Mistress of Mourning (39 page)

Did he sense I was losing control? He was trying to take over, keep me going. How brave and dear. How much I loved him. Whatever happened, he would be with me.

“A good idea,” I told him, wiping tears from my face lest he kissed me or touched me there. “Let’s take turns and shout. I’ll go first.”

I shrieked and screamed into the air vent until I had to cover my own ears. At this rate, I would lose my voice, but what did that matter when I might lose my life? I felt dizzy, ill. I was going to be sick.

Arthur tugged on my sleeve. “Mother, stop! Stop! Don’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I don’t think it’s an echo,” he said, pressing his face down next to mine. “I think it’s a man’s voice, and I hope it’s not Mean Man again!”

We both screamed into the vent. And heard an answer. Nick’s voice? I wasn’t sure. “Quiet!” I ordered Arthur when he started to screech again.

Summoning the last shred of my strength, I shouted again and again. “We’re in the narrow gate. Brick wall! We’re in the narrow gate. Brick wall!”

“Bricked in!” Arthur yelled into the air vent when I got a coughing jag from inhaling dust.

“Keep shouting!” I cried. “I’m going to try to hit the table into this side of the brick wall! Keep shouting!”

I thought my arms would shatter, even as the table split and mortar dust mingled with the stale air. Time crawled onward toward eternity. And then came a rumble from the other side of the wall that I was trying to batter. I stood back. Arthur, bless him, kept yelling. And Nick and the big king’s man Finn knocked a small hole in the brick wall, while Arthur and I hugged each other and cheered.

I suppose it took a good half hour for them to bash a hole big enough for us to climb out. I shouted to Nick what Lovell had said about his new ploy to reach the queen—and who knew who else he might try to harm. When we emerged into the fresh air, into the starlit night, I saw only Nick, with his arms outstretched, and big Finn, holding a stone mallet. Praise the saints, there sat Jamie, with his head wrapped though bloodied from when Lovell must have knocked him out.

They thrust water at us and we gulped it greedily. Then, after I hugged Arthur hard, I gave him to Finn and Jamie, who vowed they’d protect my boy with their lives and have him back home waiting for me.

“How far ahead of us can Lovell be?” I asked Nick. “We must catch him before he tries to enter the palace, for I fear the worst.”

“I’m not sure, as no one saw him leave—again. Probably an hour, maybe more.”

“Or,” Arthur piped up, “maybe he’s there already. He told me he’s a ghost and he really scared me. Can ghosts fly?”

“He’s not a ghost, my boy,” Nick told him, and ruffled his hair, “and we’re going to prove that once and for all.”

Hal got unsteadily to his feet and stood by Arthur. They both waved farewell as Nick, despite the darkness, lifted me onto a horse and mounted another, with two of his other guards behind us. “Arthur, all will be well!” I called to him. “I will see you at home and all will be well.…”

My horse leaped to a gallop almost instantly. I looked back once, then only ahead as we rushed into the dark of night. At a speed that made our hurried trip to Wales seem
slow, we pounded down the road back toward London to warn the queen.

Queen Elizabeth of York

Nicholas Sutton had been gone to Minster Lovell for five days and Varina for nearly three, and I was anxious to hear from them. I could not rest, I could not sleep, and that could not be healthful for the child I carried in my womb—another prince. I was certain of it. I was also sure that, if I had not been breeding, the king would have been more openly angry with me over the effigies of my brothers than he already was. He was seething, and I lived in dread that he would order me or someone else to destroy the images of my brothers.

“Your Majesty.” A voice broke into my agonizing. I saw it was my lady-in-waiting Sarah Middleton, who had taken on more duties for me since Sibil Wynn had been arrested. “I know it’s after dusk, but the guard says Varina Westcott is asking to see you.”

“Yes! Yes, of course, send her to me at once.”

“She’s with her brother-in-law, a chandler, Gilbert Penne, who has not been here before. They said something about his being able to color wax candles the way your previous artist did.”

“She’s not with Nicholas Sutton? But then, he may have sent her back ahead. Yes, send them up forthwith!”

I began to pace. Answers at last, ones that I prayed were good. Oh, if only they had found and captured Francis Lovell, that would lift the king’s dark mood and keep us
safe. Tyrell gone, then Lovell…Dear Lord in heaven, justice for my dear Arthur’s death at last!

Varina was cloaked and veiled, which I found strange. And she seemed not as light-footed. My hopes fell. Had her son been lost; had some new catastrophe occurred? My stomach cramped in fear, but I trusted her and so I stood my ground to welcome them. Her brother-in-law was much older. I had just told Lady Middleton to leave us and the door closed behind her when I saw it was not Varina at all. A woman of the same size, blond and pretty but—

“Do not call out, for I have but one thing to say and then we shall be gone,” said the man—no doubt not the chandler Penne at all—and he pulled out a dagger from the depths of his cape.

I gasped and longed to flee, but fear and that knife kept my feet rooted to the floor. Instinctively, I lowered my hands over my belly, clutching them together so hard I heard my bones crack. I wanted to shriek from the very depths of my soul, but I stared at him, stared like a dumb rabbit stares at the serpent before it strikes. I did not know for certain, but I feared who he might be. I had heard the king inquire of both Varina and Nick about this man’s description. That raspy, commanding voice was a harbinger of doom.

“Say your piece then and be gone,” I said. I lifted my chin in defiance, but my voice quavered.

The woman actually curtsied to me, but the man only glared. Yes, he had eyes like an adder’s, ready to strike.

“I thought,” he said, “you should know the truth of who ordered your brothers dispatched in the Tower—smothered,
to be precise, then their bodies done away with on special orders.”

“I—I already know and regret that…that,” I managed to get out, “it was my uncle, who was then king, king when he had no right.”

“Had no right?” The man—now I was certain it was Lord Lovell—exploded, coming closer with his dagger in his hand. “The man who ordered them murdered had no right; that is true—but it was
this
king, your husband, for the boys stood in his way too!”

“Liar! Yorkist lies!”

“And you,” he hissed, his voice low now as he bent over me, “a Yorkist born and bred. An arranged marriage, I know, but to wed the murderer of your brothers, and now you breed his children.”

“And you murder them!”

He snorted and dared to smile. “Arthur. A mere milksop. Now, Prince Henry,” he said, and I watched his fingers go white as they clenched the handle of the dagger, “there’s a worthy lad, but one I shall deal with in due time.”

Dear Lord in heaven, what if he was here to harm Henry? Or knew I was with child? I would not doubt for one moment he would kill me to kill the child, so was that his plan with dagger poised? Had the news reached him? And a terrible thought: Could this man be speaking the truth about my brothers’ murders? Some pieces of the puzzle fit. The king’s quick execution of Tyrell, who had confessed but under duress. The king’s command that Tyrell not be allowed to cleanse his soul on the scaffold with a public
confession. The king was always disturbed when I broached the subject of the boys’ deaths. But no—it must have been Richard’s orders that sent them to their deaths! Yet the king knew the names of the two lackeys who had actually done the deed and that they were conveniently dead.

No. No, I loved my husband, the father of my children, living and dead. My lot in life had been cast with him. This was Lovell, the devil incarnate, and he was lying.

“You’ve said what you wanted,” I told him in the strongest voice I could muster. “Now leave before there is a hue and cry sent out for you.”

“Jane, your belt,” he said, still staring close into my face. He put the knife point to the side of my neck. I felt it draw a trickle of blood there. Varina had said Firenze’s neck had been broken, that her guard in the bog in Wales had been pierced through the neck.

Lovell stared close into my eyes as his companion bound my hands behind me and shoved me into a chair. “The scarf,” he said. The woman pushed some of it into my mouth and tied the ends behind my head. It made me start to gag at once. And Lovell still held that knife in his hand, and I was so fearful. I longed to break free and cover my belly, to scream, to run. I was helpless. Just as helpless as those who were exposed and stretched upon the rack in the Tower.

“You see,” he said, “Sibil—yes, the Sibil and her Nigel you have under arrest—told me weeks ago where to find Prince Henry’s chamber. As soon as I am finished here, we will pay your prince a little visit. Not poison this time, but just a good, old-fashioned dagger, eh?”

I began to buck as he knelt before me and raised the
knife, pointing it toward my belly. Oh, yes, he knew I carried another prince. He would destroy the Tudor dynasty by destroying all our heirs and the one who carried them, and then Henry Tudor would be alone—unless Lovell found a way to kill him too.

I screamed through my gag and kicked, landing a good blow on his shin, even as the door to the room exploded inward. Nicholas Sutton was the first to rush in with sword drawn, though I saw others behind him. A battering ram fell upon the floor and rolled away from the door it had breached. Lovell’s companion screamed and tried to run, but a boy yanked her back by her hair. Oh, not a boy but Varina herself! Lovell raised his arm again to stab at my belly, but Nicholas slammed into him, knocking the knife away.

The king with even more guards crowded into the room as Nicholas yanked Lovell around by his cape and slammed him to the floor. My husband ran to me, removed the gag, and sliced through my ties as Nicholas hit Lovell in the face again and again, then slammed his fist into the man’s belly. I broke into tears of relief, sobbing, gasping for breath.

The king pulled me into his arms as Nicholas dragged Lovell out into the corridor. The guards there parted for them as for Moses at the Red Sea. The woman—Jane was her name—was pulled out by guards too. Varina strode boldly to me and, still in the king’s embrace, I held out my hand to grip hers.

Varina told me, “Lovell abducted my son Arthur to gain my cooperation, which I would not give. My boy is safe and now yours too. We rushed back from Minster Lovell as fast as we could.”

“God be praised,” I said only, my voice breathless. Then, despite being queen, I could not hold back my sobs of relief as the room cleared of guards. I could hear Lovell shouting curses as he was hauled away.

“What did he say to you?” the king demanded of me. “Lovell—what did he say?”

“That he came to try to kill Prince Henry, and our unborn child,” I told him, and no more. I could not bear to repeat or to believe the message that horrid man had shared with me, and I would die with it never spoken. It could not be true. He was our enemy. He had lied to make me hate my husband. That was all; that must be all.

When Nicholas returned, looking mussed but not a bit bloodied, the king told him, “We have our archenemy now, Nick. And I don’t want him brought to trial or even questioned to spew his…his poison. I want a slow death for him—time for him to realize all he has lost.”

“I know a place where we can imprison him at Minster Lovell,” Nicholas said immediately. I saw him take Varina’s hand. “A place that he intended to make the living tomb for Varina and her son.”

“God’s will then,” the king said with a loud sniff. “Nick and Varina, we owe you both a debt of gratitude, which will be paid. Nick, I know you’ve been through much, but I cannot think of a better man to see to Lovell’s demise. And be sure he’s guarded well, so he does not pull one of his resurrection acts. No angel will come to roll the stone away from his burial vault, I vow.”

As if we were equals, the four of us stood in a small circle. Varina appeared stunned that the king had addressed
her by her given name. Ah, this wax carver and I, this merchant chandler…We had shared lost sons, common dangers and enemies, despite the chasm of rank and station that loomed between us. And there was another chasm—the doubt in my heart that my husband was a murderer too. Just how far had he gone to secure the throne? And yet my life was embedded in his. And I would say naught.

One hand protectively on my belly, I pulled gently away from the king’s embrace and held out my arms to Varina, my sister of sorrows, my mistress of mourning. And we leaned on each other, holding tight, drawing comfort.

Mistress Varina Westcott

A
s dreadful as his fate was, I felt that Lovell’s death was just. When Nick returned to London after several days, he told me Lovell had railed against the king until the last brick and mortar silenced him.

At least our rescue from that place had ruined Lovell’s clever two-touch door. Nick said that one had to hit a certain brick at waist level and also push a lower brick with the foot at the same time for the spring mechanism to work. At least my strewing wax along our path had led them to the first trick door in the hall, though they’d had to break through it to get near enough to hear us shouting through an air vent that came into the tunnel itself. I had questioned Arthur, and it seemed Lovell and his henchmen had kept the boy cowed by telling him that if he didn’t obey them, they were going to kill me.