honest work which she knew she could do and do well. If there was a job – and she hoped there was – she resolved to do it to the very best of her ability.
***
T he Duchess Eleanor had a niggling toothache again. Mercifully, the tooth was quite a long way back in her lower jaw so, even if it should become discoloured and unpleasant to look at, it wouldn’t show when she smiled or laughed her tinkling laugh. Nothing about her should ever appear unpleasant. She never forgot that her beauty had made her what she was today.
Hers had not been an easy position to achieve but she was still, even after seven years of marriage, the same beautiful woman her husband, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, wanted in his bed. That was all that mattered. Turning her head from side to side, she inspected her reflection in the ornate ivory-backed mirror on her dressing table, admiring the ruby earrings which had been a gift from her husband’s nephew, the King, pleased by the effect of their dark fire against a wing of her raven hair.
But the tooth still throbbed in her jaw. Pushing the mirror aside, she picked up the bell on her table and rang it. A young woman, scurrying in from the next room, dropped a hurried curtsey.
‘Sarah, fetch me Mistress Jourdemayne,’ said Eleanor. ‘And be quick about it.’
‘Yes, Your Grace. Where will I find her?’
‘How should I know? Just find her. Go to the farm first and see if she’s at home. Tell her I must see her.’
‘What if she isn’t there, Your Grace?’
‘Then find her husband. He’ll know where she is. Tell her I am plagued by the toothache and Canon Southwell has had no success in curing it, so she must attend me immediately.’
‘Certainly, Your Grace.’
‘And Sarah!’
‘Your Grace?’
‘Not a word to anyone, do you hear? Not a single word.’
‘Naturally, Your Grace. Not a word. Will there be anything else, Your Grace?’
‘No, nothing else. Now go, Sarah, and don’t loiter, gossiping with your friends. Go directly to the Manor of Eye and find Mistress Jourdemayne. It isn’t much more than a mile, it shouldn’t take you long.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
The girl backed hastily out of the room with her head bowed, groping behind her for the door handle rather than daring to turn her back on her royal mistress. Once the door had closed, Eleanor rose and went to her prie-dieu in the corner. She knelt on the richly embroidered cushion, bent her head on her clasped hands and prayed fervently to St Apollonia for deliverance from the infernal ache in her tooth. If the saint failed her, Margery had better be able to produce some tincture to ease the pain.
***
H aving dismissed the young Devonshire woman, William picked up a besom, checked that the twigs around the base of its long handle were securely tied and began sweeping up. He shouldn’t have to do this, but there never seemed to be anyone else available. The truth of it was that he needed more help: the monks were expecting far too much for what they paid him. It was all very well for men of God to be at their devotions seven or eight times a day and saying endless masses for the souls of the dead, but they should show a bit more concern for those who were trying to wrest a living from the heavy clay soil of Westminster. If he wasn’t employed by a huddle of celibate monks, William reflected, there’d be sons and daughters of the family to swell the workforce but, as it was, there were fewer than thirty farmhands employed on the whole thousand acres of the demesne. There were sixty cows to be milked twice a day, and that was without having to look after the fatstock for market. Then there were back-breaking days in the fields, ploughing or reaping, stock-proofing fences or mending walls. He was grateful the sheep looked after themselves for most of the year, now that there was no longer any danger from wolves in the district. Moreover, sheep yielded a good-quality meat and their wool returned a handsome
***
T he Duchess Eleanor had a niggling toothache again. Mercifully, the tooth was quite a long way back in her lower jaw so, even if it should become discoloured and unpleasant to look at, it wouldn’t show when she smiled or laughed her tinkling laugh. Nothing about her should ever appear unpleasant. She never forgot that her beauty had made her what she was today.
Hers had not been an easy position to achieve but she was still, even after seven years of marriage, the same beautiful woman her husband, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, wanted in his bed. That was all that mattered. Turning her head from side to side, she inspected her reflection in the ornate ivory-backed mirror on her dressing table, admiring the ruby earrings which had been a gift from her husband’s nephew, the King, pleased by the effect of their dark fire against a wing of her raven hair.
But the tooth still throbbed in her jaw. Pushing the mirror aside, she picked up the bell on her table and rang it. A young woman, scurrying in from the next room, dropped a hurried curtsey.
‘Sarah, fetch me Mistress Jourdemayne,’ said Eleanor. ‘And be quick about it.’
‘Yes, Your Grace. Where will I find her?’
‘How should I know? Just find her. Go to the farm first and see if she’s at home. Tell her I must see her.’
‘What if she isn’t there, Your Grace?’
‘Then find her husband. He’ll know where she is. Tell her I am plagued by the toothache and Canon Southwell has had no success in curing it, so she must attend me immediately.’
‘Certainly, Your Grace.’
‘And Sarah!’
‘Your Grace?’
‘Not a word to anyone, do you hear? Not a single word.’
‘Naturally, Your Grace. Not a word. Will there be anything else, Your Grace?’
‘No, nothing else. Now go, Sarah, and don’t loiter, gossiping with your friends. Go directly to the Manor of Eye and find Mistress Jourdemayne. It isn’t much more than a mile, it shouldn’t take you long.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
The girl backed hastily out of the room with her head bowed, groping behind her for the door handle rather than daring to turn her back on her royal mistress. Once the door had closed, Eleanor rose and went to her prie-dieu in the corner. She knelt on the richly embroidered cushion, bent her head on her clasped hands and prayed fervently to St Apollonia for deliverance from the infernal ache in her tooth. If the saint failed her, Margery had better be able to produce some tincture to ease the pain.
***
H aving dismissed the young Devonshire woman, William picked up a besom, checked that the twigs around the base of its long handle were securely tied and began sweeping up. He shouldn’t have to do this, but there never seemed to be anyone else available. The truth of it was that he needed more help: the monks were expecting far too much for what they paid him. It was all very well for men of God to be at their devotions seven or eight times a day and saying endless masses for the souls of the dead, but they should show a bit more concern for those who were trying to wrest a living from the heavy clay soil of Westminster. If he wasn’t employed by a huddle of celibate monks, William reflected, there’d be sons and daughters of the family to swell the workforce but, as it was, there were fewer than thirty farmhands employed on the whole thousand acres of the demesne. There were sixty cows to be milked twice a day, and that was without having to look after the fatstock for market. Then there were back-breaking days in the fields, ploughing or reaping, stock-proofing fences or mending walls. He was grateful the sheep looked after themselves for most of the year, now that there was no longer any danger from wolves in the district. Moreover, sheep yielded a good-quality meat and their wool returned a handsome
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