Chapter 29
Lying in his bed, Edward held Jeanette’s hand and looked out of the window into the park, his wasted body propped up on cushions.
Today he was struggling to breathe, and nothing the physicians tried had made a difference.
The tincture that at one time had given him respite and relief had lost its efficacy.
They both knew with dread that he was nearing the end and nothing more could be done.
Their borrowed time, like the money from the treasury, had been taken and used until none was left.
Richard and the other household children often came into his room so he could watch them play and attend their lessons, but he was too exhausted to do more than engage in half a game of chess with his son or briefly talk to him.
Richard was learning to play the lute and becoming adept, and Edward enjoyed listening.
His chaplain and various clergymen had attended his sickbed, and he had been preparing his will for a future where he would not be present and in which he needed to protect Jeanette and Richard from the predatory elements at court.
He was deeply sad that he would not see his son grow to manhood, and that this was the end of the long farewell.
Looking at Jeanette broke his heart with guilt that he could not remain and do his duty.
God was his only solace and destination now.
His chamber was pleasant and cheerful with oils burning to purify and sanctify the air and tapestries making splashes of colour against the white walls. Jeanette was constantly attentive, but he had noticed the new lines on her face and her smile for him was forced.
‘Take my staff of office wherever you go,’ he said to her now. ‘Let no man or woman stand in your way. Maintain the boundaries of our estate and let no one take advantage of you.’
‘You know I will not,’ she replied. ‘I have stood up for myself since I was a girl. I shall miss your protection, but it does not mean I shall be helpless.’
‘But I worry about it nevertheless.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘Then do not, and seek your peace. These are small things, and you have greater ones to consider.’
Her expression was calm; he could not read what lay behind it. Years of dealing with difficult moments had given her the ability to dissemble and smile like a Madonna and go layers deep with the illusion.
‘Jeanette.’ He said her name softly, as he had always done, but with an ache of love and loss, and his eyes filled with tears.
The moment was interrupted by Sir Lewis Clifford, one of the household knights, who announced that Edward’s father had arrived.
Edward had received a request from him to visit Westminster and Jeanette had sent a reply on his behalf saying he was too unwell to attend but that the King was welcome to visit Kennington.
‘I only sent the message yesterday,’ she said. ‘I had not expected him so soon. Has he come by barge, Lewis?’
‘No, madam,’ the knight said, ‘he has ridden. The grooms are seeing to the horses.’
She stood up and looked at Edward. ‘I shall go down and bring him to you, my love.’
Edward nodded and dragged himself up against the bolsters.
Escorted by Clifford, Jeanette went to greet her father by marriage who was waiting in the hall, tapping his gloves impatiently against one leg.
‘Sire,’ Jeanette said, curtseying. ‘We did not know you were coming, or we would be better prepared for your arrival, but be welcome.’
‘No matter.’ He gestured for her to stand. ‘Where is my son? Out hunting in the park, I have no doubt.’ His smile did not reach his eyes, which were flinty and opaque.
‘No, sire,’ Jeanette said, ‘he is resting. He has already exerted himself today too far.’
He rolled his eyes and looked irritated. ‘Then take me to him. Resting, I never heard such.’
Jeanette curtseyed again and, tight-lipped, led him to Edward’s chamber and sent an attendant to fetch refreshments. In Jeanette’s absence, Edward had made a supreme effort and was now sitting in his chair. He struggled to rise to greet his father but lacked the strength.
The King waved his hand. ‘No need to rise for me, my son. Sit, sit.’ He gave him a hard look. ‘I hear you have been out and about?’
Behind him, Jeanette shook her head.
‘Not so much, sire,’ Edward replied.
‘But your wife tells me you exerted yourself this morning.’
Edward exchanged a look with Jeanette. ‘Yes, sire, but not in hunting or hawking or riding out. I have not left my chamber.’
‘I am tired of this,’ his father said with an exasperated sigh.
‘It has been continuing for far too long, and we have lost lands, prestige and influence because of it. You cannot mope in your bed all day!’ He gestured towards the bed that Edward had left, but which the servants had not had time to make, so that it bore rumpled evidence of recent occupation.
‘All you need to make you well is a change of air and some enlivening company.’
‘I pray you, sire, I am content here and I have all that I need.’
‘Stuff and nonsense! This is no way for a young man to live. You might as well be in a dower house. You are too sullen out here, dwelling in your own cocoon. You need the fresher air across the river and decent company!’
‘I assure you I am well catered for here,’ Edward repeated. He sent a desperate glance towards Jeanette, and she stepped into the breach.
‘Sire, I do not believe it would be good to move my lord just now. He is comfortable and cared for.’
‘Nonsense! You coddle him, and that is part of his trouble. He needs to return to everyday life. This has gone on for far too long, to the detriment of all. Look at me, I have been ill, and I have rallied. It is purely a matter of willpower. If you think you are well, you will be well.’
Edward tried to draw breath, and his chest shuddered with the effort. ‘Yes, sire,’ he said hoarsely.
Jeanette clenched her fists, sick with fury at this foolish old man. Somehow, she resisted the urge to slap him. ‘Sire, it is late in the day. Perhaps stay for the evening. Your grandson will want to see you. You can decide what to do in the morning.’
The King frowned at her, but eventually nodded assent.
‘Yes, why not? After all, what company do I have to keep me at Westminster besides my own now that Alice has gone? Her banishment is ridiculous and an affront to my rule.’ His gaze cut to Edward in accusation.
‘This is not the end of it by a long way, and I will tell your brother so. Alice is worth every penny to me, and I will not have others interfering, dictating my private life.’
The wine arrived, breaking the brief, taut silence.
Jeanette hastily sent for Richard, who arrived and knelt to his grandfather.
They had always had a rapport. Richard possessed a deep appreciation of the trappings of kingship, and he was a handsome boy, well grown for his age, and intelligent.
He answered his grandfather’s questions with smiling confidence, secure in his own charm, using the moment to deliberately exercise it.
The King enjoyed the company of children, and his demeanour gradually softened, and he even smiled.
With his father’s attention diverted, Edward was able to relax. Richard played a game of chess with his grandfather and the moment gave Jeanette the breathing space to think about travelling to Westminster. Whatever objections were raised, she knew the King would ignore them and take Edward anyway.
She had a chamber prepared for her father by marriage and his attendants, and when he had retired and Richard had been taken off to bed, she saw that Edward was settled for the night.
He gripped her hand as she smoothed the coverlet.
‘I have no choice but to go to Westminster,’ he said.
‘My father . . . my father does not see what is under his nose.’
‘He does not want to see it.’
‘Well, he has little time left to be deluded,’ Edward replied. ‘In truth, what difference does it make now? And perhaps Westminster is fitting.’
She waited until he had fallen asleep, and left attendants watching over him with instructions to summon her immediately if he needed her or there was a change.
Checking on Richard, she found him fast asleep, his arm curled around one of the dogs, and swallowed grief that Edward would not be here to guide him as he grew up.
Shaking her head, she rallied and went to the small private chapel to pray before retiring.
On the threshold she paused, for she could hear whispering in the candlelit darkness.
One of the King’s squires stood outside on guard and bowed to her.
She set her finger to her lips and unobtrusively tip-toed into the chapel.
The King was kneeling before the image of the Virgin and child at the altar, his hands clasped and his head bowed. ‘Please,’ he was whispering, ‘please let my son live. Let him be all right. Take me if you must, for my very great sins, but spare him, I beg of you.’
She bit her lip. She would not interrupt this moment or even let him know she had witnessed it. To do so would be cruel and, if he knew she had seen his desperation and grief, he would never forgive her. Turning, she silently withdrew.
‘Do not tell the King I was here,’ she murmured to the squire. ‘I do not wish to disturb his personal communion with God. I shall say mine in my chamber.’
The youth dipped his head, and they exchanged a look of complete understanding.