No! I swallowed against the intense disappointment and read on.
So my safety was his prime concern, was it? He would send a courier, would he? Then why did I get the impression that such an invitation would never happen? My desolate restlessness was replaced by fury. It blazed, for by now I had not seen Henry for over a twelve-month, so long ago that when I closed my eyes I had to concentrate to bring his features into focus. Would I eventually forget that direct stare, the straight nose and uncompromising mouth? Would I need his portrait to remind me?
‘He says no.’
‘I know.’
‘What is he doing now?’ I asked Lord John, looking up from the brisk refusal that he had brought. ‘I thought Meaux had asked for terms at last.’
‘Yes. It’s taken.’
‘But he has no wish to see me. You don’t have to deny it,’ I said, seeing John’s failure to find a soft reply, trying not to read the pity in his face. ‘I know that his feelings for me are…mild.’ How painful it was to admit that in public. ‘But I cannot accept his reasoning. In fact, I will not accept.’
There was a lull in hostilities. If Henry would not come to me, then I must go to him, and it seemed to me to be high time Henry came face to face with his son. It was time my baby travelled to the country that he would one day rule. It was time he became acquainted with his Valois grandparents.
How easy it was to make that decision, and to inform John of my wishes, refusing any advice to the contrary. My energy restored with the prospect of action, I marched to Young Henry’s room, swept the baby up from his cradle and took him to look out of the window in the general direction of where his father might be at that very moment. Young Henry was growing, I noticed. He was heavier in my arms now.
‘Shall we go to France? Shall I take you to see your father?’
He grinned with toothless gums. ‘Then we will go.’
But first, before I saw Henry again, I knew I must discover the truth to some unanswered questions. After months of inactivity, I was swept with a desire to discover what was hidden, and perhaps to build some bridges.
It was not at all what I had expected when, accompanied by an impressive escort, including both Gloucester and Bishop Henry, I made a bid to discover all I could about Henry’s imprisoned stepmother and the troubling prophecy.
Leeds Castle, a beautiful little gem set in a sapphire lake created by two encircling arms of a river, the waters reflecting the blue of the sky, was no grim dungeon for Madam Joanna. A soft imprisonment—yet still, all in all, it was an imprisonment if she lived under the custody of Sir John Pelham, as Bishop Henry informed me, and was not free to travel. I was both intrigued and anxious. What would this visit reveal about Madam Joanna—or indeed about Henry?
We were announced into her chamber: Joanna of Navarre, Queen Dowager of England and second wife of Henry’s father. She did not rise from her chair when Gloucester and Bishop Henry kissed her cheeks with obvious fondness. And I saw why she did not stand when she placed an affectionate hand on Gloucester’s sleeve.
Elegant she may be, her pure white hair coiffed, the folds of her houppelande rich with embroidered panels, jewels gleaming at neck and wrist, but her hands were crippled into claws and her shoulders rigid, and any movement deepened the lines between her brows. Discomfort notwithstanding, I was welcomed with a smile and a speculative regard from direct grey eyes. Entertained with music and wine, Gloucester and Bishop Henry proceeded to enliven her existence with news of court trivia and some comment on what Henry was doing in France.
Madam Joanna absorbed it all, then announced with quiet authority: ‘I wish to speak with Katherine.’ And when we were alone, duke and bishop obediently departing: ‘Sit next to me. I hoped you would come and visit me.’
