The King's Mistress (42 page)

Philippa worried that more than a few in the crowd prayed for Edward the father’s swift departure to make way for the glorious Edward the son.

“I wish my son was already across the Channel,” she said, “else his pride might become so exaggerated by the roars of the common folk that he will be in danger of stumbling over it.” She addressed the top of my head as I made some last-minute tucks in her gown. “Would that Lionel were the eldest. He is so much easier in himself.”

Though she had a deep affection for all her children, Lionel was her favorite of those surviving. She believed Edward to be too ambitious and too quick with his temper. “All refer to him as the noblest of knights, but should not a great warrior take pride in self-control?” John was too fond of bedding every woman who appealed to him. Isabella, the eldest daughter, worried Philippa with her continual rejections of suitors. “If she were so inclined, I would think she intended to withdraw to a nunnery and take vows. But Isabella is as committed to the pleasures of the flesh as is her brother John.” Philippa’s children
were her anchor, as Bella was mine, and she seemed to enjoy sharing with her ladies some of her concerns and dreams for them.

My conversations with Edward were even more personal, as well as practical, like the conversations of a married couple. My earlier efforts to learn about the war with France and other matters of the realm stood me in good stead as he confided in me now. I was honored to have his trust—Edward never expressed any reservation that I might share what I learned in his household with the ladies of his wife’s household.

He sought my advice in his financial concerns, and in his dealings with merchants and financiers. I sought his regarding my hawks, hounds, and horses, for I saw how he enjoyed teaching me about such things.

I hesitated to consult with him about more serious matters such as the appropriate etiquette regarding my ambiguous position in his household. Such questions stoked his temper. Once, while we sat in the hall at Sheen enjoying a light evening meal, I casually asked whether he was aware that a guest who would be arriving on the morrow had recently lost a number of teeth and could eat only soft food.

“You must consult with the cook.”

“It is not my place to do so, Edward.”

“What? Of course it is your place.”

He ordered his page to fetch the cook, then declared to those waiting on us, “Dame Alice is the mistress of my household away from Windsor. You, and all my servants, shall defer to her.”

There could be no argument. I knew full well it was not that simple. I saw their smirks as they watched the cook approach.

“Dame Alice,” said Edward, nodding toward me.

The cook looked down at my hands, folded on the table before me, then met my gaze with such animosity I blushed though I did not flinch.

“Sir Rupert requires soft foods at present, broths, pottages, the softest of breads,” I said.

“Sir Rupert favors roasts with savory sauces.”

“Minced meats, then.”

Tight-jawed, he gave me a stiff nod—“Dame Alice”—then bowed to his master. “I am yours to command, Your Grace.”

The servants found subtle ways to insult me. I cultivated a compassionate but firm manner and offered my slights in reparation for my sins. The higher-ranking officers and the nobles in Edward’s household
treated me with respect, but encountered inexplicable delays in carrying out my wishes, for which Richard Stury was most often the apologist.

“I shall look into the matter, Dame Alice. God keep you for your patience.”

At court I was far more confused regarding my place. The machinations of court still confused me, and I suspected that they always would, for I was kept at one remove as an unofficial, politely overlooked, member of the king’s household in all events away from Windsor, and at Windsor was merely a lady in waiting to the queen. In Edward’s household and my own I was “Dame Alice”; in Philippa’s, “Mistress Alice.” I’m certain I was not the only one who found my status bewildering.

Edward’s most helpful and insistent advice to me concerned the importance of developing strong friendships at court.

“You cannot thrive without allies among my courtiers, Alice. Find a few men powerful enough to come to your aid should you have need of them.” To aid me and, as I saw with Philippa, to keep me informed about the king.

I realized this was how Jean Froissart, a fawning Fleming, had bought his way into the household in the past year. He had presented Philippa with a history of her husband’s earlier victories, and she saw his future usefulness. He had now become a fixture at court, Philippa’s eyes and ears, though in private she complained of his overweening pride.

I was grateful that Geoffrey and I were much together of late, as he had been left in England to serve as a clerk overseeing the Duke of Clarence’s properties near London, and was also working increasingly in the Duke of Lancaster’s household, as Gaunt administered his now extensive properties. Geoffrey was always a reliable source of news.

My other good friend at court was William Wykeham, a cleric who had so impressed Edward in matters of building and the organization of large projects that he was being given more and more responsibility. Geoffrey admired him as well, which further recommended him to me. I had spoken to Wykeham on several occasions and discovered we shared common interests in decoration and the art of balance and proportion. He had taught me that what I had thought purely a visual art was grounded in mathematics. He seemed to enjoy providing me with examples that proved his point.

Now that I had possession of my homes, I took an active interest in managing them—indeed, I took my responsibility as a landholder very seriously, finding it the ballast I needed. It gave me a sense of purpose.
Wykeham proved most helpful in advising me about the improvements I wished to make on the house and barns at Fair Meadow to the extent that he even rode out there with me on several occasions to advise me. I enjoyed his company. He would apologize for his extended discourses on various aspects of construction and repair, and then laugh with delight when I plied him with further questions.

“But I applaud your eager curiosity, Dame Alice. Too few landholders take such an interest.”

On one of our excursions he had witnessed my difficulties with Peter, the steward at Fair Meadow who had been chosen by Grandfather. Peter would shake his head at me, arguing that he had “never known it to be done that way, Mistress” when I suggested an improvement, and continue to plod along in the old way.

“His duties have moved beyond his depth of competence, Dame Alice,” Wykeham said. “I have had reason of late to employ a man, formerly a steward on Queen Joan’s estates, who is wasted on my small projects. He would be excellent for your purposes, one who would blossom as your properties expand.” He knew of my resolve to provide for my daughter and myself through incomes from rents and crops, and of my interest in new methods of husbandry. I had recently acquired another small manor north of London.

“I agree with you about Peter’s limitations, Master William, but as he is a worthy man, a good, honest worker, I must needs find a steward who would put him at his ease in a secondary position. It takes a diplomatic character to achieve that, and it must be handled well by the new steward as well as myself.”

“Robert Broun is such a man,” said Wykeham. “But do not take my word for it. I shall bring him along on my next visit, and you may decide for yourself.”

They arrived at Fair Meadow on a sunny late-summer day that had begun quite chilly but was warming under the cloudless sky. Peter and I had been arguing about my adding a second groom to the staff. For weeks I had noticed a boy hanging around the stables when he was not needed in the kitchen. Seeing how well the animals responded to him, I told the groom to train him when the lad was finished with his other chores. Soon he proved himself indispensable. But Peter complained that there was not enough work for two grooms, and that he did not have the time to see to the training of the lad.

Wykeham rode up as I was pacing the yard, pondering how to deal with Peter. The stranger with him sat at ease on his horse, obviously enjoying the conversation and the journey. He was fair haired and tanned, a man who had spent most of the summer out of doors. When Wykeham introduced him, Robert Broun’s ready smile and specific compliments on what he had seen of the manor so far won my approval. I thought to test him out right away, explaining the disagreement over the groom.

“No doubt he is a one-manor man,” said Robert. “As you’ve recently added a second manor, he is resisting out of fear that he cannot cope with the added responsibility.”

I offered Robert the position of steward over all my properties if he managed to make such an arrangement enticing to Peter. Within hours the usually morose Peter was showing him around the property with a beaming, relaxed countenance. I was indeed indebted to Wykeham.

One courtier I counted no ally continued to pursue me from afar, by way of occasional letters. I scraped the parchments, once read, and used them for accounts. I did not trust William Wyndsor.

I
N AUTUMN
Edward experienced his first attack of gout. His physician Master Adam had consulted several colleagues before making his recommendations. Edward was advised to ride, hunt, and walk more, and drink and eat less. The physicians assured him that gout was nothing his subjects need be concerned about, being a disease responsive to the prescribed changes in diet and activity. But Edward took it as a portent of old age, and was of two minds about what he must do whenever it returned. When determined to lighten his girth and live a long and active life he would keep me close to him, showering me with gowns and jewels, and making love to me as if to prove he could still do it. In truth, there were times when he could not, and those times seemed to be when he had imbibed more than usual.

As was the case that autumn. We had taken advantage of a crisp, sunny morning to ride out with the hawks. Afterward, the hunting party lingered over a considerable feast, then an excellent brandywine. When our guests withdrew, Edward grew amorous. We took turns undressing each other, amid much laughter as the drink had rendered our fingers too thick for the buttons and our balance unsteady, but at last we tumbled into bed, kissing and tickling and rolling all about. Just as
we’d both grown quiet, and I’d begun to mount him, Edward moaned and turned away from me.

“What is it, my beloved? Are you in pain?”

“I am unmanned,” he growled. “God curses me.”

Sobered by his abject tone, I put aside my disappointment. “It is nothing, my love. I, too, am dizzy with wine, and content to snuggle up to your broad, warm back to sleep it off.”

Later that night, when I discovered him sitting by the brazier staring at his hands, veined and wrinkled, the knuckles knotted, I swore to him that my love for him was not dependent on bed sport.

But he was of another mind. “I have offended God with my adulterous liaison with you and neglect of my lawful wife.” In the morning he sent me away, then hied to Windsor to spend time with Philippa.

So began a recurring dance.

I was frightened by Edward’s pain, physical and spiritual. I tried not to feel wounded by his inconstancy, but to understand it.

I threw myself into managing my properties, the one area in which I had some control and skill, and making a home for Bella. With some thought to enrolling her in a small grammar school in our parish in London, where she would become acquainted with other merchant families, I began to ready Janyn’s, now my, house in London for longer occupancy.

But no matter how hard I worked, I could not completely forget my anxiety; for I saw these as no ordinary separations but signs of Edward’s doubt about keeping me.

When the queen summoned me to work on her gowns for the Christmas court, she noticed my troubled state and gently counseled me to bide my time.

“It is a bit of temper at his own aging body, Alice, nothing more. Be patient.”

Patience. Obedience. I tried to calm my mind with prayer and work, and when away from court spent as much time as possible with my family. Bella eased my heart. Dame Agnes and I grew closer again, and my sister Mary and brother John became my favorite companions.

• Winter 1364 •

I
N EARLY
winter Father surprised us all by announcing his intention to betroth Mary to a member of his guild who had lost his wife the
previous year and had three small children in need of a mother. I hated the thought of losing my sister’s companionship. Mary, sweet, obedient Mary, was quite obviously unhappy, and yet assumed she must comply. She had met Thomas Lovekin on several occasions and considered him a doddering old man. His children were ten, eleven, and twelve, not so needy as Father claimed.

“But what recourse have I? Had you any choice, Alice?”

Avoiding that painful topic, I reminded her that the Church insisted on both parties freely agreeing to pledge their troth. “Remember that when you are introduced to him after Sunday Mass. Say nothing implying agreement until you know that you might find him acceptable.”

Memories of my own presentation at Mass assailed me as Agnes, Gwen, and I worked on Mary’s new robe for her appearance. It was a joy to work on clothes for her. With her pale red hair, she looked best in Mother’s old favorite colors, light blues and greens. We chose a tabby-woven plaid cloth in shades of green for the overdress, and a fancifully dagged short cape in pale blue to match her eyes. With these she wore a green headdress adorned with a spray of seed pearls and silver embroidery. The embroidery looked so beautiful that we added an echo of it to the cape. She was a vision of beauty in that attire. But so young! Younger than I had been when presented at Sunday Mass.

God was watching over Mary. This Thomas turned out to be the nephew of the man she remembered, only in his early thirties and quite pleasant and presentable. His children were two, four, and five. Mary’s heart went out to them. In a few weeks she was betrothed, the wedding to take place in early May, after I returned from Windsor and the annual Garter festivities.