Chapter 25 #4
Edward had relinquished Aquitaine in November.
His father had demanded his personal attendance at the foot of his throne in Westminster to do that yielding, but Edward had been too sick to leave his bed and had sent a proxy to perform the deed.
His father had had to accept the resignation but was still angry with Edward for what he saw as shirking his duty.
Jeanette felt a little guilty – this visit to Stamford was a moment of freedom.
There was relief in relinquishing to others the daily responsibility for keeping vigil over Edward and Richard.
She had worried as she travelled, but it was from a distance and therefore less acute, and since her older children were with her, her focus was on her first marriage and Thomas, not Edward.
Even in the dark winter days over rutted, muddy roads, the journey was an adventure and an escape.
She so wished Thomas could see the fine young adults their children had become.
She grieved that he would never meet his beautiful grandchildren.
‘I miss you,’ she said softly as she ran her fingers over the side of his tomb.
‘I love Edward with all my new heart, but it does not stop your memory from enfolding all I have and what I am. I shall never forget, my dearest love.’ She laid her hand over the cold stone fingers. ‘Sleep well until I come to you.’
Tom stood at the entrance to the guest hall, waiting for his mother so that he could escort her to the high table.
After a short while he saw her making her way towards him with her customary strong and graceful footstep.
Despite the softer matronly curves of her encroaching years, there was still a lightness to her motion.
Most of the time during this visit she had been in lively spirits.
His heart had warmed when he’d first watched her dandle baby Thomas on her knee, and play with her small granddaughter Eleanor.
‘Your father’s spirit lives on in them and you,’ she had said.
‘Oh, Tom, they are so beautiful. If only he could have lived to see his grandchildren!’ He often thought that too – if only this, if only that – but he would curb this tendency by remembering one of the enduring mottoes King Edward had had stitched in gemstones on his parade garments and even a bed quilt: ‘It is as it is.’ Instead of complaining that things were unfair, Tom had learned to live with what life dealt him and do his best to change it if it disagreed with him.
He recognised now that he was not only his father’s son, but also his own man.
He went forward to greet his mother and kiss her at the door. ‘Well, Mama,’ he said with a smile, ‘what did my father say to you?’
She smiled in return, amusement bright in her eyes.
‘That is private,’ she replied. ‘I leave it to your imagination, but when my own time comes, I expect you and your brothers and sisters to make sure we lie side by side in eternity. Much as I love your stepfather, I know where I wish to lay my bones.’
Tom raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. ‘Still not for many years I pray.’
She removed her hand from his grasp, but only to pat his cheek in affection. ‘I pray so too, but I have a safe haven waiting. Now, let us go and eat, and celebrate your father’s anniversary as he would wish.’
* * *
Jeanette stooped to Richard and kissed him. Her heart was sore from being parted from him for several weeks. ‘How you have grown!’ she said. ‘You have shot up like spring wheat while I have been away!’
‘Papa has been teaching me to play chess,’ he declared importantly. ‘And I have a new horse! His name is Chess too. Do you want to see him?’
‘In a moment,’ she said, smiling. ‘Let me eat and drink something first and see how your father is faring. Come, take me to him.’
Richard grasped her hand and skipped at her side to his father’s chamber. She felt thankful that he displayed neither resentment nor anger at her absence for the best part of a month. You never knew with Richard. Mood was all.
Edward was out of bed, dressed and sitting by the window looking out. Glancing round as she entered, his face immediately brightened. ‘Sweetheart!’
She hurried to his side and embraced him tenderly. ‘I have been hearing all about the new mount, and the chess lessons!’
‘He excels at both,’ Edward said with amused pride. ‘He’s a fine little horseman, and sharper than a new pin when it comes to the game.’
She noticed the blue shadows smudged beneath his eyes, but they were habitual these days; he looked no worse than when she had left him to make her pilgrimage to Stamford, and at least his smile was bright.
‘I am glad you are back. I have missed you every moment. How were the roads and the journey?’
‘Wet and cold at times, and one day we had snow, but we made good time, and I was warm enough.’ She turned as servants arrived with mulled wine and hot marrow tarts sprinkled with powdered sugar. Her mouth watered.
‘I had the cook prepare these when we heard you were almost here – I know they are your favourite, and our son is not far behind you.’ He gestured at Richard, who was hovering around the tray of tarts like a summer fly.
Edward’s eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘He told me that if he cannot be a king, he will either be a cook or a goldsmith.’
‘Both worthy occupations,’ Jeanette replied, smiling.
When her ladies had removed her cloak, she sat down at Edward’s side.
A maid arrived with a bowl of scented water and, removing her shoes, began washing away the grime of travel.
Jeanette’s feet were still beautiful – dainty with high arches and shell-pink nails.
Her body might be slack with the onset of age, the bearing of six children and too many marrow tarts, but her feet were still those of the girl who had danced in red shoes all those years ago.
Biting into one of the little tarts, she closed her eyes in bliss and caught a crumb at the corner of her mouth. When she looked up, Edward was chuckling. He had not taken a tart himself but was drinking a cup of wine.
‘Perfect,’ she said to him. ‘You anticipate me so well.’
‘Yes, I do – but tell me of your journey. I want to hear.’
She chatted to him about her visit to Stamford, but diplomatically did not dwell on the matter of her first husband. ‘I visited Kettlethorpe on my way home,’ she said after a swallow of wine. ‘It was not far off my path, and I wanted to see how Mistress Swynford was faring since leaving court.’
Edward raised his brows. ‘And how was she?’
‘When I arrived, she had recently birthed a fine baby boy, named John for his father. I stayed for a night and gave her a brooch I had with me, and some gold for the baby, but I shall send her a personal gift now I am home. John must already know – the news will have reached him ahead of my return. I am glad they are being discreet, but even so, it is hardly a secret.’
‘John is with his wife at Hertford but due back in London next week,’ Edward said, and looked wry.
‘I have had a mistress in the past, as you well know – I have her to thank for my son Roger – and in my youth there were women of the camp, I do not deny it. But I have always been faithful to my marriage vows. There has been no one else since I married you. John has different needs, and what he does is between his conscience and God.’
‘Katherine soothes him,’ Jeanette said. ‘Constanza is good for his prestige and ambition, but not so much his well-being, though I do wonder what she thinks, and I hope they remain discreet.’
Richard had finished his marrow tarts and was eager to show his mother his new horse. Jeanette put on a pair of shoes and fastened on some stout wooden pattens to raise her feet above the mud and stable sweepings. Edward took his walking stick and together they made their slow way to the stables.
Chess stood munching hay in his stall, a sturdy Welsh pony, his coat a striking patchwork of black and white, hence his name. Jeanette rubbed his velvet muzzle and gave him a sweet, wizened apple, which he lipped up with eager delicacy.
Richard looked on with a proprietorial air. ‘I ride him in the park every day,’ he said.
Edward ruffled his son’s fair hair. ‘He has great courage, and he understands horses well – sometimes better than he understands people.’ He shrugged ruefully.
‘He is also a fast learner at chess for one so young – but he will need to be.’ He slipped his arm around Jeanette’s waist. ‘I shall teach him everything I can, while I am able.’
Jeanette did not tell him to stop being foolish or scaremongering. She knew they were borrowing time as the sand ran through the hourglass and Fortune’s wheel kept turning. ‘There is still time,’ she said. ‘Say not yet, not today, not tomorrow, or the day after that.’
He smiled at her. ‘I can give you that long – God willing.’