the one comfort she had in all of this great change.
The following day dawned gray and gloomy. Certainly not the most hopeful sign, Orva thought as she directed the loading of the trunks onto the baggage cart. It would take them a week to reach Queen Joan’s residence, which was some fifteen miles east of London. The earl had sent word ahead to four convents and three monasteries requesting shelter for his party. Each night they would stop at a religious guesthouse, where they would be given a bed and two meals in the safety of the establishment’s sturdy walls. They would travel with a dozen men-at-arms from Leighton to keep them, and Cicely’s baggage cart with all her new gowns and other worldly possessions, safe.
They had traveled no more than a few miles when the rain began, and it continued for the next two days. The earl had wisely considered that they would travel slowly, and so, while uncomfortable, they were able to reach the convent in which they would stay the night. The mother superior was impressed that Lady Cicely was to be fostered by the king’s stepmother.
“You are aware, though, my lord, of the rumors about Queen Joan, aren’t you?” the nun asked the earl.
“What rumors?” Robert Bowen inquired nervously. Were all his plans for his daughter to come to naught?
“Some say the lady practices witchcraft, my lord, although King Henry does not give such chatter credence,” the mother superior murmured.
“Why would anyone say that?” the earl wondered aloud.
“Well, my lord, her kingly father in Navarre was called ‘ the Bad .’ And then she lived in Brittany for many years, and all know that witchcraft is practiced there. And then there is the fact that while she bore her first husband, the Duke of Brittany, nine children, and our own late king had six with Lady Mary before she died and he succeeded to England’s throne, together the king and Queen Joan produced no progeny. Both were young enough to do so. So why were there no more children?”
“Perhaps because of their large families their marriage was by choice a celibate one,” the earl suggested. “As I recall Queen Joan brought her two younger daughters with her when she came from Brittany, Reverend Mother, and they needed her attention. But as I am not a part of the court circle my opinion on the matter would be worthless.”
The nun smiled archly. “Your little girl is very fortunate, my lord,” she said.
It rained the next day as well, and the monastery guesthouse they stayed in the second night was very sparse, the supper and meal the following morning scant. But when they awoke the third morning the sky had turned blue and the sun was shining. The weather held for the rest of their journey, and late in the afternoon of the seventh day they reached the village of Havering-atte-Bower, and Queen Joan’s residence. The queen, however, was not there. She would be arriving on the morrow, the steward said, with Lady Joan Beaufort. He could not admit the queen’s new fosterling until she arrived.
Anticipating that he might need a seventh night of shelter, the Earl of Leighton had arranged it in the guesthouse of a small but
prosperous convent just outside of the village. The mother superior herself welcomed them, smiling. She was quite unlike their hostess on that first night on the road.
“So you’re to live in the queen’s household,” the nun said. “You are a very lucky little girl, Lady Cicely. I have known the queen since she came to England over ten years ago. She is very wise and can be a lot of fun. Her daughters Marguerite and Blanche came with her then. Of course, they’re married back into France now but I remember them well. Two of the sisters and I used to take them berry picking. And the Decembers we had with all the feasting from Christmas to Twelfth Night. Queen Joan always invited us to her table then, for we are a small order. How lovely to learn there will be two little girls back at the queen’s
The following day dawned gray and gloomy. Certainly not the most hopeful sign, Orva thought as she directed the loading of the trunks onto the baggage cart. It would take them a week to reach Queen Joan’s residence, which was some fifteen miles east of London. The earl had sent word ahead to four convents and three monasteries requesting shelter for his party. Each night they would stop at a religious guesthouse, where they would be given a bed and two meals in the safety of the establishment’s sturdy walls. They would travel with a dozen men-at-arms from Leighton to keep them, and Cicely’s baggage cart with all her new gowns and other worldly possessions, safe.
They had traveled no more than a few miles when the rain began, and it continued for the next two days. The earl had wisely considered that they would travel slowly, and so, while uncomfortable, they were able to reach the convent in which they would stay the night. The mother superior was impressed that Lady Cicely was to be fostered by the king’s stepmother.
“You are aware, though, my lord, of the rumors about Queen Joan, aren’t you?” the nun asked the earl.
“What rumors?” Robert Bowen inquired nervously. Were all his plans for his daughter to come to naught?
“Some say the lady practices witchcraft, my lord, although King Henry does not give such chatter credence,” the mother superior murmured.
“Why would anyone say that?” the earl wondered aloud.
“Well, my lord, her kingly father in Navarre was called ‘ the Bad .’ And then she lived in Brittany for many years, and all know that witchcraft is practiced there. And then there is the fact that while she bore her first husband, the Duke of Brittany, nine children, and our own late king had six with Lady Mary before she died and he succeeded to England’s throne, together the king and Queen Joan produced no progeny. Both were young enough to do so. So why were there no more children?”
“Perhaps because of their large families their marriage was by choice a celibate one,” the earl suggested. “As I recall Queen Joan brought her two younger daughters with her when she came from Brittany, Reverend Mother, and they needed her attention. But as I am not a part of the court circle my opinion on the matter would be worthless.”
The nun smiled archly. “Your little girl is very fortunate, my lord,” she said.
It rained the next day as well, and the monastery guesthouse they stayed in the second night was very sparse, the supper and meal the following morning scant. But when they awoke the third morning the sky had turned blue and the sun was shining. The weather held for the rest of their journey, and late in the afternoon of the seventh day they reached the village of Havering-atte-Bower, and Queen Joan’s residence. The queen, however, was not there. She would be arriving on the morrow, the steward said, with Lady Joan Beaufort. He could not admit the queen’s new fosterling until she arrived.
Anticipating that he might need a seventh night of shelter, the Earl of Leighton had arranged it in the guesthouse of a small but
prosperous convent just outside of the village. The mother superior herself welcomed them, smiling. She was quite unlike their hostess on that first night on the road.
“So you’re to live in the queen’s household,” the nun said. “You are a very lucky little girl, Lady Cicely. I have known the queen since she came to England over ten years ago. She is very wise and can be a lot of fun. Her daughters Marguerite and Blanche came with her then. Of course, they’re married back into France now but I remember them well. Two of the sisters and I used to take them berry picking. And the Decembers we had with all the feasting from Christmas to Twelfth Night. Queen Joan always invited us to her table then, for we are a small order. How lovely to learn there will be two little girls back at the queen’s
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