Our mother was coming.
I could not remember what she looked like, so long was it since I had seen her. We were all a little nervous. Louis looked sullen. He did not like our mother. He blamed her because we were all banished to the Hôtel de St.-Paul. He would have liked to be at the Louvre, or Vincennes or wherever the Court was.
Her image remains with me to this day.
There was a flurry of excitement as she came into the hall. She looked wonderful…just as a queen should. She was magnificently dressed in a velvet cape with a gown which sparkled with jewels. Her thick, dark, curly hair was shown off by a slender crown of diamonds. She had the most magnificent pink-and-white complexion I had ever seen. There was a little white dog with her. She was carrying him and scolding him, now and then, in a tender, petting sort of way. A few paces behind her was a beautiful man whom I knew because Michelle had told me he would probably be there. It was our Uncle Orléans. He was almost as splendid as she was. He wore rose-colored velvet, and his jewels glittered only slightly more discreetly than hers.
There were several other ladies and gentlemen with them…all very beautiful and grand to behold. I noticed among them one young woman because she had one of the sweetest faces I had ever seen.
We children stared in awe, and when my mother turned to us and cried out loudly that we were her dear little ones and how happy she was to see us and how sad it was that we could not always be together, I thought Louis was going to ask why we could not be. But he was, I believed, as overawed as the rest of us.
We bowed as we had been taught. My mother patted Charles’s head while he looked up at her with those bewildered eyes, and then Louis did what was expected of him and ceased to look sullen.
I noticed the lady with the pleasant face smiling at us. I returned her smile and she seemed pleased.
The Duke of Orléans—our splendid uncle—gave us an amused smile and they all swept past.
I believe they went up to my father’s apartments, and we were taken to the schoolroom by our governess. The adventure was over.
There was tension throughout the Hôtel until the party left; and when they had gone, I discovered that the lady whom I had particularly liked remained behind.
In due course I discovered why and who she was and her coming made life considerably more comfortable for all of us children.
She was Odette de Champdivers and she came from Burgundy. Hers was a beauty different from that of my mother. It was by no means flamboyant. I thought of her as cozy. I learned that she had been chosen by my mother to look after my father.
I heard some gossip about her.
“They say Madam has had enough. Well, who wouldn’t? How many is it? Thirteen, or is it fourteen? That’s enough for any woman. Every time the King comes out of his madness there’s another little one to mark the occasion. So…she sent Odette along to make him happy. And who’s to say they’re all his anyway?”
“Be careful now …”
“Oh, I’m not the first to raise that point, I can tell you.”
So Odette was with us, and she kept him happy. He was much quieter now. He did not have to be chained to his bed. Odette was there. She made sure that his clothes were clean; she cooked his food; she was gentle and loving, and my father was not the only one who grew fond of her.
Sometimes she came to see us children; and when she did she was shocked by the way we lived and set about changing it. Our food was not adequate, she said. We were growing children and we needed new clothes from time to time.
Odette began to give orders and they were obeyed.
So, with Guillemote and Odette de Champdivers, life at the Hôtel de St.-Paul became more tolerable.
Because I was so young, there were great gaps in my knowledge which made it difficult for me to grasp all that was going on around me. I pieced together what I heard and a great deal of conjecture was necessary; but I really was beginning to understand a little, and it is so much easier to bear adversity if one knows the reason for it.
I remember very clearly the day my sister Isabelle came to the Hôtel to see us.
She was twelve years older than I and had been sent to England at the age of eight. I was not born at that time. I was overawed to meet her…the Queen of England—for I supposed she was still that even though the King was dead, and she a widow had returned to France.
She was very beautiful, I thought, and I was surprised and flattered when one of our attendants pointed out that there was a striking resemblance between us. But there was a sadness in her beauty, and the reason for this soon became clear to me, for she still mourned her late husband, although it was some years since he had died.
She and I were specially drawn to each other from the beginning and she talked to me frankly.
I learned something of the terrible trepidation a young girl can feel when she is sent to a new country to be the wife of a man whom she has never seen before.
Isabelle told me about her experiences.
“But as soon as I saw Richard,” she said, “I was afraid no longer. I went to a new life…I left all this.” She smiled and looked thoughtful. “It was not so happy here. There were troubles, even then. We traveled to Calais. Our father was with us. His illness had only just started then. He was very handsome in those days. He met the King of England who was to be my husband and they embraced. He liked Richard. Who could help that? Everybody loved him…except those wicked, cruel men who wanted to take his crown.”
She was overcome with emotion and I tried to soothe her.
I wanted to hear how happy she had been in England, how she had loved her wonderful husband who was so good and kind to her. How she had never known such kindness until she met Richard.
She wept a great deal and I would sit silently beside her, holding her hand, not knowing how else to comfort her. But I believed I did…just by sitting there and listening to her.
“I had been frightened, of course, but as soon as I saw him I knew it would be all right. I was glad, Katherine. Glad that I had come. Was that not wonderful?”
I agreed that it was. “Was he so handsome?”
“He was the most wonderful man I had ever seen…or ever shall.”
She was crying again for him.
“Why should that have happened to him?” she demanded. “What had he ever done to deserve that? I wish you could have known him, Katherine. He said he was surprised when he first met me. He had expected me to be pining for my home and that he would have to comfort me. I told him I liked being his wife and Queen of England better than being a Princess of France. He was very touched and we loved each other from that moment. I had to do my lessons when I reached England for I was only a little girl. Not much older than you are now, Katherine. But he used to come and sit with me and listen to me. He laughed a lot. He was never stern. And he bought me fine clothes and we used to ride together…and the people cheered us. I was so happy, Katherine.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes.”
“And then they killed him. They were not content with taking his crown.”
“Who?” I whispered.
“Henry Bolingbroke…he who calls himself Henry IV of England. He sits there on Richard’s throne…and the only way he could keep it was by murdering Richard. And they wanted me to marry … his son. It was to keep my dowry, of course. Oh, they are wicked.”
“His son?” I asked.
She nodded. “Henry of Monmouth.” Her lips curled in contempt.
It was the first time I had heard the name of the man who was to play such an important part in my own life. Afterward, looking back, I felt how strange it was that I did not have some premonition at the time. But I did not, and Henry was then just a name to me. He was the son of that wicked predator who had stolen the noble Richard’s throne and murdered him.