The Assassin's Wife (61 page)

“What did Hastings do to merit such treatment? Why does our new king mistrust so many of his courtiers?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Rob says there’s been no end of trouble in the city.” She drew me inside the door as if she feared eavesdroppers. “He told me the queen’s eldest son by her first marriage escaped from the Sanctuary and was hunted through the streets by soldiers with dogs like an animal. And did tha know her youngest was hanged at Pontefract?”

“What!”

“Aye, they kept that quiet, didn’t they?” Elizabeth’s expression unnerved me. “Rob’s always admired the duke, but all this plotting and killing—it doesn’t seem right to me. I don’t suppose thou’s heard owt from Master Forrest?”

I shook my head.

“Aye, well that’s men.”

“But Lady Anne sends regular messages. She sent me a length of beautiful azure cloth for watching over the prince.”

“Aye, she would. No one can accuse the Gloucesters of parsimony.”

I thought then of Lady Anne lodging at Crosby Place, a sumptuous house in Bishopgate said to be the highest dwelling in London. How I wished I could be with her. Elizabeth’s news offered no reassurance. Who was protecting those Wydeville boys now?

“Will tha take some refreshment?” Sensing my hesitation, she laughed. “No harm can come to the lad while he’s with his tutor. Rob’s out upon some errand but I expect him back at any moment. Come and see the arras Tom sent from London.”

“A few minutes.” I allowed her to lead me inside. “I’ve some shoes to collect—”

I admired the tapestry with its prancing hunting dogs and slender ladies riding jennets festooned with ribbons and silver baubles. Enthusiastically, she regaled me with the tale of its purchase.

“How’s the little Gloucester prince?”

“He’s the sweetest-natured child I’ve ever met. But I wish he’d grow robust like my Dickon. In spite of all the exercise they take together, he’s frail as a kitten.”

“His father was much the same as a child and both Neville girls were delicate.”

“But as for scholarship I can’t fault him. Master Bernall’s forever singing his praises. It’s a pity he doesn’t say the same about Dickon.”

We laughed together then, for when Lord Ned’s tutor agreed to include Dickon in lessons, I encouraged him to learn to read and write. But Dickon showed little aptitude. Instead he proved wilful and inattentive, demonstrating how much he preferred to be outside riding upon the moors or shooting at the butts than pouring over books.

“They can’t all be scholars.” Elizabeth Metcalf chuckled. “But it’s astonishing to think that yon frail lad is all the Gloucesters have when the Nevilles were once the most powerful family in the country. Why, old Ralph Neville had three and twenty children.” She paused, shaking her head as if troubled by her thoughts. “But times change.” She sank down upon one of the luxurious cushions. “Other families have waxed strong in their stead. Think of the Wydevilles. That witch, Jacquetta spawned sixteen children and her daughter’s borne ten to the late king, God rest his soul.” She gave me a sharp look. “Tell me, honestly what does tha make of that Wydeville marriage?”

The mere mention of the word witch made my heart jump. I grew even more uncomfortable under Elizabeth Metcalf’s scrutiny. For all her gossiping, she possessed a shrewd brain.

“You mean that the king was bewitched?” I made an attempt at carelessness.

“Don’t be so dismissive of the tale, for they were wed upon May morning—and in secrecy. The king spent the previous night under their roof. Everyone knows the last day of April is the great witches’ Sabbath. What enchantments might have been practised upon him to bind him to their will?”

“It’s just an old tale.” I swallowed hard for Elizabeth Metcalf’s face thrust close to mine and I caught the light of fanaticism in her eyes.
 

“I thought tha’d have something more to say about it than that,” she said, disappointed. “Didn’t tha have some dealings with witchcraft yourself? Wasn’t there that nasty business with Stillington—”

“I was interrogated about a woman I knew, that’s all.” I pressed my nails into my palms. Would these accusations of witchcraft never end? The memory of Nerys and her fiery death still haunted me. “She was accused of witchcraft at Middleham’s May Fair. Her mother was the local wise-woman in my village.”

Elizabeth Metcalf leaned back as if considering this unlikely excuse. “Someone mentioned tha’d some fortune-telling cards.” Her easy remark made me flinch.
 

“I used them to amuse my women friends but it was just a game. I told Bishop Stillington. In any case, I burned them a long time ago.” What an adept liar I’d become.
 

“That’s a pity. We might have used them to see what mischief’s working in the kingdom.” I wasn’t sure whether she was serious. Her heavy face looked grave but a slight upward tilt to her mouth suggested amusement.

Rob’s noisy arrival interrupted. Discovering me with his mother, his face lit up and I flushed at the memory of Genevieve’s giggles.
 

“I’ve been looking for thee, Mistress Forrest. That sour-faced nursery wench, Widow Idley, told me thou’d gone to the shoemaker’s.” He handed me a bag heavy with coins, grinning at my amazement. “Master Forrest told me to give thee that. Aye, it’s a goodly sum. He said to be sure and tell thee to get a fine gown made and buy something for the lad. Since his appointment as attendant to the late king’s bastard, he’s received an increase in his wages.”

Something in my silence halted him. The cheerful grin faded. “I suppose thou art disappointed he can’t come home?”
 

“Attendant to the prince?”
 

“No longer officially styled a prince but still treated with the courtesy due to base-born sons of kings.” He chewed a ragged nail.

“Where are the Wydeville boys?”
 

“Lord Edward’s still in the Tower but kept in all comfort. Besides Master Forrest, he’s several servants and a physician. The other lad’s with his mother in the Sanctuary. But there’s plans to bring him to his brother so they—”

I didn’t hear the rest. I fainted.

“This heat’s terrible.” Elizabeth pressed a damp cloth to my brow. “Rob’s thoughtless delivering news so suddenly. When all this pother’s over Master Forrest’ll surely be recalled to Middleham.”

Her words washed over me.

How many times had I warned Miles about his loyalty to Gloucester? Why had Gloucester chosen Miles for so great an office? The money bag lay heavy in my lap. What price would the new king exact for such a royal payment?

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Richard of Gloucester was crowned with all honour on the sixth day of July. Details of this magnificent event dribbled back to Middleham all through that hot, whirlwind summer. Rumour and gossip set us spinning like hapless dust motes. The snatching of the crown kindled such passion among the people of the north, it seemed as if a great torch had been lit and its sparks carried throughout the county.

“Did tha know the coronation banquet lasted more than five hours?” Elizabeth Metcalf revelled in telling tales she’d had from Rob. “Imagine, our little Lady Anne’s queen now—I can hardly believe it.” She leaned back on her settle, florid face lit by a satisfied smile. “She wore ells and ells of purple velvet for her crowning and the king wore an embroidered cloak of purple cloth-of-gold and ermine so long Harry Buckingham had to carry it. Eh, I’d have given anything to see that.”

“It’s a pity we weren’t invited.” I feigned a mischievous smile. “But we’re much too important to fritter away our time at such grand occasions.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Well, some have profited already. Francis Lovell and Rob Percy have been made king’s officers—There’ll be some envious southern faces at court now.”

“Perhaps some of the king’s favourite northern henchmen will win new honours too,” I answered. “Maybe one will bear the name of Metcalf.”

“Well, as our Rob says, the Metcalfs have allus been loyal to Richard of Gloucester. Sometimes I wish tha and he—” She sighed. “The king mun think very highly of Master Forrest to appoint him attendant to the Wydeville lad—”

Elizabeth’s easy flattery awakened my anxiety.

“Imagine how the prince felt when he learned he couldn’t be king,” I said. My mind filled with a cruel image of his uncle parading through London’s streets in his stolen crown.

“Aye, a terrible shock, that were. I thought there’d be trouble amongst the barons, but no one seems to have done owt on his behalf—” Elizabeth shuffled uncomfortably, shifting her great haunches on the cushions. “Still there’s going to be a great northern progress.”

“They’re already preparing at the castle,” I answered. “They’ve taken the hangings down for beating, the laundresses are washing all the linen, floors are being scrubbed, chambers swept, and every utensil in the kitchen’s being scoured. It’s all noise and bustle—I was glad to sneak away for an hour. But it’ll be days before the king’s here.”

“Well if it’s like that at Middleham now, imagine how it’ll be in York.” Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed. “The Gloucesters have allus been popular there and everyone’ll be out to get a look at them. There’ll be pageants and musicians and all kinds of entertainments. Eh, it’ll be a grand event, Nan, and I’ve no doubt tha’ll be decking little Prince Ned out in his finery for it.”

“I hope he’s strong enough.”
 

How helpless and alone I felt at the castle that season. Rumour and speculation spun around me in a tightening wad. The hard, envious glances and the spiteful whispers among the servants reminded me of my lowly status. Fear ignited like a bonfire, the greedy flames running toward me, driving away those I’d once trusted.

Emma kept strangely silent, quite unlike the artless maid who’d frolicked at the May-Day market. Something in this new behaviour roused my pity. Jack Green’s flirtation had deeply wounded her, but when I mentioned him, she shied away like a nervous horse.

“I can’t believe Mistress Collins spoke so highly of that wench.” Anne Idley sniffed. “She’s forever sneaking off on one mysterious errand after another. And if I scold her, she sulks. If the children weren’t so fond of her, I’d ask her Grace to dismiss the petulant jade.”

Perhaps I should have listened more carefully to Mistress Idley. Foolishly, I assumed Jack Green’s desertion responsible for her ill humour. It proved a careless oversight.

* * * * *

Little Ned of Middleham, fevered by the news that had raised him to sudden greatness, succumbed to increasing bouts of sickness. Twice he fainted at Mass, sparking a delirium of anxiety and speculation. Vinegar-faced Anne Idley summoned the physician and the bronze-featured scholar in the flowing robes sent for me.
 

“The child chooses you.” His vibrant, foreign voice swooped melodiously. “Let Nan sit by my bed—Nan brings me happy dreams. It is an excellent medicine.”
 

His words brought tears to my eyes.
 

Without complaint, the child drank my tisanes in the firm belief they would restore his strength. Moved by his courage, the other ladies came frequently to the nursery bringing toys or dainties. But nothing could still the memory of Durga’s warning. Never had Lord Ned seemed so precious.
 

My nightly vigil by his bed brought me little comfort. I dozed and drowsed, paced the chamber restlessly in the fevered dark, rose at dawn with a pounding head and eyes filled with splinters until exhaustion plunged me headfirst into a drowning impious dream.
 

Stairs snaked upward, pooled in shadow between each distant, guttering flambeau, the stone treads worn thin and smooth by long usage.

Clutching cloth-wrapped bundles, two boys in blue velvet doublets climbed reluctantly, their pallid features terrified.
 

“Why are we being moved?” The smaller one winced at the hollow echo. He shrank from the grim walls absent of tapestry. “Won’t we be allowed to see the coronation?”

“Your uncle desires your safety.” The unseen attendant’s tone snarled with contempt.
 

A weighty door juddered. A lozenge of light streaked across a stone-flagged floor. An elusive scent of river water permeated a bleak chamber. The younger boy entered first, clambering nimbly up on to the ledge to peer through the narrow window down into a courtyard. Wrinkling his nose with distaste, he turned. “Why do we have to stay so far away from everyone?”
 

“Your new status requires protection of a different kind.” The surly attendant made no attempt at courtesy. The boy flinched.

“But we are still a king’s sons.” The elder lad’s remark betrayed a trace of hauteur, though he drooped exhausted on the great tester bed.

“And will be treated accordingly.”
 

“Shan’t we even see our uncle?” Unabashed by the hard voice, the boorish words, the younger boy spoke from his lofty perch.