman a few more coins and she gave a toothless grin, pointing over her shoulder towards the back of the building.
‘My thanks. This way.’ He jerked his head to Mathilde and they headed past the counter and behind a brightly painted screen to a table set beneath a large, square-shaped window, its shutters folded back to give a spectacular view east over the river.
Mathilde forced herself to keep moving forward, her mind spinning at the thought of eating in such a spot, though it was no hardship to sit when her knees felt so unsteady. The current actually seemed slower here in the middle of the bridge, but the water still looked dark and treacherous, as strong and unstoppable as time itself.
‘You don’t like the river.’ Henry’s tone altered as he sat down on the stool opposite. It wasn’t accusing, just alert, as if he’d suddenly come to the realisation.
‘What?’ She lifted her eyes to his with a jolt.
‘You didn’t want to sit on the riverbank that evening we walked through the gardens in Paris either.’
‘No.’ She could hardly deny it. ‘I didn’t.’
‘What is it? The water?’
She glanced sideways out of the window and then quickly back again. ‘Not the water itself, but areas of water, rivers especially.’
‘I should have realised sooner.’ He started to get up. ‘I’m sorry. We can go somewhere else.’
‘No.’ She caught at his hand, summoning all her nerve to tug him back down again. ‘I appreciate the offer, but if I can brave sailing across the Channel then I can sit on top of a bridge. Maybe it will help me to get past the fear.’
‘You don’t have to, not on my account.’
‘I know, but we’re here now.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘You wouldn’t stop me from sampling the best pie in London, would you?’
‘Hmm.’ He looked unconvinced, shifting his stool away from the window so that her gaze was drawn into the shop instead of outwards. ‘Sailing back from France must have been quite an ordeal for you.’
‘It was.’
‘Then I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.’ He looked genuinely regretful. ‘Have you always felt this way?’
‘No-o... Not always.’
‘So there’s a reason?’
‘Yes.’ She lowered her gaze, though she could still feel his questioning one on her face. ‘It’s because of my mother. She drowned when I was twelve.’
‘Ah. I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’
She swallowed hard against a tight feeling in her chest. Part of her wanted to change the subject, as she always did when anyone asked about her mother, and yet another, apparently stronger, part of her wanted to talk about it for once, the words already forming on her lips. ‘They called it an accident, but it
wasn’t. My father and I found her and there were stones in the pockets of her gown. I watched him take them out and then he told me never to speak about it to anyone. So I never have, not even to Hawise. Until now.’ She lifted her eyes back to his, looking for judgement and not finding any.
‘Then I appreciate your telling me.’
She nodded jerkily. ‘I’ve hated areas of water ever since. As for my father...he was never the same afterwards. He hardly ever looked at me again, let alone spoke to me. For the next five years, he acted as if I barely existed. And then he took me to London and left me there. Sometimes, I think it was because I looked like her and he couldn’t bear it. Other times, I think he was angry that I saw what she did. But most of all, I think it was because he blamed me.’
‘How could he blame you?’
She squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment, considering telling him the whole truth and settling on half instead. ‘My mother was always unhappy. Sometimes she would just sit and stare without speaking for hours, like we weren’t even there. She didn’t like being a mother, I think, and every time she had another baby she got worse. Maybe we drove her to it, my brothers and sister and I. Into a mortal sin.’
‘You didn’t.’
She blinked at his certainty. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because you were a child. You can’t blame a child for something like that. It wasn’t your fault.’
‘Thank you.’ She felt the tightness start to ease a little. She’d gone against her father’s wishes by telling him about the stones, but she felt relieved rather than guilty, as if she’d been carrying around something equally heavy. Maybe she’d tell him the rest one day, but just talking about what she’d witnessed that terrible morning made her feel lighter already. So much that even the sound of the river beneath the window seemed to recede slightly. ‘I think that was why I was so homesick at first. Because deep down I knew that it was for ever, that I would never be able to go back. Only it took me a while to accept it. I think—I know—that my father doesn’t want anything more to do with me. I haven’t had a word from home since I arrived in Paris. Not a word for almost two years.’
Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 59