‘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.
Within a handful of minutes Joan returned with Dickon; he was dragging his feet, but at least he had been open to persuasion.
‘Constance.’ He looked wary. ‘What do you want? I was busy.’
It did not bode well. ‘Busy doing what?’
‘Whatever will allow me to keep out of the royal eye. Today might not be the day to advertise my connection with the families of York, Holland and Despenser.’
Succinct and accurate, he had had an ear to some closed doors.
‘We have a favour to ask,’ Joan said with an encouraging smile before I could hack at his lack of loyalty.
‘What’s that?’
Joan glanced at me.
‘I need an ear to the ground,’ I said. ‘An ear that is less obvious than mine. Go down to the Great Hall…’
‘They’ll hardly let me in!’
‘As I am aware, but you can merge with the hangers-on and question those who have knowledge. I want to know what’s happening. I want to know if John Hall has been questioned and if any of our family is in danger. If there is a threat to our lives or our freedom. I want to know if any one of our enemies dares to push for single combat. I want to know before Edward and Thomas are put under restraint.’
He opened his mouth, I presumed to refuse, but Joan stepped in, gripping his arm with both small hands.
‘My brother is in danger too, Dickon. Ask about the Duke of Surrey. And my uncle the Duke of Exeter. Will you do that for me?’
He looked unapologetically hostile as only a thwarted youth could. Then shrugged. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘I would also like for you to discover the King’s mood, as far as you can,’ I said.
Dickon grinned. ‘You mean will he throw us to the snarling dogs? I’ll do what I can, though I don’t see why we can’t just wait for the outcome.’ He caught the sharpness of my glance. ‘But I agree it might be best to know sooner rather than later. Are we planning a flight to the Welsh Marches if King Henry proves hostile?’ He paused, then grinned again. ‘I may need coin for bribes.’
At last Dickon’s eyes shone with the light of conspiracy.
‘I have none to hand,’ I said.
‘Then I won’t do it.’
But Joan discovered some in the purse at her belt and handed them over in a little clinking stream into his palm.
‘Thank you, Dickon,’ I said. ‘I will be very grateful.’
‘I’ll remind you of that.’ And when the greyhound, which had followed him into the room, showed a willingness to accompany him, he pushed it back. ‘Keep it: it might be the only bargaining tool that we have. The greyhound in exchange for Edward’s life.’
Which might have seemed horribly prescient.
‘Let us hope,’ I said as Dickon’s footsteps faded into the distance, ‘that it’s all like one of Henry’s subtleties at the end of the feast. All decorative wizardry and no substance, that collapses at the first breath of wind.’
Joan came to stand beside me at the window.
‘Nor