and Philippa.
When John brought the news of his brother’s death to Blanche she could see that in spite of his tragic expression a certain triumph gleamed in his eyes and she knew that he was thinking: Lionel dead. One obstacle to the throne removed.
Then Blanche shivered with apprehension and fear for the future.
She went to her nursery and picked up the little Henry who was some eighteen months old now – lusty, bright-eyed, beginning to take notice of everything around him.
John joined her there. He could not keep away from the nursery and although he loved his girls all his hopes were centred on this boy.
She watched him take the child in his arms.
‘And what have you been doing today, Henry of Bolingbroke?’ he asked playfully.
She saw the dreams there … dreams for the boy.
There was the usual outcry about poison and Lionel’s father-in-law was suspected of taking his life. But, as John pointed out, there was no reason why Galeazzo would do so for the death of Lionel was the end of his ambitions for his daughter and Milan.
No, Lionel had indulged himself too freely with the food of the country; he had been unaccustomed to its strangeness and to the heat of that country; he had succumbed to that dysentery which often attacked travellers abroad and in his case it had been fatal.
He was buried first at Pavia but he had asked in his will that his remains should lie in the convent of the Austin Friars at Clare in Suffolk so they were brought there and placed beside those of his first wife.
In the midst of this mourning Blanche gave birth to a son.
John was delighted with the boy and he was named after his father.
Alas, poor little John lived only for a few days.
Blanche was desolate. In spite of all her care the child was gone.
She was a great deal with the Queen and they tried to comfort each other.
‘We must be brave,’ said Philippa, ‘you have your daughters and your boy Henry. I have my dear Edward, my John, Edmund and Thomas left to me as well as my daughter Isabella. We must be thankful for what is left of us.’
It was clear however that the shock of her son’s death and the knowledge that Edward was drifting away from her had cast a heavy shadow over the Queen.
It was in the royal household that Blanche again encountered the young poet, Geoffrey Chaucer.
The Queen had taken an interest in him because he had married one of her bedchamber women, Philippa de Roet. ‘A good girl,’ the Queen had said, ‘perhaps over zealous. Given to bustling and taking much on herself. But reliable and honest. A good wife I think for Geoffrey. Lionel thought highly of him. He has written some pleasing verses.’
Because Lionel had thought highly of Geoffrey and had enjoyed his poetry and given him a stipend which was more than he would have earned as an ordinary page, the poet was now taken into the royal household.
It was a pleasure for the Queen to know that her bedchamber woman, Philippa de Roet, was married. She gave rich presents to the pair and took a personal interest in them. Philippa Chaucer continued to serve in the bedchamber and Geoffrey was often summoned to the Queen’s presence to read his poetry to her.
She talked to Blanche of the girl who was a much pleasanter subject than that other bedchamber woman, Alice Perrers.
‘She will make Geoffrey a good wife. He needs someone who is practical to look after him. He is a dreamer that young man, but he writes well and his verses are thought very highly of. The King enjoys them. Lionel was delighted with them. Dear Lionel, he would have wanted us to find a place for Geoffrey.’
‘I have noticed him.’
The Queen laughed. ‘And he has noticed you. When your name is mentioned he all but falls on his knees in worship. He admires you, Blanche, oh in the most respectful way.’ The Queen went on, ‘I felt a certain responsibility to Philippa de Roet. Her father was a good servant to me. He came over from Hainault to join me. He would wish
When John brought the news of his brother’s death to Blanche she could see that in spite of his tragic expression a certain triumph gleamed in his eyes and she knew that he was thinking: Lionel dead. One obstacle to the throne removed.
Then Blanche shivered with apprehension and fear for the future.
She went to her nursery and picked up the little Henry who was some eighteen months old now – lusty, bright-eyed, beginning to take notice of everything around him.
John joined her there. He could not keep away from the nursery and although he loved his girls all his hopes were centred on this boy.
She watched him take the child in his arms.
‘And what have you been doing today, Henry of Bolingbroke?’ he asked playfully.
She saw the dreams there … dreams for the boy.
There was the usual outcry about poison and Lionel’s father-in-law was suspected of taking his life. But, as John pointed out, there was no reason why Galeazzo would do so for the death of Lionel was the end of his ambitions for his daughter and Milan.
No, Lionel had indulged himself too freely with the food of the country; he had been unaccustomed to its strangeness and to the heat of that country; he had succumbed to that dysentery which often attacked travellers abroad and in his case it had been fatal.
He was buried first at Pavia but he had asked in his will that his remains should lie in the convent of the Austin Friars at Clare in Suffolk so they were brought there and placed beside those of his first wife.
In the midst of this mourning Blanche gave birth to a son.
John was delighted with the boy and he was named after his father.
Alas, poor little John lived only for a few days.
Blanche was desolate. In spite of all her care the child was gone.
She was a great deal with the Queen and they tried to comfort each other.
‘We must be brave,’ said Philippa, ‘you have your daughters and your boy Henry. I have my dear Edward, my John, Edmund and Thomas left to me as well as my daughter Isabella. We must be thankful for what is left of us.’
It was clear however that the shock of her son’s death and the knowledge that Edward was drifting away from her had cast a heavy shadow over the Queen.
It was in the royal household that Blanche again encountered the young poet, Geoffrey Chaucer.
The Queen had taken an interest in him because he had married one of her bedchamber women, Philippa de Roet. ‘A good girl,’ the Queen had said, ‘perhaps over zealous. Given to bustling and taking much on herself. But reliable and honest. A good wife I think for Geoffrey. Lionel thought highly of him. He has written some pleasing verses.’
Because Lionel had thought highly of Geoffrey and had enjoyed his poetry and given him a stipend which was more than he would have earned as an ordinary page, the poet was now taken into the royal household.
It was a pleasure for the Queen to know that her bedchamber woman, Philippa de Roet, was married. She gave rich presents to the pair and took a personal interest in them. Philippa Chaucer continued to serve in the bedchamber and Geoffrey was often summoned to the Queen’s presence to read his poetry to her.
She talked to Blanche of the girl who was a much pleasanter subject than that other bedchamber woman, Alice Perrers.
‘She will make Geoffrey a good wife. He needs someone who is practical to look after him. He is a dreamer that young man, but he writes well and his verses are thought very highly of. The King enjoys them. Lionel was delighted with them. Dear Lionel, he would have wanted us to find a place for Geoffrey.’
‘I have noticed him.’
The Queen laughed. ‘And he has noticed you. When your name is mentioned he all but falls on his knees in worship. He admires you, Blanche, oh in the most respectful way.’ The Queen went on, ‘I felt a certain responsibility to Philippa de Roet. Her father was a good servant to me. He came over from Hainault to join me. He would wish
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