The first was that her brother, Conan, expected her to keep him informed of events at Kermaria, and as the hall was the centre of activity, it was the ideal place for her to sit and sift the wheat from the chaff. All Johanna had to do was find a seat, latch St Clair’s heir onto her breast, and keep her eyes peeled and her ears open. She could talk if she wanted to, but generally she found this not worth the candle, for the people most likely to bother with the wet nurse were the other women. And they, Johanna thought scornfully, never knew anything. So most days, she would sit quietly in the hall, stroking Philippe’s head, and pretending to look down at him in a loving way. She hoped she looked as pretty as Our Lady did on the mural in the chapel. Jean paid Johanna well for the pains she took with his son, and she did take pains. Eventually she did not even have to pretend to look lovingly at Philippe – she came to love him in truth, and her look betrayed her.
Philippe St Clair was almost eight months old. He had taken to his nurse, and had lost his wizened, premature face. The child Johanna fed now could almost be weaned were it not the fashion to keep children on the breast for as long as possible. His cheeks had filled out and were as rosy as apples. He was plump and always smiling. He had strong, sturdy fists which he waved in the air. Johanna did not like to think that soon he would no longer need her, and not just because she was being paid twice. Sir Jean paid her. Her brother paid her. She’d never known work could be so easy, so enjoyable. She dreaded its ending.
The second reason Johanna liked sitting in the hall was connected with her desire to look pretty. Johanna had no sooner spied Ned Fletcher in Duke’s Tavern, than she wanted him – him and no other. She was no simpering virgin to be taken in by a handsome face, as the fact that she was able to give suck to the knight’s child proved. But that day when her brother had wrenched a comb through her hair and shoved her all unwilling into Duke’s Tavern had changed her life. Conan had warned her to talk pretty, because they’d not take a slattern. Having seen Ned Fletcher, Johanna had obeyed him, and she had been taken to Kermaria.
Up until that fateful August morning, Johanna had lived from hand to mouth, drifting aimlessly, content to grab as much as she could for herself. However, once she had set eyes on Ned Fletcher that changed. Suddenly, she had a mission in life, and she was willing to try anything to get him, including sitting in St Clair’s hall for hours longer than was necessary in the hope of seeing him. Ned Fletcher had been a sergeant when he had brought her here, but the very next day Johanna had witnessed his promotion to captain, apparently on the recommendation of Jean St Clair’s brother, Sir Waldin. A squat red-headed man called Denis had been made sergeant in his place.
Ned was unlike any man Johanna had ever met. He did not seem to realise how those golden looks of his turned ladies’ heads, or if he did, he failed to make the most of it, a fact she found extraordinary. Life was tough. Nothing came easily, and Johanna’s view was that you must make the most of the meanest of God’s blessings. God had gifted her with some charms. She was plump and generally men admired her full figure. Johanna would reckon herself simple-minded and not deserving of God’s favour, if she did not put her charms to use.
She tried baring her generous breasts in front of Ned, even if baby Philippe had already sucked himself into a stupor. But though the other men gawped at her, the Saxon never did. And she spent time considering how best to sit in order that her full bosom would be better displayed before him. His subordinates ogled her, their gazes fastened as greedily as a hungry babe’s on her breasts every time she sat by the fire, but Ned Fletcher might as well have been walking about blindfold for all the notice he took. Why didn’t he look her way?
It took Johanna a day or two to work out that his interest was fixed elsewhere, but this did not daunt her. Gwenn Herevi – for the girl was illegitimate and as such had no right to her father’s name – surely posed no threat? She had a skinny, childish body. What man could possibly see Johanna and still want Gwenn Herevi? Confident that her moment would come, Johanna bided her time. But the days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and Ned Fletcher had yet to do more than nod at her.
One day when baby Philippe got the gripe, Johanna came to the reluctant decision that she would have to feed the child in the solar, for he was so distracted by the goings on in the hall that he began to carp and would not feed properly. Settling the baby on her broad hip, she carried him upstairs. His cradle had been placed alongside his sisters’ bed. Johanna would learn nothing this morning thanks to the babe. Nor would she see the handsome captain. Scowling at her charge, Johanna dragged the curtain across the opening, lest a chance visitor to the solar should disturb the already unsettled infant.
‘You’re a nuisance, you are.’ She wagged her finger at him but, being genuinely fond of the baby, she bore him no ill will. Philippe gurgled and stopped grizzling. He smiled and waved a chubby fist at her. Johanna gave him a loving shake. ‘You’re a charmer, and all. All smiles now you’ve got your own way.’
She plumped down on the bed, stretched out her legs and unlaced her gown. Philippe responded well to the peace and quiet and was soon sucking vigorously. The bed was bulging with feathers – it was soft, and baby Philippe warm. After a minute or so, Johanna’s eyelids became heavy. The conversation down in the hall was no more than a distant buzz. Now and then one voice or another would rise above the others, but gently, like waves breaking on a distant shore. Half asleep, Johanna’s mind wandered. She visualised herself walking the length of a beach. Striding at her side was Ned Fletcher. His hair was bleached by a summer sun. He turned and looked at her. His eyes were as blue as the sky, and he was smiling...
Philippe’s head lolled heavily to one side, the milk dribbling from his tiny rosebud mouth. He was sated, and his eyes were closed.
In a minute I’ll lace myself up and put him in his cradle, Johanna thought lazily. She was too comfortable to rouse herself, and surely no one would object if she took a short nap? She folded her arms securely round the sleeping babe, exhaled softly, and joined Philippe St Clair in sleep.
Half an hour later, she jerked suddenly awake, wondering what had disturbed her. Instinctively she looked at the infant, but Philippe’s small body lay tranquil against her breast – he was fast asleep. The draught blowing through the window slit must have woken her.
Easing the baby from her breast, Johanna pulled the edges of her gown together, moving slowly so she did not joggle him. She did not want to get up, but she couldn’t lie on Gwenn Herevi’s bed all day. Baby Philippe might have the colic, but her brother would be avid for news. Conan had bribed the carter who brought in Kermaria’s supplies from Vannes, and usually Johanna left verbal messages with him. More rarely, Conan himself would ride in on the carter’s wagon and arrange to meet her in the stables. If caught, he would say he was peddling. Johanna failed to see why Conan was so interested in life at Kermaria. Her plump red lips pursed. She must ask her brother why he needed to know so much – she didn’t want to help him if it meant harm might come to Captain Fletcher. Thoughtfully, she ran grubby hands over the fine coverlet. It was silk, imported from Nicaea in the Holy Land. Johanna did not know what silk felt like, nor had she heard of Nicaea, but she recognised quality when she came across it. She hoped Mistress Gwenn and Katarin appreciated how fortunate they were to slumber in such a bed.
She heard a soft footfall in the solar. Someone was moving about out there. It must have been the creaking of the solar door that had woken her, not the chilly spring breeze. Tenderly she wiped Philippe’s mouth with her sleeve and put him in his cradle. Philippe didn’t so much as murmur. Babies were so trusting.