Anne O'Brien - A Tapestry of Treason

‘I am as aware of my mother’s reputation as you appear to be, and I had little affection for her other than that demanded by duty. As little as she had for me.’ My thoughts deflected from the present chaos. ‘I know my father spent as little time with her as he could. Enough to get himself an heir. And myself.’

‘But not your younger brother.’

I felt my brows rise. ‘So he told you that as well.’

‘Of course. He makes no claim that Dickon is his.’

‘And, since you are so well informed, I presume you know who rumour says is Dickon’s father?’

‘Yes.’ She appeared quite unmoved. ‘My uncle has a reputation.’

Indeed he had. It was whispered in kitchens and royal bedchambers that my mother Isabella had enjoyed a lengthy and fiery liaison with John Holland, Duke of Exeter, the result of which had been Dickon. My father’s lack of interest in the child merely added fuel to the flames. So Dickon was born a York son, but raised under sufferance. I frowned. My younger brother was the only one of my family who roused my compassion.

‘Sometimes I think it would be better for Dickon if my father was more compassionate of his circumstances. It is not his fault and it does no good to treat him as a bastard. There is a bitterness in Dickon that worries me.’ I took a cushioned stool beside Joan, thinking of my own children. ‘Is there no hope for you, for a child? Do you and the Duke never share a bed?’

‘Again it is not your concern. But no.’ At last her hands fell unheeding to her lap, crushing her despised needlework as her cheeks flushed stronger with bright colour. ‘His pain is too great, and his hope is in Edward. He regrets that Edward has no children of his own to carry on the line.’

‘Nor is there any likelihood,’ I observed.

Edward had married Philippa de Mohun, a lady a good decade older than he who had already been twice wed, twice widowed. She bore her first two husbands no children, nor was there more success with Edward. Where the fault lay would be impossible to say. Perhaps Edward should have chosen more wisely. He was said to have married for love but I saw no evidence of it in their calm demeanour and frequent partings.

‘She may yet be fortunate.’ Joan was condemning of my cold judgement.

All I could do was give the lightest of shrugs. ‘Your one consolation is that my father is almost into his sixtieth year and in ill health. You will be a young widow. And a desirable one.’ It sounded callous, even to my own ears, but it was true, and no more callous than Joan’s own opinion of the whole affair. ‘His brothers have not proved to be particularly long-lived.’

‘Particularly when murdered.’ She flinched her apology at the reference to my uncle of Woodstock’s unfortunate demise. ‘I will probably wed again at the dictates of my family. You know what it is like.’ Her bitterness, I realised, matched that of Dickon.

‘I’m not sure that my situation matches yours.’

‘It does not take great intellect to know that you and Thomas barely tolerate each other. Is that not so? Does he have any affection for you?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have an affection for him?’

I considered replying that it was no concern of hers, as she had warned me. Instead: ‘No.’

‘You were married young.’

‘We were children. Another political marriage.’ Why not admit it? ‘Yes. I know what it is like to be wed for an alliance. I know what it is like to find no union of spirits in a marriage. We tolerate each other. We are also able to live apart. He has his heir.’

‘But would wish for another.’

‘What man does not?’

‘I think you suffer more than I. Your father never neglects me.’

‘Then you are fortunate.’ I kept my tone without inflexion. ‘It is perfectly possible to live without love. Those of our status do not expect it.’

‘Do you have no regrets?’

How persistent she was. ‘How do you regret something of which you have no experience? Life is far more comfortable without. I do not have to consider the state of Thomas’s emotions, as he does not have to consider mine. He never has, he never will. It is as good as any foreign alliance based on pragmatism between two parties who have nothing in common, and they work well enough.’

‘It sounds a cold existence.’

‘Cold, yes. He gives me the status I desire.’

Why was I indulging in confession to Joan Holland? It was not my intent to engage her pity. Still frowning, I stood and began to pace again, turning the conversation into a different yet no-less-painful path. ‘I need to know what is happening.’

‘Why don’t you go and find out? I am not dependent on your company for my contentment.’

Which was uncommonly sharp as she returned to stabbing her needle into the cloth. I responded in kind, since she had forced me to face my isolation, to acknowledge my ignorance of affectionate emotion. I had not enjoyed the experience.

‘How fortunate for you,’ I replied. ‘I doubt anyone is dependent on my company.’

‘I did not mean…’

‘Yes, you did. Here we are, two bitter and powerless women trapped in marriages we did not want. No matter.’ I turned my back on her, looking down again from the window. ‘I cannot go. I would be too obvious.’

‘Then send a servant to discover and report any developments.’

‘I’ll not open the coffers of our family affairs for servants to riffle through.’

‘They will know anyway. They know everything. They know that I am still a virgin. I expect they inspect the sheets regularly and inform the whole household.’

I looked back across the room with just a breath of pity. ‘I am sorry.’ Then turned away from the sudden sadness in her face. Her advice had given me an idea. I might not go. A servant was unacceptable, but…

‘I could send Dickon to be my messenger.’

‘An excellent idea.’

It was suddenly comfortable to be standing on less personal ground. ‘But Dickon, as ever when needed, is invisible. It is below my dignity to stand at the door and shout for him. Nor is he always amenable to orders when he sees no personal advantage.’

‘If you smiled at him, and offered a bribe…’

‘A bribe?’

‘What would he like most, that you could give him?’

‘I have no idea, other than an estate, a title and a chest of gold. As well as a mission to fight someone, somewhere in Europe. There are ten years between us. Our thoughts do not keep company.’

‘Does that mean that you have no knowledge of him? I suppose my family is closer than most. I always knew what my younger brother Edmund was thinking although, of necessity, we have now grown apart.’ Her eyes sharpened. ‘What I would say is that Dickon is a young man of interest. He might be useful to you one day.’ She paused. ‘I will ask him for you, if you wish it. I do not find him unamenable. He makes me laugh, when I don’t have much to laugh about.’

A day of revelations.

‘I think I have misjudged you. I thought you were a mouse.’

‘I think you have. A rat, more like, but I hide my teeth and choose not to engage in battles which I will never win.’ She regarded me with some speculation. ‘But then I think you often do misjudge those around you. I suppose it is easy for a woman with royal blood to consider herself superior. Even though my own blood is as royal as yours through my grandmother.’

Joan left the room to send a message to bring Dickon to us, leaving me discomfited. She was right, I admitted, even though I might not like the picture she painted. And why had I not been aware of Joan’s keen intelligence and wit? Because I had never made a true effort to know her beyond a superficial acquaintance. That was my fault, too. But now was not the time to consider any blemishes in my character.