Rivals for the Crown (5 page)

"Are you ill, Mother? You look well, but are you...?"

"No, no. It is not me, child. Or rather, it is. You see, your father.. .1..." Mother turned from the window, her chin raised. "I was very young, not much older than you are now. He was so handsome and charming, and I believed everything he told me, that I was beautiful and that he loved me and that he would always love me and always be with me. He won my heart. I thought he loved me. And so I.. .1 became his lover. And you came from that union."

"But there is no shame in that, Mother! Men and women always declare their love and marry and have children. It is the way of the world."

"The way of the world." Mother's laugh was unpleasant. "I should have known better, Isabel. I knew the stigma of being a bastard. I knew the things said about my grandmother, that she was a king's whore. I knew that my mother suffered for her mother's mistake and that her family disowned her. And still I learned nothing from knowing all that."

"But, Mother—

"Hush! You need to hear this, and if I do not tell you now, I may never tell you. I am throwing you into a pit of wolves and I have just realized how ill-prepared you are." She took a deep breath. "I have misled you. Your father is not dead. He is alive."

TWO

H is name is Lord Lonsby now," Mother said. "He was the son of

a younger brother when I met him, but he inherited his uncle's title. He was never a clerk of the Wardrobe; that was a fabrication and I wish I'd never invented it, for it's made you far too fond of the Tower. He did not marry me. He was already married, long before we.. .before you were born. He did not die. I am sorry that I let you believe that all these years. He has a home and a wife and children in the north, in Northumbria, near the Scottish border."

She paused, then continued, her hands pressed together at her waist.

"You, Isabel, like your grandmother, are illegitimate. You must be wiser than I was. Do not trust the hunters. Never trust men."

Her mother turned her face away. Isabel rushed to embrace her, assuring her it made no difference. But of course it did. She was hurt that the truth had been kept from her for so long, and excited to discover that her father was still alive. Perhaps she could travel to meet him. But would he want to meet her? He'd abandoned them, after all. But still.. .her father was alive. And for years she

had not known. Her emotions were tempered by the pain in her mother's eyes.

"Why did you not tell me?" she asked at last.

"At first you were too young to understand. And when you were old enough, I knew it would change the way you thought of me. What young girl wants to hear that her mother was a wanton?"

"Mother! You are hardly a wanton! It doesn't change how I think of you." But even as she said the words, she knew they were not true. All these years of being lectured to, of the repeated demands that her behavior be above reproach, and now to discover that her mother had been.. .what? Foolish? Wanton? Surely her mother had never been a wanton, Isabel told herself. But she also knew that her mother never considered the consequences of her actions. Perhaps she'd been like that as a young girl, plunging into situations without heed to the results, her emotions flaring and dying, hot and cold, as they still did now. And now she was bitter. But all those years.. .and to discover now, just as she was about to be thrust into the court, that she herself was illegitimate. That she was, like her grandmother, a bastard.

"It doesn't," she said again, knowing that, like her mother, she was capable of dissembling. It was an unquieting realization.

Her mother's eyes blazed. "But of course it does! It should! You need to be more careful, less trusting, than I was. And your great-grandmother before me, though hers was the lesser sin, for how does one say no to a king? She had no choice and no family to protect her. But I did.. .1 should have known better, Isabel. I should never have believed him. I brought on my own ruin with my unseemly behavior. I was wanton."

"You were young. You were foolish."

"I was indeed young, and far more a fool. And that is why I warn you, why I have always warned you about men. They cannot be trusted."

"Would you ever have told me if I'd not been chosen as one of the queen's ladies? If you were not fearful now that someone like Lady Dickleburough would have told me.. .would you ever have told me yourself?"

"I always meant to tell you. When the time was right. When you were old enough. I meant to tell you. But..." Mother straightened her shoulders. "But perhaps not, Isabel. It's not something I ever wanted you to know."

"Are you.. .does he.. .do you hear from him?"

"Occasionally. At first he sent money, but in the last ten years...nothing."

"He has a wife, you said. And children."

"Seven, last I heard."

"Seven." Isabel was dumbfounded. "I have sisters.. .or brothers."

"Yes. He has two sons older than you. And a daughter.. .just your age. And younger ones. I know nothing of them other than how many there are. Isabel, can you forgive me?"

"Oh, Mother!" Isabel rushed to embrace her, then stepped away and gave her a tremulous smile. "Of course, Mother. It changes nothing. Of course I understand."

"No, you do not. You cannot. Until a man blinds you so completely that you forget yourself, you will never understand. My prayer for you is that that day never comes. Never let down your guard. Trust no one."

The first three days that Isabel served Eleanor of Castile were
grey
and cold. The fourth was brighter and the fifth clear and brilliantly warm. Isabel's mood matched the weather—gloomy and uncertain at first, then eventually clearing as she became more familiar with her new life and learned the tasks required of her. She'd been chosen to serve the queen. Of course she was delighted. She told herself that daily. Her resentment against the king still burned within her, but she kept her silence, biding her time. When she had been at the court longer, when the queen, with whom she'd not yet had a private conversation, knew her, when she had proved her loyalty, then she would broach the subject of Rachel's people.

In the meantime, she had enough to deal with, learning her new responsibilities. And coming to terms with the truth of her birth. She tried not to wonder why her mother had waited so long to tell her the truth about her father's abandoning them. It would have fit so well in one of her mother's lectures about predatory men. She was sure that her mother had simply meant to caution her against being promiscuous. Or had her mother's motive in not telling her been less pure? She should be more generous, she told herself, less judgmental of her mother. Her mother was fragile, she knew that. And bitter, which was understandable after having been tossed aside.

Her father had seven children, two daughters and two sons who were older than she. She, who had longed for a sister all her life, had one. And at least two brothers. And she would never know any of them. She'd not asked her mother more—the questions that had occurred to her later, during the hours when she'd sat idle in the service of the queen. Waiting. She was surprised at how much time she spent waiting.

"At last I understand why I am called a lady-in-waiting," she told her grandmother when she was able to visit her, "for that's truly what I do."

She had been given the day to herself, asked only to return to Westminster by dark, and in the clear morning had taken a boat down the river to see her grandmother, who greeted her with a wide smile and a sadness behind her eyes, which let Isabel know her mother had visited and told Grandmother that Isabel now knew

that she was illegitimate. They did not speak of it at first, talking instead of Isabel's new life.

"I spend most of my time waiting. I thought I would be sitting in court, or walking in the gardens with the queen. And I do both. But I had no idea that a lady-in-waiting meant just that."

Grandmother laughed with her and pushed a plate of figs closer to Isabel.

"What are your duties? What is the queen's day like?"

"We must rise first, of course, and ready her clothing and tidy the rooms and clear the chamber pots if they need cleaning, and receive messages. Most mornings—listen to me, in her service five days and already an expert!" Isabel laughed at herself. "The king visits every day, sometimes with his counselors. And the children are often there as well."

"The children each have their own household, do they not? How many are still at home? Queen Eleanor had, what, fourteen?"

"Fifteen, but only six are still alive. Can you imagine, only six?"

"It's common, sweet. They were fortunate. Princess Eleanor is married and lives in Aragon, is that right? And Joan, the one they call Joan of Acre—she's the one who married Gilbert de Clare in

May?"

"Yes! I wish I'd been with the queen then. I'm told it was a magnificent ceremony at Westminster Abbey. Surely you heard all about it?"

Grandmother laughed. "Surely I did. And just as surely I've forgotten. Unlike the rest of London, I do not spend my day discussing what the king's family does. Princesses are expected to marry well, and she did. And the other children?"

Isabel counted on her fingers. "Margaret is fifteen, Mary is eleven, Elizabeth is eight and Prince Edward is six. Lady Dickleburough says they've all inherited their father's willfulness."

"Lady Dickleburough? She is still at court? No one's murdered her yet?"

"Grandmother! Why ever would they?"

"She knows far too much. They must be paying her well to keep her silence. Do not trust her, sweet."

"Oh, I don't, but she's ever so amusing. And I'm starting to know Alis de Braun. She's been very kind to me."

"Alis de Braun?" Grandmother sniffed. "Her grandfather was a merchant!"

Isabel laughed. "So was mine."

"Your grandfather," Grandmother said archly, "was a successful merchant, who became a knight. He gave me a very comfortable life. Her grandfather sold fish on the docks and then was able to buy a fish stall."

"Then how did she end up at court?"

"Alis is lovely, which helped. And she had a benefactor. Alis's mother married an old fool of a baron, who conveniently died shortly after Alis and her sister were born. Now there was a woman who knew how to manage her life."

There was a pause. Isabel took a bite of fig. "Did you know him? My father? Did you ever meet him?"

Her grandmother sat back against the wall and watched her for a moment. "Lonsby? Many times. I despised him. Still do. He lied. From the first day, he lied, and my girl was foolish enough to believe him. There are men, Isabel, who cannot resist a pretty face or a willing lass, and he is one. I daresay you are not the only child he fathered while he was here. The king fathered fifteen. I'm sure Lord Lonsby fathered as many. He could not keep his.. .he has no restraint."

"He was married before he met Mother?"

"For several years."

"And this was widely known? No one told her?"

"He was of little importance. It never entered my mind that she would find him attractive. He was furtive in his pursuit. I knew there was someone who had caught your mother's interest, but I thought it was the lad down the street. I knew he would not harm her. He loved her. Still does, if you ask me, but he's been married for years now, and he's not the kind to break his vows."

"My mother says she was a wanton."

Grandmother sighed. "No, although there is a wanton streak in our blood. Certainly my mother had it, but certainly yours did not. My mother never truly regretted her fall from grace. She told me all my life that I should be proud I was the daughter of a king, for all the good that ever came of it. Although, this house was given to her and one cannot sneeze at that. The wages of sin, I suppose, are not always as paltry as one might think. But, sweet, you need to be wiser than my mother, and yours. You see how bitter she is. It is always the woman who pays the price, never the men. Be wiser, my dear."

"Why did you never tell me?" Isabel tried to keep accusation out of her tone. "Why did neither of you ever tell me?"

"It was not my place to tell you; it was your mother's. I had hoped you would never know. Now you are mourning the death of your vision of your father, not the real man. Why did you need to know that your vision was far from the truth?"

"Did he know—my father—did he know about me? He must have, Grandmother. I remember him..."

"Of course he knew. His uncle was a powerful man and through him Lonsby got your mother appointed to the queen's staff. He would not care for her, but at least he made sure she would eat, although you know I would never have let you starve. But your mother was proud and would not accept my help. I begged her to come here, but she was determined to pay the price for her mistake."

"Me."

"No, Isabel, you were not a mistake. He was. A charming, handsome mistake. He would have left her broken-hearted and ruined. You gave her a reason to get up each day, and she needed that after he left her. Bastard!"

"That would be me, not him, Grandmother." Isabel smiled weakly, feeling tears threatening.

They stood instead in her grandmother's eyes for a moment. "I apologize, sweet. I spoke without thought."