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Authors: Mari Griffith

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BOOK: The Witch of Eye
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‘A pity,’ said Eleanor. ‘But two-fifths of a treatise is better than none.’

Bolingbroke was all enthusiasm. Never had he had such a charming, intelligent, interested pupil. ‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘should your husband, the Duke, be fortunate enough to find an appropriate astrolabe in France, one designed for this latitude, then I shall be delighted to demonstrate it to you myself and explain it in detail.’

‘What might you use it for?’

‘For calculating many, many things, Your Grace. An astrolabe enables the user to tell with accuracy the positions of celestial bodies, the sun, the stars and planets. Naturally, navigators make much use of it for this reason, but it is also invaluable to mathematicians, as well as to astronomers and astrologers. For example, it can help greatly in casting horoscopes...’

‘Horoscopes?’ Eleanor interrupted, suddenly more interested. ‘Could you cast more accurate horoscopes by using this ... this astrolabe? Could you do that for me?’

‘Indeed, Your Grace. But I would need to know a little more about you than I do at present, for example, your date of birth.’

‘Oh, that need not be a secret, Magister, at least, not if it is to be used to cast my horoscope. In fact, my birthday happens to be very soon, at the end of next month. Should my husband return from Calais in good time – and I pray he will – I plan to combine a birthday party with a wonderful welcome home for His Grace at La Pleasaunce, our manor at Greenwich.’

‘Delightful, Your Grace, I’m sure.’

‘It will be a joyous occasion, of course, a time of relaxation and celebration. And that is very appropriate since my husband’s own birthday occurs not long after mine, in September. If things go according to my plan,’ she went on confidingly, ‘I’m hoping to persuade His Highness the King to make the river journey to Greenwich so that he can join us!’

Bolingbroke’s face lit up. ‘The King, eh? What an honour! I’m told His Highness believes that a good education provides the foundation for a rewarding life. It must please him greatly that you and His Grace the Duke set such a good example in this regard.’

‘It’s kind of you to say so, Magister. After all, the ink of the scholar’s pen is as crucial to a civilised society as the blood of the martyr.’

The little homily tripped easily off Eleanor’s tongue: it was not a personal philosophy of hers, just something she had once heard Humphrey say. Bolingbroke stood, open-mouthed for a moment. She had astounded him yet again.

‘Quite so, Your Grace, quite so. And for that reason it would give me great pleasure if, when I have finished writing it, you would permit me to dedicate my most recent book to you. Would you be so kind as to allow that?’

‘Why, of course, Magister! I should be delighted and I look forward to reading it. What is the subject of your book?’

‘Geomancy, Your Grace.’

‘Geomancy! How ... interesting.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Bolingbroke enthused. ‘It is so important that new buildings should be sited in the most auspicious places for the ultimate good of those who will use them and live in them. Geomancy is crucial in this regard. I feel very strongly about it. Don’t you agree, Your Grace?’

‘Er, yes, of course,’ said Eleanor, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

‘Then dare I cherish the hope that you will enjoy reading the book? I confess, Your Grace, it would have been twice as difficult to write were it not for the new spectacles. My academic work is very much easier now I’m able to see so much better.’

‘No doubt that will save His Grace a fortune on candles.’

She was pleased to have a book of any kind dedicated to her, though she would have preferred it to be one of chivalric romance.

***

J
enna’s new shoe had rubbed a blister on the back of her heel and she would gladly have given the price of the pair to be able to change them for her comfortable old alderwood clogs. Not that she had paid for the shoes. They, together with the clean linen coif she wore and her modest kirtle of blue broadcloth, had been provided by Mistress Jourdemayne. Margery stood next to her in the ante-room outside the Duchess Eleanor’s private withdrawing room and glanced sideways at her. Jenna was anxiously chewing her lip.

‘She won’t eat you!’ Margery said, nudging her.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Jenna, ‘but I can’t help it. I’m terribly nervous. I’ve never met a real Duchess before.’

Straight-faced, Margery whispered, ‘Just try to imagine her with no clothes on.’

Jenna gasped. ‘I couldn’t do that! She’s the wife of a Duke!’

‘Women are all the same under the skin. We all want the same, need the same things. It’s only down to the difference in circumstances.’

The door to the Duchess’s room opened and her maid came out.

‘Her Grace is ready to see you,’ she announced, then she added in a quiet voice, ‘you’d better have something interesting to show her. She was with Magister Bolingbroke and Canon Southwell. That’s why you had to wait. It’s more than my life’s worth to interrupt her when she’s with those two.’

‘We can always come back –’ Margery began, but Sarah gave her a conspiratorial wink.

‘They’ve gone, now,’ she said, ‘and she’s not too bad today. So if there’s something you want, I’d strike while the iron is hot, if I were you.’

‘Enter!’

Hearing the note of authority in the Duchess’s voice, Jenna thought her heart would stop in her chest. Now she was really going to see the famous Duchess of Gloucester, the most important woman in the country. Suddenly, she would have given anything at all to be anywhere else in England, even back in Kingskerswell.

‘Good afternoon, Your Grace,’ Margery was saying as they entered the room. ‘I trust you’re well.’

‘Well enough, thank you, Margery,’ said the Duchess, ‘though my tooth still troubles me occasionally. And who have we here?’

‘My new assistant, Your Grace,’ said Margery. ‘May I present Mistress Jenna Harding?’

Jenna was grateful for the opportunity to curtsey. Margery had spent some considerable time in teaching her how to drop down elegantly, one foot behind the other, and how to bow her head low in front of the Duchess.

‘Get up child, and let me see your face.’ As Jenna rose to her feet, the Duchess looked at her more closely. ‘Ah, not so much a child. You’re older than I first took you to be.’

The Duchess, too, appeared older than Jenna had imagined. There were fine lines around her eyes and some strands of grey in the dark hair which was just visible under the ornate crispinette on her head.

‘I didn’t want to employ some young chit of a girl, Your Grace,’ said Margery. ‘Anyone whom I entrust with the interests of my clients has to reliable and mature. It wouldn’t do to have some silly little assistant who would make mistakes in her reckoning and couldn’t read a recipe.’

‘You can read, can you?’ The Duchess sounded surprised.

‘Yes, a little, my Lady.’

‘A little, Your Grace,’ Eleanor corrected her. ‘That’s a rather unusual thing, isn’t it? And where did you learn to read?’

‘Oh, I don’t read well, my ... er ... Your Grace,’ Jenna stuttered nervously, ‘just a few words, mostly in Latin. Parson Middleton ... he was our parson back home ... taught us the alphabet so that we could read a little of the Bible.’

‘Your parson, you say. Yes, of course. He would have taught you to read the scriptures. How interesting. My husband, the Duke, is very keen that everyone should learn to read, as is his nephew, the King. Of course, that is impossible: books are far too expensive for most people.’

Jenna didn’t know whether she was expected to say anything in reply and was grateful when Margery stepped in.

‘Jenna is quite skilled and quick to learn. She will be able to look after the business when I have to be elsewhere.’

The Duchess ignored her. ‘You have a very fine skin,’ she observed, looking intently at Jenna. ‘I can’t see a single pock mark. Do you use any of your mistress’s preparations?’

‘She is devoted to my marigold face cream,’ said Margery swiftly, before Jenna could open her mouth. ‘I tested the new recipe on her before presenting it to you, Your Grace. As you can see, it has had an astonishing effect. That is the reason why I wanted to see you. I thought you would be interested in trying it for yourself.’

Jenna’s jaw dropped. Margery had never let her anywhere near the marigold face cream other than to package it. She had certainly never tested it on her. That was a blatant lie, though the telling of it seemed not to bother Margery in the slightest. Still talking, she had hold of Jenna’s chin and was turning her head from side to side so that her flawless complexion caught the light.

‘You will observe, Your Grace, the fine texture and colour of the skin, the slight translucence and, rather surprisingly, an amazing lack of wrinkles for a woman who is ... how shall I put it? Not exactly in the first flush of youth. That is entirely due to my marigold face cream.’

Margery’s face betrayed nothing. Astounded at the entirely false claim her mistress had made, Jenna, her chin still held rigid between Margery’s thumb and forefinger, swivelled her eyes from one face to the other as both women peered at her, examining her skin very closely. She had always had a good skin, it was not uncommon in dairymaids, but she knew better than to say so.

‘Where are you from?’ the Duchess demanded to know as Margery finally released Jenna’s chin. ‘What is your accent?’

‘I am from Kingskerswell in the county of Devon, Your Grace.’

‘Kingskerswell?’ The Duchess thought for a moment. ‘I’ve heard that name before. Is that not the seat of the Dynhams? Not far from Exeter? I know Sir John Dynham, I have met him. He accompanied the Duke on his campaign in Calais. Yes, that’s right. Sir John provided the army with several men-at-arms and a large company of archers. The Duke was very grateful to him. Well, well. What a small world we live in. Kingskerswell. It’s an unusual name.’

‘That’s because the manor often reverted to the King in times gone by, Your Grace, for the lack of heirs to inherit it.’

Jenna almost jumped out of her skin when Margery gave her a hard, warning pinch in the skin above her elbow. Glancing at her, Jenna could see Margery’s bland, fixed smile as she faced the Duchess. Yes, of course, she should never have mentioned heirs or the lack of them, not to the Duchess. She knew what the situation was. She could have kicked herself. ‘Of course,’ she added hurriedly, ‘the Dynhams also own the manor of Nutwell.’

‘Yes, yes, but it’s Kingskerswell that interests me particularly. There’s something in the back of my mind ... why does it make me think about teeth?’

‘Teeth?’ Margery interrupted, laughing nervously. ‘Teeth! Well, I can’t imagine why that should be, Your Grace.’

‘I ... I think I know why, Your Grace,’ said Jenna, deeply relieved that her careless reference to a lack of heirs to the Dynhams’ manorial estates appeared to have escaped the Duchess’s notice. ‘Perhaps Sir John Dynham mentioned St Apollonia, who is honoured with a fine window of stained glass in the parish church.’

‘Oh, yes! St Apollonia, yes, of course, that’s it. Yes, Sir John did mention that, now I come to think of it. It must have been in response to something I said about my troublesome tooth. I’m afraid I talk about it rather too often.’ The Duchess gave a little laugh and the tension went out of the situation. ‘St Apollonia. Of course. That’s it. I frequently pray to the dear saint to bring me relief from the toothache.’

Margery turned to Jenna. ‘Do you, perhaps, know someone who could intercede with the saint on the Duchess’s behalf?’

‘I ... er ... well, I’m not sure Mistress. Perhaps Parson Middleton...’

‘No, there is no need to bother your Parson Middleton. When I need relief from the pain, Mistress Jourdemayne’s tincture works perfectly well for the moment. But perhaps that is something we might think about one day.’

She turned away now and began to address herself to Margery. ‘For the moment, Margery, before I bid you good afternoon, I’d like you to arrange to deliver a consignment of the new marigold face cream to me as soon as possible, within the week, before my husband and I leave for La Pleasaunce.’

‘Certainly, Your Grace. In the meantime, I will leave this jar of it with you and Jenna will make the delivery in a few days.’

Jenna was listening to this exchange without really hearing it. All she could think of was that Margery Jourdemayne was a liar, a woman who was prepared to tell the most blatant of lies for the benefit of her business interests.

The Duchess was waving her hand imperiously. The interview was clearly at an end. Jenna and Margery both curtseyed very low to their royal client.

***

‘A
ll up!’ the cry went out and William pulled the skiff around quickly. He was no great oarsman, but needs must for Swan Upping. It was one of his responsibilities and swans were valuable creatures, so a record had to kept of their numbers. This was the best time of year to do it, when the cygnets were still young and easy to handle, though the parent swans could give a man a very nasty peck if he wasn’t careful. A nest had been spotted on shore and it was time to count the inhabitants.

The Manor of Eye-next-Westminster bordered the waters of the Thames along so much of its length that the Monastery, as a major landowner, could claim ownership of the swans that nested on its banks. Abbot Harweden was rightly proud of these stately, feathered status symbols and was anxious to have them counted and marked to identify them as Monastery property.

Though he complained gruffly about having to undertake this annual chore, William really quite looked forward to it. It always happened, along the entire length of the river, on a specific day in the third week of July so the weather was almost invariably kind to the Swan Uppers and, after the essential work of the farm had been attended to, the estate workers who were not manning the boats strolled down to the river in holiday mood and crowded along the shore. Now they watched as half a dozen skiffs slowly manoeuvred towards the swans’ nest, forming a circle around it from which neither the cob nor the pen nor any of their cygnets could escape.

It was all very new to Jenna. She had never seen Swan Upping before and, standing on the bank where she had a good view of what was happening, she was having the necessity for it solemnly explained to her by Kitty.

BOOK: The Witch of Eye
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