The Shadow Queen: The Sunday Times bestselling book – a must read for Summer 2018. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ estate in the north if I recall the matter. One of the household knights with a life to make for himself, a handsome face and a soldier’s agility, but no prospects other than those he might win on the battlefield. His father was notable for a despicable default in loyalty on the battlefield, leading to his murder by his erstwhile friends. And you have been wilful enough to ally yourself with such a family, wasting your royal blood on a man without name or fortune.’

      She stopped, but only to draw breath. Yet before she could continue, in pure self defence:

      ‘So was my father executed as a traitor,’ I said.

      It was the wrong thing to say. The wrong time to say it, even though there was no doubting it. Whereas my uncle had restrained himself, my mother lashed out with her hand, catching me with a flat blow against my cheek that made me stagger. She had never struck me before. Verbally yes, but never with such physicality. I read her anger in the engraved lines of her face, as I refused to raise my hand to register the raw impact of the blow. Instead I simply stood and faced her, eyes wide on hers.

      ‘Your father was pardoned,’ she said, as if the violence had never occurred. ‘His reputation and his name were wiped clean from the filth of treachery by King Edward himself.’

      ‘You were involved also, madam.’ The outline of her hand still smarted, so I gave no quarter, whatever the wisdom of it. ‘Were you exonerated too?’

      ‘Your defiance is unacceptable.’

      My whole body tensed, until my mother grasped at her dignity, threading her fingers together, moderating her tone.

      ‘You know that I was. And you too, or you would not have been given the honour of royal status in the queen’s household.’ Her fury might be under control but she had still not finished with me. ‘Are you so credulous? I did not think a daughter of mine would fall into the hands of a man of no distinction, like a ripe plum into his palm. All he saw was an indiscreet girl with royal connections who could pave his way to some place in the royal court, opening the doors to patronage and wealth and royal preferment. How could you have been so immeasurably foolish?’

      ‘Thomas did not want me for patronage and preferment.’

      ‘Do you say?’ Her mouth twisted in an unmistakable sneer. ‘He must be the only man in the realm who would not!’

      It had more than crossed my own mind, yet still I believed that Thomas Holland saw more in me than a path to royal approval. Love was a powerful bonding.

      ‘Joan!’ My mother, abandoning accusation, fell back on a false softness. ‘Tell me that he persuaded you with honeyed words. If that is so, this marriage can be annulled before anyone else is the wiser.’

      I could not imagine Thomas using honeyed words. Thomas was a soldier, not a troubadour, his knowledge of songs limited to those a troop of militia might roar round a campfire after victory. Or possibly those employed by harlots in a camp brothel to seduce the coin from a soldier’s purse.

      ‘I was not persuaded,’ I said, ‘if you mean lured into impropriety against my will. I gave my full and free consent. I wished to be married to him. I love him. And he loves me.’

      But she would not let the battle lapse, driving on with all force. ‘You knew it would be unacceptable. So did he. Did he persuade you to such subterfuge? If he was a man of chivalry, a true knight, he would not have wed you in secret.’

      ‘We knew you would not support it. We had no choice.’

      ‘You knew well! I wanted this Montagu marriage, as did the King. Our future would be safe, secure, our inheritance inviolable from attack. Your children would be Earls of Salisbury. I could not believe our good fortune when the Montagu connection looked in your direction.’

      I frowned a little.

      ‘But who would attack our inheritance? The King has restored all our father’s lands to us. John’s ownership as Earl of Kent is unquestioned.’

      Were we not safe enough now that the Mortimer treachery had been so ruthlessly stamped out? The King had openly forgiven my father’s involvement in the plot to undermine his power. It was all so long ago in the past. I could not truly understand why my mother should still feel so insecure.

      ‘I was not given authority over all the estates. A permanent punishment, a constant reminder that I must watch my step.’ Oh, she was aggrieved, and not only towards me. ‘Who’s to know what the King might be moved to take from us if displeased? How do we read the future?’ She turned away as if the sight of me was anathema. ‘What do we do now? Accept it? Father Oswald was plain that it was a legal binding if you exchanged vows and with witnesses. How do we circumvent such an appalling outcome? And you confirmed that it was consummated…’

      On a thought she whipped round, her whole expression arrested. ‘That’s it! Did he force you, before the marriage? Was that how it was? Are you carrying his misbegotten child, so that you must wed him?’ Her eyes travelled over the flat expanse below my girdle as if she would delight in seeing evidence of my sin. ‘No, of course you could not. When did this travesty take place? May? And as he has not been in England since to my knowledge, it’s a specious argument.’ I could feel my face flame, whereas my mother’s was still full of a bright but false hope. ‘Yet if he did force you, it would provide grounds for an annulment.’

      I read uncharitable anticipation there. My mother would willingly discuss my rape if it could sever the terrible bond with Thomas Holland.

      ‘He did not force me. I did not wed him to save my reputation. I will not cry rape.’

      My mother’s accusations lurched into a different track as she strode the length of the chamber and then back again. ‘Were you so carelessly chaperoned? I cannot believe that the Queen would allow the young women of her household such license. We will send for Holland. We will make him retract his words, the whole disgraceful debacle. We will know the truth.’

      ‘You cannot send for him,’ I said, wishing that she could, wishing that I could.

      My mother once more stood before me. ‘Why not? Where is he? We are not at war. There is a truce. Where is this bold knight who besmirched your reputation but leaves you alone to face the world with the repercussions of your mistakes.’

      I told her what I knew. It was not much. ‘He has gone, I think, to Prussia. There was an appeal from the Holy Father and the Teutonic Knights…’

      I was interrupted. ‘A crusade? A knight who follows the cross? God was far from his thoughts in this recent venture. He is mired in sin.’ Then once again my mother’s eyes lit with a sudden realisation. ‘When did you last have news of him?’

      ‘He left after we were wed, in spring.’

      ‘And now it is October. Have you heard from him since?’

      ‘No.’ I could read the direction of her thoughts as if they were bathed in golden sunlight, rather than hidden in the black shadow of loss for me. Had I not thought of this possibility, again and again?

      Her fingers tapped against her girdle. ‘Six months, with no news. Do you suppose that he is dead? It would solve the problem with no more need for our anxiety.’ She scowled at me when I made no reply, for how could I? My heart was sore with the foretaste of death on some distant battlefield. Already his body might be reduced to a carrion-stripped carcase, and I not know of it.

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