“But how much aid and support will Duke Charles give the king?” “But how much aid and support will Duke Charles give the king?”
It was late, and at Blessing House in London—Mathew Cuttifer’s home in the capital—the fire in the solar was burning low. Mathew, Lady Margaret, and Anne had spent the night discussing the situation in Burgundy but Anne was so weary it was hard to focus on the conversation. She blinked and rubbed her eyes; it felt as if there were sand beneath her lids.
“I’m sorry, Sir Mathew, but all I know is that the duke met with the king on the day after the Christ-mass. And Ed—the king was hopeful that he would get what he needed. We left in a hurry you see and…” The girl tried in vain to stifle a yawn.
Lady Margaret stood up decisively. “Mathew, we can continue this conversation in the morning. Anne is exhausted. She’s been on that boat for days, what with the contrary winds.”
“Ship, my dear. Your ship.” Mathew liked people to get their facts right.
Margaret flashed him a glance. “Anne needs sleep more than correct terminology, Mathew. We can talk again tomorrow. At least she’s safe and so is little Edward. Everything else is of secondary concern.”
“And Leif.” Anne stood slowly, yearning to stretch the ache from her bones but feeling she must suppress the urge. It was odd. Automatic respect for her former master and mistress took her back to the constrained role of servant; the body-maid she’d once been in this very room. She must be tired to be haunted by such thoughts.
“Leif?” Mathew looked confused.
“Leif’s safe also. As is the Lady Margaret. Thank God.”
Margaret put her arm around Anne’s waist. “Leif served you well, my dear. And he has served the house of Cuttifer most faithfully also.”
“About time he did some actual work!” Mathew muttered, but he caught his wife’s eye and closed his mouth with an audible snap. He had a somewhat different view of Leif’s service to Anne.
“Do not be angry with Leif, Sir Mathew. He was very torn between his duty to you and getting little Edward, Deborah, and me back to London alive.” There was much else Anne could have said, but did not.
“And we’re very glad he did, but now it’s time for bed. I’ll find Jassy—she’s given you our newest chamber. You’ll like it: it’s big and it’s even got a fireplace. No more smoky braziers in this house! Deborah and the child are there now, I think. Stay here, Anne. I’ll return in a moment.”
Lady Margaret hurried out of the solar, but not before casting one more glance at her husband. Be nice, said that look. Be kind.
Mathew cleared his throat. “Leif did well, in the end. And I’m glad to have him back. There is much to do with our ships and not much time. I want them taken out of the pool and around to Bristol. If the rebels get as far as London, they’ll loot and burn everything as they come—on land and on water.”
Anne said nothing. Leif had said a hasty good-bye earlier this evening and hurried away to do Sir Mathew’s bidding. He’d caught Anne’s glance just once before he left, but she’d lowered her eyes from his, shaken by the intensity of his gaze. Now he was gone and she felt hollow.
Mathew interrupted her brooding thoughts. “Aren’t you hungry at all, Lady Anne? You must eat.” There was food placed on a coffer but Anne had eaten almost nothing throughout the evening. “It’s not good to go to bed on an empty stomach. Let me give you a little of the egg cream at least? You’ll sleep well on that.”
He was as anxious as an old hen; Anne did that to him, even now. He well remembered when she’d come as a servant to this house all those years ago, just an ordinary girl—but with an extraordinary smile and something different about her manner. Different, all right. To think they’d harbored a princess—baseborn, but still the daughter of a king—under their roof and not known it. And she’d once been their servant!
“Lady Anne?”
She was staring into the fire, remembering, just as he had, when first she’d come to this place. If she looked at the door, it seemed it would open at any moment and there would be Piers, Mathew’s son. She shivered as the pictures forced themselves behind her eyes. He’d tried to rape her, tried to… she shook her head. She would not allow that dark night back into her mind.
Anne looked at her former master and smiled warmly. “After all this time, I’d so much rather you called me by my name. It was good enough for all in this house once.”
Mathew picked up one of Anne’s hands and kissed it in the gallant French manner. “Each wish of yours is my pleasure and command.”
“Bravely said, master. Bravely said.”
Mathew smiled at Anne a little ruefully. “Do you know, child, I think it most unlikely that any man will be your master ever again. Not even the king.”
Anne was silent for a moment as she gazed at her good and kind friend. Then she kissed him gently on the cheek. Her breath was sweet. Mathew resisted the urge to touch the spot where her lips had been.
“I am so grateful to you, and to Lady Margaret, Master Mathew. You’re my real family, with Deborah and little Edward. I owe you much; so much it will be very hard to repay even a fraction of what you are due. And now this. Sanctuary.”
The old man felt the unexpected prick of tears and was astonished by the rush of feeling. He cleared his throat noisily. “I am due nothing. And this is certainly your sanctuary until you choose to go elsewhere. It has pleased Our Savior to give some part of your welfare into my keeping. I am honored by His trust in me. You are important to our king. You will always be important to me and mine.”
“Amen to that, husband. And now it is time for rest. Come, Anne, your bed has been warmed.” Lady Margaret had returned with Mathew’s last words and was holding out her hand to Anne, as a mother to a daughter, happy her child was warm and safe.
Now it was Anne’s turn to swallow tears as Mathew and Margaret smiled at her together.
“Good night, child. Tomorrow we will speak of the future. For now, you are safe with us. Sleep without dreams.”
And as Anne lay warm in her lavender-smelling bed and listened to the wind hunt around the buttresses and battlements of the old house, in the moments before velvet oblivion took her, she said a prayer. Keep him safe also, Mother. Keep him safe…
But she saw two men in her dreams that night.
Edward.
And Leif.
“But where is he now?”
Elizabeth Wydeville was pacing the Jerusalem chamber, up and back, up and back, as the rain beat hard against the black windows. It was the coldest hour of the night but she could not sleep. Sometimes, she felt as if she would never sleep again.
“Calm yourself, daughter. This will not be good for the milk, or the child when you feed him.”
The queen rounded on her mother. “Calm? How should I be calm? My son does not need me calm, he needs me to be queen of England so that he can be acknowledged as who he is, the rightful prince of Wales instead of that Anjou woman’s bastard. We’ve heard nothing for days and days, Mother. I must know where the king is!”
Jacquetta winced; it was remarkable that such a volume of sound had its source in such a slender woman. She sat back from her embroidery frame with a smothered sigh and rubbed her temples, forcing herself to speak softly. One of them had to remain calm. “Very well, let us review what we do know, shall we?”
Elizabeth made a sound between a bark and sob and sat abruptly in one of the two chairs the vast chamber contained. It was an old-fashioned piece of furniture and unforgiving, made of sturdy oak with a very straight back. She wriggled to get comfortable and waved her hand. Perhaps that was agreement. Of sorts.
Her mother held up a finger. “One. We know that Charles has given the king money.”
“Yes, but how much—and what about the ships, and—”
“Do not interrupt! I repeat. One. Edward has money. A substantial sum: enough to bring men to him and buy armaments. Two. Charles is fitting out ships for him at Veere. Three. The English merchants in Brugge are supporting him. That much is certain—your brother Rivers has told us so. And, four. Well, it is clear the tide is turning with the barons here at home. And Clarence.”
“Clarence! I swear, if I should meet that man again I’ll have him flayed and—”
Jacquetta was implacable. “That would be very foolish. Edward needs Clarence. If the duke returns to your husband, he’ll bring many of Warwick’s supporters with him and the rest of the waverers will begin to turn again in our favor. For all his foolishness, Clarence can see what’s happening. His chance at the throne has gone.”
Elizabeth stared mutinously into the fire, biting at the edge of one finger. Jacquetta sighed.
“Ah, daughter, daughter, we need them all. Each one of them. Even Clarence. When Edward lands—”
“If Edward lands,” the queen muttered.
“When the king returns, he must pull the country together again, unify the lords and the warring factions. He’s the only one who can. The barons are uneasy; they know this truce between Warwick and Margaret can’t last. Enmity that deep doesn’t just disappear. No, they’re just waiting now, you’ll see. They’ll follow Edward, not Warwick and Margaret, once he’s back in the country because of your son. The dynasty is safe now. And no one truly wants the French queen back; they’re all too frightened of what she’ll do.”
Elizabeth shuddered at the word “queen.” “But Warwick’s married his daughter to her son! You know that’s true. Anne Neville could reign in this country one day. Anne Neville!”
Jacquetta shook her head. “Really, Elizabeth, you were not brought up to be so poor-spirited. This is a marriage of convenience only. It will mean nothing at all when Edward returns; it won’t be worth even this.” The duchess held up a hank of red embroidery silk. “Expensive, decorative, but, in the end, only embroidery, nothing of substance. You’ll see. Have faith.”
Elizabeth leaned forward and poked savagely at the fire. The logs collapsed and threatened to roll out onto the flagged hearth. The queen kicked at them just in time. Flushed from her exertions, she plumped back into the chair, staring moodily into the flames. Then her expression lightened.
“I wonder if they burned Anne de Bohun, in the end? At least that was a bit of good news: the monk denouncing her on Christ-mass day. Just what she deserved. It must have been so very embarrassing. Rivers was quite naughty about it all when he wrote.” She giggled and flashed a glance at her mother. “I always thought she was a witch, you know.”
Jacquetta’s tone was caustic. “Unlike you, you mean? Or me.”
Elizabeth was shocked. “Mother, how can you say such things? It’s dangerous.” And then she laughed, long and loud. “Gone. She’s really, truly gone. At last. Gone for good!”