John was dead.

In my damp misery I howled, refusing the warmth of Constance’s arms about me as she was driven to give comfort to this mad woman who was her mother.

He had banished me. He had died alone.

I could formulate no plan. No plan at all.

I despised Henry and the Countess of Hereford and Thomas FitzAllan, all in equal measure.

A gust of wind brought the sound of distant hooves clattering into the stable courtyard and for one foolish moment my heart leapt. He had come to me. He had been released after all …

The truth caused me to fling down the shears and cover my face with my hands, for suddenly my own misery was cast into nothingness by the acknowledgement of John’s death. He would never come to me again. And what terrible choices he had had to make, standing between his own brother and his wife. How was it possible for a man to determine the direction of his heart when faced with such a dilemma? And I had made it so difficult for him, torn as I was between equally divided loyalties. My choice was no easier than his.

Did I feel guilt?

Yes. Yes. And yes. It seemed to me that I was frozen in a wasteland of unending, unforgiving agony from which there was no escape.

The gardener emerged from his woody seclusion, leading a man I did not know. A herald, as it soon became clear. One of Henry’s superbly appointed couriers, tabard gleaming in the dank gloom. Which was warning enough.

Facing him, still on my knees, I dared him to react in any manner to my appearance. Nor did he. He bowed. ‘My lady.’

‘You have come from the King.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ His solemn face showed no recognition of my strange state, even when Constance plucked at my shoulder. The rest of the children had vanished.

‘And your message? What has the King to say to me?’

‘My lord requests that you return to court.’

‘And why is that?’ Unable to control the bitterness that welled within me. ‘Does the King intend to parade me before his loyal courtiers as the wife of a traitor?’

Which he wisely ignored, handing me instead a document heavy with seals and signatures, the red and gold shining against my mud encrusted hands. Perhaps my face was also smeared, but I did not care. Legal, official, the weight of the document made my heart sink.

‘Tell me, or do I have to read it?’

‘It is to inform you, my lady, of the confiscation of all lands, possessions and properties of John Holland.’

He was not even given the respect of his title. There would be no title, no inheritance for my children. No advantageous marriages, for who would desire a landless child of a proscribed father as mate? John had seen it all. We would be cast as beggars on my brother’s charity.

Why have you done this to us, John?

Suddenly I was so angry with him.

And yet inordinately I felt laughter forming in my chest, dispersing my fury, and would have laughed aloud if it could have bypassed the constriction in my throat. For this ground I had been digging, these plants that I had been destroying, no longer belonged to me. All had been taken away. I was homeless, even more bereft than I could have believed. I would have to throw myself on Henry’s mercy and be dutiful and dependent on him for the rest of my life.

At last I struggled to my feet, holding the document as if it were a poisoned chalice.

‘And to whom does the King gift my lord’s properties?’ All in all I was proud of the calm tenor of my voice.

‘I know not, my lady. The confiscation will first be ratified by parliament when it meets in March. Until then the estates will become royal property.’

‘But free for the King to use, to reward those whose loyalty is beyond question.’ The Countess of Hereford would be high on his list. And Thomas FitzAlan. I caught a slide of pity in the herald’s eye and straightened my spine, snatching at dignity. ‘My thanks for your news.’

‘I will escort you, my lady.’ Yes, there was definitely pity, even as I faced him with disdain. ‘There’s something else you should know, my lady …’

‘Another message from my royal brother?’

‘No, my lady.’ He inclined his head, not meeting my stare. ‘It’s not his doing, but you need to be aware, if you’re going to London. I wouldn’t want it to be a shock for you. As it would …’ And, uneasily, compassionately, he told me, yet in deference to my need as I dug my fingers into his arm, spared me nothing in the telling, of the true span of Thomas FitzAlan’s revenge.

It was like a blow of a mailed fist to my chest. Dropping the shears, I hitched my skirts, abandoned the herbery to the gardener and Henry’s herald, and fled towards the house, every breath difficult, every thought suffused with ultimate horror. Despite the threat of snow, despite my heartsick state that had kept me inert for so long, I packed my coffers and ordered my horse and an escort.



Chapter Fiveteen

Dry-eyed, driven by a raging fury interlaced with fear, I forced myself to travel on, throughout the whole of the following day and night without respite, stopping only at the roadside for bread and wine that I could barely swallow, while all the time in my head shrieked the voice that despite all my efforts I might be too late. I knew the hour and the day when this abomination would be perpetrated. I must be there.

John’s inevitable execution, the gloating delight of Thomas FitzAlan, the cold implacability of the Countess, then the stripping away of John’s title and lands, all had been a weight that I would bear with all the composure I could summon to my aid. But this—this final, inexorable degradation—drove me to risk my safety on the roads, to honour John at the last, to make this final bid to restore some tiny—some would say worthless—vestige of dignity to my dead love. It would be very little but it would be something.

How could Henry have allowed it?

Nor was I alone in my self-imposed mission.

‘I am coming with you. Whatever you say.’

There was a severity in the dark gaze. Constance, at eleven years, had all the obstinacy that had driven me at that age.

‘You will remain here, Constance.’

‘I will not. This is no longer our home. Richard, as the eldest, will remain and order the young ones about until it is decided where we will live. But for now, I will go with you because you should not have to do this alone.’

There, in my daughter’s insistence, was John’s clear, unadorned logic that almost brought me again to my knees. So she had been listening.