A Rose for the Crown (93 page)

Kate hung on to the child for as long as she dared, tears filling her eyes as she felt his slender form in her arms. She was at once angry for denying herself the joy this child would have brought her and jubilant at how quickly the two of them had connected.

“Why, of course you may, dear child. Run along while I talk to Wat.” Kate finally let him go and watched as he carefully rolled up the leather holder and tied the strap around it.

Later, after supper, when she took her leave, she told Dickon, “Perhaps your uncle will allow you to visit me at the Mote whilst I am there. Would you like that?”

“Aye, Aunt. I can show you the beech tree where Johnny and I sometimes hide from his mother!”

Kate smiled and looked over at Geoff, who grinned and mouthed, “’Tis the same.”

“Then ’tis a promise, Dickon. I shall send Wat to fetch you in a few days, and we shall get to know each other better.” Kate hugged him one last time. His genuine affection overwhelmed her.

She and Wat galloped the two miles back to the Mote, and Wat was not surprised to hear her singing as they trotted into the darkening stable yard.

“Summer is icumen in, loudly sing ‘Cuckoo.’
Groweth seed and bloweth mead and springeth the wood anew.
Sing ‘Cuckoo.’ ”

22
Suffolk and London, 1485

O
n the sixteenth day of March, with the day only half spent, a strange darkness fell over the country, which sent people into churches or onto their knees where they stood. An eclipse of the sun was something only a few elderly people had witnessed before. Those in London who were gathered around the queen’s deathbed believed God was showing His grief for her passing. Those who had heard rumors of Henry of Richmond’s threatened invasion from Brittany thought it boded badly for King Richard. The rest looked to their own consciences and sent up prayers of penance.

When news of Anne’s death reached Tendring, Kate wept uncontrollably for Richard’s new loss. Almost exactly a year past, he had lost his legitimate son and heir to a sudden childhood fever. She had cried a little then, but now she truly grieved. Molly suggested they go and offer prayers for Anne’s soul at Stoke church. Despite the dark clouds and spattering raindrops, Kate donned her cloak with its well-lined hood and hurried up the lane to St. Mary’s Church with Molly beside her.

“Poor Richard. He must be heartbroken. To lose his son and his wife within a year—’tis unthinkable. My heart bleeds for him.”

“Aye, mistress. There are those at Tendring who think the king must have displeased God in some way.”

Kate rounded on her servant. “Who says so? Jack Howard will not brook such disloyalty in his house. Richard is a good man and a good king.”

Her tears forgotten, Kate used the walk to enlighten Molly about Richard’s accomplishments thus far in his reign as far as she understood them. First, he had restored morality to the court, which had descended into debauchery during Edward’s final years. He had done away with the hated benevolences, which were nothing but taxes kings demanded from all their subjects, mostly to fund wars. Richard had endeared himself to the common people by passing legislation to prevent the rich from stacking juries against poor persons, to make bail available to accused criminals and to protect those buying land from being cheated through false titles. Kate thought Molly would not appreciate the importance of Richard’s insisting all new laws be written in English, for she knew Molly still had not learned to read. Nor did she think Molly would care about the colleges, chapels and chantries he had founded all through the land.

Molly laughed at Kate’s vehemence. “You need not preach to me, mistress. You forget I have met the king many times. I know him for an honest man.”

Kate was not to be fobbed off so lightly. “Nay, Molly, you must repeat what I have told you in the right quarters. I command it!”

Molly shrugged. “As you wish, madam.”

They were approaching the postern as the rain began in earnest. Kate nodded to one or two townsfolk she recognized and quickened her steps to the west door. The bells were tolling now from the high, pinnacled tower above, and several people were scurrying into the church and out of the rain to light a candle for the dead queen.

“Ora mente pia pro nobis Virgo Maria,”
Kate prayed as she took a taper and lit a candle. “Gracious Virgin, plead for us. Plead for the soul of Richard’s departed wife. Intercede for her and bring her to eternal salvation. And dear Mother of God, ease Richard’s suffering, I beg of you. Let him turn to our children, Katherine and John, for he loves them dearly. Let him derive some comfort from the living.”

She could not conceive of Richard’s suffering. He had to be at the lowest
ebb of his life. She remembered Philippa’s and Martin’s grief at little Robert’s death—oddly, she did not remember them being so afflicted by George’s—and she could not imagine how she could bear the loss of one of her own children. Add the death of his wife and life partner to his son’s, and it was a miracle he had not gone mad from the pain. Her heart ached for him, and she wished she could comfort him. She had seen him cry, and she knew he was a man for whom tears were a real expression of sorrow. Feelings stirred in her that she had buried for almost two years—a yearning for his smile, his touch, and the love light in his eyes. Then she remembered where she was and was immediately suffused with guilt.

“Forgive me, Lord, I am here to offer prayer and supplication for Anne Neville’s soul, and I am thinking about the man I loved, her husband. Another sin to add to my enormous pile,” she muttered. The new organ Jack had given to the church played softly in the background, and her solid surroundings gave her some peace. She closed her eyes and pondered on the untimely death of the queen. Margaret had told her how sickly Anne had looked at Christmas. Jack and Margaret were in attendance on the king and queen for the Yuletide season, and Margaret described a pathetic skeleton of a creature clothed in magnificent gowns that dwarfed her shrunken body. Consumption was eating at her lungs, causing her to cough blood and swoon from the effort. Richard became depressed, morose even in the weeks that followed. He did not leave the palace for days at a time. Because the disease was not only fatal but also contagious, the doctors commanded him to leave his wife’s bed in those last two months. Guiltily, Kate did not mind hearing that part, although she would not wish a death so lingering for anyone, even a rival. When Margaret had returned in February from Windsor, she shook her head sadly, saying it was only a matter of time.

Dear Lord, Kate told her God, all those wishes I had at the time of Richard’s wooing of Anne were only in jest. ’Twas a foolish woman jealous of another who prayed for something to happen. I never wished her dead. I will light a candle for a month to show I meant her no harm, I swear. I pray you will send Richard no more heartache. He does not deserve it, Lord, truly he does not.”

*   *   *

B
UT
G
OD
did not listen.

“Sweet Mary! ’Tis diabolical. Who would listen to such gossip—or start it? Surely this is a jest. A sick one, certes, but a jest.”

Kate was sitting on the edge of her seat, staring at Jack. She reiterated Jack’s stunning statement. “Richard poisoned Anne to make way for a marriage with his niece, Elizabeth? Oh, ’tis too funny.” But her laugh was a short bark of anger.

“Nay, ’tis no jest. For the part about Bess desiring the marriage is true. I bear proof.” He removed a letter from his pocket and handed it to her. It was a brief note addressed to Jack. Kate did not recognize the flowery, wayward script.

“I regret I must break a confidence,” Jack said, “but ’tis for Richard’s and the country’s good. Let me tell you, Kate, I was shocked when Bess cornered me at Christmas and talked to me in a most indiscreet manner about her feelings for Richard. She said she missed her father, with whom she would have shared such a confidence, and I, being a close confidant of both Edward and Richard, I suppose, she thought of coming to me. How I wish she had not,” he said, gloomily. “Please read it.”

“To my lord of Norfolk, my friend and my uncle’s trusted councilor, I greet you well. I write to beseech you to intercede for me with my dear uncle, that if he has a mind to marry again after the queen’s passing, I am willing—nay, desirous—to be his wife. He is my dearest love, as I have told you, and I believe he has a fondness for me. Pray keep this letter only for you, and do as I beg of you with all my heart. Elizabeth York.”

“God’s bones!” Kate swore, causing Jack to smile. “The wench is brazen. This is dated a week before Anne died. How callous can she be? She is her mother’s daughter.”

“Do not be too hard on her, Kate. She has had a bad time of it. It can be no easy thing to be a royal princess one day and a bastard nobody the next. I should think a forced year in sanctuary was irksome to someone of her age, too. But I confess I do not know what to do with this. That is why I came with all speed to see you.”

“You think this a matter for me, Jack?” Kate sank back in the chair, a
worried frown creasing her brow. “What can I do? Is Richard aware of the rumor?”

“We—the other councilors and I—are trying to keep it from him for now. He is still deeply grieving, and only Rob and Francis Lovell can approach him. He has locked himself in his chambers, and those two good men take him food, which he barely touches, and sit with him until he orders them away while he prays. It is terrible to hear his weeping, which I did while walking in the garden beneath his chamber. During the weeks leading up to the queen’s death, he took refuge in hunting, which did not make our work any easier. You will be glad to know he sent for John to be of comfort to him, but the boy is so young to take on such a burden. I do not know who better to break this latest trouble to him than you. It is agreed by the council that he must immediately and publicly deny the rumor, for he can ill afford the stigma of wife-poisoner and niece-seducer. Both are lies, but there are those—such as Henry Tudor and his scheming mother—who would use them to justify an invasion. Such opportunists! Richard can no more mount a defense now than walk up the few steps to his garderobe.
I
am asking you in confidence and not the council, for they do not know you or your relationship to Richard.”

“Thank you for that. Tell me true, Jack. How can young Elizabeth hope to be queen when she has been declared illegitimate along with Edward’s other children?”

Jack shrugged. “Have Richard reverse the bastard decree, I suppose.” Then he saw Kate’s reasoning. “If she were declared legitimate, then so would the two boys, and Richard would really have his hands full!”

Kate knew Jack was unaware of Buckingham’s deed and that he had accepted, as had others, that Richard had moved the boys to a safer place. She assumed their mother believed it also, for Elizabeth Woodville had finally agreed to leave sanctuary and accept Richard’s hospitality and was often seen at court functions. It seemed the rest of the country had chosen to forget the two princes and get on with their lives under the new king.

“God’s bones,” Jack went on, “this smacks of Woodville conniving. Thank heaven Richard is not such a fool.”

“Exactly. But I see how the story might be exaggerated and believed in
some quarters, so it does need to be stifled. Richard might listen to me, I suppose.”

Jack watched her and moved his leg to a more comfortable position. Jack was feeling his age. At sixty-two, his joints ached badly and he had developed a stoop. Margaret had insisted on procuring a pair of spectacles for him, which he used to read and write, but he maintained his long vision was still good. He had lost most of the teeth in his head, so he did not smile much these days, but there was little to smile about at court, if the truth were told.

“If I go, it will be a chance to see John. Tell me, Jack, does he look well?”

“Jesu! I completely forgot to tell you in all this troublesome news. Richard has named John Captain of Calais! ’Tis a high honor. Certes, he is too young to assume command personally, but he will be honorary captain until his majority. To answer your question, yes, he looks well. I left him in good spirits, and he has been of great comfort to Richard these past months, as has your Katherine. He is a good boy, and handsome. Young Grace, Edward’s bastard—oh, Lord, they are all bastards now—well, by one of his mistresses—is head over heels in love with him.”