Chapter 11 Royal Palace of Kennington, London, November 1362
Jeanette stepped from the royal barge and shook out her skirts, shivering despite the thick furs lining her outer gown and cloak.
A bitter wind was blowing off the river which they had just crossed from Westminster.
The water had been so choppy and rough that it was like being at sea.
Violent storms had battered London for several days culminating in a final tantrum of screaming wind that had flattened flimsier buildings, felled numerous trees and whipped up the tides, causing widespread flooding.
Jeanette loved to feel a bracing wind on her face and enjoyed elemental weather, but this recent battering had been terrifying.
It was still rough now. She had thanked God on her knees that they had not been travelling to Bordeaux when the storm struck, for they would certainly have died.
So many ships had gone to the bottom with their crews.
Their stewards had reported that large portions of the palace roof at Kennington had blown away and major shoring up and repairs were required.
The entire chapel roof had ripped off, and there was rain damage to the plastered, painted interior walls.
Jeanette had come with Edward and his brother John to view the extent of the damage, accompanied by builders to assess the required repairs.
Having walked along the path from the river, she paused in front of the palace buildings and studied the gaping holes where the roof shingles had been torn away as if by the claws of a mighty beast. Lifting her skirts above her ankles, she stepped over far-flung debris of broken shingles and snapped branches.
The servants all had dramatic tales to tell of the screaming wind and torrential rain, and narrow escapes.
Everyone opined it was a miracle no one had been killed.
Fortunately, she and Edward had arrived at Westminster for the King’s fiftieth birthday celebrations before the storms began, rather than being caught on the road as they journeyed from Cornwall where they had been spending the autumn.
They should have sailed to Gascony and been in Bordeaux before summer’s end, but the fleet had not been ready and the seas so stormy that Edward had postponed the sailing until spring at least.
Having discussed with the builders what repairs were required to make the palace weatherproof and inhabitable, not least a new chapel roof, their party returned across the river to John’s relatively undamaged Savoy Palace, located a short barge row from Westminster on the same bank as the King’s apartments.
Jeanette covertly studied her brother-in-law as they sat together on the barge with the brown river running fast and heavy, swirled with flotsam.
Ten years younger than Edward, he reminded her of a coiled young lion.
She knew he had been dubious about her marriage to Edward, and though he was unfailingly polite and courteous, his reserved manner made conversation between them stilted and difficult. When she had mentioned the awkwardness to Edward he had shrugged and laughed it off.
‘John will come round in his own time,’ he had said. ‘He has always been self-contained and slow to trust by nature. Once you have that trust it will be yours for life and unbreakable. Just let him adjust.’
‘But why does he hesitate? What does he have against me?’ She had brushed crumbs from the coverlet.
‘I suspect because you puzzle him,’ he had answered.
‘You are not like other women, my love. He thinks I should have married a quiet young virgin without a cartload of baggage and a pure reputation – like his own wife, and to our father’s approval.
Although,’ he said, eyelids crinkling, ‘Blanche has her own ways of managing John.’
Jeanette had briefly thought about reminding her brother by marriage that she had seen him being born, emerging from between his mother’s bloody thighs, but had quashed the temptation, knowing it would kill any possibility of a closer relationship between them. Pure reputation indeed!
Edward had kissed her and pushed his hands through her heavy hair.
‘You are everything a quiet young virgin is not, thank God. You are glorious. I would not have you other than you are, my dearest love. John is still very young, barely knighted, and has a great deal to learn about the world – I hope we can both teach him.’ After that the talking had ceased for quite some time.
At the Savoy, they were welcomed by ushers clad in smart livery and were escorted to the private chamber where a generous fire blazed in the hearth and cast heat into the room.
The space was light, with white-plastered walls gleaming between colourful wall hangings in similar fashion to the chambers at Windsor.
Pale rush matting, woven in an intricate tabby pattern, covered the floor, and was topped by rugs of Turkish tapestry.
John’s wife, Blanche, had been sitting by the fire with her feet upon a foot stool but quickly rose to greet the visitors and send for refreshment.
She was well into her sixth month of pregnancy and her blue velvet gown was pleated high beneath her breasts and swathed her belly.
This would be her third child in as many years of marriage.
Little Philippa, aged two, was being cared for by Katherine de Roet, older sister of Queen Philippa’s maid Pippa, whose brother, Walter, was one of Edward’s yeomen.
Katherine was a striking girl with sharp cheekbones and two braids of thick, bright brown hair coiled neatly either side of her face.
The toddler balanced efficiently on her hip, she made a graceful obeisance despite her burden.
Another young woman was tending to the cradle where John’s nine-month-old son and heir lay sleeping.
John adored his beautiful wife with quiet, intense pride. Her icy-blonde hair was a perfect foil for her clear winterblue eyes and her features were chiselled but delicate. She reminded Jeanette of a graceful swan, neck curved, sailing the glassy river on a windless day.
Greeting her warmly, Jeanette expressed the hope that she was faring well.
‘Indeed, I am,’ Blanche replied with a dip of her head. One hand to her womb, she sent her husband a fond look, before returning her attention to Jeanette. ‘And you, my lady? I trust you are also well?’
Jeanette sensed the unspoken query in Blanche’s courteous words – her own womb remained empty after more than a year of marriage. Everyone at court must be thinking the same thing – that Edward had saddled the wrong horse. ‘Yes,’ she replied with an empty smile. ‘Very well.’
Changing the subject, Blanche enquired about the roof at Kennington, which became the new focus of the discussion, but Jeanette remained unsettled in the presence of perfection.
Jeanette and Edward stayed to eat with the Lancasters, and once the matter of Kennington had been exhausted the discussion turned to Bordeaux. Edward voiced his frustration at being unable to sail before the autumn storms had made voyaging with a fleet too dangerous.
‘At least we have not had to rush to catch the tide,’ Jeanette said, setting her hand on his sleeve. ‘We can sail in the good weather next spring.’
‘That is true,’ Edward replied. ‘And without our delay we would not have been here to attend our father’s yearday celebrations – and John’s official elevation to the title of duke!
’ He raised his goblet to his brother, who saluted him in return.
‘I am a little concerned about our mother though,’ Edward continued as the servants set jugs of wine and platters of candied nuts on the table.
‘She held her own at the ceremonies, but I could see she was in pain. When we leave, I ask you to keep an eye on her and our father.’
‘That goes without saying,’ John said. ‘Blanche often visits our mother with the children, and I am in regular counsel with our father – although you know what he is like. The first sign of interference these days and he turns into a snorting bull.’
‘Yes,’ Edward said wryly, and Jeanette squeezed his arm.
‘Our mother used to settle him down, but she keeps to her chamber these days, and he does not visit her as often as he did, especially now he has the diversion of the goldsmith’s widow.
I will feel reassured knowing you are watching the situation. ’
‘It is not ideal,’ John agreed, ‘but he needs that outlet and our mother accepts the situation. I shall keep watch, never fear.’
The matter dealt with, Edward enquired after his brother’s new warhorse, which he had bought from the Earl of Salisbury, and soon the men were trooping out to the stables to inspect the animal, their squires in tow.
‘How are the marriage settlements progressing for your children?’ Blanche enquired when the men had gone. She signalled an attendant to pour more wine.
‘Well enough,’ Jeanette replied. ‘We won’t have Tom’s fully settled until after we reach Bordeaux.
The agreement is verbal for now, but it will stand firm.
Edward has approached the Earl of Devon to match Maud with his son Hugh, and that too is progressing successfully.
’ She smoothed her skirts over her knees and watched the light change upon the fabric.
‘I wonder if I am doing the right thing in betrothing them so young when I remember my own life, but I want my sons and daughters to have secure futures. I hope Edward and I have made sound choices that will bring them contentment and prosperity. We are still considering for Johan, and for Joannie too. It must be the right offer.’
‘Indeed, but it is always good to make provision,’ Blanche said.