Hugh and Bess (21 page)

  Gilbert le Despenser was one of the king's household knights. He was only in his early twenties, considerably younger than Hugh, and was said to resemble his mother much more strongly than his father. He was burlier than Hugh, with a few freckles and hair that was more red than auburn; a suitable look, Bess thought groggily, for someone who had been born during his father's pirate days. “For you it has,” he said. “How much wine
have
you had?”

  Bess tossed her head, realizing as she did that a good part of her hair had worked its way free of her caged headdress and was visible for every living soul at Windsor Castle to gape at. “I truly have no idea,” she said loftily. “I suppose you couldn’t help me with my hair, could you?”

  Gilbert snorted. “I’m not a lady's maid. And after that display, who will notice?” He continued dragging her through the crowd until he finally reached its fringes. “Christ, I don’t see Hugh anywhere in this mob. Half of England must be here. Do you know where you were lodged?”

  “It had a lovely view of the river. With the leaves off the trees you can look right out of it and see all the comings and goings there. I even saw the sun set today, Gilbert.” She sighed. “It was beautiful.”

  Despite his piratical appearance, Gilbert was usually quite good-natured, but tonight he was unaccountably grumpy, Bess thought. When she told him so, he muttered something that Bess could not make out, but which was probably most unchivalrous, and settled her on a bench aside the wall. “Stay here. I’m going to look for Hugh or your father or one of your brothers to take you to your chamber. Or at least I can find the king's steward to tell me where it is and I can take you there myself. Don’t you dare have another drink while I’m gone, and don’t you move. Understand? Just rest here and think of your sunset. And for God's sake stay away from the king. He's almost as flown by wine as you are, which is saying something. Understand? Not even a sip!”

  Glad to be sitting for the moment, Bess nodded and dreamily watched him hurry off. Then she started. Her father! He would be so angry at her, making a display of herself and even flirting with the king a little. And her mother would be even worse. Bess blanched at the very thought. Best that she go to her chamber in dignity now instead of waiting to be hauled there in disgrace. She had a fairly good idea of where it was and could have led Gilbert straight to it, if only he hadn’t stormed off in such a huff.

  She lurched to her feet, deciding to ignore the sound of the train of her gown ripping as she did, and made her way out of the hall, supporting herself against the wall when needed. As she passed a window seat she stumbled over a couple embracing there. Joan of Kent and Sir Thomas Holland? Surely it could not be; the wine must be playing more tricks with her. She ignored them, as she had the rip, and continued on her way, teetering through vaguely familiar passages and up and down likely staircases until she finally saw what had to be her door and pushed her body against it. It did not give.

  Bess stared at the upstart door indignantly. She was beginning to beat it with her fists when a voice called, “Bess?”

  “Hugh!” She turned, lost her balance, and would have fallen if Hugh had not hastened up the stairs and grabbed her. She said crossly, “I have looked everywhere for you. Where have you been?”

  “Looking for you,” said Hugh. “Didn’t Gilbert tell you to stay where you were?”

  Bess suddenly plopped down on the step on which she was standing. “Yes, but he was really quite rude about it, and I hate rude men. He wouldn’t even help me with my hair. Oh, sit down, Hugh.” He obeyed, and she leaned against him contentedly, all her worries gone now that he and not her father had found her. “It was such a nice feast for us ladies. There was porpoise, and salmon, and venison, and— oh, I don’t know what all. Oh, and there was the most excellent wine.”

  “So I understand.”

  “Well, of course, there is always wine at court. But tonight there was wine from everywhere. We tried all sorts.” Bess frowned, then giggled. “Joan had far too much.”

  “Did she, now?”

  “Oh, yes. And I had a little more than usual myself, I think, Hugh. To be quite honest.”

  “I think so, too. Enough to float you down the Thames to London and back, I’d say.”

  “Silly, who would want to do that?” She moved into Hugh's lap and began caressing his cheek. “Maybe a little more than usual. Hugh? I did see something very strange. Joan was kissing Sir Thomas Holland.” She decided not to mention the king's kissing her own self. “You haven’t kissed other women tonight, have you, Hugh?”

  “No. Come. Let's get you to our chamber and put you to bed.” He tried to haul her to her feet.

  “But it's locked, Hugh. And everything goes round when I stand up. It's so much nicer sitting here. Don’t you think so?” Bess settled back into Hugh's lap and kissed him. “I liked the king's feast, but I wish you had been there.” She began fumbling with his clothing. “Maybe we should go inside after all,” she whispered. “We can drink some more wine and dance together and make love.”

  “Bess, we’re not—”

  “A bit late for petitioners, Sir Hugh, is it not? Not that I am accustomed to such visits anyway.”

  Hugh clapped a hand over Bess's mouth as the dowager queen, trailed by her ladies and accompanied by a page or two, stared down at them. “I beg your pardon, your grace. Lady Despenser is not familiar with the layout here. She got confused and took the wrong direction.”

  His hand slipped, and Bess said obstinately, “I did not.” She clutched Hugh tighter. “Make them go away, Hugh. I want to be all alone with you. I don’t want them coming in our chamber. It's too late for guests.”

  “All right, Bess.” Hugh stood, bowed as best he could to Isabella, and after considering for a moment, hauled a protesting Bess over his shoulder like a sack of grain. “Good night, your grace.”

  “You were furious,” Hugh said cheerfully, laying a cold towel on Bess's forehead. Bess appreciated the towel, but not her husband's good cheer, so she scowled and said not a word of thanks. “The dowager queen had no business turning us out of our own chambers, you kept telling me, and I kept telling you that you’d taken the wrong turn and were headed toward
her
chambers. But you wouldn’t have any of it. You’re a mulish little thing with too much wine in you, sweetheart; it's damn lucky you weren’t born a man or you’d probably have had your head broken a dozen times over by now. Anyway, I finally got you undressed and in bed—your poor ladies couldn’t have managed it. At that point you stopped being angry at me for taking the queen's part and became insistent on being ravished. You were quite the wanton. That bearskin by the fire may bring back some memories if you think hard enough.”

  Bess gazed bleakly at the bearskin. It, like its former occupant, had seen better days, probably several King Edwards ago. “And then?”

  “Oh, you wanted more wine, of course, but I wouldn’t give it to you. You wanted to dance too, but I wouldn’t. You sulked for a little while about that; it was almost like the old days of our marriage. Poor Bess, I wager you’ve a head on you today. If it's any consolation, you’re very far from being the only lady so afflicted, I hear.”

  “I hate the king. How dare he give us so much wine?”

  She struggled to a sitting position. Hugh, naturally, had been unable to braid her hair for her the night before, and the very weight of it hanging loose made her wince as she slowly arose. Seeing that Hugh was fully dressed, she asked, “Hugh, where are you going?”

  “It's time for dinner. So I’m going to”—Bess with a great effort managed to get out of bed and hasten in the direction of the garderobe—“dinner. Did I say the wrong word, sweetheart?”

  After several trips to the garderobe, Bess went back to bed and slept, opening her eyes only when Hugh returned to their chamber. “How was—dinner?” she asked, relieved that the word no longer gave her palpitations.

  “Very pleasant. I danced with Queen Philippa and she called me delectable and I gave her a great smacking kiss right in front of the whole nobility of England. One of your sisters was there to protect my virtue, fortunately.”

  She sat up. “Hugh, I meant to tell you—”

  “So you do remember? I was thinking that your memory was strangely weak on who was kissing whom last night.”

  “Gilbert must have—”

  “Gilbert told me only that you’d had too much to drink and were acting rather foolishly. He didn’t tell me that you’d all but invited the king into your bed. That I’ve heard from others, all of this afternoon.”

  “Hugh! I wouldn’t have known the king from the Pope at the time.”

  “Well, that raises an even more interesting picture, though certainly not a more pleasing one. In any case, we can discuss this later, as I’ve an invitation for you that you need to attend to now. Not from the king, you might be distressed to hear—”

  “Hugh!”

  “—and not from the Pope either, by the way. I don’t think you’d be able to guess if you tried, even if you could try in your present state. The she-wolf herself, otherwise known as our gracious lady the king's mother.”

  Bess frowned, a painful process. “Queen Isabella? What on earth does she want with me?”

  Hugh shrugged. “Maybe she wants to apologize for turning you out of your chambers last night. She’ll probably offer you excellent wine, if my memory from when I was a page at court serves me right.”

  “Hugh—”

  “I’ll call in your ladies. They’ve got a lot to work to do on you, my dear.”

  Eschewing the elaborate gowns she had had made for her visit to court, Bess ordered that her ladies dress her in an older traveling gown that made her look as frumpy and matronly as she could at her age. Arranging her hair into her customary headdress would have been far too painful, and brought back faintly distasteful memories besides, so she settled for a simple veil and wimple and proceeded toward the dowager queen's chamber. Her sister-in-law, Joan of Kent, was hobbling up one flight of stairs as Bess hobbled down them. “Joan? Are you all right?”

  “I wish I were on my deathbed.”

  “So do I.”

  Even Joan of Kent's beauty, Bess observed with muted pleasure, did not hold up well under a massive hangover. And had she really seen Joan with Thomas Holland? Given Bess's own conduct with the king, not to mention whatever sinful act she must have instigated on the bearskin rug, she supposed that she was not in a position to be censorious.

  Joan was not so bleary-eyed, however, as to miss Bess's voluminous wimple, the sort that was no longer seen in fashionable company except on nuns and ladies over sixty. “What in the name of God is that on your head?”

  “Go to the devil, Joan,” said Bess, thinking that their conversation had taken a peculiarly circular turn.

  The ornate entrance to Queen Isabella's apartments was so different from the simple one to hers and Hugh's that no sober person could have mistaken the two. A page showed her in, and Bess sank to a curtsey, though every bone she had resisted. She spoke the words that she had been rehearsing since Hugh had given her the news. “Your grace, I beg your pardon for my inexcusable and disgraceful behavior last night. I assure you it shall never happen again.”

  “Inexcusable and disgraceful? Ridiculous will do, Lady Despenser.” The queen waved her to a stool. “Sit there. You brought some needlework with you, I see? Show it to me.”

  “It is for our portable altar, your grace.”

  “Very pretty. You work very nicely. Don’t look so frightened, child. I didn’t call you here to upbraid you. So you are wondering, no doubt, what did I call you here for?”

  “My head aches so badly, your grace, I could hardly figure it out if I tried.”

  Isabella laughed. “Well, it's no mystery, Lady Despenser. You are the eldest daughter of my son's favorite earl and wife to one of the wealthiest men in England. It would be remiss of me not to take some notice of you.” She settled back with her own work. “I gather you haven’t been to court much.”

  “No, your grace. I have mostly stayed on my father's lands and now my husband's.”

  “And you have visited your husband's aunt, Lady Elizabeth de Burgh. She is an old friend of mine. She has spoken very highly of you.”

  “There were no opportunities for me to make a fool out of myself when I visited her. I suppose that is why.”

  Isabella chuckled. “She said you were a clever girl. So was I, at your age. I noticed you and your pretty sister-in-law looking at me quite intently last night.”

  Bess blushed. “We did not mean to be rude. It is just that your grace is so handsome, and the king's mother, and so seldom seen, and—”

  “A wicked woman, I am sure you have been told. I suppose if I were a young lady again I would stare at me too.” She paused. “Don’t fear, Lady Despenser. I won’t force you to turn confessor. I have a perfectly good one of my own.”

  Relieved and disappointed at the same time, Bess concentrated on her needlework. To break the silence, she said, “If it is not being impertinent, is it strange for you to be back at court after all this time?”

  “Why should a girl who embraces her king in front of a hall of people worry about being impertinent? I miss very little, you see.”