15 Reading, Berkshire, December 1340

15

Reading, Berkshire, December 1340

Jeanette swirled amid the dancers at the Christmas court, gold stars shining on her dark blue velvet gown. More stars gleamed in her braided hair, and powdered her shoes. Prince Edward took her by the waist and lifted her, swinging her round and placing her down, his arms strong with developing muscle. Their eyes met in a moment of shared exhilaration and she experienced a pang in her stomach, of affection and physical attraction, although only a small fire compared to the all-consuming blaze she felt for Thomas.

There had been no word from him, but she prayed for his safe return every night before she climbed into bed, and tried to keep her faith, hoping he had not abandoned his of her. She had settled once again into daily life with the royal children, functioning as an extra pair of hands, part nursemaid, part royal ward. Ever since the King and the court had returned from Flanders in late November, she had been kept very busy.

The dance finished; Edward bowed and Jeanette curtseyed to him, and they smiled at each other. Katerine of Salisbury arrived, her gown of ash-pink velvet shimmering with crystals and gold bezants. Her husband had been released by the French in a hostage exchange in late September and had returned to court with the King, and all was well in their world.

Katerine made her obeisance to the young Prince, who inclined his head but did not bow, and then she turned to Jeanette. ‘The Queen wishes to speak with you in her chamber,' she said.

Jeanette looked at her in surprise. ‘What about?' She had often attended on the Queen since November to rub her feet or comb her hair, but Philippa was pregnant again and had retired from the festivities to rest and Jeanette was not expecting a summons.

‘She will tell you,' Katerine said briskly. ‘Make haste, do not keep her waiting.'

Bemused, Jeanette followed Katerine and an usher to the Queen's chamber. As she left the hall, she looked over her shoulder at Edward, but he shrugged and opened his hands to say he was at a loss. She shivered, for away from the hearth and the press of celebrating people the air was icy and she did not have her cloak.

At the Queen's door, the usher knocked and craved admittance and a steward bade them enter. The air was immediately warmer here, heated by a glowing hearth and strategically positioned braziers. A blaze of beeswax candles gave off a cumulative honey scent, and added more warmth and ambience. Philippa lay on her bed, swathed in furs and silk, comfortably propped up by a mound of silk pillows. Her pet squirrel Poppet sat on a velvet cushion near her head, manipulating a walnut in his dextrous little paws.

‘Ah, my dear.' Philippa beckoned Jeanette to her side, rings shining on every finger. ‘You look beautiful. Are you enjoying the entertainments?'

‘Yes, madam, very much.'

‘I am glad to hear it, and I know how well you dance.'

At a gesture, a lady came forward with an exquisite small wine glass and a platter of pastries. Jeanette sipped the sweet, almost sticky wine and ate a pastry. Powdered Venetian sugar tingled on her tongue.

Philippa settled against her cushions. ‘I have asked you to come to me because the King and I have been reconsidering the matter of your future.'

Jeanette almost choked on her last bite of pastry, and had to take a hasty swallow of her wine.

‘It is unfortunate that the Gascon marriage was not to be, and let the reasons why remain in the past. We expected too much of you then.' Philippa gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Now you are older and wiser and it is seemly that you should marry and have a husband to care for. Your mother's brother has approached us on behalf of your family and the groom's family has also signalled their intent for their son.' Philippa's eyes twinkled. ‘I believe this time the young man will be a perfect match for you, and you know him well.'

Jeanette was still swallowing convulsively and struggling to breathe. Dear Holy Virgin, was she going to speak of Thomas and allow them to wed?

‘Come, have a guess at his identity,' Philippa teased.

‘Madam, I cannot think,' Jeanette replied in a strangled voice.

‘Your uncle and your mother are delighted, I can tell you.'

The sudden flash of hope in Jeanette's breast vanished as quickly as it had arrived. Not Thomas then.

Philippa tilted her head. ‘I see I have overwhelmed you. I know you will be pleased, for he is a handsome young man with a promising future, and an earldom to inherit in time. Come now, not even the smallest notion?'

Jeanette looked down at her hands and shook her head. ‘No, madam.'

‘Oh, I do not believe that – you are not a fool. Take another drink, my dear, and steady yourself. When you have dwelt as a maiden for so long, it is a daunting thing to become a wife, but you have nothing to fear. You will be a married woman, with your own household, and dare I say it, as many dogs and hawks as you wish – and children in the fullness of time, of course.'

Jeanette took another sip of the wine, and shuddered.

Philippa straightened against her pillows and clucked her tongue in a show of impatience. ‘You are to wed William Montagu at Langley before Lent and we shall hold a fine wedding at court. What do you say?'

Jeanette almost retched. She could not marry when she was already a wife, but she dared say nothing to the Queen because of the consequences, especially not with Katerine of Salisbury standing smiling beside her, knowing what she knew. She needed time to think. ‘I do not know what to say, madam,' she whispered.

Philippa's eyes narrowed. ‘Come now, are you not just a little bit pleased?'

Jeanette gulped. ‘Yes, madam,' she said numbly. Dear God, this was the end of the world!

Philippa's expression lost its smiling generosity. ‘I must tell you that the King is looking forward to your delight in this match after all the trouble over the last proposal. I know your mother is hoping for great things, as is the Countess of Salisbury. We shall announce the betrothal tomorrow, by which time I hope you will have thought upon your great good fortune. In due course you shall be the Countess of Salisbury yourself and hold an exalted position at court. For now, you may go.' With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Jeanette, clearly irritated and out of sorts.

Katerine took her arm as they curtseyed out of the Queen's presence. ‘For once in your spoiled life, do as you are bidden with good grace,' she hissed. ‘We both know what lies in your past and you would not wish it brought to light for your sake and that of others. You are being given a second chance and you shall not throw it away.'

Jeanette wrenched free of Katerine's grip. ‘It is no second chance,' she retorted. ‘Indeed, I never had a first one!'

Katerine pressed her lips together and escorted her not back to the festivities but to her own chamber, and instructed her women to watch Jeanette. ‘I fear she is overwrought and may exhibit signs of hysteria,' she said. ‘If she does, then give her one of my tisanes.'

Jeanette sat down numbly on her bed, clenching her emotion tightly inside. The last thing she wanted was to be forced to drink one of Katerine's horrible potions.

Hawise arrived to tend to her, and as she removed the pins from Jeanette's hair, Jeanette said flatly, ‘The King and Queen have arranged my marriage. I am to wed William Montagu within the month.'

Hawise stared. ‘How can you when you are already wed to Sir Thomas?' she whispered, glancing round.

Jeanette shook her head. ‘He is not here to support my claim, and how can I stand on my own in his absence?' She seized the pillow off the bed and pressed it to her body. ‘Even if I send a message to Thomas, it won't reach him for months, if ever. I do not know where he is. If I consent to this marriage, it is a mortal sin and I am going against my vows and against God. Whichever way I turn I am trapped!' She shuddered. ‘William Montagu is a vile brat. I would not wed him in a hundred years even if I was free to do so!' She rocked back and forth, over the pillow. ‘What am I to do? They are announcing the betrothal tomorrow.'

‘A betrothal can be annulled,' Hawise said, ‘as can a marriage. You have a copy of the contract in your coffer. You have me as a witness.'

‘Yes, but the other witnesses are scattered. John is with Thomas, as are Otto and Henry. If you spoke up without Thomas here, who would believe you? Indeed, you would endanger yourself. Father Geoffrey is possibly still in Ghent, but it would take weeks to find him. And to whom should I show the contract?'

Hawise sat down and folded an arm around Jeanette's shoulders in hopeless reassurance. ‘There is nothing you can do tonight, my lady, but we shall think of something.'

Words intended to comfort, but bearing no structure or certainty. She could run away, but they would find her and punish her. Part of her wished she had never met Thomas, and she was angry with him that yet again he had left her to deal with trouble alone, but even if their affair had never happened, she would still be confronted by the unpalatable fact that they were expecting her to marry a boy she loathed – to live as his wife and bear his children. The thought of having to lie with him sickened her.

The only glimmer of hope was that her marriage to Thomas meant that if they forced her into this match with Montagu, it would be invalid. It wouldn't be the truth ever, and that gave her the smallest spark of bleak and desolate relief.

In the morning Jeanette was presented to the King and Queen after mass to make the betrothal with both families bearing witness. Her mother was smiling with satisfaction – indeed everyone seemed inordinately pleased. Jeanette's brother John was present, her mother's brother, Thomas Wake, and Prince Edward too. William Montagu stood tall and proud with a smile on his lips, and eyed Jeanette like a cat that had caught a mouse and was about to play with it.

Jeanette was required to take William's hand, but there was nothing for either of them to say at this stage, and their guardians spoke for them, agreeing that the marriage would take place five weeks hence at the Royal Palace of Langley.

William squeezed her hand, but not in a kind way, and she responded by digging in her nails, leaving deep half-moon imprints in his skin.

The matter was briskly concluded as just another item of business. Jeanette rejoined the Queen's ladies and William departed to his tutors, but before he did he leaned in close to murmur in her ear: ‘When we are wed, you will know your place, for I shall teach you to honour me.'

‘Never!' she hissed, and he sneered at her.

Jeanette bit the inside of her mouth. Surely God would never permit this travesty to happen . . . but then who knew what the will of God truly was.

Many miles away, Thomas watched Raoul de Brienne, a French knight, cast the four ivory dice across the gaming board with a flick of his long fingers and yet again turn up a winning score. Thomas had never known a man so fortunate at games of chance. He himself had won perhaps twice in the ten evenings they had shared supper and companionship while on the road through the forests of Bavaria. Since they were travelling on a holy campaign, fighting for God and seeking remission of their sins, no money was involved, only spills of wood. Had they been playing for coin, Thomas would have been destitute by now.

Puffing out his cheeks in irritation, he tossed the last of his spills to de Brienne. ‘I swear, if I did not know those dice were genuine, I would accuse you of loading them. How do you do it?'

De Brienne's grin lit up his bright brown eyes. ‘Dame Fortune loves me,' he said, gathering the spills and returning them to their little box, ‘or at least at the moment she does.'

Thomas and Otto had become good friends with de Brienne during the campaign. On home ground, as a Frenchman, de Brienne would be their enemy, but here in Prussia they were allies, sharing camaraderie round the fire. They had borrowed each other's equipment at need, watched each other's back on the march and in battle, and spent companionable evenings mending harnesses, telling stories and gambling together. When they returned home, they would be on opposite sides, but for now they were friends.

De Brienne glanced towards the flapping sides of the campaign tent. ‘The wind's getting up,' he said. Leaving the table, he fetched a bag of spare tent pegs from a chest by his bed. ‘We should make all secure. I don't want my shelter to go flying off in the middle of the night – nor yours – I can feel that it's going to rain too.'

Together the men set to work to add extra security to de Brienne's tent, and then did the same for Thomas's, working companionably side by side with their men and checking that everything was well pinned down. Otto arrived, fastening up his braies, while the laundry woman who had been occupying his camp bed hurried off to her own domicile.

Thomas rolled his eyes, and de Brienne chuckled. Otto picked up a mallet to bang in a peg and swung it with no sign of diminished strength. ‘I'll go to confession in the morning,' he said.

‘Doubtless you will have plenty to confess,' Thomas said drily.

‘Hah, no more than the usual – and she was worth it!'

‘Let's hope she thought the same about you!'

‘I've not had any complaints so far.'

De Brienne hammered in another peg and stood up. ‘What will you and your brother do when our time here is done?' he asked.

Thomas shrugged. ‘Return to our king suitably shriven and hope to advance ourselves in his service.' He had said nothing about Jeanette to de Brienne – that remained a secret held close to his chest – but he often thought about his beloved bride waiting for him at court. He missed that gut-jolt sensation of being with her – her beauty, her sensuality, her mischief and sharp intelligence – and was often beset by a disturbing sensation that it was all a dream or a story told round an evening fire that would be ashes in the morning.

‘It is not so good that Dame Fortune has made enemies of us at home,' Raoul said as he put his mallet aside. ‘But I wish you well all the same, and if ever we can be of service to each other as men of honour, I hope we shall remember each other well.'

‘It is more than a hope,' Thomas answered with grace, ‘it is a certainty.'

As the first heavy spots of rain started to fall, the men clasped hands before hastening to take shelter under their now firmly secured canvas.

Jeanette entered her mother's chamber, dread welling inside her. Following the marriage agreement, her mother had gone to the family house at Westminster with Jeanette's uncle, Lord Wake, and the rest of the Kent entourage. Jeanette had been sent from court to stay with her family for the final fortnight before the wedding, and with time running out, her hopes of stopping the marriage were burning down to a stub.

Margaret rose from her chair, greeted Jeanette with a dry kiss, and gave her an exasperated look. ‘The Queen has written to say you are moping about this marriage and that the faces you have been making would curdle milk. Enough is enough, daughter. You will not disgrace your blood, and you will wed William Montagu.'

‘He is a puffed-up boy, and the thought of having him for a husband makes me sick,' Jeanette said, her lip curling.

‘Hold, my dear.' Margaret gripped Jeanette's hand. ‘It matters not what you think. You will comply with what is right for the family – for both our families.'

Jeanette struggled free of her mother's bony grip. ‘You are forcing me into this for the supposed sake of the family? What has all your striving brought you, mother?'

Margaret's face whitened. ‘An ungrateful, disobedient daughter, that is what.'

Jeanette drew a deep breath. ‘I shall never marry William Montagu. Even if you force me to the altar, it will be no true marriage – for I am already wedded and bedded.'

Her mother's gaze shot wide in astonishment. And then she laughed. ‘You expect me to believe you? This is just another of your silly tales. You do not fool me. You shall do as you are told.'

‘But it is true!' Jeanette stamped the floor so hard that the sole of her foot rang with pain. ‘I am married!'

‘If that is the case, then where is this supposed husband of yours?' Margaret scoffed.

‘He is away fighting, but he is going to return for me.'

‘I see. So, he is not here to protect you or claim his right? How very convenient. If you think you can escape from a marriage lawfully contracted by your guardians with such tales, you are mistaken, and I shall hear no more of your nonsense.'

Jeanette stood her ground. ‘I have a contract, and I have witnesses,' she retorted. ‘I can prove my marriage before man and God.'

Margaret narrowed her eyes. ‘Then tell me who you think you have married and we shall see.' Her mouth twisted in revulsion. ‘In God's name, do not tell me you have disgraced yourself with some peasant and given yourself in return for a ring of plaited rushes and a false promise.'

Trembling, Jeanette delved beneath her neckline and produced her wedding ring on its silk ribbon. ‘No, mother. I have a ring, a contract and witnesses, as I have said – and I will stand before God and proclaim it to all!'

Her mother made motions with her jaw as if attempting to chew on nails. ‘You are lying,' she said icily. ‘The Countess of Salisbury has had your care for two years and she would know if such a thing were true, and would certainly not be involving her son if it were.'

‘She wants my dowry and a closer connection with the King,' Jeanette retorted.

‘A gold ring proves nothing, and you have many in your coffer. You shall consent to this marriage.'

‘I shall not,' Jeanette said fiercely, her will to fight thoroughly aroused and caution thrown to the wind.

‘Show me this contract of yours,' Margaret said. ‘If it exists.'

Jeanette marched away to fetch it with sparks in her heels, snatching the parchment from the bottom of her jewel coffer, her anger incandescent. She marched back to her mother and thrust the document under her nose. ‘Here,' she said. ‘Thomas, Lord Holland and I were wed on the Feast of Saint George before he sailed for England to assist with the King's fleet. I am no virgin and we have lain together as man and wife on many occasions – and my wedding ring bears his seal!'

Margaret snatched the contract, stared at it, then looked at Jeanette, her complexion white. ‘You have disgraced yourself and you have disgraced your family,' she spat, her rage so full and tight that there was no room for it to burst. ‘This man is a nothing. The son of a traitor, and you of royal blood. I have no doubt he tricked you into the match in order to despoil your body. No daughter of mine shall wear such shame. I call the marriage dishonourable and false.' She jerked to her feet, stalked to the brazier and thrust the parchment into the coals, grabbing the poker to push it down and let it burn.

Jeanette gasped and lunged, intent on recovering the smouldering piece of parchment, but Margaret held her off with the poker, a glint in her eye just as fierce as Jeanette's.

‘You will not put a stop to this!' Jeanette shouted. ‘I am married in the sight of God, and there is nothing you can do! There are other copies, there are witnesses!'

Margaret brandished the poker. ‘I will not see the sacrifices I have made for you and your brother be brought to nothing! Your reckless father died and left me to fight for your inheritance and try to prevent it from being swallowed up by ruthless men who would pick our family to its very bones. Your marriage to William Montagu will secure our dynasty and bring lustre to theirs. You shall wed William Montagu and no tawdry, worthless contract of lust will stop it from happening.'

Jeanette barely recognised her mother. Before, even if there had been impatience, even if there had been irritation and distance, there had still existed a spark of connection, but this flame was from an entirely different kindling.

‘No,' she said, immovable herself. ‘I will not. You will never make me!'

‘We shall see what your uncle says on the matter.' The poker still in her hand, Margaret swept from the chamber, and seconds later the key turned in the lock.

‘No!' Jeanette ran to the door and tugged on the ring, but it did not yield. She banged her fists on the wood and kicked it, stubbing her toe, to no avail, and still she continued to thump and kick and scream until she exhausted her energy, and finally slumped, leaning against the door and sobbing, feeling desperate and abandoned. Thomas was far away, and she had no one to help her. She had been so determined not to be a pawn, but had become one anyway. The thought of marriage to William Montagu made her flesh crawl, and she rubbed her arms.

The daylight through the open shutters faded and a deep winter dusk darkened the room. The candles burned low on their prickets and the fire in the hearth turned to hot ash, and still she sat, head down, tears drying on her face. She wanted to run away, but where would she go? Finding Thomas would be an impossible task. She could continue to refuse the marriage, but what might they do to Thomas when he returned? They would get rid of him by either arranging his death or buying him off. Her fear – as great within her as her fear for his life – was that he might agree to take their money, because it had more value than his vows to her.

At last, in the near dark, the key grated in the lock, and she sprang to her feet and faced the door, shivering.

‘Now then,' said her uncle Thomas, entering the room, closing the door behind him and squinting at her through the gloom. He was tall and thin, the seams of life on his face like worn, carved leather. ‘Niece, what is all this nonsense? I have just been confronted by your mother in a terrible state.' His eyes were serious and grave, devoid of their usual twinkle.

Jeanette's chin wobbled. He had stood in lieu of her father as head of the family since she was a tiny child, and she had always had a certain fondness for him. He was less strict than her mother, albeit from a distance. He opened his arms, and she stepped into them for a hug, inhaling the scent of the wool oils in his thick tunic and responding to his comforting gesture with a suppressed sob.

‘Come, child, I am certain we can mend this misunderstanding.' He patted her back before drawing away and made her sit down near the brazier while he mended it with fresh coals, and revitalised the candles. Eventually he sat down opposite her, lapping his cloak over his bony knees. ‘This marriage proposal may have surprised you, but it was bound to happen sooner or later, and there are many far less suitable candidates with whom you could have been matched, believe me. Montagu's a handsome lad, and his family has high influence.'

‘Uncle, it is not a misunderstanding,' Jeanette said. ‘Certainly not on my part. I cannot wed William Montagu for I am already married to Sir Thomas Holland, as I am sure my mother has told you.'

‘Yes,' he said neutrally. ‘And she mentioned the contract.'

‘Which she threw into the fire,' Jeanette said angrily. ‘How could she do that to her own daughter? It matters not – there are copies.' She had little hope that he would listen. He would endorse her mother, and do what profited the family, no matter her wishes. ‘I am married to Thomas Holland,' she repeated. ‘We were wed at Saint Bavo's before witnesses on the feast of Saint George.'

‘And you have evidence of this, beyond that scrap of parchment you showed to your mother?' He leaned towards her, his gaze intent, searching her face.

Jeanette tossed her head. ‘It was far more than a "scrap of parchment". It had Thomas's seal pressed in the wax from his own signet ring with which we were wed. Of course I have evidence! The marriage was witnessed by Sir Otto Holland, by Henry de la Haye, by Thomas's falconer John de la Salle, and by my chamber lady Hawise. She married de la Salle at the same time and Thomas and I stood in mutual witness of their marriage – and all this was before a Franciscan friar.'

‘I see.' Her uncle clasped his hands and pressed his thumbs together and there was a long silence, punctuated by the tick of the new coals settling in the brazier. ‘This is all hearsay though,' he said at length. ‘Your "husband" – if such he is – is away fighting, rather than remaining to protect you. Surely he could have stayed and stood by his oath if it meant that much to him.'

‘He has gone in order to do penance for his soul and to make a clean breast of his sins.' Jeanette was dismayed at her uncle's argument, which set ablaze the doubt in her own mind. Her throat had tightened with panic and her voice was emerging as a quiver. ‘He will return for me. He promised.'

‘Ah, young men and their promises.' Her uncle shook his head sadly. ‘It is unfortunate that the other male witnesses are with him in the service of God. One might think it a lucky escape for him, from consequences and responsibility.'

‘No, it is not that!' Her voice was heated in Thomas's defence. ‘And it still leaves my maid Hawise, and the friar who officiated!'

‘So it does.' Her uncle rubbed his jaw. ‘Well then, we shall have to see, but from what your mother says, it would appear that this so-called marriage of yours would not stand up in any court of law in this land. Your "husband" has thought better of his sins and has disappeared to cleanse himself in the holy wars. You would do best for everyone's sake to stay quiet and do as your mother bids you.'

She stared at him, aghast. ‘You do not believe me! You would rather believe my mother? I swear to you on my soul that I am married, and furthermore that the marriage was consummated many times over. I am no virgin.'

Her uncle's complexion turned dusky and he looked at her with a curl of disgust. ‘If such is the case, it only confirms it was a union to facilitate base lust. I know exactly what these young bucks at court are like. You will put this behind you and do as you are bidden for the good of all, especially yourself.'

Jeanette's stomach churned. ‘It was not like that. We were truly married in love and honour. Will you go against God's law?'

‘I shall go with the law of honour and common sense,' he said tautly. ‘I do not believe that this marriage you claim was any more than an excuse for licentiousness. Friars are renowned for their complicity in such matters in return for the right fee. I doubt the man was even ordained.'

‘It was a true marriage!' Jeanette's voice rose and cracked. ‘Would you send your own niece into the lion's den because it is easier than hearing the truth? You have no right, and I will not come to the altar. I refuse to be a part of your schemes!'

Tight-faced, her uncle stood up. ‘Your mother spoke the truth – there is no sense in you. You are defying her authority and mine, and we are your guardians. You shall remain here and think upon your behaviour, and when I return I hope you will have a different reply for me. Your mother says you have been over-indulged at court and that too much rich food and luxury has affected you, and I am inclined to agree. A diet of gruel and water shall sustain you for now.'

‘That shall suit me very well, uncle, and I shall not change my answer,' Jeanette retorted. ‘I am lawfully married to Thomas Holland, and when he returns, he shall claim me.'

‘I doubt that very much,' he said grimly, and banged from the room exactly as her mother had done. Again, she heard the key grate in the lock.

Several hours passed and no one came. Jeanette paced the room back and forth like a caged lioness. Perhaps they intended to weaken her by thirst and starvation. Let them. She would never give in.

Eventually the door was unlocked, and Agnes, her mother's chamber lady, entered the room. She was an older woman with a whiskery chin and a severe attitude. The tray she carried held a bowl of gruel and a stone jug of water, exactly as her uncle had promised. Outside, a serjeant stood guard, making it clear she had no chance of escape.

‘Where is my own lady?' Jeanette demanded. ‘What have you done with Hawise?'

Agnes set down the tray on the trestle. ‘Your mother has taken her into her own charge,' she said. ‘I am to serve you for now, and the Countess of Salisbury shall assign you new ladies once you are wed.'

Jeanette stared at her, horrified, feeling as if she had been punched in the stomach. ‘I want Hawise!'

‘That is not possible.' Agnes gave her a narrow look. ‘Your mother will come to you shortly to take you to pray.' The maid performed a perfunctory curtsey and departed.

Jeanette glared at the tray, her fear sharpening. Hawise had been her companion and attendant since they were small girls. Even given their difference in rank, Hawise being a yeoman's daughter, in many ways they were as close as sisters. Not having her to confide in and lean upon was like having a hole in her side. Without her there was no one to understand and help ease her situation. And Hawise too might be in danger for what she knew.

Ignoring the gruel and water, Jeanette went to the thin window slit, inhaled the bitter winter air, and felt that same chill in her soul.

A week later, Jeanette was still locked in her room on the same diet. She had taken to eating what they gave her, in order to have the strength to resist. The only time she was permitted to leave the chamber was to attend church with her mother under close guard. Kneeling to pray, she pleaded with God to bring Thomas home on the next ship. In the desolate hours of solitary confinement, she even started to blame him for leaving her and forcing her to deal with this situation on her own.

Her mother had provided her with a pile of sewing, but she had thrown it in a corner and refused to look at it. She cried for her dog and her horse, and for Frederick, and her anger festered and grew.

Four days before the wedding, on the eve of travelling to Langley, her mother visited outside the usual prayer times. She held a piece of parchment in her hand and her expression was almost triumphant. She sat down at the small table opposite Jeanette. ‘I am not here today to force you into something you do not wish, or even to reason with you,' she announced. ‘I know such a thing is beyond our abilities, so I must leave it to God and his angels.'

‘Then why are you here?' Jeanette asked. ‘To torment me?'

Margaret sighed wearily. ‘You may believe your uncle and I are monsters, but truly we are not. We want the best for everyone.'

Jeanette looked away, steeling herself for the next onslaught.

‘You continue to maintain that you were married to Thomas Holland, but young girls are so easily duped. I will not argue with you, for that ground will yield no harvest. What I have come to say is that the point is moot, for Thomas Holland has been killed in battle – God rest his soul. Even if you were married, which I doubt, the union no longer stands, for you are a widow.'

Jeanette shot her focus back to her mother as the words slowly penetrated. ‘No! You are lying. I would know if Thomas was dead!'

‘And how would you know?' Margaret demanded. ‘Have you heard from him? I think not. You were always a means to an end for that young man, and now he is no more.'

Numb with shock, Jeanette stared at her. ‘I do not believe you. He cannot be dead, for I would have felt it in here.' She thumped her breast.

Margaret gave her a pitying look. ‘The news has come from reports sent to the King. Believe them, not me. This unfortunate interlude of yours will be forgotten. You shall be made ready for your marriage to William Montagu and you shall do your duty.'

‘Never!' Jeanette bared her teeth.

Her mother sighed again. ‘You must accept that he is dead. I have had to deal with such news myself twice over and move on from it. How easy it would have been to stamp and scream that it wasn't fair, and that the world should move as I wished, but when your father died I had a baby in my womb, and you and your brother to care for. I had duties and responsibilities to others that I could not forsake by throwing a childish fit. Now it is your turn. I did not make all the sacrifices in my life to watch my spoiled daughter wreck them with her selfish unseemliness. You will do your duty, or spend the rest of your life as a nun, and that is my last word.' She rose and went to the door.

Jeanette clenched her fists. ‘I want Hawise back,' she said. ‘I don't want Agnes.'

Her mother turned. ‘If you cooperate and agree to this match you can have many things, daughter. Your maid, as many dogs and horses and clothes as you wish. In time you shall be the Countess of Salisbury with estates to govern and heirs to raise. Weigh that in the balance of your mind and change your face before next I see you.'

After her mother had gone, Jeanette crumpled to the floor, clutched her stomach, and curled up in a tight ball of misery. ‘You're not dead, you're not, you're not!' she wailed. ‘You can't be, for I would have felt it!' But a worm of doubt crept in, and she wondered if it was true. Had she been deluding herself all along? Why wasn't Thomas here to help her? Why did he have to go on his stupid crusade? Emotion tore through her like a storm tide. Rage and grief and despair. She sobbed until she was ragged and deflated, her heart wrung out of all the fullness it had once held for life, for love, for Thomas. It was all as nothing.