Katherine jumped up and hurried to the Monmouth Wing.
Blanchette was waiting. She looked once at her mother and then at the window, while Katherine said "Come" sternly and took the girl's hand, which was certainly dry and hot as a hearth-stone.
They walked through the courtyards and the archway to the gardens. Amongst assembled lords and ladies, Sir Ralph and the Carmelite, Walter Dysse, waited by a portable altar in the rose arbour. The Duke stood resplendent beside them, dressed in his gold-and-pearl embroidered tunic, wearing the chain of Castile and the Order of the Garter.
Jesu, how handsome he is, Katherine thought as she advanced gravely, holding Blanchette by the hand. The girl moved like a sleepwalker, but suddenly, as Katherine started to place the little hand in the outstretched one of Sir Ralph, Blanchette gave a strangled cry and sprang back, releasing herself. She clutched up her myrde-green skirts and ran frantically away through the archway.
"By God, what's this!" cried the Duke, while Sir Ralph flushed crimson, staring after Blanchette.
"She shall be beaten for it," cried Katherine, herself trembling with anger. "Nay, my lord," she said to John, "I beg you let me deal with her." Angry as she was, she must still protect Blanchette from the expression she saw in both men's eyes.
The Duke hesitated before he shrugged. He gestured to the minstrels and said with formal courtesy to Sir Ralph, "I've a troupe of gleemen may divert you from this shameful behaviour."
The knight bowed silently, biting his lips, while Katherine hurried back through the archway, and saw Blanchette at once, behind a yew tree, on the inner side of the wall. The girl was doubled up on the ground and had been vomiting.
Katherine stared, and her anger became fear.
"Oh, my poor child," she cried running to her.
Blanchette gazed at her mother without recognition. "Hurts - -" she muttered hoarsely, putting her hand to her head.
Her fingers touched the garland of lilies and she pulled it off. "White swans," she said, wrenching at the lilies and throwing them up into the air. "I must let them fly away home like the others."
Dear God, thought Katherine, with a stab of terror. But as she touched Blanchette, trying to raise her, she knew that this was the madness of fever, not lunacy. The girl's body gave off heat like an oven, her face and neck, even her chest, were scarlet, and her teeth began to chatter in a convulsive chill.
Katherine called out repeatedly for help. In the garden they did not hear her, the minstrels were playing and the company were dancing. But the Savoy's sergeant-at-arms, Roger Leach, was berating the lazy porter at the Beaufort Tower and he heard her, and came running. In response to Katherine's gesture he picked up the girl and carried her to the Monmouth Wing.
" 'Tis what they call the scarlet sickness, my lady," said the burly soldier pityingly as he put the moaning, struggling Blanchette down on her bed. One of his own babes had had it a fortnight past. "They mostly goes out o' their heads wi' ut for a while."
Katherine threw her head-dress on the window-seat and twisted up her long silver sleeves. She dipped a napkin in a flagon of water and held it as best she could to Blanchette's tossing forehead. "Get me Hawise, quick!" she cried to the sergeant. "Then fetch Brother William Appleton - nay, I don't know where he is - at Greyfriars perhaps. But get him!"
The sergeant bowed and hurried away. Katherine sat on the bed and tried to quiet her delirious child.
On Sunday when the Duke departed for Scotland, Blanchette was better. The fever persisted but now she did not cry out and toss so much. Her body was covered with a mesh of tiny scarlet dots, and she seemed to feel less pain. Brother William had bled her and had her rolled in cold cloths. He had given her febrifuges and opiates. He said that now, though she was still in danger, he had great hopes of her recovery.
Katherine could not leave Blanchette alone so Hawise and the Beaufort babies were to travel up to Kenilworth without her.
The Grey Friar would not allow Katherine to say farewell to her smaller children. This disease lived in the breath, Brother William said, and breath was so subtle an element that there was no telling what it might permeate. So he had a brimstone candle burned in Blanchette's chamber. But there was little danger for older people, their breaths were strong and could fight off the evil miasma.
The Sunday morning when Katherine said good-bye to the Duke there was a storm as they came out of the chapel after Mass. The sky grew purple, lightning forked through black clouds and thunder rocked the palace. Rain fell in torrents and drenched the waiting cavalcade. The knights and men-at-arms were already mounted in the Ward; the baggage wagons and the chariot with Hawise and the Beauforts crammed in were lined up for the start.
Katherine spoke apologetic words to Sir Ralph, who received them courteously, but it was evident his ardour had cooled when he remarked that no doubt he would see Blanchette again sometime, after his return from Scotland. Katherine sadly gave him the stirrup cup, and turned to wave to her children in the chariot. The little boys waved back and Hawise held Joan up and made her kiss her hand to her mother. Katherine tried to smile. She went away quickly to follow John into a little anteroom below the Avalon Chamber.
He was dressed in full armour, the squire outside held his latten battle helmet in readiness. Katherine raised her arms to him, gazing at him piteously. Tears ran down her cheeks.
"Lovedy," he cried kissing her, "you mustn't weep. Blanchette will soon be well, and you'll come to Kenilworth and meet me later, as we planned." He smiled down at her.
"Ay," she said, but another crash of thunder rattled the window panes and she jumped and shivered." 'Tis evil omen," she whispered. "Sunday thunder. 'Tonnerre de dimanche est tonnerre de diable!'" She crossed herself. "John, there's danger - I feel it. A blackness in my heart black like the sky out there. John, must we be parted now?"
He crossed himself too, but impatiently. He was eager to be off, and he had scant faith in omens when they did not accord with his wishes. "The storm'll soon be over, Katrine. Already 'tis lifting. It must be strain from nursing that coddled, vexing child that gives you dark whimsies. Come, smile, lovedy - -I'd not take the memory of a dismal face to Scotland!"
She tried to obey him but she could not. She saw that he had already gone from her in his thoughts, and knew that it was natural. His men were waiting in the court for word to start, days of hard riding were ahead and already the storm had delayed them.
He bent to kiss her again and with finality, but the oppression in her breast sharpened to panic. "John," she cried, "I'm afraid. Something threatens our love. I know it!" She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her face to the harsh steel links of his gorget.
He had never seen her so excited and unreasonable. He stroked her head as she clung to him sobbing, and said tenderly, "Hush - hush," mastering his impatience because he loved her. But as she continued to weep he took her hands and pulled them down from his neck. "Farewell, my love. God keep you." He strode out of the ante-room before she could stop him.
She watched from the window while his squires held his stallion and he mounted. The rain had stopped. Brightness flowed into the sky above the Lancaster pennant on the pinnacle of the Monmouth Tower, his brass helmet glinted as he turned and waved good-bye.
She leaned from the window and slowly waved her silver scarf.
He spurred his horse, which leaped ahead through the gateway to the Strand. The cavalcade formed after him and clattered two by two through the arch. The chariot and baggage train filed after.
Katherine watched until the stable-boys returned to their tasks and the great Outer Ward was empty. Even the yapping dogs had slunk back towards the kitchens. Quiet fell on the whole great Savoy Palace, three-quarters emptied now. The subdued drowsing state that it would show until its lord returned to it again.