The Assassin's Wife (19 page)

“How will she ever pay for all this?” Joan gestured to the heap of fabrics delivered that morning.

“She wants me to fetch the shoemaker this afternoon,” I said, fuming at this foolish extravagance.

Overwrought and skittish, Eleanor ran us all ragged with her errands.
 

“It’s like living in a tinder-box,” I said at the end of a frantic week. “What will she do next?”

“Anything to impress the king.” Joan stared at me, hands on hips, as if she knew my secret.

“And he delights in making mischief.”
 

I thought back to the king’s impassioned promise. Would he stand by it? I knew a betrothal couldn’t be broken but Edward of York flouted rules. Everyone talked of his headstrong nature and the way he charmed his courtiers into doing what he wanted. Even his arrogant cousin, Warwick, couldn’t curb him, although Lionel said he tried hard enough.

“The young king’s like a wayward horse.” Lionel grinned at us and shrugged his shoulders. “He’s a will that can’t be broken.”

But would he break his oath?
I wondered.
 

In the quiet hours before sleep, I slipped outside into the drowsy summer garden. Daylight was fading, but the sultry heat grew heavy on me like a coverlet. Trees loomed soft-edged and indistinct; dainty, spindle-legged flies danced upon the air; doves throbbed and cooed in hidden leafy bowers; a hazy quietude hung over everything like an enchantment.

“I don’t like what’s happening in this house, Nan.” Joan’s voice startled me. She was sitting so still on the stone steps, I hadn’t noticed her. “It needs no scholar to fathom the secret matters here, but I’m shamed to think our good name will be draggled in the mire.” She sighed, plucking bay leaves from a flourishing shrub in the nearby urn. “Dame Eleanor’s enamoured of the king, that much is certain, and that he’s robbed her of her virtue, I don’t doubt. Oh it’s an old tale oft sung and the chorus of it is tears.”

“But things won’t go on like this for ever.” I thought her words remarkably apt. “When Dame Eleanor complained of the heat today I suggested we might go to Sudeley so the king could enjoy the hunting there.”
 

“I hope she listened to you.”
 

I’d expected Joan to show enthusiasm but her plump face remained grave. Her gaze travelled over the garden.
 

“This place has such an unquiet air. Alison tells me its history isn’t a happy one, and amongst the neighbours there are some odd tales—but there, I’m beginning to sound like young Jack with his nonsense about ghosts.”

“Have you ever thought of marriage, Joan?” I was always eager to avoid the subject of restless spirits.

She laughed. “Who would wed me now? What was considered homely at fourteen is surely past distinction at four and twenty.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.” I gave her a playful pinch. “A certain gentleman with a talent for telling tall tales is mighty fond of you! I know you’ll wear a wedding band on your finger yet.”

I thought to amuse her, knowing she harboured soft feelings for Lionel, but her smiles faded.

“You should be careful of your prophecies.” Her brown eyes grew serious. “There are those who’ve been hanged for less. Maud Attemore tells some strange tales about you. She told Lionel some lass named Philippa had a hand in banishing you from Mercer’s pie-shop.”

“Philippa?” I adopted a careless manner. “Has she accused me of sorcery? I shared a room with her and disturbed her once with a nightmare. Ever since, she’s been embellishing the tale.”

“Be careful, Nan.” Joan placed a warning hand upon my arm. “Even a jest about such matters can be dangerous. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”
 

A tardy blackbird began to sing.

“Tell me about Sudeley,” I said to distract her.
 

Joan turned her head to search for the late songster among the tracery of the trees. “We were happy there,” she began. “And if you speak of sorcery, why then, that place wove its spell upon me, for I never saw anywhere so lovely.”

* * * * *

Towards the end of the month the king’s visits ceased quite suddenly.

“I told you, young Ned’s a lad for the ladies.” Lionel cocked his head and winked, a wide smirk curving his mouth. “He’s probably found a more willing wench than our prim little widow.”

I wasn’t so sure Eleanor was prim, but the king’s absence certainly troubled her. She grew melancholy, slept poorly and ate so sparingly her slender form grew wasted. Hour after hour she sat idle in the garden, forlorn face pinched, eyes distant, slender hands resting on the pages of an unread book. It drove me to distraction.
 

“The king must be busy with affairs of state,” I said, although I knew full well he spent his days hunting. “You should remind him you’re desperate to get away from this gloomy old place.” I leaned over the bench, forcing her to give me her attention. “We could be at Sudeley now. I thought the king had your welfare at heart?”
 

Her eyes brimmed with tears but I refused to be diverted. I swung under the lowest branch of the cherry tree, shaking off the heavy blossom in fragrant clouds. “Joan says there’s no better place in the whole countryside and Lionel’s always boasting of the fine entertainments and the charming neighbours. It sounds so exciting I wish I could see it for myself. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all go this summer?” I glanced at her through a lattice of pale blooms. “Why don’t you go to Westminster?” I feigned a teasing tone. “I’m sure the king would be pleased. It must be tedious to be burdened with state business instead of sitting among friends. If you like, I could accompany you?” I added the last part with a wistful look as if expressing a girlish longing to visit such a place, but she merely shook her head and averted her eyes.
 

* * * * *

“I hear the king’s found a new paramour.”
 

Eleanor’s plaintive tone caught my attention as we prepared for bed that night. I halted in unpinning my hair.

“She’s called Elizabeth Lucy and they say she’s very beautiful.”

“Oh, my Lady!” I pretended stifled laughter as I picked up soiled linen. “Who’s been feeding you such nonsense? That frowsty jade’s little more than a courtesan!” As if amused, I stooped to whisper secrets in her ear. “She’s said to have had so many lovers, she’s lost count.”

“But the king—”

“Has no interest in her now. Oh, it’s true she was a great beauty but flowers once plucked and often handled soon lose their bloom.” I pursed my lips and affected shock.
 

Blushing, she lowered her voice. “They say the court ladies are very liberal with their favours and the entertainments there are scandalous—”

“Ah, you must have been listening to Mistress Attemore.” I giggled, dismissing with mere hints further timid questions about the lewd games and fashions being devised for Edward’s particular pleasure. The seed of a new idea began to germinate. I lifted a hank of her hair, expressing admiration for its silky lustre.

“My mother had such hair—the Beauchamp women are famous for it,” she said with a nervous laugh. “And my Neville cousins are all fair too—but Meg—my sister—is dark like the Talbots. People say the king prefers maids who are fair, but—” Tears choked off her words.

“You’ve nothing to fear from these over-blown court beauties, my Lady. Put on your finest gown and let me dress your hair in its most fetching manner. Then we’ll go to court.” I began to arrange it loosely, humming under my breath, lifting it high above her slender neck in a tumbling cascade. “The king will have eyes for no one else. And once your petition’s granted, who knows?” I giggled, peeping at her in the glass. “Surely you haven’t forgotten that special promise the king made?”

Poor Eleanor! I wondered what Brother Brian would think of my browbeating her in this fashion. Without doubt my falsehoods would grieve him. I could almost hear him saying, “Lies can’t be used for good purposes.” Guiltily I thanked my lucky stars that he hadn’t heard me. Nevertheless his continued absence began to irk. Each day I felt him grow more distant. In my dreams he vanished into a swamp of darkness. The sensation terrified.

All through that night I heard a baby crying. I squirmed so restlessly I woke Eleanor.

“What’s wrong, Nan? Are you sick?”
 

“Don’t you hear it? That babe crying?”

The house lay silent as a tomb.
 

“I can’t hear anything. Perhaps it’s a cat outside.”

I must have dozed at last because I woke with a start at dawn just as a babe’s wail was cut off short somewhere close by.

“Please God the king grant your petition, my Lady,” Joan said. She bobbed a curtsy as we departed for the palace. In the clear light of day my confidence deserted me. Instead, a dull throb of fear gnawed deep in my belly.

Chapter Twenty-Four

An overpowering stench rose from the river. In spite of the heat, I pulled my cloak over my mouth and nose to block out the worst of this frightful odour. The burly boatman chuckled and spat into the oily water.

“I warned you, Nan,” Dame Eleanor said, with a grimace, “travel by river is a dirty, unpleasant pastime.”

Grunting, rubbing his hands on a greasy doublet, the leering boat-man tried to catch my eye. Swallowing hard, I turned from his sour-smelling breath to look back towards the untidy cluster of buildings hanging tipsily over the bank. Ravens and kites scavenged among vast heaps of rubbish squawking and flapping their ugly wings, while troops of children smeared with river-dung waved at passing boats. Raising my hand, I wondered if they envied us our journey. Standing on this grimy barge, breathing in the rank miasma from the water and the corruption of the middens wafted from those straggling houses a sudden swell of irrational excitement drowned my fear.

As the boat turned a magnificent building seemed to rise from out the waves. All intricate turrets and pinnacles, Westminster loomed before us like a painting from an old romance. Graceful, carved curves swooped over my head; towering stonework gleamed mellow in the sunlight; latticed windows and gilded metal took my breath away. Never had I imagined a royal palace so vast or grand.

When the boat docked the boatman handed Dame Eleanor out first, doffing his soiled crimson cap. Daintily she crossed the wet stones and turned to wait for me. I took the sweaty hand with reluctance but the boat shifted dangerously against the bank-side. Lifting me in a powerful grip, the boatman set me down safely. Feeling ungracious for my former manner, I rewarded him with a smile.

He touched his cap and winked. “I’ll look for you on your return,” he said, exposing yellow, broken teeth in a grin.

Giggling, I tried to amuse Eleanor by whispering to her of this attempt at gallantry. “Keep close, Nan.” Nervously she picked her way up slippery steps. “The cobbles here are slimy and there’ll be a press of people to see the king.”

Within minutes, a colourful crowd clamouring outside the great, armoured doors swallowed us up. Though I stayed at Eleanor’s side, I couldn’t help staring. I gawped at the dazzling, peacock-coloured clothes of the nobility as they strutted to and fro, the ladies in tall, elaborate head-dresses, the gentlemen flaunting elegant sleeves and fantastical footwear.
 

Eleanor hesitated. A lean figure in swooping ecclesiastical robes bore down upon her.

“Dame Butler?” The voice rang out resonant and solicitous.

Startled, she looked up. “My Lord Stillington.” She stretched her lips into a smile. The eminent churchman inclined his sleek head. His eyes, yellow as a hawk’s, flicked over us with the shrewd appraisal of the hunter.

A sudden faintness overwhelmed me. The horror of a severed head, lips pulled back in a fearful grin, filled my mind with awful clarity. Here stood the churchman I’d seen in the glass at Silver Street! I clenched my fists, fighting long buried memories that surfaced like a shocking pageant, recognising in this prelate the sinister incarnation of childhood nightmares.

“Doubtless you still seek the restitution of your property?” The slight rise of his voice tailed off, as though he thought his question presumptuous but his scrutiny burned fierce as a flame.

Dame Eleanor tinkled laughter, her own nervous glance darting from side to side. “His Grace has promised to consider my petition most carefully, and I—” She clutched at words as she slipped off her azure, velvet cloak and handed it to me. The astute cleric, sensing her discomfiture, blinked his compelling eyes and offered her a life-line. “Permit me, Madam, to accompany you into the Palace.”

Gratefully, she took his arm. The full sleeve swept down like a wing. For a moment, in her pale silk, she seemed like a fragile dove enfolded by a huge bird of prey.

“It’s no easy matter for a lady among such a throng,” the cleric said. He inclined his shapely head toward the crowd as if in acknowledgement of its power. The smile painted on Eleanor’s lips trembled.