DONCASTER LAY UNDER A sugar-coating of new snow that frosted its rooftops, its cobbled streets, and the bare branches of its trees. The street known as the Kirkgate formed a tunnel for the morning’s freezing north wind, and Alys felt as though she were being pushed by it up the hill. Drawing her thick wool shawl closer, she studied the houses, looking for the one she sought.
Towering above her on her right was the steeple of the gray stone church for which the street was named. Behind her, she could hear the chatter of Ian’s teeth over the crunch of his boots through the thin crust of snow. And across the way, the upper stories of a row of ancient, adjoining cottages leaned out over the lower, giving them a top-heavy appearance. The way they had been angled to fit against the rising street made them look as though they were sinking. Crossing over and stopping before the last one, the sharp angles and crooked end-wall chimney of which made it appear even more tipsy than the others, Alys hesitated, glancing back at Ian.
“Art certain we shall find her here?”
The lad shrugged, hugging himself. “’Tis what they ha’ said at Wolveston, mistress, when I did ask.”
“I wish I had gone with you.”
“Aye, but the players might ha’ left Bawtry wi’oot us, did we both gae, and we’d no ha’ got here sae easily wi’oot them, or wi’oot takin’ a far greater chance o’ bein’ recognized.”
“No, but I do think that if anyone were searching for us, we ought to have learned of it by now.”
He shrugged again, the gesture ending in a shiver. He nodded at the blue door of the end house. “Shall I rap?”
She nodded and found that she was holding her breath, but when the door opened she gasped out a cry of relief and flung herself, sobbing, into Jonet’s arms.
“Lassie! Mistress Alys!” Hugging her and laughing, Jonet drew her into the tidy little front room, paying no heed to Ian until he followed and shut the door behind them. Her eyes widened then at the sight of the tall redheaded lad, and she drew away, striving to regain her dignity. She could not keep her eyes from her mistress, however, nor could she hide her delight at seeing her again.
Alys, too, was grinning broadly. “I had feared you dead, but at Wolveston they told Ian you were here with your sister.”
“’Twas that great gowk, Hugh Gower, who sent for Mary to fetch me,” Jonet said. “He learned I had family hereabouts and commanded one of the monks helping the sick in the village to find them. Mary did think she would be fetching a corpse, but that herb woman looked after me, and I lived to spite the old witch. Come in and sit, the pair o’ thee. Mary boasts a proper parlor with a hearth, she does, and two bedchambers above.”
They followed her along a narrow passageway to the door of the cozy parlor, where, having realized that Ian’s presence did not mean that Sir Nicholas or—clearly a more important factor to her—the giant Hugh had accompanied her darling, Jonet pressed Ian to take the second of the two stools in the room. Only when he had reluctantly done so did she busy herself stirring up the tiny fire that crackled beneath the plaster hood, and demand that Alys explain how it was that they came to be in Doncaster.
Alys began obediently, but she did not get far.
“You are to be married?” Jonet’s eyes narrowed suspiciously when the news was broken, and she straightened, forgetting the fire. “And who would yon Tudor be a-choosing, if one might ask?”
“’Tis Lord Briarly, a connection of the Stanleys.”
“Och, nay!”
“That is what I thought myself,” Alys told her with a mischievous twinkle, “and so did I decide to leave London.”
“But why come to Doncaster? And who escorted you all this way, mistress? Surely, you never came with just him!” She gestured at Ian, who was perched on the edge of his stool as though he meant to bolt at the least hint of her displeasure.
Alys hesitated. She did not fear Jonet and was delighted beyond measure to find her alive and well, but she had had much experience with her temper and knew that if it were stirred Jonet could not be depended upon to remember her place. And since Ian’s awe of Jonet was clear and his awe of his mistress had not survived the first of their three weeks with the players, during which he had frequently protested the foolishness of the venture, she knew he would not defend her if Jonet chose to scold.
Jonet glanced at Ian, saw that he was studiously regarding his boots, and looked back at Alys. “Mistress, surely you did not come all this way only to find old Jonet!”
“But we did,” Alys assured her. “Not, in truth, that that was our first intention, for I was nearly certain that you had died of the sweat, but once Ian had visited Wolveston Hazard, from Bawtry, and discovered you were not only alive but here in Doncaster with your sister, it seemed best for us to remain with … that is, to travel on, to … to find you, after all.” Alys glanced at Ian, but he avoided her eye, and Jonet’s.
“Remain with whom?” Jonet demanded. “Art saying you did travel all this way with none but Ian to protect you!”
“No, but I fear you will not approve of my other companions, though I was as safe as could be in their company,” Alys said ruefully. “The plain truth is we joined a band of players.”
“Players? Do you mean common minstrels and jongleurs?” Jonet was shocked. “Dancers and actors? You never!”
“But we did,” Alys said, grinning now. “Ian had met one of the dancers, and he convinced her—for he does have wondrous fine ways with the wenches—to smuggle us out of Westminster in their caravan. The chief jongleur of the troop, Master Bertrant, was as displeased as you are, so ’twas just as well he did not learn we had joined them until after we had passed through Uxbridge, or he might have taken us straightaway back to London.”
“You never traveled all this way in such low company!”
“More than that, I learned to assist one of the jugglers, and Ian helped tend the animals, to earn our keep. ’Twas not what I am accustomed to, but in faith, it answered most excellent well. Had anyone chanced to search for us, they must have been confounded, for we did not take the Great North Road but went first to Oxford, then to Coventry, Leicester, and Derby, before crossing the Trent at Nottingham.” Alys kept to herself the fact that she had enjoyed her time with the players. To be free of the restrictions that had surrounded her all her life, and to be with people who lived simply and enjoyed simple pleasures, had been blissful, but Jonet would not understand. “When the players stayed two days at Bawtry, Ian rode to Wolveston to see what the situation was there. That is when he learned you were here.”
Jonet frowned. “So you have run from the Tudor, have you? God save us, that you do not bring his wrath down upon us all.”
“In faith, how should I? It is true that since the players mean to go on to York till Easter, I had hoped we might stop here and stay with you. Ian says there are still soldiers at Wolveston, so we cannot go there, but I confess I should like to enjoy again some of those comforts to which I was born.”
“I warrant you do.” Jonet smiled. “You shall stay here, the pair of you, though the house be small. I can sleep with Mary, and Ian can share the shed by the icehouse with our Davy.”
“Davy is here?”
“Aye, you did not know?”
“No. In faith, if I gave any thought to him at all, I must have assumed he was dead, or with Roger in London.”
“Davy said your brother was alive, but Wolveston had already left Nottinghamshire, or I would have sent a message with him to tell you I was well. You have seen him, though, I take it.”
“Aye, for all the good it did me. He would not lift a finger to help me. But why is Davy not with him? He was not hurt at Bosworth or afterward, was he?”
“Nay, mistress, but Lord Wolveston could not be certain our Davy would be pardoned, and so it was that he did leave him behind when he rode to London to swear fealty to the Tudor.”
Jonet’s tone was neutral, but Alys read her disapproval nonetheless. She grimaced. “I cannot think why Roger submitted so tamely. To be sure, he did retain Wolveston thereby, and has kept his title. And many others have done the same, including Sir Lionel Everingham and Sir James Tyrell, who were said to be amongst the staunchest of Yorkists. But Lovell did not submit.”
“Nay, not he.” Jonet’s expression was revealing.
“You have seen him!” Alys exclaimed. “I was told that he lived, but Roger said he had taken sanctuary. Where is he?”
Looking obliquely at Ian, Jonet frowned and said nothing.
Alys laughed and said confidently, “Ian will not betray him. He is loyal to me, and thus to my friends, art thou not, Ian?”
“Aye, mistress.”
“His loyalty notwithstanding,” Jonet said in the firm way she had often taken with the child Alys, “I can tell thee nowt. Mayhap when our Davy comes in, he will see fit to say more. Ah now, ’tis a plain day, the day, wi’ the wind a-blowin’ so thin. I shall send for ale to warm thee.”
And though Alys tried several times to return to the subject of Lovell, no more would Jonet say about him, or about anything else of importance, except to bemoan Alys’s intended wedding. And since that subject was not one which Alys wished to discuss, their conversation languished.
Davy Hawkins, when he arrived at last to seek his supper, was more forthcoming, for not only did he readily admit that Lovell was nearby in Yorkshire, but he agreed to carry word to him of Alys’s desire to meet with him. Davy, a wiry man with much of the practical look of his sister about him, did not waste words arguing but said he would inform Lovell at once.
“Do you think he will agree to see me?” Alys asked. “The matter is most urgent.”
“Dunno. Tha’ mun bide here till I speak wi’ the man.”
“When?”
“When I do find him.”
Alys had to be satisfied with that, for he would say no more. He finished his supper and departed. Alys and Ian spent the evening taking leave of their traveling companions, then carried their few belongings back to the house in the Kirkgate.
Two days later, when Alys, Jonet, and Ian returned from the church, where they had made their morning devotions, they found Davy and another man waiting for them in the tiny parlor, the latter dressed in a ragged shirt and breeches, a stained leather jerkin, and a large cap that had been pulled on in what looked to be an unsuccessful attempt to keep his shaggy hair out of his face. Dismissing Ian, Alys greeted Davy with tense anticipation.
“Did you find him?” she demanded. “Will he see me?”
To her surprise, it was the other man who answered her. “He will, mistress.” With a glance at Davy, he added, “Privately.”
Davy, taking Jonet by the arm, drew her unprotesting from the room, leaving Alys alone with the stranger. Not until the man removed his cap and pushed his hair out of his face, did she recognize him for Lovell himself and make a hasty curtsy. “My lord, I beg your pardon. I did not know you.”
Lovell smiled, and she instantly recalled his charm. He was in his thirty-first year and not uncomely, even in peasant clothes. He motioned for her to sit, and when she had obeyed him he, too, sat down, saying, “Davy did say you have information for me, mistress. I thought it best to come to you, believing that my movements—in this guise, at any rate—would be less remarked upon than yours, coming to me.”
Suddenly nervous, Alys glanced around, saw that the door to the passage was ajar, and got up to fasten it shut. Returning to her seat, she said quietly, “Sir, I do not know precisely how to begin, but I saw something rather startling when I returned to Wolveston Hazard ten days after the battle at Bosworth Field.”
“Did you?”
His expression was blank. He would not help her. Taking a deep breath, she said, “You will think me crazed for saying this, but I believe I saw one of the sons of our late King Edward.”
Lovell’s expression did not change. His tone was calm. “Where did you see this person?” he asked.
“At Wolveston.”
“And what were the circumstances?”
His calm had an effect, but her voice still trembled when she replied, “He was d-dead, sir, in a c-coffin.”
“What?” The viscount sat up with a jerk. Eyeing her intently, he snapped, “Why do you think it was one of the princes, my lady, and which do you believe it to have been?”
She gave him back look for look. “You do not deny the possibility, sir, but pray, what can a prince of the blood royal have been doing at Wolveston Hazard?”
“There is naught in that to concern you now. Answer me.”
She hesitated only a moment. “He looked like a Plantagenet, sir, all blond and … and … I do not know, in faith, but he did have a look of King Edward, not in size or shape but the Plantagenet look. You know what I mean. You must.”
“Very fair? But frail withal? A thin face?”
“Aye.”
“Was there …” He paused, looking at her again for a moment before he said, “Edward gave each of his sons a small, round medallion on a chain, engraved with his device, the sun—”
“The sun in splendor. I know. I saw no such thing, sir.”
“He would have worn it round his neck.”
“His collar was high. I saw nothing. But, sir, who else—”
Lovell sagged. “I do not know why I deny the truth. It must have been Edward. But what then of Richard?”
“They both were there then! ’Tis really true, sir?”
“Aye, for safety, Dickon did say. ’Twas better they were in the north, but not in Yorkshire, so Wolveston was chosen. Dickon did say the old lord was not one to stir enemies, that he would not be suspect, especially with the others at Sheriff Hutton. When it was learned that the Tudor had landed in Wales, Dickon decided to separate the lads—again for their safety—but he did not tell me the details. What has become of young Richard?”
“I do not know, sir. I was told only that he had gone away, to his fostering, they did say.”
“Did not the old lord … ah, but I was forgetting. Davy did tell me he died of the sweat, but naught was said of the lads, and I assumed they were away safe. Was no name mentioned, no foster family?” he asked, looking at her now very keenly.
“No, for it was the soldiers who came to fetch me who told me what little I know. But …” She hesitated, frowning as she searched her memory. “My father did mention one name, but it cannot have had anything to do with Prince Richard, for the name he mentioned is that of a man who has submitted to the Tudor.”
“Who? There is one more likely than all others.”
“A man named Tyrell.”
Lovell relaxed. “James is never the Tudor’s man.”
“But he is! Sir James did swear fealty to the Tudor, just as Roger did. In faith, sir, he did retain his Welsh estates and his titles. The Tudor has even named him Sheriff of Glamorgan.”
“James is a clever lad,” Lovell said thoughtfully. His brow was furrowed, and after a moment’s silence, he said, “The Tudor’s own Wales would be the safest place to hide a Yorkist prince, and James owns vast estates there. If he has convinced the king of his loyalty, then all may yet be well with our Richard.”
“But if he has changed coats, sir, as I fear he has, even if he does have the prince with him, Richard cannot be safe!”
Lovell smiled, and the expression lightened his countenance considerably. “A more loyal Yorkist never existed than James Tyrell. Whatever he has done, my lady, you may be certain it was done to secure the safety of his royal highness.” A new thought struck him. “They cannot know that Edward is dead.”
“They had gone before he died, sir, or so I was told.”
“Are you certain that the soldiers who occupied the castle did not recognize the boy for a Plantagenet?”
“How could they? They were Welshmen and Scots, nearly all of them. Their leader is a Welshman who had never before been to the north of England or to London. He believed the boys to have been my brothers, and though he knows now that they were not, he does not suspect in the least that they might have been royal.”
Lovell nodded. “Good, then I must think, for if Tyrell does not know the lad is the sole surviving heir—”
“But is he, sir? What about King Edward’s prior betro—”
“Harry Tudor himself set aside their bastardy in order to marry Elizabeth,” Lovell said grimly, “and even before that, York’s claim was far stronger than Lancaster’s.”
“But if that is true,” Alys said, “and if Richard of York is also dead, then Elizabeth would be the true heir, would she not?”
Lovell grinned but shook his head. “We shall never see a wench on the throne, my dear. No army would support her. There was one once, to be sure—Matilda or some such, she was called—and mayhap others before her, unnatural though it seems to us today; but there will never be another. Ruling a country as important as England is no business for a lady. Neither Margaret of Anjou nor Margaret Beaufort attempted to claim the throne.”
“Well, Elizabeth does expect to rule at his side,” Alys said, “but as yet he has said naught of crowning her queen.”
“Harry prefers to rule alone. He was willing to unite with the white rose, but he does not want people thinking he needs her to retain his position. We must think what is to be done.”
“I’ll do what I can, sir, but I know not what that may be.”
“Do naught,” he said firmly. “A gently bred lady can take no part in the sort of mischief I have in mind. ’Twould be safer by far to attend to your stitching.”
“But I want to help!”
Lovell said soothingly, “Mayhap your help will be needed in future, Lady Alys, but just now, I must think of a safe way to get word to Sir James Tyrell that he holds in his keeping a life more precious than he can know.”
“Could you not just send a trusted messenger to him?”
Lovell shook his head. “No man can be trusted with such a message, lest the information fall into the Tudor’s hands. At present, Henry behaves as if those lads never existed.”
“I know, and Elizabeth believes they are dead, though she did say her mother does not believe the same.”
“You did not tell her what you knew?”
Alys shook her head.
“Good girl. ’Twas clear from the outset that Harry did not know where to find the princes, for had he known, he would have taken them into custody. And had he believed them dead, he would have accused Dickon publicly of having murdered them before Bosworth. He has done neither. Therefore, he knows nothing.”
Alys said stubbornly, “If Sir James Tyrell gave up Prince Richard when he submitted, would they not keep it quiet for fear Edward might then step forward? They cannot know he is dead.”
Lovell shook his head. “Tyrell would no more have betrayed his king than I would. You cannot understand, I know, so you will do better simply to believe me. And accepting that and one other fact—that Harry Tudor would give his right eye to know where he might put his hands on the princes—there must be naught to connect any known Yorkist with Sir James. That means no messages from me. Of course, if you should simply chance to encounter him in London—How long before your return, my lady?”
Alys flushed. “I have no present intention to return.”
“What?” He glanced around the tiny sitting room. “You cannot intend to reside here!”
She nodded. “At present I do.”
“Davy did say something about your having traveled north with a company of players, but knowing you had fostered in the grandeur of Middleham, as I did myself, I could not credit his word on the matter. You are telling me he spoke the truth?”
“Aye. The Tudor did desire to wed me to a relative of Sir Thomas Stanley. I did not wish to obey, so I left London.”
Lovell’s deep-set eyes began to twinkle. “Did you now?”
Lifting her chin, Alys said, “I did, and I have no intention to return, sir.”
He shook his head, his amusement clear now. “You cannot have thought the matter through, mistress. You cannot wish to live in the manner that would be required of you here.”
She was silent. He was right. The cottage was not at all the sort of house to which she was accustomed, and already it had begun to seem small beyond reason, as though its inhabitants trod upon one another in going about their daily business. Mary Hawkins was not only older than Jonet, but more like Davy, and after the weeks on the road with the players, kind and amusing though Alys had found them, she longed for proper servants, proper surroundings, and most of all, an indoor privy. She had been avoiding Lovell’s gaze, but she met it now directly.
“I have no wish to live here indefinitely, but I cannot return to Wolveston. Not only are there soldiers there still—”
“I know.” He grinned at her.
“You know? Were you there?”
“Briefly, after Bosworth. We had gone before any soldiers arrived, but I keep my eye on Wolveston. Your brother may have bowed to Harry, but I warrant he would harbor me again even so.”
“He will not harbor me, however, and I cannot return to London, for you must know that having displeased the king I should most likely find myself back in the Tower like Neddie. ’Tis a pleasant residence for royalty, but not so pleasant for those confined there against their will, as I was before.”
“Tell me.”
She obliged him with a recounting of her recent history, and though he laughed at some things, he was sympathetic toward the young Warwick, and understood Alys’s desire to avoid the Tower.
“Still, I do not know what else you can do, mistress, for if your brother be content to leave you in the king’s ward, you can have no recourse but to obey Harry’s commands.”
“But you cannot want me to wed a traitor!”
“No one will ask for my advice or my consent.”
She sighed, and he rose a few moments later to leave her, pausing on the threshold to extract a promise that she would at least consider returning to the capital, where she might be of some use to those few remaining Yorkists who still had it in mind to annoy Henry Tudor. In his turn, Lovell promised that he would not abandon her but would visit her again one day if he could do so without endangering himself or her in the process. “I must think of things to do in the meantime to keep the royal mind occupied,” he said, clapping his hat to his head and turning to leave. Sudden noise from the street stopped him in his tracks.
Davy hurried in from the passageway, and a heavy pounding at the door sounded as he hissed, “Soldiers in the street, master!”
“Let them in,” Lovell said. Shooting Alys a mischievous grin, he jerked his cap lower over his eyes and pulled his long hair forward to cover more of his face. Then swiftly, he turned toward the parlor hearth, snatching a log from the basket, and kneeling to make himself busy with the little fire.
Alys waited tensely while Davy hastened to open the door. She never doubted for a moment who would be standing on the other side, though if anyone had asked how she knew, she would have been unable to tell them. First there were ringing footsteps on the stones of the passageway. Then several men entered the parlor, filling it, but the first one she recognized was Sir Nicholas, and despite an undeniable flash of relief in his eyes when he saw her, she knew instantly that he was furious.
Still helmeted, he pushed Davy aside as he came through the doorway, looking even taller than she remembered and saying grimly, “I am glad to have found you, Lady Alys. I had rather be serving my king with my sword, but for my pains in once having delivered you safely to him, I am commanded to repeat the trick. You may collect your belongings. We do not tarry.” Glancing at Lovell, who was groveling at his feet by now, he added gruffly, “Begone, man! You may finish that task anon.”
“Aye, master.” And Lovell was gone on the words, backing obsequiously through the door and shutting it behind him.
Alys watched him go with mixed feelings of relief and abandonment. She had no wish to face Sir Nicholas alone. Not that they were alone. Not when Hugh and the three other men with him made the room seem as close as a sumpter pack. She glanced at them, then back at Sir Nicholas, raising her chin. “I have no wish to return to London, sir.”
He glared at her. “You will do—” He broke off and said sharply to his men, “Leave us. Go into the street or the back garden, or perhaps you will find warmth in the kitchen.”
Thinking Lovell would have gone to the kitchen rather than out where he would meet more of Sir Nicholas’s men, Alys said hastily, “The kitchen is small, sir, and will be smoky, for the cook fire is in the center and there is no proper chimney.”
Sir Nicholas glanced at the hearth, where Lovell’s efforts had produced less than admirable results. “The kitchen cannot be worse than this will be in three minutes’ time, for that lout did not do his work properly. Here, Hugh, see what you can do with that fire before you go, or else we shall be suffocated in here.”
“No doubt you frightened him,” Alys said, paling when she realized that the others were going to the kitchen. That fact and the sight of Hugh made her wonder where Jonet was and why she had not come to the parlor the minute she knew they had visitors.
Sir Nicholas had been looking at her, and now he said in a gentler voice than he had used before, “What is it, mi geneth? Are you affrighted, too?”
“No,” she said, too caught up in her own thoughts to wonder at the change in his tone, “but I am concerned that Jonet or her sister may be terrified when those men burst into their kitchen.”
“Then Mistress Hawkins is here.” He glanced at Hugh, still kneeling over the fire, and said, “I had heard so, and am glad that the Lord did spare her.” When Alys said nothing, he added, “My men will not harm her or her sister, as you must know if you give the matter thought, and too, they will be gone the sooner for your quick obedience to my command.”
Depression settled over her at the realization that he meant simply to return her to London like a stray lamb to the fold, and that she could not fight him. If she did, she knew he would just pick her up bodily and order one of his men to collect her things. Ian, no doubt. That thought brought a gasp of dismay.
“I pray you, sir, you must not punish Ian.”
“He did only what I bade him do, mistress. He was commanded to serve you. I disagree with his interpretation of my command, but I do not fault him for obeying it. You, however …” He said no more, but his expression spoke volumes.
Alys said through clenched teeth, “I won’t marry a traitor.”
“You will do as you are bid,” he retorted, “and, pray, do not trifle with me, lass, for I am not presently in possession of my customary good humor. I had counted on service in the field to prove myself to his noble grace, hoping to be rewarded with English lands to go with my new title, but your action deprived me of that opportunity. I have worn my temper out, scouring the English countryside in search of you, so do not vex me more, but go and prepare yourself to travel, and that right swiftly.”
“How did you find me?”
“I set Hugh to search London in the unlikely event that you had got assistance from a Yorkist faction there, while I traveled north in the greater certainty that you would make for Wolveston. When there was no word of you there, I rode on, thinking you might seek sanctuary at Middleham, not realizing it is now in royal hands. I did even,” he added with a grimace, “journey to Drufield Manor. You are well out of that place, mistress.”
“Aye,” she agreed. “What then?”
“Hugh and his men, not finding you in London, followed us to Wolveston. Finding us gone north, Hugh thought to inquire after the well-being of Mistress Hawkins and learned that someone else had made a similar inquiry just before him. He sent for me and met me on the road. But you dally, lass. Collect your things.”
The door opened, and Jonet entered behind him, curtsying and saying politely, “God give you a good day, Sir Nicholas. Will you stay to sup with us? ’Tis only Lenten fare, I fear.”
“Nay, mistress,” he said, turning. “I have come to take her ladyship back to London. We will depart within the hour.”
Jonet folded her hands at her waist, looked directly at him and said, “I will pack our things at once, sir.” Then, before he could respond, she gasped, clapped a hand to her bosom, and stared beyond him at Hugh, who had finished his task at the hearth and rose now to his full height.
He regarded her with keen approval. “You look prickling pert again, lass. Tis glad we are to see you so.”
Recovering herself, Jonet nodded brusquely at him, pressed her lips tightly together, and turned to leave.
“One moment, Mistress Hawkins,” Sir Nicholas said.
“Yes, sir?”
Thinking he meant to forbid Jonet to accompany them, Alys said swiftly, “She goes with me, sir, or I will defy you every step of the way and complain of your treatment when we arrive.”
“Almost you tempt me, mi geneth,” he said softly, adding in a louder tone to Jonet, “Prithee, tell Ian we depart very soon.”