She was too disturbed to speak. She wanted to be alone to think.
She went to her bedchamber and lay on her pallet. The beautiful romance – for which she had envied Isabella – was over. It was like the castle built on sand and the first rough winds had swept it away.
Isabella had been right. She was too old for him. He realised it now, although at the time he had been the one so sure that it was not so.
He was making excuses to be rid of her. When he said he had a fourth degree of kinship with her late husband he was really saying he was tired of her.
So much for love! So much for choosing one’s own husband the second time!
No one had thought it a very suitable match – except Richard and Isabella. He would leave her soon and marry someone else. Perhaps he already knew whom.
Poor sad Isabella! She would be in need of comfort.
Richard left the following day and in due course and before Richard received news from Rome, Isabella discovered that she pregnant.
When he heard the news, Richard came with all speed to Berkhamsted.
Eleanor was surprised at his pleasure in the news. He was kind and gentle to Isabella but he said at once that he could not stay long.
Eleanor had an opportunity of speaking to him alone and she asked him if he had heard from Rome.
He admitted that he had and that the Pope was against a divorce. He thought that he should continue in matrimony, but if Isabella failed to give him a son, added Richard, he would not let the matter rest there.
They were quite gay during that visit.
‘Oh, let her bear a son,’ prayed Eleanor.
She was glad that Isabella did not know how much depended on her getting a healthy boy who lived.
Isabella did notice that she had changed. ‘What is it, Eleanor?’ she said. ‘You are different.’
‘In what way?’ asked Eleanor.
‘You are less … soft … less innocent … perhaps. There are times when you are even somewhat cynical.’
‘I suppose I am growing up,’ said Eleanor.
‘One day they will be finding a husband for you.’
Eleanor’s face hardened. ‘I have no wish for marriage,’ she said firmly.
Isabella smiled. ‘Oh it is the happiest of states. There are disappointments, of course. I thought my heart was broken when my babies died. But now you see I am expecting again and all is well.’
Is it? thought Eleanor sadly.
On one of his journeys Edmund Rich, Archbishop of Canterbury, called at Berkhamsted.
Isabella was delighted to see him; she wanted to give him a banquet but that was not to the Archbishop’s taste; nor did he want the best chamber in the castle prepared for him.
He would be on his knees for most of the night, he told her, and perhaps he would sit on a stool where he would meditate for the rest of the time. So he needed no bedchamber, only a plain, quiet room.
Isabella asked him to bless her and her child and he readily did so, adding that it was the blessing of God she needed, not that of his servant.
The humility of the Archbishop was the wonder of all and Isabella told Eleanor that to have this saintly man under their roof at such a time was a sign of good fortune. She knew that her child would be a boy – and live.
The Archbishop indicated to Eleanor that he wished to see her and she went to the room in which he had slept. It was almost bare apart from the crucifix on the wall which had been put up by his servants.
She knelt with him and prayed with him and he asked after the health of Isabella.
Eleanor told him that it sometimes gave her cause for anxiety.
‘Tend her well,’ he said. ‘It is important that the child she bears shall live.’
Of course the Archbishop knew of Richard’s plea to the Pope, which would be passed on doubtless through him; and she knew that he was anxious for Isabella’s welfare because of this.
‘My lord Archbishop,’ she said, ‘I promise that I will care for her in every way.’
‘Stay with her until the child is born – and after. She will need you to rejoice with her … or to help her if aught should go wrong.’
‘I had intended to do that.’
He did not look at her; the palms of his hands were pressed together and he looked ahead at the crucifix. Her eyes were also on the crucifix and she stared at it unable to do anything else.
‘My child,’ he said, ‘it may be that ere long your brother the King will find a husband for you.’
She thought of Isabella and Richard and she cried out: ‘No.’
‘The married state is not to your liking?’
She shook her head.
‘You were a young wife once. Has that made you feel that you would not wish to enter into marriage again?’
‘Perhaps, my lord, what I have seen of marriage makes me feel I should be happier without it.’
There seemed to come to pass an understanding between them, for he knew that she was thinking of the romantic passion of Isabella and Richard and how quickly it had changed.
‘It may be, my daughter, that you would wish to take your vows of chastity.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Ah. Then in due course you must do so. You are sure it is what you wish?’
She looked at the crucifix, which seemed to glow with an inner fire, and it was as though some stranger spoke through her.
‘It is what I wish,’ she heard herself say.
The Archbishop took her hand.
‘You have given yourself to God,’ he said. ‘You have made your promise to me. You are not ready yet but the time will come. Now you must stay here with Isabella, care for her. She needs you and you can best serve God by looking after her at this time. But the time will come …’
‘Yes, my lord,’ she said.
Edmund Rich left that day. When he had gone she began to feel uneasy. There was something mesmeric about his presence. He had made her feel she wanted to shut herself away from the world, but now she was not so sure.
In November Isabella’s baby was born and, joy of joys, was a healthy boy.
The whole household rejoiced and everyone was smiling and happy. They called the baby Henry.
Richard came. He was wildly happy. His little son was healthy in every way. He cried lustily, smiled, was bright and happy even in the first months of his life.
Richard seemed to have fallen in love with Isabella all over again and everyone was happy.
Eleanor thought: To marry, to have children. What a happy state.
Margaret Biset was alarmed. It could not go on thus, she knew. The day would come when a husband was found for her charge and then there would be separation. Margaret could not imagine herself apart from the Princess Isabella. It had been a wrench when the others had gone but it seemed fate was on their side for the marriages arranged for Isabella – as for the King himself – always came to nothing.
Margaret at times felt illogically indignant. What did they think they were doing, bargaining for her darling – and then these fine gentlemen daring to change their minds.
But Isabella was now in her twentieth year. Unless they had decided not to marry her off at all, they would have to do something soon.
Therefore she was not entirely surprised when Isabella was sent for by her brother the King.
Isabella shared Margaret’s apprehension and it was with misgivings that she bowed to her brothers – first to Henry, then Richard – for Richard was at court at this time.
Henry was no longer so young, being twenty-seven years of age and still without a wife himself. Richard and Joan were the members of the family who were married – and Eleanor of course, who was now a widow.