The Lily and the Lion (12 page)

Gillet recoiled as his mind set the image before him. The lump of flesh strapped to a rack, the skin peeled away, strip by strip, nothing more than a butcher's carcass. For months afterwards that image sent him tumbling from his bed in the middle of the night to lose his stomach. He'd wrapped the bloody remains in sheets and bound it in white silk and with the boy's older brother riding tight-lipped by his side delivered his young cousin home for burial.

Prior to their departure the Prince sent for them to offer his commiseration. But the loss of this innocent soul was a warning. Accept Edward of Woodstock's rule. The Prince had said nothing, but his expression had spoken more words than a Sunday sermon.

Their parchment of friendship had been blotched by an ugly stain and years of youthful rivalry were carefully folded away. Gillet left the Black Prince's service. Two years ago France required he return. His conscience shifted uncomfortably. When had loyalty and honour, the fundamentals of a knight, become so blurred? The deeper layers of his friendship with Edward may have survived despite his cousin's brutal death. But now there was a new bone between them. Cécile d'Armagnac.

To my very good and right worshipful sister, Cécile d'Armagnac.

The days and nights pass slowly as I pray for your deliverance and wait for news. I have asked the Lord to protect and keep you safe, yet I feel dissatisfied. I do not believe that it was simply fate that brought us back together. This is God's work and with help He will find a way to reveal our identity.

As we travelled slowly towards London, I contemplated the many barriers before me, for how am I going to achieve anything without assistance? I had thought to speak with my new guardian, Lord Simon Marshall, Earl of Wexford, but he is as sullen as Madam Bellet, the convent cook, who never seemed to find joy in life. Anaïs, on the other hand, was most excited and babbled endlessly but said little of meaning. Though the task seems insurmountable, I have no intention of giving up.

We reached the capital within three days, entering through the west gate to make our way towards the river into Blackfriars, so called for the priory of black-cloaked monks whose property borders Simon's estate.

‘Your neighbours are monks!' I exclaimed, amused at the irony.

‘Huh! The “hounds of the Lord” they call them,' he grumbled. ‘The only thing they hound me for is coin!'

I was most impressed with Lord Wexford's London home. It is located in the nobles' district, the Savoy Palace only a few blocks distant. His manor house is far superior to anything I could have possibly imagined, though scaffolding creeps up one side, repairs a constant necessity, I suppose.

Whilst I have been granted full access to its amenities, Anaïs was returned to her place in the kitchen, creating numerous difficulties and many unpleasant incidents for the servants. I cannot say that I am unhappy with this arrangement, for I no longer feel the bond that once existed between us. We had shared much at Denny Abbey, rare moments of gay abandonment that masked the harsh reality of poverty. We had scavenged from the kitchens and hid in the buttery, triumphantly devouring the burnt pastries as though they had fallen straight from a King's platter. But perhaps I had not seen Anaïs in her true light, for I had few companions with whom I could compare her.

The morning sun brought with it a welcome reprieve from my stifled existence. As it was Sunday I was to attend the great Cathedral of Saint Paul. How I longed to cover my hair and dress in my habit, but that was strictly forbidden by both Monsieur de Bellegarde and Lord Wexford, so I changed my chemise and donned a gown borrowed from Anaïs. I was escorted in silence by my benefactor and you can imagine my surprise when, upon arrival at the church, he clearly stated that he would wait for me outside. That is right, dear sister, this Christian man did not attend Mass on the Sabbath!

Upon our return to Marshall House, I sought out Lord Wexford and found him lazing in his private chamber after the noon meal.

‘Lord Wexford,' I began, my voice trembling with fear. ‘I feel that I must speak to you concerning your actions this morning.'

‘My actions? I am sure I do not know what you mean.' He did not look up, instead focusing his attention on the numerous opened books and parchments scattered over his desk.

‘When you accompanied me to church I thought you would have sat beside me during the service.'

‘Ah, so you are disappointed with me because you had to sit alone.' Waving his hand, he indicated that I should take the chair in front of him but I remained standing, unable to move.

‘No, Sir, that is not what I meant,' I replied. ‘I had thought you were to attend the service yourself.'

‘Did you, now?' He turned his attention to me, his gaze penetrating my soul in a most ungodly fashion. I reached for the door latch for reassurance, in case I felt the need to flee. My eyes occasionally darted upwards so as to observe him, but after a short while he seemed to forget that I was there. He continued to sort through a number of tatty documents. I was unsure what to do next, for he clearly had no intention of providing an explanation. I appeared to be no more than a petty disturbance. Deciding to wait no longer, I turned to leave.

‘Catherine, before you return to your room to fall on your knees and beg the Lord's mercy for the saving of my soul, I think you might like to hear what I learned of the Holland family this very morning whilst sitting outside the cathedral, committing that heinous sin of which you are quite obviously accusing me.'

Somewhat annoyed by his blatant mocking of my beliefs, I spun around to address him, noting the extent of the smile that played about his cunning features.

Without waiting for me to make comment, he launched himself almost gleefully into the telling of his news. ‘Lady Philippa Neville is far gone with child,' he smirked. I supposed he hoped to arouse my embarrassment and I felt myself flush. ‘It seems that Saint Paul's is a little too stuffy for her at present and so she likes to sit just outside where she can hear the sermon but also breathe the fresh, sweet air of London,' he quipped, as if this fact alone was believable, for London is a most foul-smelling city. ‘Because the good lady is the wife of my cousin, I thought it appropriate to sit with her and make idle gossip. It just so happens that Lady Philippa is somewhat of a friend to the Lady Holland but more so with her brother's widow, Elizabeth, who now resides in Kent with her new husband, Sir Eustace d'Aubedcicourt. They are currently visiting with family in London.' He smiled triumphantly, as though he had won a great tournament or joust, but I did not know what to say. ‘I am confused. I thought this news would be pleasing, yet it brooks no response from you at all.'

‘You misunderstand,' I replied, slightly turning from his penetrating stare in the hope of hiding my awkwardness.

This is what comes of life in the convent, for I must tell you, dear sister, I am finding it most difficult to understand my place in this world. So much is foreign to me, strange and frightening, and I am finding it almost impossible to converse with anyone, particularly men I do not know well. ‘It did not occur to me that you would have family so close to the Hollands.'

‘Yes, well,' he continued, returning his attention to his desk, ‘I have sent an invitation to the Aubedcicourts to take supper with us next week. Once I retire with Eustace you will have Elizabeth to yourself. Knowing her to be a gossip I feel sure that she will have a great deal to tell should you choose to ask.'

I wanted to thank him, for he certainly had made a great effort to assist me, but I was so unsure of myself that I did not know how this was to be done. The silence between us began to stretch and I knew that he was awaiting my response. ‘Thank you, Lord Wexford, I am most grateful to you and to the Lord for His intervention,' I mumbled.

‘The Lord!' he scoffed, pushing a large bound volume to one side. ‘I doubt He had anything to do with it.'

My cheeks were burning as I bowed my head, for I was being baited, taunted, and he was taking pleasure in it.

‘Afore you go I must inquire as to your gown. Is this the only style of garment you have to wear?' His nose wrinkled as though offended by my appearance.

‘Yes, M'lord, as I have been forbidden to dress in my habit.'

‘That sack does not appear to fit you.'

‘It belongs to my maid who generously offered to lend it to me.'

‘The gift of an old corn bag is not generosity! I will order you something more flattering.' His eyebrows arched as he took on the lewd look of the Devil.

I turned away from his prying gaze and hastily made to leave.

‘And, Catherine, don't slam it as you go,' he teased, his laughter ringing out as I gently closed the door behind me.

Lord Wexford was as good as his word, for that afternoon a seamstress arrived and after a couple hours of measuring she departed with the promise to supply a reasonable wardrobe, which will include chemises, surcotes and one good cloak. She had suggested a gown of infinite quality but as I have very little prospect of wearing such a thing I politely refused the offer.

I was surprised when only a day later a parcel arrived with more than half the promised items folded neatly within. I pulled back the ribbon and was consumed with sinful excitement, for the quality was unmistakable. As I examined the rich blue gown I could clearly hear Mary St Pol's berating, as though she stood beside me. She would never approve of such indulgence. Yet I could not resist the urge to run my fingers across the band of embroidery on the surcote before repackaging the clothing. Unable to bear the guilt of wearing such apparel, I donned Anaïs' brown kirtle and made my way downstairs to break my fast.

The salon was empty so I began my small meal alone, though I could not help overhearing the commotion in the kitchen. My heart plummeted as I recognised my maid's shrill voice above all others. My face coloured as Lord Wexford entered the room, for he appeared irritated and annoyed. He sat heavily and began eating without explanation, devouring the entire contents of his plate before looking up at me.

‘Please excuse my rudeness but your maid has angered me.'

I nodded my understanding.

‘She states that she is unwell so will not be assisting you for the nonce.'

I blushed as his gaze travelled over me.

‘Is there something wrong with your new wardrobe?'

‘No, it is beautiful and I wish to thank you most sincerely, but I am afraid it is inappropriate.'

‘Why?'

‘It is not suitable for a novice.'

‘But you are no longer a novice.'

‘Not at present.'

‘So you intend to return to the convent?'

‘Of course.'

‘Why?' he questioned as he filled both our tankards.

‘I have nowhere else to go and cannot continue to live off the charity of others,' I admitted.

‘And if you had a choice?'

‘But I do not, so why contemplate it?'

‘What about your sister?'

‘I dare not risk endangering her.' I hesitated momentarily before adding, ‘And she may not wish to make such an offer.'

‘I see. Well, in the meantime, humour me.'

‘Vanity is sinful.'

‘So is nakedness I am told. As I have instructed the maids to dispose of your rags I suggest you reconsider.'

I do not dare test my guardian, for I have no doubt he speaks the truth. He would certainly have Anaïs' gowns burned if he set his mind to it, so I have relented. How very strange I feel, garbed as I am, sitting here alone, thinking of you. If only we could be together.

12 June

Even though I have resided in London for some weeks now, I wish I could write more of the city but I remain as detained as before, my weekly outings restricted to church visits on Sundays and holy days. Lord Wexford has made it very clear that my safety is paramount and that he dare not take any undue risks, particularly now that the King and his entourage have returned to the royal keep. It is more than a little unnerving to learn the Black Prince is nearby and I cannot help but wonder if you accompany him. More frightening is it to know that Salisbury is also present. For the first time I have no inclination to venture outside.

There is to be a great feast to celebrate King Jean's signing of the truce and as one of King Edward's courtiers, Lord Wexford is summoned to attend.

And what of you, my sister? How I long for news of you and Gillet.

15 June

Unable to sleep for the boisterous cheer that resounded through the streets all night long, the people welcoming an end to the war, I heard Lord Wexford return at dawn. Incapable of waiting for a respectable hour, I donned my gown and hurried downstairs, where I found him in his library. He was sprawled in his chair, sipping a goblet of wine, his stockinged feet wiggling atop his desk. At my entrance he held up his hand.

‘Before you lecture me on the evils of a bacchanal, perhaps you would like to know that I saw Gillet at the feast. Your sister is safe though she has been very ill.'

‘Oh my Lord! Where is she? How does she fare? Is she with the Prince?'