A tapestry of treason, p.26
A Tapestry of Treason, page 26
My words halted, fell into silence. I remembered the page’s warning and its terrible aftermath.
Edmund stood, mischief suddenly wiped clean. ‘You received news of your daughter’s illness at the reception.’
All washed back over me, a fast unruly tide that became a deluge. I covered my face with my hands as if the imprisonment of my fingers could contain the grief that surprised me with its virulence. The pain in my heart was a physical hurt but I would not weep.
I heard his footsteps. Then felt his arms come round me and I in my weakness rested my forehead, lightly, against his shoulder. Just for a handful of seconds, when my whole world became centred in the encirclement of his arms. My breathing, already compromised, became more difficult; the beat of the pulse in my throat was unbearable.
Before I pushed him away.
Except that he did not allow it, instead using the flowing sleeve of his tunic he dried my cheeks of the tears that I had been so determined not to shed, holding me still when embarrassment would have made me turn away.
‘She was so young,’ I explained, unable to escape, unwilling to explain.
‘And her loss is a cruel one.’
‘I feel an insidious guilt that I could not prevent her death.’
‘It was God’s will. You cannot carry the blame.’
I stiffened beneath his light touch. ‘I regret my lack of control.’
‘It has been a trying time for you.’ Before I could deny it, he leaned and placed his lips softly on mine. The lightest of kisses. ‘Now go and make your dispositions with your women and I will take you to the Queen.’
It was a shock, robbing me of an easy refusal. Thus I became a member of the Queen’s household. Not an onerous task nor one to which I could not quickly become accustomed. Queen Joanna was an easy ruler of those who surrounded her.
‘I will visit you,’ Edmund had said on delivering me into the ranks of the Queen’s women.
‘There is no need.’
I already regretted what I saw as my weakness. I would live better without pity. It was a relief that the Queen received me with no more than a nod of acceptance. It was a strange experience, to be met with understanding, even if it was unspoken.
As for the Earl of Kent’s token commiseration, best not to think of that. Best not to think of my unwarranted reaction to him.
* * *
Edmund Holland began to haunt my days.
‘What is this?’ I asked, the package lying on my hands like an altar offering.
‘A gift,’ he said.
‘Why? It is not the day of my birth, that I must celebrate.’
‘I do not know the day of your birth.’
‘Nor is it New Year.’
‘As I am aware. This is in the manner of a wooing.’
It was the last statement I would have expected. An embrace when I was in extremis was one thing; this was quite another, and regrettably I laughed. It sounded harsh, drawing attention from the Court women who until now had had their heads bent in gossip over some mindless stitching. Fortunately the Queen was not of their number.
‘I have no wish to be the recipient of a wooing.’
My weakness at the Aldgate house, I assured myself, was a momentary lapse. I needed no one’s shoulder to weep on. I needed no man’s kisses.
‘No? I recall how soft your lips were. In spite of the tears, which were entirely acceptable in the circumstances.’
I had no wish for such recall. ‘I do not give you permission to woo me.’
‘I don’t need your permission. Merely your acceptance of the gift. Open it.’
I loosed the soft leather covering to expose a pair of beautifully embroidered cuffs, edged in the finest lace. I could not help but be impressed.
‘They are exquisite.’
‘I brought them home from Ireland.’
I ran my fingertip over the incomparable craftsmanship.
‘I knew that one day I would meet the woman to whom I would wish to present them,’ he continued.
‘It would be indiscreet of me to accept.’
‘Not necessarily. If it displeases you, so that I cannot woo you openly, then I will do so in secret.’
His smile, one so rarely seen, had great allure, a Holland trait. Had John Holland wooed my mother in similar fashion? I wondered. I could understand why she had succumbed. But I was made of stronger stuff.
‘If it is in secret, how will I know that it is a wooing?’
The smile vanished at my deliberate perfidy.
‘Because you will know me, and you will know the value of my words and actions.’
He bowed and left me still holding the cuffs in their leather wrapping.
And woo me is exactly what he did. Oh, he was persistent, showering me with items that the beloved might acceptably receive from her lover without arousing too much gossip or scandal. Except that he was not my lover and I did not think that I was his beloved.
Edmund Holland kept his page well occupied. Over the coming weeks I was in receipt of a brooch, a mirror, a belt, a purse, a comb, a pair of gloves. None of great value, but all proclaiming: You are my chosen one. I received them, admired them and placed them in a coffer, unnerved by the whole experience. I might be baffled but it was enough to draw the interest of the royal ladies when the page approached.
‘Whom have you drawn into your net this week, Constance?’
‘No one, to my knowledge.’
‘Are they all anonymous?’ They peered over my shoulder in the manner of inquisitive doves in a dovecote.
‘Nothing but a mischief-maker, I expect. Who would be foolish enough to send me lover’s gifts?’
I would lie wholeheartedly, eager to deflect suspicion. I thought on balance they agreed with me, and indeed there was nothing to suspect. Except:
‘Isn’t it the same page every time?’ they smirked.
‘I have not noticed.’
I felt a flush of heat in my cheeks, but when Edmund Holland and I were in the same room, he greeted me as distantly as any man of my acquaintance.
I did not know what to make of him. In truth I had never been wooed before. Trivial as the gifts were, I was overpowered by them. I had received formal offerings from my family at New Year as was customary, but such gifts were entirely predictable. A bolt of rich cloth, a pair of paternoster beads, an enamelled cup with a lid. Had I ever received a personal gift from Thomas? Not that I could recall, since there had never been any wooing between us. No carefully chosen trinket. Not even a badly chosen one, I admitted. Since our betrothal had been a youthful affair, any gifts – and they escaped my memory – had probably been chosen as suitable by his mother.
This shower of lover’s trinkets was very personal. It was very deliberate.
Even more confusing, what did he want from me?
In contrary fashion, I resisted him, acknowledging that I was becoming too dependent on the pleasure that the gifts brought. Edmund Holland’s appearance at Court was infrequent for he appeared to be engaged in royal business, but when he was not there, I looked for him. The gifts meant nothing, I chided. He had been kind after the death of Elizabeth. These items were only symbols of his gratitude for my prayers and the candles I had lit – not that he would have known of those – that had brought him through the battle at Shrewsbury without harm. Of what importance were lover’s tokens?
But then, I did not think he was merely a kind man. An ambitious one, as were all the Hollands. Was that the root and branch of it, of his solicitousness? But there was no logic in such a path. I would not be influential in bringing him to anyone’s notice. I would not promote his career. More like I would taint him with the whiff of treason that clung to me and my brother. Nor was I sufficiently wealthy to draw his attention. I was no desirable heiress.
‘Why would you even consider becoming closely acquainted with Constance of York?’ I asked him with uncomfortable directness when an occasion presented itself. ‘It will do you no good.’
‘It is not a choice for me,’ he replied.
Which was no answer at all.
Since I could see no way forward, and since I refused to examine my own emotions on this matter, I decided to put a stop to it. When a Holland page approached with yet another neat leather-wrapped package, causing some merriment, I took it, placed it in the small travelling coffer I had deliberately to hand, and handed the whole back to the youth.
‘Return these to your lord.’
‘Yes, my lady. Is there a message?’
‘There is no need for one.’
He would understand. I had returned all his gifts. Tucking the coffer under his arm, the page departed, while I decided that all I felt was a wave of relief. But here was a point of interest, and one that dried my throat. Would he take me to task for my gauche return of the collection? Or would he merely make use of the rejected items to lure another more susceptible female to his side?
To my chagrin he did neither. There were no more gifts. Edmund Holland bowed with cool grace as if there had been nothing between us. The whole episode of the gifts was ignored as if it had never occurred.
Which forced me into an explanation of my churlishness, under a pretence of walking beside him to Mass:
‘I could not accept them. It was not appropriate.’
‘Then I will save them and my affections for a woman who considers them appropriate. And who does not allow me to kiss her when she has no intention of returning my admiration. Or accepting my gifts.’
Which put the whole blame on my shoulders. I was furious with him, with myself.
‘You should not have given them to me.’
‘Why not? It was my wish.’
‘It was not mine.’
‘Then there will be no more.’
I hastened my footsteps to enter the chapel in the wake of the Queen. It was ignoble of me, and I regretted it, but I had achieved what I had set out to do. Any intimate relationship between us was thoroughly severed.
* * *
Tell me the name of a woman who is satisfied when she is no longer acknowledged?
I wanted… But there was the crux of the matter, the grub in the core of the perfect fruit. I did not know what I wanted, and how I had come to this impasse, I had no clear idea. This rift between us was my own doing, and now, perversely, I wished that I had not rebuffed him so forcefully. I lived with Edmund Holland’s deliberate distancing, suffered it, until, infuriated by it, I decided that it behoved me to put it right. I misliked the chill in his eye when it infrequently settled on me. I discovered that I desired his kindness, his attention. I craved the chivalric admiration of a handsome man who sought me out in a crowd. But how to attract a man with some subtlety? I had as little experience of giving gifts from the heart as I had of receiving them.
Thus I asked the only possible source of such skills, the women of the Queen’s Court, when we were sitting in the scented arbour of the rose garden. I kept my voice light, unconcerned.
‘What would you give to a man, to catch his interest?’
All eyes were turned to me.
‘Could this be the man who gave you gifts and who has now apparently stopped? Has he abandoned you?’
So they all knew. The page no longer came hovering with packages.
‘Possibly,’ I replied.
The results were frivolous, with much laughter. A book. A hanap with jewelled stem and cover. Some item of horse harness. A pair of gauntlets. A virgin on Saturday nights. They were either ridiculous or as unimaginative as the gifts I had bestowed on Thomas.
‘You are no help at all.’
‘A hound,’ said the Queen, smiling over the stitching that she did for appearances’ sake. She took as little pleasure in it as did I. ‘Or even better, a pair of hounds, if he is a man who enjoys hunting. They will bring you to mind every time he takes to the field and he can praise them for running well after the quarry.’
A better suggestion than most.
* * *
I sought out Dickon who was watching a contest on the tilt ground. His fortunes had taken a turn for the better since the King had decided to make use of him, sending him to Herefordshire in the Welsh March to command a small contingent of men in keeping Glyn Dwr at bay. He had fought in the Battle of Shrewsbury, escaping without too much damage, but with no distinction as far as I could ascertain. Was it lack of aptitude or lack of opportunity? He had not emerged as one of the group of young men frequently found in the company of Prince Hal, but his taking command in his own name had at last given him a maturity as well as a ribald soldier’s vocabulary. He dreamed as much of military glory as did Edmund Holland.
Now I found him where the thud of horses’ hooves, the clash of metal, the raucous calls of praise or ridicule provided a constant backdrop. As chance would have it, he had a hound at his knee, and was pulling on its ears to its obvious delight.
‘Can we find somewhere quieter?’ I asked, dropping to one of the rough benches beside him. His fellows, owners of the stridency, melted away with sympathetic glances in Dickon’s direction and some questionable gestures.
‘No. It’s a tilt ground. It’s always noisy. What brings you here, Constance?’
‘I need a hound.’
‘What sort of hound?’
‘I care not. But one with better breeding than that one.’ It was slobbering over his shoes. ‘I need a pair of them. Such as would be of value to a hunting man.’
Dickon twitched a shoulder. ‘Edward is your man. He eats, breathes and sleeps hounds.’
Which I knew, but I had no intention of making myself either obvious or grateful to Edward. I ignored the suggestion.
‘This is a small task, Dickon, that is within even your capabilities.’
‘Nice to know I’m appreciated.’ He thought for a moment, watching the distant clash of arms. ‘Do I bring them here, to Westminster?’
‘No. Or yes.’ I had not thought of the practicalities of presenting them. ‘Find out where Edmund Holland might be, and send them to him.’
‘Why?’
‘I owe him a debt. I will write a message. Send the groom who will accompany them to me first. And I want it done quickly. I want it done today.’
I never had much patience. Dickon twitched his agreement even more extravagantly.
‘Who pays for them?’
‘I do. And yes, you will be reimbursed for your efforts. Particularly if you go now. Try the royal kennels first.’
Dickon loped off. Indeed, I could not imagine him on a battlefield, but this task would not be beyond him.
The pair of hunting dogs was duly dispatched, although I never saw them. I paid a remarkably high price, and with the costly creatures I sent a note lacking any sentimentality but one which was intended to placate.
With regret for my less than gracious response to your generosity. The Earl of Kent has need of hunting hounds. I trust that these creatures will be acceptable.
I would not dismiss out of hand the idea of a chivalric knight.
Constance Despenser
There. Brief and specific. I would never sign myself Constanza. I had done all I could to right a trivial wrong, but one that had lain heavy on my conscience.
Returning to my chamber to change my gown for a formal reception for some foreign personage I could not recall, I found the familiar page on my doorstep, an equally familiar travelling coffer tucked once again under his arm.
‘Lady Constance Despenser.’
I held out my hands. I knew what was in it without lifting the lid.
‘The message is: You will know what is in it and who sent it, my lady. And I am to ask for a reward for carrying it so far. It is very heavy.’
‘It is not heavy.’ I held it in one hand to prove my point. ‘And you are impertinent. Tell your lord he can reward you.’
Were we now back on level ground in the gift-giving? It may be so, but I added up the hours involved. These items had been returned to me long before the hounds could have found their new owner. Edmund Holland had taken the initiative here. Who was entrapping whom? How ridiculous this was. The last time I had been plotting it was to kill the King. Now I was reduced to luring a man with a brace of hounds.
Edmund Holland followed hard on the heels of his messenger, before I had even selected a suitably impressive gown for the Queen’s reception. His trail had not been difficult for Dickon to sniff out.
‘I am here to acknowledge the delivery of two limmer hounds.’
His bow was a perfection. I dismissed my women and the garment.
‘Are they acceptable?’
‘Perfectly. They will be admired as a superbly bred addition to any royal hunt.’
Was there amusement in his eyes?
‘Excellent,’ I said.
‘When they grow,’ he added.
‘Grow?’
‘An adult limmer hound should be about this high.’ He gestured with his hand against his thigh. ‘My new hounds are more this size.’ He cupped his hands, describing a small bowl. ‘I estimate that they are less than two months old. They have, as yet, none of the noble formation of their kind.’
Which made me laugh. Dickon had fulfilled everything I had asked of him. Except the obvious.
‘I trust you will be happy to raise them.’
‘Of course. Why did you send them?’
‘I thought I had explained. I owed you a debt.’
‘Yes, you did. But I would rather be your lover than a keeper of your hounds.’
It took my breath.
‘I don’t want a lover.’
‘Then I will kiss you, and you can tell me when it might be that you wish me to become your lover.’
Still I resisted.
‘I don’t want the scandal.’
‘I predict that scandal will tread on your hem, whatever you do, Constanza. When has it ever mattered to you what the Court says of you? As for me, it is bred in my blood and my bones.’
Edmund Holland was decisive. Before I could speak or even think, he took a step forward. Then another. When he folded me into his arms, I felt cherished. It was my downfall. My undoing.
