5 Monastery of St Bavo, Ghent, August 1339

5

Monastery of St Bavo, Ghent, August 1339

Over the next several months Jeanette applied herself to her duties with diligence. The sewing was still a chore, but she improved sufficiently to set stitches in silk without ruining the work. She learned to bite her tongue and not to storm off in a temper, even if she had to clench her jaw and mentally pin herself to her seat while convinced of the idiocy of others.

She was still lively when dancing, and romped like a child herself when she played with the smaller children in the household – indeed it was a good excuse to run and release her pent-up feelings. To escape, she would walk the household's pet dogs with Hawise, and visit the mews as often as she was permitted to see Athena and train with her.

Lady Katerine still rebuked her for being too exuberant, and especially for being over-familiar with people beneath her rank, but her castigation became less frequent and Jeanette suspected the Queen's influence had something to do with it. Philippa often summoned Jeanette to tend her hair or rub her feet, and rewarded her with little gifts and nuggets of praise. Three exquisite gold pins for her headdress. A new chemise of finest Cambrai linen. A pair of red leather shoes stamped with little gold lions. Jeanette adored them and twirled around the chamber, pointing her feet, until she caught Lady Katerine's eye and immediately assumed a demure pose, although she could not hide her smile.

The King was often absent about military and diplomatic business. While the Queen held court and entertained their Flemish allies with gracious audiences and discussions of coalition over lavish meals, he was busy securing funds and encouraging his supporters to stand firm against the French. Jeanette would occasionally see Thomas Holland at court among the knights, but after the Christmas tourney he had been busy about his duties, and there had been few opportunities to speak with him. The times he was in the household, their exchanges were no more than swift words of formal greeting, pleasant enough but distantly courteous. The lack of contact only served to make Jeanette's feelings more febrile. When she caught a glimpse of him her stomach would somersault and she would stare without blinking, lest she miss a single moment.

Towards the end of a hot summer, the King assembled an army of almost five thousand men and prepared to tackle the French whose ships had been raiding English ports along the southern seaboard and seizing English vessels. Queen Philippa, pregnant again, spent much of her time in her chamber resting with her feet on a stool, drinking restorative tisanes for her sickness.

One sweltering afternoon, she sent Jeanette, chaperoned by Hawise, on an errand to fetch some flowers from the garden to freshen the room. Jeanette begged spicy-sweet gillyflowers from the senior gardener and softer-scented roses, marbled pink and white, that she wrapped in a roll of damp napkin to avoid the thorns. Some lavender too, for steeping. Jeanette waded among the humming crowd of bees in the flowers without fear. She liked their industry and their furry striped cloaks.

She returned to the Queen's chamber by a meandering route to give herself a few last moments of freedom. Crossing a courtyard, she came by surprise upon a small group of household knights, among them Thomas Holland, polishing his sword and dagger. He had removed his green livery tunic and rolled back his shirt sleeves to reveal strong forearms, lightly dusted with dark hair. The sight sent a spark through her body and she had to pause and draw breath before walking forward, kicking out her skirt to show off her dainty red shoes.

Glancing up, he smiled. ‘Demoiselle,' he said, ‘what are you doing here, wandering with flowers? I take it they are not for us this time?' He gestured to his companions.

‘The Queen sent me to pick some for her chamber,' Jeanette answered, feeling flustered but trying to project a superior air.

The other knights looked on, grinning.

‘They are beautiful,' Thomas said courteously. ‘I always imagine that heaven, should I ever step through its portals, will smell of such blooms. My mother is fond of them too.' He returned his attention to his sword where the steel already shone brighter than a mirror along the blade. She watched, fascinated, and he paused and looked at her. ‘You should take your leave, demoiselle. This is no place for one of the Queen's wards – you do not want those flowers to lose their petals.'

‘Then I shall bid you farewell,' Jeanette replied with a raised chin. ‘And I shall keep you and your companions in my prayers, in hope of heaven.'

‘That is kind of you; I am sure we shall all feel their benefit.'

Jeanette inclined her head, and turned away with a deliberate flash of her red shoes that also exposed a glimpse of ankle.

* * *

Thomas shook his head and grinned to himself as he resumed his polishing. The King's delectable young cousin was rapidly growing up. With the King intent on his campaign against the French, he was occupied daily with matters of organisation and quartermastering, and as often as not away from court. Preoccupied and busy, he had only noticed Jeanette occasionally from afar. His distant impression was that she had steadied as the women took her in hand, but obviously that streak of daring had not been quenched, rather it had gone underground. The way she had shown off her dainty shoes and flashed her ankle had amused him, but aroused a flicker of interest too – which he suspected was exactly what she had intended. However, he was no soft-bearded squire to dance attendance while she waited for her marriage to be arranged. Beautiful girls who dallied in the presence of soldiers on the cusp of war were playing a very dangerous game indeed.

The late summer evening still held the residual heat from the day. Jeanette had said her prayers and prepared for sleep, but she was not ready to put her head on the pillow and close her eyes. The other ladies were undressing, attending to their toilet and holding quiet conversations over hair-combing, sorting laundry, folding clothes, rubbing unguent into their hands. Clad in her chemise, Jeanette finished plaiting her hair and went to lean out of the open casement window to enjoy the air while her chaperones were distracted. People were still about, busy with their duties. With the army so close to leaving, there remained much to be done and servants and soldiers were constantly coming and going with supplies and messages. She watched the bustle, loving the energy of it all.

And then she saw Thomas Holland, walking in the late gloaming, with Blanchette, a white gazehound belonging to the King. Usually, a kennel boy or one of the King's squires would have undertaken the duty, but this evening it was Thomas. He was absorbed in his own thoughts and had not seen her lingering at the window, where she should not have been lingering at all. Loath to lose a propitious opportunity, Jeanette called out to attract his attention.

He turned and looked up at her outlined above him, and took a couple of steps back. ‘By my faith, young mistress!' he declared. ‘Should you not be tucked up in bed by now?'

‘What would you know of my bedtime, messire?' she replied pertly, pulling her chemise around her body and folding her arms.

‘Very little, I admit. I would come and help you, my lady, but as you see, I have my lord's hound to walk.' His smile flashed.

‘You need not concern yourself,' she said airily, brazening the moment out with more aplomb than she felt. ‘I am well attended, I assure you.'

‘Well, if that is indeed the case, I shall bid you good evening and may you sleep well.' He bowed. ‘But I would close the window for your own safety.'

‘What have I to fear with such loyal knights at my beck and call to guard me?'

‘Not after tomorrow, demoiselle, for the King's beck and call are the command we all answer.'

‘Is that why you are walking his dog?' she asked, half curious, half to bait him.

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes a man needs fresh air to clear his thoughts, and what better way than this? The dog is exercised, and so am I. Once again, goodnight.' He walked on, the gazehound padding at his side.

Jeanette snatched the casement shut and pressed the palms of her hands to her hot face.

‘Do not let Lady Katerine catch you talking out of windows to men at night,' Joan Bredon warned.

Jeanette puffed out her cheeks. ‘I was only looking out for a moment and Messire Holland happened past with Blanchette.'

‘Yes, but you called out to him – in your chemise, with your hair uncovered!'

‘You are as bad as Lady Katerine!' Jeanette snapped. ‘It is not fair that a man may walk alone with his dog at dusk, but if I did such a thing, I would be thrashed!' She was so annoyed at the thought of how unfair it was that she stamped her foot.

Joan looked hurt. ‘I'm your friend – I don't want you to get into trouble and undo all your hard work. It may not be fair, but it is the way things are.'

‘Well, it shouldn't be!' Jeanette retorted, but then went to Joan and hugged her fiercely before getting into bed.

‘He is handsome though, isn't he?' she said after a moment.

‘I suppose so,' Joan conceded, punching her pillow. ‘But is he really worth all the trouble you'd be in?'

Jeanette let out an irritated sigh. ‘Well, he will be gone tomorrow, so I won't know.'

The thought of not seeing Thomas again for months on end quenched her spirits like descending fog. Hanging out of the window for even that brief exchange had been worth every iota of the risk she had taken, and she didn't care.