Isabella meanwhile had continued in some trepidation at Havering. Harry paid another visit during which she had remained cool towards him and avoided him as much as possible. He was however unabashed because he had thought that Isabella would relent in time, but he was beginning to realize that what he had at first regarded as an amusing game was a more serious matter which might end in defeat for him, for Isabella truly hated him, and was amazingly loyal to Richard. There was no doubt that she was a person of determination and unless the French were very eager for the match it might well not take place.

When the Count d'Albret arrived in England and presented himself. King Henry entertained him lavishly at Eltham. The Count said that he wished to see the young Queen to which Henry replied: "You will find her in a melancholy state. She mourns the late King. I should not wish you to speak of him when you see her."

"How can that be avoided, my lord?"

"If she mentions him you must indeed answer, but I insist though that you must not introduce the subject, nor must you discuss his abdication and death with her. I would need your oath on this."

The Count replied that he had not come here to talk of what was past. It was the future with which he was concerned, and he gave his promise.

The King then sent one of his guards to Isabella to extract the same promise from her. "The King is allowing the Count d'Albret to visit you," she was told, "on condition that you do not mention the late King to him."

Isabella was aghast. "How can I not speak of something that is in my thoughts night and day?"

The guard replied: "Unless you give this promise the Count will not see you. He has given his promise to the King."

Isabella was silent for a moment. She was a prisoner of the men she hated. There was nothing for her here—nothing but memories of her beloved Richard. She must go home. It was the only place where she could find peace of mind and escape from the odious attentions of Henry and his son.

She gave her promise.

The Count arrived at Havering where he was received by Isabella in the company of the Duchess of Ireland and a few other ladies.

Isabella plied the visitor with questions about her parents. Her father was well now, she was told; and so were Dauphin Louis and his two younger brothers and her sister.

"I long to see them," said Isabella, her tone meaningful.

"It seems, my lady, that you will do so ere long," was the answer.

It was an implication that the King was not eager to let his daughter marry into England.

The embassy returned to France but not until it had been made clear to Henry that there should be no marriage. The King of France wished to receive his daughter back at his Court. He would, of course, require that the jewels she had brought to England should be returned to France. She was young yet but at some time it might be necessary to provide another dowry for her. Charles wanted his daughter's valuable jewellery.

Henry was not very pleased by the turn of events but he wanted no trouble with France. Isabella was young. It might be better for her to return to France and a marriage between her and Harry could well be arranged at a later date. But what of the jewellery which must go with her? Henry had distributed that between the members of his family. He could only promise to return it and informed the French that he had commanded his children to send it to him. He intimated to them that he had not told the French that the jewellery would be returned but only that he had commanded it to be; and they were not to hurry to send it to him. In the meantime certain other items were put together—silver drinking cups and dishes and tapestries which she had brought with her— and these could be sent in her baggage. Now there was no doubt that Isabella was going to return to France.

It was a beautiful May morning when she set out on her way to Dover accompanied by the Duchess of Ireland and the Countesses of Hereford and March, Lady Mowbray and a few others of slightly lower rank. Isabella looked with some emotion at the countryside which was at its most beautiful now, alive with the promise of summer. The fields were so green and the banks blue and white with germander speedwell and ground-ivy, stitchwort and meadow-sweet. As she passed woods she caught a glimpse of misty bluebells waving under trees and she thought of the first day she had set foot on this land. She remembered her trepidation, her homesickness ... and then her first sight of Richard.

She must not go on thinking of him. But how could she help it, and she knew she would never be happy again.

Henry had determined that she should be treated with the utmost honour and she was met on the way by the Bishops of Durham and Hereford and the Earl of Somerset, who was the King's half-brother, one of the Beaufort sons of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford.

Isabella was insensible of the honour. She was bemused. She did not want to stay in England, nor did she wish to go to France. All she wanted was to go back in time to the day when she had first come and seen Richard. I would protect him, she thought angrily and illogically. I would never have allowed him to be murdered. I should have been with him. But it was all such nonsense. He was dead and she was alone, floating in limbo not wanting to look forward, hating to stay where she was; all she could do was look back to the bliss she had shared with Richard.

At Hackney she was met by Prince Thomas, Harry's brother, who was a year younger than he was and loathed by her because he was the son of his father. But at least he did not pester her as his brother did. She received him coldly.

The Lord Mayor and the aldermen had come out of London to greet her and to guard her as she rode into the city. They did not forget that she was Queen and they were gracious to her and reminded her of the tumultuous welcome she had received when she had entered this city with Richard, but she despised them all. They had stood by and allowed Richard to be murdered; they had accepted the usurper and called him King.

She was lodged in the Tower of London and there she stayed for a few days before making the journey to the coast, and it was late June before she set out. In due course she reached Dover; and when she had crossed the Channel in the company of Sir Thomas Percy, a member of that family which had played such a big part in putting Henry on the throne, she was escorted to the little town of Leulinghen which was in between Boulogne and Calais and there she was ceremoniously handed over to the Count St Pol to be conducted to her father's Court.

When she reached Paris her family awaited her. Her parents embraced her warmly while her brothers and little sister regarded her with frank appraisal.

Her father she noticed at once was different from the man she remembered. He looked haggard, which she supposed was natural after the illness he had undergone. But he was kind and calm and showed no sign of the mental stresses he must have suffered. Her mother too was different. Her beauty was breathtaking. Isabella had never seen anyone more beautiful. It was a glittering beauty, which made it impossible for people to stop looking at her. Her brothers and sister were just children, not so experienced of the world as she was. Had they been to England; had they been married and widowed and almost forced into hideous union with someone they hated! No, they were young, innocent, unmarked by time.

She soon discovered that there was something strange going on. She was aware of covert looks; of the manner in which her mother and the King's brother, Louis of Orleans, looked at each other. She was aware of many watching eyes; and it soon became clear to her that an adulterous intrigue was going on between her mother and her uncle.

Louis of Orleans was affable. He gave himself the airs of a King. Isabella recoiled because she could not stop thinking of her poor father with his bouts of madness and how her mother and her uncle were deceiving him and the aura of intrigue which surrounded the Court.

Her uncle Louis was very much aware of her she knew. He was planning something. So was her mother. And she felt afraid.

Uncle Louis said to her one day soon after her return: "How good it is to have you with us, sweet child. We are going to keep you with us. We shall find a husband worthy of you, never fear."

She wanted to shout: It is what I do fear. I had one husband. I shall never forget him. I want no more."

Then she began to wonder whether she would be any happier in France than in England. She longed to be a child again, with the belief that everything was good and beautiful and made for her pleasure. How sad that she must grow up and learn the truth. She had wanted to leave the English scene because to her it was stained red with the blood of her husband and had become hateful because of the blatant usurpation of the throne. And now she was in France and because she was older, more experienced, she could feel tragedy here, as intense as that which she had suffered in England.

What would become of her poor father who for long periods of time lost his sanity? What were her mother and Uncle Louis planning together? When would they force her to marry the man of their choice? Could she be any happier in France than she had been in England? But how could she be happy anywhere now that Richard was dead.

HOTSPUR

It had quickly become clear to the King that though he had won his crown with comparative ease, he was going to find it a more difficult task to hold it.

Richard's mysterious death and the knowledge that the priest Maudelyn had borne an almost uncanny resemblance to him made a good foundation for rumour. Henry feared that for years to come there would be those who declared Richard still lived and the body they had seen paraded through the streets had been that of the priest. Another cause of concern was the existence of Edmund Mortimer whose claim came before that of Henry. None knew more than he that the crown which had been put on his head with such ready hands was very precariously balanced there.