The Star of Lancaster - Plaidy Jean (бесплатные онлайн книги читаем полные TXT) 📗

He knelt by the bed. He took her hands and kissed them. She must not fret, he said. They would have a son in time ...

He did a great deal to comfort her. Think how young they were, both of them. They had the whole of their lives before them. They must not fret because they had lost this child. He sat by her bed and he talked to her of the future and how happy they were going to be and in time they would have as many children as his grandfather King Edward and his grandmother Queen Philippa had had. She would see.

She began to recover, but she was still weak.

A few days after Henry arrived there was another visitor to Kenilworth. This was Mary's mother, the Countess of Hereford.

She went at once to her daughter, embraced her and then declared that she had come to nurse her. Joanna de Bohun was a woman of great strength of character; she was devoted to her daughters and in particular to Mary because she was the younger of the two. Eleanor, she believed, was able to take care of herself.

Joanna had always resented the fact that the custom of the land demanded that her daughter be removed from her care and that she should become the ward of John of Gaunt, in order, so she said, that that mighty Duke should have the prize money which went with such appointments.

She, Mary's mother, was better fitted to look after the child than anyone; and in view of what had happened she had now come to assert that right.

Mary was delighted to see her mother.

The Countess studied her daughter and hid the concern she felt. The child was too thin. What a terrible ordeal for a girl not yet twelve years of age to pass through. Some girls developed earlier than others and then early childbearing

might be permissible; but Mary herself was still too childlike and delicate.

There shall be no more of this, thought the Countess grimly. If I have to fight John of Gaunt himself TU do so.

'Dearest Mother,' said Mary. 1 am so happy to see you.'

*God bless you, my child. It is natural that when my daughter is ill her mother should be the one to look after her. You are going to be well in a week. I shall see to that.'

Mary smiled. 'We always had to obey you, my lady,' she said. 'So I must do so now.*

'Indeed you must and shall.'

Henry had come into the sick room and the Countess was aware of the manner in which Mary's face lit up at the sight of him. A fine boy, she thought, and indeed a worthy husband for a de Bohun, but they were too young ... far too young, and there was going to be no more of this.

Henry welcomed her gallantly and was clearly delighted that she had come for he was apprehensive about his young wife's health and she liked him for it. She told him she would soon have Mary well.

'No one understands a daughter like her own mother,' she announced.

She took charge of the invalid. She had a bed brought into the room which she would occupy. She would be with Mary day and night. She made possets and special broths for her daughter which under the stern eye of her mother Mary dared not refuse.

She felt a great sense of security which she had missed in the days of Pleshy. To be here with Henry and her mother made her very happy and she began to grow away from her sorrow at the loss of the baby.

'You have your whole life before you,' said her mother. There was one matter which she had not discussed with Mary yet, but she intended to when she considered the time ripe.

She blamed herself for not being firm enough in the first place. When she became a widow she should have refused to allow her younger daughter to be taken out of her care.

The King had given the wardship to John of Gaunt as a consolation prize for something else, and she had been obliged to let her daughter go because of the royal command. Her husband, Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of Hereford and Essex, had been one of the richest men in the country and so had a

vast fortune to leave, and it was that fortune which had led to this situation when Mary might have lost her life.

She was now putting her foot down firmly and taking matters into her own hands.

She broached the subject to Henry first.

'Henry,' she said, 'I am going to talk to you very seriously. I am deeply concerned about Mary/

He looked alarmed. 'I thought she was getting better.'

'She is. But vou know, do you not, that she has come near to losing her life.'

'I know she has been verv ill.'

'The plain fact is that she is too voung to bear children. Her body is not vet fully formed. She needs another two years at least in which to grow up.'

Henry looked shamefaced and the Countess went on hur-riedlv: 'I do not blame you. It is the fault of those who put you together at such an earlv age.'

Henry flushed hotly. His father was a hero in his eyes.

'Oh, men do not alwavs understand these matters,' said the Countess hastily, realizing that if she were to have her own way in this matter she must not antagonize John of Gaunt.

She believed she knew how to handle this, but she would have to be tactful; and she knew^ that John of Gaunt's great desire had been to get the marriage celebrated and Mary's fortune secure. That had been done and he would be prepared to postpone the begetting of children for a few years.

'Vhat do vou want me to do?' asked Henry.

'There must be no marital relations between vou for at least two years. You must see the reason for this. There must not be anv more children ... yet.'

'Have you told Mary?'

*I will explain to her. She will understand. In fact I am sure she does not want to endure again what she has so recently come through. ^Vhat I am going to suggest is that I take Mary back with me. I shall look after her and vou will know that she is safe in her mother's care. You will be welcome at my castle whenever vou wish to come on the understanding that there is to be no lovemaking until she is of a suitable age.'

Henry was ready to swear to agree to these terms. He had been very very anxious about Marv and had felt a terrible sense of guilt. But now she was ^vell again and he could see

that they must wait a few years before they lived together. Yes, he could do nothing but agree.

The Countess was triumphant. John of Gaunt was absent in Scotland on the King's business so he could raise no objections. Eleanor and her husband were no longer interested now that her share of the de Bohun fortune was lost to them.

She had only to tell Mary and as soon as the girl was well enough to travel they would leave.

Mary listened attentively to her mother.

'My dearest child,' said the Countess, 1 was very sad when you left me to go to your sister. It was no wish of mine, you know.'

1 do know,' said Mary fervently.

*It is so wrong when a child is taken from her rightful place just because she happens to have a fortune. Oh that fortune I I could wish that your father had been a much poorer man. Your sister coveted it... and so did her husband. They would have had you in a convent for the sake of it.'

1 was fortunate to meet Henry,' put in Mary. *He does not care for my fortune.'

The Countess was silent. Did he not? She would be surprised if this were so. In any case there was one who cared deeply and that was Henry's father, John of Gaunt.

Thank God he was in Scotland and could not interfere. And would the King? He had given the wardship to his uncle John. No, she had nothing to fear from Richard. He was only a boy. If need be she would see him and explain; she was sure she could touch his pity for a mother who was concerned about her child.

'My dear,' went on the Countess, 'you know very well that you have been very ill. There was a day when your life was despaired of. The fact, daughter, is that you are too young as yet to bear children. Henry agrees with me that you must wait for a year or so.'