‘Why should you be? It was not your doing. Henry needed to fund your dowry, and mine was the obvious source. He is a man driven to reclaim the possessions of his ancestors and ensure England’s greatness,’ Madam Joanna continued. ‘The French war and England’s victory is his only concern.’
‘I know it is,’ I murmured. ‘Do you think I have not seen it for myself?’ It seemed disloyal to admit it, but Madam Joanna’s plain speaking encouraged me.
Seeing my unease, Madam Joanna leaned to close her hand awkwardly over mine. ‘That is not good. You should go to your husband,’ she said, as if reading my thoughts. ‘It is almost a year now, is it not, since you last saw him? I know Henry very well, and I know that you should be with him. He allows his mind to be taken up with the here and now—and sometimes he needs to be reminded that there are other people who need his attention.’
‘But I don’t think he wants me with him.’ For the first time I confessed my fears aloud, seduced by the compassion in this gentle woman. ‘He does not love me, you see. He never has…’
Her brows lifted. ‘How could he not love so beautiful a wife as you?’
‘He never pretended that he did. I thought he did, and I was naïve enough to think that he might. He was kind and chivalrous, you see.’
Her hands tightened imperceptibly. ‘You poor girl. How could you know what was in his mind? I never could. As a young man he never permitted anyone to see what was important to him—almost in case it was snatched away and he lost it. And he has excellent manners. How does one read what he is thinking behind that impossible facade of dignified control? I don’t suppose he has changed.’
Madam Joanna paused, then urged, her voice no longer soft, ‘Go to him. If you wish to make anything of your marriage other than a distant circling of minds that never meet and have no understanding of each other, go and be with him in France. It’s too dangerous to take the young boy, but Mistress Waring will care for your child. She will let no harm come to him.’
‘Yes. I will.’ It seemed such wise advice, such an intuitive reading of my life and Henry’s. And such solace to my heart that I was not the only one to be misled by Henry’s excellent manners.
‘Make him notice you. Beguile him. Lure him from the battlefield, if only for a little while.’ She smiled with a touch of very female mischief, which sat oddly on her weary features but hinted at her charm as a young woman. ‘It should not be beyond a beautiful woman.’
Yes, Madam Joanna was wise indeed. Perhaps if Henry and I were to live together again, away from battlefields and campaigns, we could build a closeness, an understanding. Perhaps he would even grow to have an affection for me. Were not all things possible with God’s grace?
‘I will do it.’ The resolve settled in my belly.
She patted my hand carefully. ‘Henry, I am certain, does know what a jewel he has in you. You are still young, with all your life before you. All you have to do is remind him and bring him home to England once in a while.’ We smiled our understanding. ‘And now I expect you must go. Your escort will be champing at the bit and damning gossiping women to the very devil. But you must come again. Sometimes I am lonely.’
This brought to my mind what had been hovering over my head during the entire visit.
‘Mistress Waring said I should ask you about a prophecy,’ I said.
‘Did she?’ Madam Joanna’s all but invisible brows drew down into a line.
‘I gave birth to my son at Windsor. Henry forbade it and Mistress Waring disapproved. Henry gave no reason but Mistress Waring said there was a prophecy…’
Madam Joanna’s features sharpened as she looked away beyond the window, to the scene of freedom denied. ‘I have no truck with such things, even though some would have me guilty of a far worse crime. But, yes, there was such a prediction made to poor Mary de Bohun who did not live to see her son grow to adulthood. A venomous little comment, I would say, product of some malicious mind that had no good thought for the House of Lancaster. It was told to me by Mary’s tirewoman in a moment of unedifying gossip over a cup of ale. From what you tell me, it seems that Henry too knows of the calumny from some source—I was not aware. Do you wish to know?’
And she told me.
It did not make for comfortable hearing, thus my first instinct was to reject it. I could not believe it. I
The prophecy, known to so few but clearly to Henry, baffled me, with its enigmatic warnings and dire predictions. But then I comforted myself. Madam Joanna discarded it as no more than mischief-making. I, guided by her good sense, would do the same.
