The Scandalous Duchess. Anne O'Brien

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘Find your mistress’s garments,’ I chivvied, seeing that some of her coffers had already been placed in the room. ‘A shift, a robe. Some soft shoes…’ I pointed at the bath. ‘Now you must bathe, my lady.’

      And under my eye the maidservant I had brought with me began to strip the fur and matted velvet from the Castilian queen’s slight body, releasing her hair from its confinement so that it snaked, damp and tangled, over her shoulders. The Duchess simply stood and allowed it to happen.

      ‘Clothes for your mistress,’ I snapped again at the damsels, thinking that my sister Philippa, with all her experience in Duchess Blanche’s household, would find it a hard task to help me beat these women into some sort of order. They had clearly not served in a noble household before. Then I addressed the Duchess, who was standing shivering in her embroidered under-gown. ‘How do I address you, my lady?’

      She regarded me steadily, looking far younger than her seventeen years. ‘I am Queen of Castile,’ she pronounced carefully.

      Which did not help. She was also Duchess of Lancaster. Since she had not objected, I continued as I had called her.

      ‘A poor welcome for you, my lady.’

      ‘Yes. This is my sister, the Lady Isabella.’

      She gestured casually with her hand towards the young unsmiling woman at her side, before handing to me, without looking at it, the brooch that had been pinned to the bosom of her gown. Making the requisite curtsy to the Lady Isabella, I placed the brooch on the coffer beside me. It was heavy with gold, depicting St George and a flamboyant dragon, all picked out in sapphires, diamonds and pearls. The dragon’s eyes were ruby-red. Much discussed, it was a gift from Prince Edward to acknowledge the Queen of Castile’s arrival, and was indeed worthy of royalty. I was surprised that she treated it with such indifference, for it was a remarkable jewel. Perhaps she was merely tired, yet I did not think so, despite the shadows beneath her eyes and the obvious strain on her aquiline features. I did not think it meant anything to her, and wondered what would move her to true emotion. As I turned back to her, she spoke, carefully:

      ‘Who are you?’

      ‘Katherine de Swynford, my lady.’

      ‘You are part of this…?’ She sought for the word. I had been right. Her French, heavily accented, was not good.

      ‘Household,’ I supplied. ‘I am part of the Duke’s household. And of yours. I am appointed to be one of your damsels.’

      She stared at me. ‘One of my ladies?’ she repeated.

      ‘Yes, my lady.’

      ‘Do you also care for the Duke’s children?’

      ‘Yes, my lady. When it is necessary.’

      ‘I have not met the children yet.’ She frowned. ‘My lord has told me of them.’

      ‘Tomorrow you will see them.’

      She lifted her arms to allow her under-gown to be removed, then stood in her shift as the maid unrolled her stockings, obediently lifting one foot, then the other. ‘I will have a son of my own,’ she announced. ‘You served Duchess Blanche?’

      ‘Yes, my lady.’

      The shift removed, I saw how undeveloped her body was at hip and breast. Childbearing would not be easy for her. The pregnancy showed barely a roundness of her belly. I offered my hand to help her step into the tub and lower herself into the water, where she sighed with pleasure and closed her eyes.

      ‘Are you married?’ she asked.

      ‘A widow, my lady.’

      ‘What is that?’

      ‘Una viuda,’ murmured one of the women who seemed to have more French than her mistress.

      ‘I understand. Your husband is dead. Do you have children?’

      She had so many questions.

      ‘Yes. I have three. My daughter Blanche is the Duke’s godchild. What is that?’ I looked at the woman who had replied before.

      ‘Un ahijado,’ she supplied.

      The Duchess’s eyes opened, focused on me, then narrowed. ‘He—the Duke—has a regard for you.’ There was no friendliness there and I sensed a jealousy in what was obviously a question. Who should recognise it better than I?

      ‘For me, a little, for the service I gave to his wife. And for my husband, much more,’ I explained. ‘He died in Aquitaine last year, in the Duke’s employ. Sir Hugh was a soldier in his retinue.’

      ‘I see.’ She understood enough, and what was most pertinent. The resentment in her eyes cooled. ‘Your husband was a man of title.’

      ‘Yes. He was a knight.’

      ‘Ah!’ She smiled, her face suddenly lit with an inner beauty. ‘So you are Lady Katherine de Swynford.’

      ‘Yes, my lady.’ Status also meant something to her. I wondered how fluent the Duke was in Castilian. He would need to be, to pick his way through all these Conflicting impulses.

      ‘Then I have decided. I want you to be my damsel,’ she stated with all the imperiousness of the house of Castile.

      ‘As I will be. The Duke has appointed me.’ I explained, slowly: ‘My sister, Mistress Chaucer, will also come to care for you.’

      ‘Is she like you?’

      ‘She is very capable. She knows about children.’

      The new wife stretched out her arm for the maid to wash with a soft cloth. Her glance to me was suddenly sharp. ‘I fear this…’ She spread her free hand over her belly. ‘It makes me feel ill.’

      ‘There is no need to fear, my lady. You are young and strong.’

      ‘Still I fear.’ She shrugged. ‘Were you with Duchess Blanche? When she was with child?’

      ‘Yes, my lady.’

      ‘She lost some of her babies, did she not?’

      ‘Yes, my lady.’ I could not lie, but I poured her a cup of warm wine and offered it, hoping to distract her. It would do no good to speak of the three little boys who had not seen the first anniversary of their birth. Or the girl, Isabella, who had barely breathed.

      ‘How many?’ the Duchess insisted.

      ‘Four,’ I admitted. ‘But she carried three who are now grown.’

      She waved aside the wine. ‘Have you lost any babies?’

      ‘No, my lady.’

      ‘Then you will stay with me. You will give me your advice.’ A demand again, not a request. ‘It is…it is imperativo that I carry un heredero for Castile.’

      I caught the gist. ‘Of course,’ СКАЧАТЬ