Authors: Mari Griffith
It had been with very mixed emotions that he’d learned the real reason for her absences. Far from mourning the death of her husband, as Henry had imagined, she had at last confided in him that she had married again, in secret this time, and she made him swear not to divulge the secret to anyone. The only other person at court who knew the truth of her situation was Henry’s great-uncle, Cardinal Beaufort.
Henry had been deeply shocked, hurt and resentful that his mother preferred to be in the country with her new husband, Owen Tudor, rather than at Windsor with her son. But she explained to him that the marriage had to be kept secret because, as her Clerk of the Wardrobe, Tudor was a servant in her household. He was also Welsh and therefore had no rights under English law. He could be hanged if anyone ever found out about it. So Henry must promise never to tell anyone.
At first Henry had found it very difficult to understand why his mother had lowered herself to associate with a servant. Then she told him of Tudor’s great kindness towards her when, as a French woman at the English court, she had felt lonely and vulnerable. They had fallen in love, but were forced to keep their relationship a secret because of a parliamentary statute which threatened terrible punishment for any man who married the dowager queen without the express permission of the King.
Henry really wanted his mother to be happy and said he would readily give his permission for the marriage, but she told him that it wasn‘t as easy as that and one day she would explain it all to him. For the moment, all he needed to know was that the statute had been drawn up by none other than Henry’s own uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, so his mother and her new husband deemed it wise to stay away from court, rather than arouse the Duke’s suspicion and face the threat of Owen Tudor’s possible execution. The Duke still knew nothing of the marriage and neither did the Duchess.
Of course, Henry would never let his mother down in any way, but she had entrusted him with an enormous secret and it was very, very difficult to keep it to himself. Sometimes he felt his head would burst with the effort, especially now he knew he had two younger brothers. Henry, who had thought himself an only child, was tremendously excited by the knowledge. He knew their names were Edmund and Jasper. Edmund and Jasper! When he was on his own, he would say the names quietly to himself, rolling them around his tongue, savouring them. He whispered those names in his prayers each night and entreated God to be kind to them. Edmund and Jasper. What did they look like? Did they look like him? Or did they take after their father, Owen Tudor? Edmund and Jasper. He wished he could spend time with them, teach them to ride, help them with their reading, worship with them in St Stephen’s Chapel or in the Abbey Church of St Peter. It wasn’t fair that he should be constantly alone. He ached to have his other, secret family with him here at Windsor, sitting on the royal dais, eating roast swan, enjoying the games, the music and the dancing, not hiding away in the country at Bishop’s Hatfield. What was the point in being King of England and France if he couldn’t have what he really wanted?
The burden of the secret was almost too much to bear and he was relieved to be able to talk about it to the one other person who knew it, his great-uncle Henry Beaufort. Beaufort had warned him strongly against saying anything to anyone, particularly the Duke of Gloucester. He had been at great pains to stress that the King’s uncle was a dangerous, devious politician. He pointed out that, by forcing the Royal Marriage Bill through parliament to prevent the Dowager Queen from re-marrying and having more children, Gloucester’s main motivation was to strengthen his own claim to the throne.
His Highness should wait, said Beaufort, biding his time and looking forward to the day when he was old enough to make his own decisions. Then he could welcome his half-brothers to court and no one could gainsay him.
Henry was aware that there was no love lost between the Cardinal and the Duke but, of the two, his instinct was to trust his great-uncle Henry Beaufort. So, though it was all he could do to stop himself blurting out the truth, Henry knew he must keep the exciting secret of his half-brothers to himself and, whatever happened, he must never, ever, tell his uncle of Gloucester, nor his aunt, the Duchess Eleanor.
Spring 1436
––––––––
‘M
ay Day tomorrow,’ said Jenna, expertly slapping a ball of butter into a rectangular shape between two wooden butter paddles. ‘It’ll soon be summer and then we’ll have trouble keeping the dairy cool.’
‘Well,’ said Jane, ‘it’s a lot better since Master Jourdemayne diverted the stream to run through it last year. It makes it a lot easier to clean out, too.’
‘Cold feet are my problem when I’m in here,’ Hawys said, with a scowl, ‘they’ve been frozen solid all winter.’
‘They don’t have to be Hawys,’ said Jenna. ‘If you’re shrammed with cold, you can always try stuffing stinging nettles in your shoes.’
‘Ugh! I’ll put up with the cold feet, thank you! Shall I pass you the butter stamp, Jenna?’
‘Please.’ Jenna added the butter to a tray of similar yellow rectangles, each lying on a dock leaf, then began stamping each one with the imprint of the farm before wrapping the leaf around it.
‘Oooh, I
love
May Day!’ exclaimed Kitty, pirouetting around her butter churn and humming a little dance tune. ‘I wonder who will be Queen of the May! Will it be you, do you think, Jenna?’
‘I doubt it,’ Jenna shook her head. ‘I’ve already been a queen once this year, remember. I was Queen of the Pea. I won’t be May Queen as well. Perhaps it will be Hawys.’
‘Oh, it won’t be me,’ said Hawys dismissively. ‘May Day,’ she grimaced, ‘already! And my Seth still hasn’t said a word.’
‘Perhaps he won’t,’ Jenna said, ‘and don’t waste your time grieving over that. Marriage isn’t all it’s made out to be. Or so they say,’ she added.
‘I can’t see any alternative, and I’m not getting any younger.’ Hawys wasn’t exactly sure of her age, but thought she was about nineteen years old. To Hawys, that meant her chances of marrying were decreasing rapidly.
Jenna said nothing. Kitty had told her that the other dairymaids were itching to know whether she was a maiden, a wife or a widow, but she didn’t intend telling them. That was none of their business. She steered the conversation away from the subject.
‘Has Seth built the fires for the neats yet, Hawys?’
‘What? The Beltane fires?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘But what have they got to do with the neats?’
The longer Jenna lived in Westminster, the more she realised that things were often done quite differently here. Back home in Devon, the custom was to build two big bonfires with space between them wide enough to walk the cows through. It kept them safe from harm for the rest of the year.
‘Weren’t they frightened?’ Hawys wanted to know.
‘Well, yes, I suppose they were a bit frightened, but there was always somebody leading them so they were safe enough, really. They’re such sweet beasts, but they don’t think for themselves. They’ll follow wherever they’re led.’
‘True enough,’ Hawys agreed. ‘If they had minds of their own, they wouldn’t let us anywhere near them, much less let us take their calves away from them so we can have their milk.’
‘And use the calves’ rennet to make cheese. Poor creatures. It’s not much of a life for them. There’s no sound quite as sad as a cow lowing for her dead calf.’
‘That’s motherhood for you,’ said Jane. ‘No bond is as strong as a mother’s love for her little one, even if the little one has four hairy legs and a tail!’
As the other dairymaids laughed, Jenna caught sight of Kitty’s stricken face. ‘This isn’t getting the butter churned,’ she said briskly. ‘Come on, Kitty, let’s hear you sing “Come, Butter, Come.” It’s one of your favourites, isn’t it? Or would you rather sing “Summer is a-Coming In”?’
Kitty shook her head mutely then said in a small voice, ‘No thank you, Jenna.’
‘Come on, Kittymouse,’ said Jenna, before the youngster could start moping for her mother again. ‘Come and help me. We need to take this skimmed milk down to the pigsties, then we’ll go to the cow shed and get some more milk for the setting dishes. The cows are back in full milk again now they’ve got good grass to eat so there’s bound to be some milk to be separated overnight. We might as well bring it back with us. Here, help me on with this yoke, please.’
Kitty was immediately diverted from her peevishness. ‘I’ll take the yoke, Jenna! Let me! Oh, please! Let me!’
‘No, Kitty. It’s far too heavy for you. Just hang the buckets on it for me, please.’
‘Oh, but Jenna, I could carry it, really I could.’
‘Perhaps I’ll let you carry it someday, Kitty, but not until you’ve grown a bit more. The pails would be dragging on the ground if you carried them!’
Kitty gave in and they began to make their way towards the pigsties, Jenna with the wooden yoke across her shoulders, trying not to jolt the buckets of skimmed milk which hung on either end of it. Kitty pranced along beside her, singing a springtime song about ewes bleating for their lambs and cows lowing for their calves, having forgotten her brief moment of misery. Jenna joined in, beginning the melody a phrase later than Kitty, each of them holding her own tune and both singing at the tops of their voices.
***
K
itty was the very picture of a happy little girl, thought William Jourdemayne as he watched them coming towards him. She and Jenna had clearly taken to each other and if Jenna was assuming the role of substitute mother for Kitty, well, perhaps Kitty was responding in kind. William had no idea whether Jenna had ever had a child of her own, it was none of his business, but he was a man who liked children and he thought any youngster would be privileged to be brought up by a woman like her.
He was rounding up the younger farmhands to come and help in the Lower Acre where thieving crows were pestering the men who were trying to finish off the late sowing of barley. The birds were brazen enough to perch on the hats of the scarecrows, eyeing their opportunities. Youngsters with catapults were the best way of keeping the birds at bay while the men got the job done. William always tried to include Kitty in activities like this. Her mother, Elizabeth, had been one of his best dairymaids – it was the least he could do.
‘Master Jourdemayne!’ Kitty called to him. ‘We’re going to see the pigs, to take them some skimmed milk. They like that.’
‘And making enough noise about it, too,’ William smiled. ‘Mind you don’t scare them! I’ll have another little scaring job for you to do in a moment.’ Then he turned to Jenna.
‘How are things going at the dairy, Jenna?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t seen you for several weeks. I haven’t had time to check the milk tallies...’
‘You can trust me, master. I promise I wouldn’t cheat you.’
‘I know that. But we did say we’d arrange to get in some more chickens, didn’t we? Something young Kitty here can help you with. We should think about it soon.’
‘Oh, yes, master, yes, whenever you wish. But it was only a suggestion. Thank you, master, thank you,’ Jenna answered, a little flustered and not sure what to say next, conscious of the way he was looking at her, trying not to meet those blue eyes of his. Kitty was tugging at her hand.
‘Kitty and I are off to the shippon,’ Jenna said, ‘after we’ve been to the sties.’
‘The where?’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. I’ve done it again! The cowshed ... er ... the byre. A shippon is what we call it in Devon. I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean to...’
Concerned by her confusion, William put his hand on her arm. ‘Please, don’t worry. It’s just that it sounded more like something you’d see on the river. And the Thames is back in that direction!’
‘Ooooh,’ Kitty laughed, ‘Master Jourdemayne thought you meant a ship, Jenna!’
Jenna barely heard her. The touch of the Master’s hand on her arm had unsettled her and she knew that a strong blush was spreading up from her neck and suffusing her face. She stared at her shoes in embarrassment while William determinedly kept up a normal conversation.
‘Well, Kitty,’ he said, ‘there are different names for different things all around England. When you’re as well-travelled as Jenna is, then I’m sure you’ll learn a few more words for things. Now then, Kitty, you know what a catapult is, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I do,’ said Kitty, nodding in the way she always did. ‘Would you like me to come and stone the crows for you, Master Jourdemayne?’
‘Yes, I would,’ he said. ‘Most of the other children have started work already. But that’s only if Jenna can spare you, of course. Can you spare her, Jenna?’ He looked down at Jenna, his eyebrows raised, his dark hair falling forward.
Jenna’s heart hadn’t quite resumed its normal beat and his direct gaze didn’t help a bit. Kitty, standing beside him, was looking up at her in excited anticipation of spending the day with her friends.
‘Can I go, Jenna? Please?’
‘Mmmm, well, I’m not sure whether I can spare you,’ Jenna frowned exaggeratedly and shook her head, teasing. ‘We need you in the dairy.’
‘Oh, please, Jenna!’ Kitty tugged at her hand again.
‘Oh, all right then. Of course you can, Kittymouse. How could I refuse either of you anything!’
At last, her eyes met William’s and, smiling, he gave her a broad wink and she smiled back at him, part of a friendly conspiracy. They were entirely unaware that they were being observed.
From a distance, Margery, on her way home after a frustrating afternoon at the palace, trying to please the vain and empty-headed ladies of the court, saw her husband with the new dairymaid and one of the farm children. They didn’t notice her and she didn’t call to them or attract their attention in any way. She merely stopped for a moment, watching them thoughtfully as they laughed together, completely engrossed in their cheerful teasing. Then she frowned. This must be discouraged.
***
C
anon Thomas Southwell really had to steel himself to travel south of the river to Southwark with its dirty stews and taverns. He was making the journey today only because the Bishop of Winchester was in residence at Southwark Palace, but having to cross London Bridge with all its rowdy activity of shops, huddled together against the clinging stink of the Thames below, was almost more than Southwell’s elevated, ecclesiastical nose could bear.