The Shadow Queen: The Sunday Times bestselling book – a must read for Summer 2018

‘A beautiful girl, well nurtured, without sin.’

‘I make confession, madam.’

I prayed, aware of the weight of Isabella’s powerful reliquary against my breast, that my mother could see no colour of culpability in my cheeks. It seemed, from the faintest of smiles that was bestowed on me, that she could not. But then the smile vanished.

‘I trust that your behaviour is decorous and seemly when at court, when you are in the company of the King’s young knights. I do not wish it to come to my attention that you are of a flirtatious disposition, Joan.’

‘My deportment is exemplary, madam. Queen Philippa commends me on it as an example to her own daughters.’ My reply was supremely colourless.

‘So I have heard.’ The Countess returned to her chair, seating herself in a billow of silk, before pinning me with a direct stare. She breathed in, her nose narrowing as it did when she was displeased. ‘I can rest assured that you have been well chaperoned.’ She considered me, the soft pads of the fingers of her right hand tapping against the Book of Hours that she had picked up and now rested on her lap. ‘It is, I think, time.’

When I remained silent under her regard, my mother stopped tapping but instead curled her hands around the fierce animals, carved with open mouths and sharp teeth along the arms of her chair.

‘A marriage has been arranged for you,’ she announced. ‘Your hand has been sought by the most pre-eminent of families.’

There it was, declaimed without warning or fanfare, the announcement I had feared, even though I had always known that in the making of alliances, daughters were of inestimable value. Margaret and I would be expected to marry well, but this was the moment I had been dreading. I swallowed soundlessly, gaze still lowered to the hem of her gown, while the Countess took my silence for demure acceptance.

‘I see it is no surprise to you.’

Obviously my dissembling was sufficient, but it was a surprise. Given my young age I had not expected it to be quite yet, accepting that such plans would be postponed for at least another year, perhaps two. And that it would be a lengthy betrothal rather than a marriage. My sister Margaret, older than I by one year, was betrothed to an important Gascon nobleman, Amanieu d’Albret, a man she had yet to meet. There was no talk yet of their actual marriage on the near horizon.

Oblivious to the thud of my heart beneath the Virgin’s Tears, my mother was continuing. ‘You must have known well what was planned. The King wishes to reward his closest friend, the Earl of Salisbury, sadly still under French restraint and likely to remain there until a ransom is paid. What better way to show royal gratitude for Salisbury’s service to the Crown at home and overseas than for the King to give the hand of his cousin, a Plantagenet princess in her own right, to the Earl’s son.’

So I was to wed Will Montagu, the boy with the harness. I could think of nothing to say.

‘Does it not please you?’ The edge in the Dowager Countess’s voice was emerging as the silence played out.

What could I say that would not cause an eruption of temper?

‘Yes, madam. It pleases me.’

It was the only possible reply.

‘It will be an exceptional alliance. The King and Queen are in full agreement. As for the Salisbury boy, you know him well. You have been raised with him. There will be nothing for you to dislike in the match.’

‘No, madam.’ I decided that I must say something else to deflect the flare of impatience. ‘I like William well enough.’

She nodded. ‘You are much of an age. You will wed, but of course you will continue to live as you do now, until you are both deemed old enough to take on the responsibilities of marriage in the flesh.’

I kept my face expressionless, my eyes abandoning the hem to focus on the toes of my mother’s shoes, expensively gilded.

‘In the absence of the Earl, we will meet with the Countess of Salisbury this afternoon when we will sign the contracts of marriage.’ At last she managed a smile that was more than a bleak movement of her lips. ‘Your father would have approved, Joan. I have carried out this negotiation exactly as he would have wished.’ She looked at me. I could feel those eyes searching my face. Her fingers, relaxed in satisfaction, now clenched. ‘Have you still nothing to say?’

No, I had not. Nothing to the point. Nothing that would not shake the ground beneath her feet. And beneath mine. My thoughts tumbled over each other, searching to find something appropriate, and failing.

‘Thank you, madam.’

My mother sighed as she deigned to explain further.

‘William will be a worthy husband. An alliance with the Earl of Salisbury will be nothing but advantageous for our family. It will be a final mending of our reputation.’

I was not aware that it was broken beyond repair. Did the Queen not love me as much as she loved her own daughters? But treason could cast a long shadow, and my mother had had her own unfortunate role in it. There was much that needed to be healed. Yes, perhaps my mother did deserve my pity and my compliance.

‘Yes, madam.’

‘And you will make a good wife.’

‘Yes, madam.’

‘Tell your women to dress you as befitting a royal audience. I will fetch you when it is time.’

‘Yes, madam.’

‘Now you may go. Perhaps you can summon some expressions of gratitude and delight at the marriage before I see you again.’

‘Yes, madam. I will.’

At last I got to the door, and outside it, with nausea churning in the pit of my stomach. My mother hoped that I would be instrumental in stripping aside our family’s disgrace to finally heal the wounds of the past.

She was doomed to disappointment.

I knew full well what would be my own doom. Many would say that I had brought it on my own head.

I stood outside the door, leaned back so that the wall was cold against my back, and took a breath as I willed the initial panic to subside. Until, that is, I saw in the shadow of a pillar at the far end of the chamber three figures in descending height: William Montagu of Salisbury, Edward the princely heir and my brother John, all of whom had followed me to discover the need for such a summons. They were clearly waiting for me because as soon as I appeared they began to cover the ground between us. Pushing myself upright, with what I considered to be an innocent expression I walked slowly towards them, arranging my thoughts into what I might and might not say.

‘What did she want?’ John demanded without ceremony.

‘Nothing for your little ears, brother,’ I said, but my eyes were on the scion of the House of Salisbury.

Did William know the subject of my interview? Had he already been informed that I would join my hand with his in Holy Matrimony? It might well be. Not a word had passed his lips, but William was perfectly capable of keeping his own counsel. I regarded him through my lashes. Here, at our parent’s planning, and that of the King and Queen, was my future husband, and since I had not been sworn to secrecy, perhaps it would be a good time for me to comment on the fact that we were destined, by forces beyond our control, to spend our future life together.

Except that sharp fear gripped my throat so that I could not force the words into being.

But William could. He pushed John aside.

‘Have you told your mother the truth?’

My eyes narrowed.

‘And you need not lie to me,’ he continued. ‘I know all about it. I have friends in low places. What possessed you, Joan? Had you no sense?’

Which censure soon restored my voice.

‘Have you been listening at doors, Will?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which doors?’ Edward, ignorant of what was passing between us and immediately interested, his eyes were travelling speculatively between William and me. John, interest lost, had climbed onto a window seat where he sat like a crouching gargoyle, hugging his knees.