her husband’s wares.’
X
They met three more times, the last with Luned there, dressed now in clothes finer than those Eleyne wore. Robert, handling the money due to her from her dower, used much of it for his own wardrobe. His wife, he announced, had enough clothes already and, seething with anger, Eleyne had to abide by his decision. She saved her finer gowns for audiences with the king and the Queen of Scots. The rest of the time she had to wear gowns and mantles which were darned.
This last meeting did not go well. Joanna, attended as usual by Auda and the faithful Hugh de Gurley, was sick and fretful and had decided to move on.
‘I am going home,’ she said, dipping into the new box of sweetmeats Rhonwen had brought her. ‘Back to Alexander.’ Her eyes strayed to Luned who, as she directed the boys who had accompanied her, laden with rolls of silk, showed as yet no sign of the pregnancy she had excitedly and confidently announced to them all. ‘Some of this silk can make me new gowns to please him at the Easter celebrations at Dunfermline.’
‘These are the latest designs, your grace.’ Luned smiled with professional pride. ‘Straight from the looms of some of our best weavers, and you will find none better. Even the Queen of England has not seen them yet.’
Eleyne touched the silk gently and found herself smiling at the irony which had just dawned on her. She would not be able to afford Luned’s wares.
The queen bought four dozen ells of silk and at once she presented two dress lengths to Eleyne. ‘A gift from your uncle and me,’ she said.
Eleyne examined the stuff in delight, fingering its featherlight texture. Joanna had given her one of green, spun with madder thread, and one of scarlet samite.
Rhonwen joined her to admire them. ‘I’ll take them and turn them into gowns for you,
Eleyne hid a smile; the same thought had occurred to her. ‘Would you, Rhonwen? No one makes gowns like you.’
Rhonwen nodded, pleased. ‘I have two first-rate dressmakers in Milk Street. They will sew to my direction, and they embroider as well as I do. Come to me in three days and you can have a fitting.’
‘I’ll find a way of getting there,’ Eleyne agreed. ‘In this case the truth will do: I am to visit a dressmaker. Once the gowns are made he cannot unstitch them!’ She hugged Joanna. ‘You are so kind. When will I see you again?’
Joanna thought for a moment. ‘Come to us in Scotland. Your husband was often at Alexander’s court with his brother; persuade him to come again. Lord Winchester holds many lands in Scotland, and I am sure there are reasons why you could come north.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘I know Alexander would love to see you.’
There was a short silence. Eleyne could feel her cheeks colouring and quickly she turned away to watch the silk boys refolding the lengths of fabric and wrapping them. ‘Then I shall come,’ she said at last, her mouth dry, ‘of course I shall.’
XI
‘So, you want a pardon for this murderess.’ Henry sat back on his chair of state and belched reflectively. ‘She must mean a great deal to you.’
The Earl of Winchester and his brother had left the hall to view some new horses of the king’s. She had hung back and begged her uncle to listen to her plea.
‘She was put in charge of me by my mother, sire. She has looked after me since I was born. She killed poor Cenydd in self-defence – in my defence.’
Henry frowned. ‘I am not sure that is the story I heard.’
‘Then you were not told the truth, sire. Had you been fully informed, you would already have pardoned her,’ Eleyne pleaded. ‘I need her, your grace. I do not have many friends or servants in Robert de Quincy’s household.’
She held his gaze and saw him shift uncomfortably in his chair. He had ordered the marriage of several lords at court to foreigners from his wife’s entourage, and that action too had earned him nothing but hatred and anger. He set his mouth in a stubborn line. ‘You are not complaining of my choice of a husband for you, I hope.’
‘Of course not, sire.’ Her face was as stubborn as his. ‘But I am sure that you will allow me the company of the Lady Rhonwen in the life you have chosen for me.’
‘I suppose it would be all right, if it will make you happy. Very well. I can’t believe the woman is a danger to anyone else. Come next week and I shall have a pardon drawn up.’
‘Could you not do it now, my uncle?’
He shook his head testily. ‘No, I could not. Now go, go with your husband before I change my mind!’
XII
Robert made no difficulty three days later when she announced that she was going out. He had been summoned to the court with Lord Winchester to attend the king and was anxious to leave at once.
The house in Chester Court was just off Gracechurch Street. It stood end on to the narrow, dark alley, but behind the high gates it was large and rambling. Fully occupied only once or twice a year in the past when Countess Clemence had visited London, it had remained empty for several years now as her increasing age prevented her from travelling. Rhonwen ran it with a well-trained, obedient staff and lived in more state than Eleyne had enjoyed on her last visit to Fotheringhay.
The gowns were hanging in a large airy bedchamber which looked out on a small central garden with gravelled walks and formal rose beds. The two dressmakers were waiting, and Rhonwen was smiling. Eleyne had told her the news of the pardon and she could not contain the elation which had swept through her.
The fittings took only a short time. Rhonwen had remembered Eleyne’s measurements with complete accuracy, but she scowled at the amount of weight Eleyne had lost. ‘You are like a starving waif,
‘No, of course not. I’m never ill, you know that.’
‘Then you are still unhappy?’
‘Of course I am unhappy! What do you expect? Oh, he doesn’t beat me any more; he doesn’t force me to do anything I don’t want.’ She gave Rhonwen a rueful grimace. ‘But that is because he has no lever to use against me now; and besides, he wants me to help advance him with the king. He would do anything for that.’
‘But you would rather be in Scotland.’ Rhonwen said the words so quietly that the dressmakers could not hear them.
‘Rhonwen, I have told you – ’
‘Tschk! I know what you told me, but you are no longer married to that milksop earl! He is gone. Your heart is free to go where it wishes.’
‘It does not wish to go anywhere, Rhonwen.’
‘I think it does,
