As the days passed he began to see that Catharine had been right. Neither he nor she were the kind to indulge in a light love affair. Theirs would have been too deep a passion for that. And Philippa, how she would have grieved!
He made a decision. The first thing he would do would be to bring Catharine’s husband back to her. That would show her the nature of his devotion.
He had made several attempts to bring his friend out of captivity but the price demanded by Philip had been too high.
He immediately sent messengers to France to ask Philip which prisoner he would like in exchange for the Earl of Salisbury.
Philip asked for the Earl of Moray, whom Edward had captured a short while before with great elation for Moray was reckoned to be one of the finest Scottish leaders, a man who would be a great asset to young David the Bruce.
Philip would naturally ask a great price.
Edward agreed to it.
The Earl of Salisbury is one of my greatest friends,’ he said.
And when he thought of how he had attempted to seduce his wife he was ashamed. But his desire for the beautiful Countess burned as strongly as ever.
The Earl returned to England and Edward made a truce with the Scots and marched south.
THE JOUST AT WINDSOR
THERE was a sadness in the palace of the Tower of London. Philippa had given birth to a little girl. They had christened her Blanche but it was said of her that she had hardly time to open her eyes before she was dead.
A great depression had seized Philippa. She had several beautiful children but she could never bear to lose one. And this was a little girl. Edward loved girls.
There had been uneasy rumours which had disturbed her. No one had told her of course, but she had caught whispered words; she had seen furtive looks; and she could not help knowing that Edward had conceived a passion for the Countess of Salisbury and that the Countess was a virtuous woman who had repulsed his advances, and only because of this the affair had come to nothing. But it had changed everything. Often she had marvelled at his devotion to her. She had always realized that she was not a beautiful woman, and child-bearing had not improved her figure. In the last years she had grown over plump and she had always had a tendency to put on flesh. It was a characteristic of her race. Edward himself was very handsome. Not as tall as his grandfather, Edward Longshanks, had been but well over medium height; blue-eyed, fair-haired, and with his love of finery he always presented a magnificent figure to the world. Moreover there was that aura of royalty about him which many women would find irresistible. The Countess of Salisbury apparently had not.
Edward, great king that he was, often seemed to her a child. His enthusiasms, his impulsiveness—the manner in which Robert of Artois had goaded him into the struggle for the French crown was an example of this—his love of pageantry, his delight in the joust when he wanted everyone to see him as the champion ... all that seemed to her the actions of a lovable child. And this desire of Catharine Mountacute was part of the pattern. She was one of the most beautiful women in England, Philippa had heard. Well, Edward’s Queen was certainly not that.
Poor Edward, he had been disappointed of his prize!
To her he was like one of her children, and her nature was such that she looked for the fault in herself rather than in him. She had failed him. Failed him by not being beautiful like Catharine de Montacute.
She forgave him, but it was the first time he had strayed—or tried to stray—and it seemed to her like the end of a certain pattern in their relationship.
And now she had lost her baby.
Edward had arrived at the palace.
It was the first time she had seen him since the relief of Wark Castle.
He came and knelt by her bed and kissed her hands fervently.
‘You must not fret, my love,’ he said. And she wondered whether he was referring to the loss of the baby or his unrequited love.
‘A little girl,’ he said. ‘Dear Philippa, I have been so anxious for you.’
That was real concern in his eyes. Remorse, of course. She wanted to comfort him. To tell him to forget what had happened. They had been too happy one with the other, and together too long for anything to spoil what had gone before.
He talked of the child they had lost. ‘We’ll have more, Philippa. And how blessed we are in those we have already.’
They talked awhile of the children and she knew that he was telling her that he would always love her. Even though he had seen the most beautiful woman in England and would never forget her, it could make no difference to his love for Philippa.
Baby Blanche was buried in the chapel of St Peter in Westminster Abbey. All the family were present at the ceremony—Edward Prince of Wales, Isabella, Joanna, Lionel, John and Edmund.
Cloth of gold tissue was laid on her tomb and prayers were offered up for the reception of her soul in heaven.
Edward remained with his family for a while. He was anxious for Philippa to know how he esteemed her.
Philippa had been right when she had guessed that there was some reason why her sister-in-law had not written from Gueldres.
Eleanor had, at first, been very happy in Gueldres. There had been some doubts about her marriage because her husband had been a widower at that time and much older than herself; but Eleanor had found him a kind and considerate husband, and when her sons were born she had been completely content.
After her somewhat desolate childhood when there had been whispers and innuendoes in the nursery she had not been very happy and then her sister Joanna at a very early age had been sent away to Scotland to marry David the Bruce. Life had scarcely been very happy for them. So that when she came to Gueldres she had enjoyed a contentment which she had not known before.
And when the elder of her sons, little Raynald, had been born there had been great satisfaction for the Duke’s children by his first marriage had all been girls. She had been only sixteen at that time, for it was eight years ago; and since then she had given birth to another boy.
All was well until suddenly she developed a strange skin complaint which turned her very pale skin into an extremely highly coloured one. She could not understand what had happened and none of the ointments or unguents she used had any effect.
Then she noticed a coolness in her husband’s attitude towards her. She rarely saw him and when she did it was only briefly in the day time.
One day she was out riding when her attendants asked her to look at a house some distance from the ducal palace.
For what purpose?’ she asked, and she could tell by the unhappy looks of her attendants that she had asked an embarrassing question.
The Duke’s chamberlain, who had joined the party, explained to her: ‘It is the wish of the Duke that you take up residence here, my lady.’
‘Take up residence here! My place is in the palace.’ “That is the Duke’s wish ... the Duke’s order, my lady.’ She was nonplussed and overcome with fear.
‘And my children?’ she asked.
‘They are to join you here.’
She could not understand what this meant, nor was she allowed to see her husband to ask him what his intentions were. She did not write to Philippa and Edward as she had been wont to do. She would not know what to tell them, for she had no idea what crime she was supposed to have committed.