Chapter 30
At Kennington in the gardens, the roses and honeysuckle were in full summer bloom. Jeanette walked across the grassy turf and under an arch heady with their scent. The sun was near its zenith and the late June day heavy with heat.
It was three weeks since Edward had died; his embalmed body lay in state at Westminster while Parliament continued the discussions begun in May. The King remained absent from deliberations and had sunk into a dark melancholy.
Jeanette had retired to Kennington with Richard, taking him away from the febrile, toxic atmosphere at court.
They attended Westminster when necessary, but Kennington was a secure haven where Richard could have a normal routine of lessons with his tutor and his companions and where she could reflect and recuperate.
On several occasions she had visited Westminster to pray at Edward’s bier.
The bright silks and velvets that Edward so loved to see her wear had been set aside for dark mourning gowns and plain wimples.
Raising her head, she saw Hannekyn walking towards her. ‘Madam, the Duke of Lancaster is here to see you,’ he announced.
‘Admit him,’ she replied, ‘and have refreshment brought.’
John entered her chamber, clad in sombre velvet, and although as immaculate as ever, he looked tired and pale. She started to rise to greet him but he waved for her to be reseated and stooped to kiss her cheeks. ‘How are you faring, sister?’
‘Well enough,’ she replied. ‘The gardens give me solace, as does prayer. And you?’
He stood up and pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. ‘I miss him,’ he said. ‘I can manage, but I feel as though one hand is tied behind my back.’
A servant arrived with a tray of wine and hot cheese wafers, and he sat down with her to eat, a white napkin double-folded and spread across his lap to protect his garments from crumbs and grease.
‘Richard is required at Westminster tomorrow,’ he said. ‘He’s to be declared Prince of Wales in his father’s stead and be formally acknowledged as his father’s heir. Even if the public ceremony does not happen now, it must be an intent.’
‘Of course,’ Jeanette replied.
John grimaced. ‘The Commons neither like nor trust me. They think I shall try and seize the throne, but I swear to you again, nothing is further from my mind. I loved my brother dearly, and I will support his son and heir to my own last breath.’
‘Why do they not like you?’ she asked, although she had an inkling.
John could be unyielding and rigid and was very aware of his position and status.
Edward, while still acting the high prince, had possessed the common touch.
He was the hero of ordinary people, a man of glorious deeds on the battlefield.
‘I am my father’s spokesman, but not my father, and they want to see him seated before them – their king of old – not me.
Each time we convene I am obliged to state the case for the Crown, and they blame me for what I set before them, when it should be my father who answers.
They believe I am taking his place on the throne, and at any moment I might depose him and my nephew and seize the kingdom. ’
‘I know it is difficult,’ she said. ‘Standing proxy always is.’
‘Do you remember when we spoke in Gascony? You thought I was a threat, and you wanted me to focus instead on Castile?’
It seemed a lifetime ago. ‘Yes, I remember well.’ She tilted her head. ‘If the road was open and without obstacles, would you desire your father’s throne?’
He gave her a keen look before dropping his gaze.
‘It has crossed my mind,’ he admitted. ‘In truth I am performing the duties without wearing a crown. But if I did take that route, how long do you suppose I would stay in office? The Londoners are suspicious of me, indeed many are hostile, and I have many enemies. To survive, I must support Richard, and I have sworn to protect him. My word is my honour, and I do not take that oath lightly.’
‘I know you do not, and I am grateful you are shouldering this burden. I shall make sure Richard is ready to be presented in the morning, and I shall accompany him and ensure everyone sees that I trust you without a shred of doubt.’
‘Thank you, sister, that would be welcome.’ He sighed heavily. ‘God knows I have enough burdens on my plate, and anything that eases them in any way is a gift.’
The following day, Jeanette accompanied Richard to Westminster where the Commons acknowledged him as the heir to the throne.
His grandfather the King was absent, resting at his manor of Havering.
The ceremony was an interim one, solidifying Richard’s right to inherit, and a commitment was made to hold a full acknowledgement in the autumn, following his father’s funeral.
Richard, not yet ten, took the moment in his stride.
He was beautiful, bright and confident, drawing all eyes.
The more people smiled and nodded, the more he shone.
He looked to his uncle for approval and John briefly squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, before kneeling to him and swearing fealty in ringing tones.
The moment was a piece of theatre for Parliament, designed to set the doubters at rest, and it appeared to work, especially when afterwards Jeanette went out of her way to talk amicably with John and draw him into conversation with the Speaker, Peter de la Mare, and other members of the Commons.
Her role as a peacemaker had never been more important, and she embraced it with all her charm, her wit, and a whole heart.
On a hot afternoon at the beginning of September, Jeanette and Richard arrived at the palace at Havering atte Bower to visit the King. John of Lancaster had accompanied them with his own son, Henry, who was Richard’s age. Constanza was not present, having remained at Hertford.
Parliament was in recession, and the next planned event was Edward’s funeral and burial at Canterbury Cathedral in a few weeks’ time. Jeanette had not seen the King since the day of Edward’s death; he was apparently unwell, and it was uncertain if he would be capable of attending the ceremony.
Stepping from her carriage, Jeanette’s heart was full and a little painful for it was here she had spent her first days of official, blessed marriage with Thomas.
Tom had been conceived here in hope and bliss.
Even if she had come to love Kennington, Havering held a special place in her soul, and she took a long moment to feel the memories, gazing at its mellow stone and ornate window arches, the glass panes glittering in the sun.
Attendants appeared to usher them into the great hall. Word was sent to the King, and eventually they were escorted to his private chamber on the floor above.
He sat by the window, his hands loose in his lap.
Jeanette knew he must have seen them arrive, but he showed little interest when they were brought into the room.
He raised his head as they entered and made their obeisance to him, but his eyes were glazed and blank.
Jeanette gave Richard a gentle nudge. ‘Go and greet your grandsire fittingly,’ she murmured close to his ear. ‘Perhaps he has been asleep.’
Richard hesitated but then approached his grandfather and bent the knee again. Seeing this, Henry of Bolinbroke immediately went forward too, not to be outdone by his cousin.
‘My sire,’ Richard piped up, ‘I give you good greeting and hope you are well.’
Slowly, the King turned his head and blinked. As he regarded the boys, a glimmer brightened in his eyes. ‘Edward,’ he said, and tousled Richard’s fair curls.
‘No, sire, I am Richard, his son.’
‘And I am Henry of Bolinbroke,’ Henry said, ‘and I am your grandson also.’
‘Ah.’ Full awareness finally sparked in the King’s eyes. ‘I thought you were two of my boys, but my boys are grown . . . and Edward is . . . Ah, no matter, too much grief.’ He looked at Jeanette and John, who were still kneeling. ‘What are you doing there? Get up, get up.’
‘Sire, we came to see how you are faring,’ Jeanette said, ‘and we have brought your grandsons to visit.’
‘Have you indeed? Then I suppose I must welcome you.’
He looked lost, only half comprehending, and Jeanette felt a wave of compassionate sadness for him – old and wretched before his years, with lined features and a drooping mouth.
‘Kings and princes.’ He shook his head. ‘May you both grow to be worthy men.’ He regarded Jeanette and John.
‘Canterbury,’ he said. ‘I do not believe I am well enough to travel there.’ Tears filled his eyes.
‘Look at me.’ He held out trembling hands corded with veins.
‘I am broken on Fortune’s wheel. Some say I have lost my faculties but that is untrue.
They are still here, within, but locked up by the cares and treacheries of my body.
I cannot go and see my son buried. It is too much finality.
You must act in my stead, and I will believe instead that he is away on a long campaign and I will see him again. ’
A servant arrived with wine, and the King drank a cup in several swift swallows that shook his throat. Colour flushed into his waxen features.
‘You must grow up swiftly, young man,’ he told Richard, ‘and be ready for the weight of a crown. You do not know how heavy a burden it is until it sits upon your head.’
Sipping her own wine, Jeanette remembered how Richard had once said he was going to have a big crown when he grew up – never realising how prophetic those words were. ‘I hope your grandson shall have more time to become accustomed, sire,’ she said, ‘and that you will come to enjoy better health.’
‘I would enjoy better health if I were not so beset, and if I had a companion – one companion especially, but she has been denied to me and attacked by false accusations.’ He glared at her and John.
Hearing his petulance, Jeanette sent the boys off to play under the attentive eye of a squire.