And now she had lost her baby.

Edward had arrived at the palace.

It was the first time she had seen him since the relief of Wark Castle.

He came and knelt by her bed and kissed her hands fervently.

‘You must not fret, my love,’ he said. And she wondered whether he was referring to the loss of the baby or his unrequited love.

‘A little girl,’ he said. ‘Dear Philippa, I have been so anxious for you.’

That was real concern in his eyes. Remorse, of course. She wanted to comfort him. To tell him to forget what had happened. They had been too happy one with the other, and together too long for anything to spoil what had gone before.

He talked of the child they had lost. ‘We’ll have more, Philippa. And how blessed we are in those we have already.’

They talked awhile of the children and she knew that he was telling her that he would always love her. Even though he had seen the most beautiful woman in England and would never forget her, it could make no difference to his love for Philippa.

Baby Blanche was buried in the chapel of St Peter in Westminster Abbey. All the family were present at the ceremony—Edward Prince of Wales, Isabella, Joanna, Lionel, John and Edmund.

Cloth of gold tissue was laid on her tomb and prayers were offered up for the reception of her soul in heaven.

Edward remained with his family for a while. He was anxious for Philippa to know how he esteemed her.


* * *

Philippa had been right when she had guessed that there was some reason why her sister-in-law had not written from Gueldres.

Eleanor had, at first, been very happy in Gueldres. There had been some doubts about her marriage because her husband had been a widower at that time and much older than herself; but Eleanor had found him a kind and considerate husband, and when her sons were born she had been completely content.

After her somewhat desolate childhood when there had been whispers and innuendoes in the nursery she had not been very happy and then her sister Joanna at a very early age had been sent away to Scotland to marry David the Bruce. Life had scarcely been very happy for them. So that when she came to Gueldres she had enjoyed a contentment which she had not known before.

And when the elder of her sons, little Raynald, had been born there had been great satisfaction for the Duke’s children by his first marriage had all been girls. She had been only sixteen at that time, for it was eight years ago; and since then she had given birth to another boy.

All was well until suddenly she developed a strange skin complaint which turned her very pale skin into an extremely highly coloured one. She could not understand what had happened and none of the ointments or unguents she used had any effect.

Then she noticed a coolness in her husband’s attitude towards her. She rarely saw him and when she did it was only briefly in the day time.

One day she was out riding when her attendants asked her to look at a house some distance from the ducal palace.

For what purpose?’ she asked, and she could tell by the unhappy looks of her attendants that she had asked an embarrassing question.

The Duke’s chamberlain, who had joined the party, explained to her: ‘It is the wish of the Duke that you take up residence here, my lady.’

‘Take up residence here! My place is in the palace.’ “That is the Duke’s wish ... the Duke’s order, my lady.’ She was nonplussed and overcome with fear.

‘And my children?’ she asked.

‘They are to join you here.’

She could not understand what this meant, nor was she allowed to see her husband to ask him what his intentions were. She did not write to Philippa and Edward as she had been wont to do. She would not know what to tell them, for she had no idea what crime she was supposed to have committed.

She had never taken lovers so there could be no question of infidelity. She had always been a loving wife. It was incomprehensible.

The slight skin infection which had changed her colouring had now disappeared and her skin was as white and perfect as it had ever been. She had grown thin with anxiety, and her only comfort was in her children.

Her faithful attendants could not make up their minds whether it would be wise to tell her of the rumours about her relationship with the Duke or to let her remain in ignorance. But one of them, considering what was involved decided to tell her.

‘My lady, you must not let this happen.’

She wanted to know what.

They say that the Duke plans to divorce you and disinherit your sons. He will take a new wife and hope to get sons by her.’

‘This cannot be true. Why does he not tell me himself that he has ceased to love me?’

‘It does not seem that he has. It is said that what he must do he does sadly.’

‘Perhaps I should write to my brother. I do not understand. The Duke and I have never quarrelled. He seemed contented with our union. And my boys. You say they are to be disinherited?’

‘There have been a lot of rumours, my lady. You know how leprosy is dreaded.’

‘Leprosy!’

‘Yes, my lady. They were convinced that you were suffering from this disease. It began with change in the colour of the skin. The Duke wished to be separated from you before it had too big a hold and became contagious. They say too that a mother passes it on to her sons and for that reason the Duke wants a divorce and sons from a mother who can give him healthy ones to carry on the line.’

‘So that is what it is all about. Why wasn’t I told? Leprosy! Do I look leprous?’

‘Not now, my lady. Your skin is as fair and clear as it ever was.’

‘What I had was a mild disorder. I finally cleared it up with herbs and lotions. It has completely gone. I must ask the Duke to come and see me.’

The woman looked dubious but Eleanor was undeterred. She sent a message to the Duke but he would not receive it, so great was his fear of infection.

‘So,’ cried Eleanor, ‘I am to be discarded without a chance to show the truth.’

It seemed this was so.

She had no friends in Gueldres, only her attendants but at least through them she understood what was at the root of her troubles.

The Duke, her husband, had been a keen supporter of Edward’s claim to the throne of France but there were many nobles in Gueldres who inclined to the French. If they could rid the Duke of his English wife who was actually a sister of Edward, they could arrange a marriage with a bride put forward by the King of France and thus bring about what so many of them sought: to break the link with England and forge a new one with France.

It was imperative that she must stop this. How dared they insist that she suffered from leprosy! They had alarmed the Duke to such an extent that he had refused to see her. That did point to the fact that his love for her was not very strong. But she believed she could revive that if only she could see him.

She realized that if she appealed to Edward it could have the reverse effect of what she wanted. Now she alone must do what had to be done for the sake of her children, herself, and her brother.

She had heard that there was to be a meeting of the nobles in the palace the following week and accordingly she laid her plans.

On the day when the meeting was to take place she put on a light tunic which exposed most of her body; over this she wrapped a cloak and taking her two sons with her set out for the palace.

No one attempted to stop her so taken by surprise were they to see their Duchess and she went through to the council hall where the nobles were assembled. The Duke was seated on his throne-like chair and holding a child by each hand she went to him and throwing off her cloak and exposing much of her fair, delicate and perfect skin, she cried: ‘Oh, my lord, I have come to you to show you that the stories of my leprous condition are entirely false. If I were in that condition would it not be clear for all to see? Look at me, my lord. Look at me, you nobles, some of whom have spread these tales about me. I am whole and in good health. I insist that your doctors examine me. Here are your children, my lord. You cannot doubt that they are yours. They look like you. If you allow these calumnies to obscure the truth then, my lord, I will tell you this: you will regret our divorce and you will see the failure of your line.’

There was silence in the hall. All eyes were on the Duchess, who wearing nothing but her tunic, displayed an utter denial of the rumours of leprosy.

The Duke rose and going to her placed his hands on her shoulders. Then he picked up her cloak and wrapped it round her.

‘My lady,’ he said, ‘you are right that I have been listening to calumnies. I feared leprosy and what effect it would have on you and your sons. I dared not risk infection. But they were lies ... I do not wish for divorce. I thought it was my duty, for I must provide heirs.’

‘You have your heirs,’ she cried. ‘And here they are.’

‘It’s true. This meeting is over,’ he said addressing the company. ‘I will take my wife to our apartment.’

He then led her and her children out of the hall and as they mounted the stairs he told her how pleased he was that she was back, how he had deplored the need to divorce her which so many of his nobles had forced him to consider.

There were many questions that she might have asked but she did not wish to. It was good enough that the nightmare was over. She was back in the palace and the Duke could not do enough to show her how delighted he was that the trouble was over.