The Tudor Bride. Joanna Hickson

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       9

      As soon as the unseasonal blanket of snow had melted, the Duke of Gloucester rode into Windsor with the Duchess of Hainault and, to the surprise of Catherine and her ladies, her sole female attendant was none other than Eleanor Cobham.

      The king and queen received Duchess Jacqueline with due ceremony in St George’s great hall and we all had a good look at her as she swept down the room on Gloucester’s arm, looking to my eyes nothing like a damsel in distress. She was tall and statuesque with milky skin and red-blonde hair dressed in plaited ‘horns’, capped with a headdress of exquisite wired Valenciennes lace. Seeing this and her magnificent and unsullied gown of dark-green broadcloth trimmed with sable, I concluded that she had prevailed upon Gloucester to make a halt somewhere in Windsor so that all evidence of the journey could be removed from her person. Jacqueline of Hainault knew the value of first impressions.

      When the initial greetings were over, she was invited to take the place of honour beside the king at the high table and a splendid welcome feast was served. However controversial Jacqueline’s departure from mainland Europe may have been, it was made evident to all that she was an honoured guest at the English court.

      During the meal Eleanor Cobham was seated among Catherine’s ladies at a lower trestle and we were able to quiz her about her new patron. ‘It was a complete surprise when his grace’s messenger arrived with the invitation to serve the duchess,’ she confessed coyly, ‘especially as my family had moved from Sterborough to Hever, so he was obliged to battle the blizzard to seek me out. Fortunately, Hever is only a day’s ride from Eltham.’

      ‘Goodness, did you ride there in the snow?’ enquired Lady Joan admiringly. ‘Even in daylight, it must have been a cold and slippery journey.’

      ‘A little cold,’ acknowledged Eleanor, ‘and of course we had nothing but saddlebags, so this is my only gown.’ She made a deprecatory gesture at her serviceable grey tunic and blue côte-hardie, serviceable for riding hard over snowy roads, but lacking any of the style and colour of court costume. ‘However, the duchess has promised me five marks to buy cloth for new gowns as soon as we are settled.’

      ‘Five marks!’ I echoed, impressed. ‘The duchess’s purse is well-lined. I thought she had been forced to flee Hainault with barely the clothes on her back.’

      Eleanor frowned. ‘Yes, she did, it was a daring escape from all accounts. But she assures me she will receive funds from the king until such time as she regains her own treasury. I hope there are some good tailors about the court.’

      ‘The queen does not think so,’ Lady Joan remarked. ‘She is sending Madame Lanière to London as soon as the roads dry out, to recruit tailors and mercers. Is that not so, Madame?’

      ‘More or less,’ I admitted, although since my mission was quickly to acquire some looser gowns to accommodate Catherine’s soon-to-be-swelling belly, I could have done without it being generally known yet. ‘But if I can persuade a number of London craftsmen to come to Windsor, it will be some time before they arrive. Meanwhile, perhaps you may be able to borrow a gown. Several of the queen’s young ladies are more or less your size.’

      Eleanor favoured me with an innocent-seeming smile, but I caught a calculating glint in those violet eyes of hers. ‘Or perhaps the queen herself has some old gowns she no longer wears?’ she suggested. ‘You would know that, would you not, Madame?’

      I immediately had a vision of Eleanor preening herself in one of Catherine’s Parisian creations and revelling in the jealous glances of the queen’s own maids of honour. ‘I would,’ I confirmed, ‘and I can tell you that all her surplus gowns were left in France, to be distributed to charities in Rouen where the terrible siege left people destitute. Incidentally,’ I added casually, ‘does the duchess know you are not yet fourteen? Is she happy to be responsible for one so young among the schemers and lechers of the court?’

      Eleanor’s ingratiating smile faded and was replaced by a smug and steady stare. ‘Actually I was born on the feast of St Richard of Chichester, a saint my mother particularly reveres. And so on the 4th day of April I became fourteen.’

      ‘Congratulations, Damoiselle. But, even so, you are not old enough to know the difference between a gentleman and a serpent masquerading as a gentleman – and there are plenty of such bejewelled serpents who are not instantly recognisable, not until you find yourself alone with them in a dark corner. Do you take my meaning?’

      ‘Oh yes, Madame,’ she responded seriously, ‘and I assure you that any man lucky enough to find himself in a dark corner with me will be there at my invitation and extremely rich, titled and unmarried!’ She broke into a gay little laugh. ‘I am joking, Madame!’ she hastened to add, seeing my astonishment. ‘No, the Duchess of Hainault will have in me a diligent and discreet companion. I was merely pointing out that young ladies come to court not only to serve our noble patrons, but also to find a rich and landed husband. I assure you the duchess completely understands the importance of making powerful connections.’ She glanced slyly up at the high table where, with smiles and elegant hand gestures, Jacqueline was adroitly managing to draw the attention of both the king and his brother. Catherine was also leaning forward to listen to their conversation, temporarily ignoring King James who sat on her other side.

      Meanwhile I was assessing the impression Eleanor had made on me, admitting astonishment that a girl of such tender years should already have developed this hard-nosed attitude towards her own assets. Where were the wild, romantic notions that filled the minds of most girls of her age and which caused their guardians such worry and heartache? If Eleanor Cobham was to be believed, at just fourteen she already had high ambitions and a very clear idea of how to achieve them.

      Joanna Belknap had eagerly taken over Eleanor’s attention with questions about the intriguing stranger and she was not alone in her curiosity. Jacqueline of Hainault had sparked a new fascination in the court.

      Eleanor spoke candidly of her new mistress. ‘I have only known her a short time, but she is a lady who knows what she wants and tells you in no uncertain terms. I think she may have rubbed a lot of important people up the wrong way in Brabant, which is why she has come to England. She has even run away from her mother, you know.’

      ‘Her mother is the sister of the previous Duke of Burgundy, Jean the Fearless; the one who was killed on the bridge at Montereau,’ I observed darkly. Even pronouncing the name of Catherine’s ‘devil Duke’ sent a shiver down my spine. I could not help wondering if his sister might be tainted with the same evil nature, even towards her own daughter. It was not that long since I had risked my life and that of my son and daughter to save Catherine from his vile abuse.

      Eleanor shrugged. ‘I do not know about that, but I think she is lonely. She was delighted to receive me when I arrived at Eltham, saying it was several weeks since she had had any female companionship, and I must say her clothes were in a terrible state. It took me a whole day and the help of his grace of Gloucester’s body squire to make that green gown presentable again. The sooner she acquires some menial servants the better, as far as I am concerned. My nails are ruined.’

      She laid a pair of dainty little hands on the cloth to prove her point, but they did not look particularly work-worn to me. These days, at court, I kept my own hands hidden as much as possible because there was no disguising the evidence of their years of physical toil.

      Eleanor continued cheerfully, ‘Indeed, from what I know of her grace’s intentions, the establishment of her household is precisely what she will be discussing with the king at this moment.’

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