Free The Red Rose of Anjou by Jean Plaidy Page A

usual. Perhaps this was because she was no longer able to move about with her usual vigour. There was no doubt that she was ailing.
    At the beginning of December she took to her bed. Theophanie was in despair. ‘It is so unlike her,’ she kept saying. She made posset after posset and had them sent up to Yolande’s bedchamber. But Yolande needed more than possets. She had led a very full and energetic life and the plain truth was that it was nearing its end.
    On the fourteenth of the month, completely exhausted, she died peacefully in her bed.
    The youngest of her sons, the Duke of Maine, arrived at the castle and took charge of the arrangements for her funeral. She had always wanted to be buried with her husband in his tomb which was in front of the high altar in the Cathedral of Angers.
    Margaret had little time to think of anything until the ceremony was over and then she had to face the fact that there would be a big change in her life.
    Her uncle Charles of Maine discussed the situation with her. She was now thirteen which was considered to be of a certain maturity.
    He said: ‘It will be impossible for you to remain here now that your grandmother is dead. I have sent word to your father and I have no doubt we shall soon be hearing of him.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Margaret. ‘Perhaps my parents will come here now.’
    ‘It would be wise to,’ replied Charles. ‘I believe the Naples adventure has proved disastrous. You should stay here until we receive definite news from them.’
    ‘Yes, I shall do that,’ replied Margaret.
    The Duke was satisfied. Margaret had been brought up in the right way by her grandmother and would therefore be able to deal with a situation such as this one.
    Charles of Maine was right about René’s return. He and Isabelle were already at Marseilles having abandoned the Naples adventure. They would come to Saumur with all speed.
    The anticipation of the reunion did a good deal to assuage Margaret’s grief at her grandmother’s death. Indeed it took a long time for her to realize that the old lady had gone. She had been such a dominating character and her household had been run under such disciplined order that it continued working in the same way after she had gone.
    Each day Margaret watched for her parents’ arrival and it was not long before their approach was sighted by the watcher in the tower.
    Margaret was at the gates of the castle waiting to greet them.
     
    A STOLEN PORTRAIT
    The meeting was ecstatic. It was long since Margaret had seen her mother. Eight years, Isabelle reminded her. It was four since her father had been in Anjou.
    Although it was such a joyous reunion, René had a sorry story to tell. When he had arrived in Naples he had been warmly welcomed by the people but as soon as his rival, Alfonso of Aragon, had started to invade it became clear that René was no match for him. He had quickly realized that if he wanted to go on living he must get out of Naples. He had no money with which to continue the fight; he hated the war; he had no great desire for the crown. Even his wife Isabelle realized that they were fighting a losing battle.
    ‘When a Genoese galley was available we took it and were brought back to France, said René. ‘And, my dearest daughter, how glad I am to be with you.’
    There was so much to talk about, and family matters were so much more absorbing to René than the quest for a crown. He was titular King of Naples still, even if he could not stay there and win the crown, and Margaret was a Princess, a fact which she knew would be important when the time came to find a bridegroom for her.
    Margaret wanted to know so much. How was John now that he was married to Marie de Bourbon? Had they heard how Yolande was faring at the home of her betrothed, Ferri de Vaudémont? When was Louis joining them? It was wonderful to be once more with her parents.
    It occurred to Margaret that they could have been together all the time, for what good had any of