Виктория Холт - The Queen’s Secret

I repeated: “It is not for me to make such decisions …”

And after a while I left. Having done my duty, I was greatly relieved that the task was over.

Henry did go to see her a few days before his coronation. I did not ask him what he thought of her. He did not know of her lurid past, I was sure, and I wondered if anyone would tell him. There was so much to occupy him. He was such a sensitive boy, and he had been crowned once in a country which had come to him as his rightful inheritance. That was very different from the ceremony when the crown had been taken in conquest. Being the boy he was, this would surely occur to him.

He was still recovering from the effects of the trial and death of Joan of Arc which had affected him so strongly, and I could not help feeling anxious as to whether he was ready, not only physically but mentally, to endure that which was being thrust upon him.

On the tenth of the month Cardinal Beaufort crowned him in Notre Dame. The ceremony was conducted with all the expected pomp, and it appeared that the Parisians, at least, accepted Henry as their King.

It was only afterward that there were complaints because the English had not observed the custom of distributing largesse to the hangers-on, who had cheered and expressed their loyalty solely for the purpose of receiving this favor. In addition, there were no pardons for those prisoners whose families had been expecting to see them freed after they had offered such expressions of loyalty to the King. The old French customs had been flouted by the English, and there were loud protestations of anger.

I guessed that Bedford needed all the money he could find to keep his armies intact, and as for freeing prisoners who might become a menace, that would be sheer folly.

However, the French were displeased, and the mood of rejoicing which had been so evident during the first days after the coronation was becoming one of discontent.

Bedford acted promptly.

It was time the King returned to England, he said; and we made preparations to leave Paris for Rouen.

I felt a terrible sense of foreboding when we entered the city, and fears beset me that we should never escape from it. It was besmirched with the blood of the martyr Joan, and her spirit seemed to be still alive in the town. To drive past the square where she had been burned alive could not do anything but fill one with melancholy. While we were in Rouen, we should never be able to forget her.

Bedford’s aim now was to get the King out of France as quickly as possible. The purpose had been accomplished, long drawn out though it had been; and Henry was now crowned King of France.

And so…before January was out, we arrived at Calais. I could scarcely wait to board that ship, and then came that moment when I was there on deck. There were tears in my eyes as I watched the approaching white cliffs of Dover.

How beautiful the countryside was! I saw with a deep pleasure the frost on the bare branches of the trees, the layer of ice on the pond, the pale wintry sunshine; I felt the cold tang in the air, making my skin glow. What a joy it was to be home!

Owen was beside me and I knew he was feeling exactly as I did. It was marvelous to share everything with him. We did not speak, but each of us knew what was in the other’s mind, for there was a wonderful communion between us.

I could not help thinking of my poor sad mother whose scheming adventures had brought her nothing of real value. I had my husband, my family…the happy, simple life we could share if only we could go on as we were now. If we could, I would ask nothing more of life.

We had sent a messenger to Hatfield to tell them of our imminent arrival.

And there it was at last. Hatfield, where we had known so much happiness, and would know more, I promised myself.

They were waiting to greet us. I looked for Guillemote, but she and the children were not there. I was alarmed and disappointed. Then I was scolding myself. Of course she was not there. I had forgotten the need to keep up the pretense. Most of the household could be trusted, but we still had to remember the danger which could be lurking in the most unexpected places.

I embraced the Joannas and Agnes. Their looks soothed my anxieties. They were signaling me that all was well. They could not have looked so happy if it had not been so. And as soon as possible Owen and I would make our way to the nurseries.

What a happy moment that was! There was Guillemote, holding a child by each hand.

We stood for a second looking at them. I felt a pang of sadness because Edmund did not recognize me, but he looked at me with interest, so I guessed that Guillemote had told him that his mother was coming. The little one, the child I had left when he was a baby in arms, could not be expected to know me.

I ran to them and knelt before them. I put my arms around them and held them close to me. They studied my face intently. I looked up at Guillemote and there were tears in her eyes.

“They have been so excited because you were coming. Edmund will remember in time…Jasper, of course …”

Owen had picked up Jasper, and Edmund took my hand and smiled slowly. Was he remembering?

I felt a great sense of loss. I had missed so much of their babyhood.

But I was back. I was home. And all would be well.

Later Guillemote told me that life had gone very smoothly during my absence. They had lived in peace from day to day, constantly waiting for news, of which they had had very little.

There had been no visitors to the palace. Nor had they expected them.

And so we resumed our lives.

The children delighted us. They were two bright little boys, and very soon it might have been as though we had never been parted.

They were both devoted to Guillemote, who had cared for them so assiduously during my absence. I felt a little jealous of the affection they gave her. She knew this and told me that in time they would love me too.

“Already they are showing fondness for you,” she assured me. “You should see their little eyes light up when I speak of you. And of course I talked to them of you all the time you were away.”

We were so happy to be home. The springtime seemed more beautiful.

I became pregnant again. I was completely absorbed in my family, and I refused to think of anything outside my little cocoon.

But significant events were taking place in the world outside Hatfield and that life I had created for myself. I should have noticed them, of course.

The English lost Chartres in the spring of that year. Owen said that luck seemed to be running out for Bedford. The French no longer had The Maid, and they should be feeling as guilty as the English for having killed her; but the tide had turned in their favor.

Bedford, whose purpose in life was to preserve his idolized brother’s conquests, must be far from happy.

In the spring Henry opened Parliament. He was now nearly twelve years old and, it was said, mature for his years. He seemed to be grasping the duties of kingship and surprising people by his seriousness in carrying them out.

He was popular wherever he went. He presided over Parliament with a demeanor which won the admiration of Warwick, who set a high standard for his pupil.

Cardinal Beaufort’s enemies were working assiduously against him. Owen said he had made a great mistake when he had accepted his cardinal’s hat. Those who wanted to destroy him had brought charges against him, accusing him of giving his first allegiance to Rome. What did they expect of a cardinal?

I knew him for an ambitious man. The Beauforts were an ambitious family. Their very origins made that a certainty. I think Owen was right when he said that, if Beaufort’s ambitions lay solely in this country, he would never have become a cardinal.

There were scenes in Parliament when his accusers attempted to brand him with treachery. The Cardinal defended himself with the skill one expected of him; and Henry listened intently. I was delighted and proud to hear that at the end of the debate he defended his great uncle and announced to Parliament that he was convinced of his loyalty.

They were all amazed at his judgment, which he gave in a lucid manner which was remarkable coming from a boy not yet twelve years old. So much so, that the case against the Cardinal was dismissed.

I wished I had been there to see his triumph.

It was an indication that Henry was growing up. Warwick was reputed to have said that the King had grown so much not only in stature but in wisdom as well, and was in full knowledge of his state.

It was an indication that Henry was no longer regarded as a child. He was stepping with dignity into the role of king.

I was so proud. I had cast aside my fears for his mental health. The fact that he had been so disturbed by The Maid’s ill-treatment, imprisonment and finally death was evidence of his tender heart. I think something spiritual in her touched something similar in himself, for he was becoming more and more devout.

My great regret at that time was that I could not be with him. If only he could have shared our home and our domestic happiness, my joy would have been complete.

Summer had passed, and I was nearing the end of my pregnancy.

“We must not become careless,” said Owen. “We must continually remember the necessity to preserve secrecy.” Life had run smoothly. So much was happening in the world outside that we had attracted little attention; but that could change and we must be prepared.

My daughter Jacina was born in the same secrecy that had accompanied the birth of her brothers. We were delighted with her. We already had our two boys, and what Owen and I had wanted most was a daughter. We admitted this afterward, although we had said nothing before, for we knew we should have been delighted with whichever came to us.

Our little girl was charming…healthy as her brothers…beautiful, bright…a wonderful addition to our family.

Guillemote was in her element. She loved all children, but little babies had a special place in her heart.

I had not quite recovered from the birth of Jacina when I heard news which deeply saddened me. Owen had discovered this and he wondered whether to tell me before I was fully recovered, for he guessed that it would upset me. We were so close, Owen and I, like one person, and I was therefore very sensitive to his moods, and guessing that there was something on his mind, I demanded to know what was troubling him.

“I know you had a liking for her,” he said. “She is young…it is a great blow. It will have its effect.”

“Owen, tell me. Who is it?”

“It is the Duchess of Bedford.”

“Anne!”

He nodded. “She is dead.”

“But she was so young. Oh, poor John. He loved her so much.”

“And as the sister of the Duke of Burgundy she was very important to him.”

“I had not thought of that…only of the love between them. How did she die?”

“It was some illness which struck her down.”

“But she was so young…younger than I!”

Owen put his arms around me and held me tightly. I knew he was thinking how precarious life was. We lived with danger. It could strike from any direction at any moment. Those who had been alive and well one day could be dead the next.

I said: “She was twenty-eight. I wonder…how is the Duke?”

“He is bowed down with sorrow, I hear. How strange it is that when ill-fortunes come they do not come singly.”

“I wish that I could see him. I wish that I could tell him how sorry I am.”

“It is unlikely that he will come to England now.”

Later I heard that Anne had been buried with great pomp in the Church of the Celestins. She was deeply mourned by the Parisians who had called her “The Beautiful and The Good.” The Burgundians were stricken with grief.

Owen said that this would most certainly loosen the already weakening links between Bedford and the Duke of Burgundy, for Anne had done so much to keep them intact.

Poor Bedford! I was sorry for him; but my delight in my newborn daughter was inclined to swamp all other feelings.

My sympathy for my brother-in-law was lessened considerably when in April of the following year he married again.

I was astonished and a little outraged on behalf of Anne.

“How could he?” I asked. “It is not six months since she died.”