The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers (53 page)

So be it!

I would destroy Wykeham’s so-called friendship. I would destroy any good standing I had with him. I would live up to the worst of my reputation. For who would care? The only man who had cared was dead.

Windsor cares!

I slapped the thought away.

Oh, I had an enormous talent for dissimulation. For self-mockery. I held up the rings on my palm so that they glimmered with a myriad of reflected candle flames.

“Don’t I deserve this for giving my youth to an old man?” I demanded. Never had I sounded so cold, so unfeeling.

“You are robbing the dead.” Wykeham was aghast, as if he could not believe what he saw. I drew a ring set with opals from Edward’s thumb, feeling the force of Wykeham’s stare as I did so. “It is an abomination!”

“Hard words, Wykeham!” I placed the ring with the others on my palm.

“Once, I thought you almost worthy of my friendship.”

Friendship? I had just seen the limits of friendship, to be condemned without trial.

“Foolish Wykeham. You should have listened to the common gossip.” I raised my chin, praying that the tears that had formed a knot in my throat would not betray me. “What do they say about me? What do the courtiers and the Commons say?”

“You know what they say.”

“But
you
say it. Humor me. Let me hear it spoken aloud.” How I wished to lash out, to cut and wound. And be wounded. I would hear anew the dregs of my reputation. In my grief and anger I had no control.

His lips were a thin line of disgust. “They say you’re an unprincipled slut…”

“Well, that’s true.”

“…and without shame.”

“Is that all?” I think I tossed my head. “I’m sure it’s worse than that.”

His eyes blazed as bright as the candle flames. “You’re a grasping, self-seeking whore.”

“That’s closer to the truth, forsooth!”

“Will nothing shock you?” His rage was suddenly as great as mine, his tongue unbridled. “They say you fucked the King to drain him of his power. You’re nothing but an adulterous bitch who betrayed Queen Philippa and—”

I struck him. I actually struck him, the hand that did not clasp the rings hitting flat against his cheek. The man who had stood as the closest I had to a friend at Court in recent years, who knew the truth behind all the Court scandals.

“My lord bishop!” I mocked. “So shocking! And for you to repeat such vulgar language!”

And I began to laugh.

Cheek aflame, he snarled, “You don’t like the truth, do you?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually say it to my face. I really didn’t.…But there’s your answer: Always believe the gossip of the stews and the whorehouses. Always believe what’s said of a woman who makes use of the talents God gave her.” I poured all the scorn I could into my voice.

For a moment he was speechless. Then he gestured to the rings in my hand.

“Are you
proud
of what you’ve done?”

“Why not? I’d be living in the gutter in London if I’d been less than an unprincipled slut. Or I’d be dead. Or a nun—which is probably worse.”

“God have mercy on you.” He flung out his hand, stabbing me with his finger. “You’ve missed one! He’s still wearing the emerald. Don’t let that one escape. It’s worth more than all the rest put together. It will keep you in silk and fur until the day of your unworthy death!”

The emerald. I made no move to take it.

“Why stop now? Have you suddenly developed finer feelings? You squeezed him dry of everything you could get out of him. You took what should have been Philippa’s. His company, his loyalty, his devotion into old age…” I flinched at the hard words, but recognized them for what they were. Wykeham’s own grief, lashing out at me. “Take it!” he hissed, and drew it from Edward’s finger, holding it out to me.

“I can’t.…”

“Oh, I’m sure you can!”

“It’s the royal seal.…” I took a step away.

“Since when would such niceties stop you?”

“The coronation ring…It belongs to Richard.…It’s not for me.…”

It was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I had opened my mouth. My deliberate construction was destroyed with those few careless words. Wykeham simply looked at me, the emotion draining to leave his face white and drawn except for the print of my hand. His hand with the emerald ring dropped to his side.

“Oh, Alice!”

All the fury leached from the room, leaving it still and cold despite the constant shimmer from the burning flames.

“Alice…”

“I don’t want your pity, Wykeham.” I turned my face away. “Good-bye, Edward. I hope I made you happy when you thought there was no happiness left in life.” For a final time I knelt and kissed his hand. “I loved him, you know. In spite of everything. He was always kind. I think he loved me a little. I was not Philippa—but I think he loved me.…”

“Where will you go?”

“To Pallenswick.”

“To Sir William?”

“Yes.”

“Let him take care of you.”

“I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.…” Still I would punish myself.

“Alice…”

“Don’t—just don’t! If you’re about to bless me, don’t think of it!” I rubbed the sudden moisture from my cheeks with my sleeve. “Your God will rejoice at my sufferings. Perhaps you should offer up an extra
Ave
and a
Deo Gratias
for my ultimate punishment.”

Tears were streaming down my face.

“You can’t go like this.…”

“What will you do? Put the record straight? Paint me as a virtuous woman? No one will believe you. I will always be the King’s whore. And I was—I think I filled the role with superb competence.” I opened the door, looking back over my shoulder to the shining crown on the bed beside Edward’s hand. “Do you think the boy will wear it as magnificently as
he
did?”

“No. No, I don’t think he will.”

“Good-bye, Wykeham.” I knew I might never see him again. “He said I should take them, you know.…”

“I expect he did.” Wykeham bowed low. “Take care.”

I laid my hand on the latch, suddenly without the strength to lift it. I felt as empty as a husk. I knew there were things to do, but at that moment, I had no very exact idea of what they were.

All I knew was that I wanted to be with Windsor.

The horrors of that day were not at an end. Could they get any worse? They could. They did. When all I wanted was to escape from my own grief, from the unbridled excess I had indulged in to justify Wykeham’s censure, there in the Great Hall stood two figures just arrived. One had a high, piping voice, the other the mien of a public executioner.

The child King and his mother.

In a moment of sheer cowardice, I considered disappearing through the maze of rooms and corridors before Joan could notice me. She now had the power to draw my blood. In the aftermath of what had happened, I felt that I might bleed all too readily.

No! No! You will not retreat!

I had never avoided confrontation, and I would not start now. Gathering my resources, I took on a hard-edged veneer of arrogance, as if Edward had not just died in my arms. Thus I descended the staircase with a swish of my velvet skirts and swept a magnificent curtsy to the ten-year-old boy who now wore my lover’s crown.

“Your Majesty.”

Richard, God help him, clearly did not know what to do or say. His forehead furrowed and he gave me a nervous smile. “Mistress Perrers…” He looked up to his mother’s face for some idea of what he should do next. Then he bowed to me with quaint solemnity.

“There is no need to bow, Richard.” Joan’s painted face was brittle, cold as a winter’s frost. And unbearably calculating. “So Edward is dead, is he?”

“He is, my lady.” How scrupulously polite I was. She would never accuse me of ill manners.

“Mama…” The boy tugged on his mother’s sleeve.

“You are King now, Richard,” she told him.

Still, it meant nothing to him. He turned back to me, his pale face alive with anticipation. “Will you take me to the royal mews, Mistress Perrers, to see the King’s falcons?”

Your falcons!

The realization nipped at my heart. “No, Sire,” I replied gently, although my greatest wish was to be away from there, away from Joan and her son. “It is too late tonight. Shall I send for refreshment, Majesty?”

“Yes. If you please. I’m hungry.…” He almost danced on the spot with impatience. “
Then
can we go and see the hunting birds…?”

Joan’s hand descended on her son’s shoulder like a metal lock. “Mistress Perrers—or is it Lady de Windsor? How does one know?—Mistress Perrers will not be staying, Richard.” And to me, her lips curled with vicious pleasure, her eyes suddenly hot with satisfaction: “You have no role here. Your reign, Queen Alice, is over.” She had the upper hand at last and would revel in it. “I will give orders for your chambers to be cleared forthwith. I expect you to be gone before—let me see, I suppose I can afford to be magnanimous—before sunrise.”
Smoothing her hand over the fair hair of her son, she tilted her chin in a smile that showed her teeth. “You will ensure that you take nothing with you. If you do”—her teeth glinted—“you may be sure that I will demand recompense.”

So, she would strip me of all my personal possessions—it was not unexpected. Nor, I suppose, could I blame her after a lifetime of disappointment. But I would fight back.

“I will take nothing that is not mine, nothing that was not given to me,” I replied as I clutched the rings tightly in my hand so that the settings dug into my flesh.

“By an old and besotted man who could not see you for your true worth.”

“By a man who loved me.”

“A man you bewitched by who knows what evil means.”

“A man I respected above all others. Anything he gave me was of his own free will. I will take what is mine, my lady.”

So I curtsied to her, a deep obeisance, as if she were herself Queen of England.

“Get out of my sight!”

I turned and walked away, the clear voice of the child carrying down the length of the hall. “Can we go and see the falcons
now
? Why will Mistress Perrers not take me…?”

It would be hard for him to be King. It would be impossible for him to step into Edward’s shoes.

I left Sheen. It was in my mind that I would never return there, or to any of the royal palaces that had been my home. Joan was right, however malicious the intent behind her words. My reign, if that was what it was, was over.

Chapter Sixteen

E
very living soul in London could claim to have rubbed up against the closing minutes of Edward’s final journey to his burial on the fifth day of July in Westminster Abbey, close to Philippa’s final resting place, just as he had promised her. Did the worthy citizens not crowd the streets to watch the passing of the wooden effigy with its startlingly lifelike death mask? Even the wooden mouth dragged to the right, memento of the spasm of muscles that had struck him down. Edward’s people stood in dour silence, remembering his greatness.

This is what I was told.

Edward was clothed in silk, his own royal colors of white and red and cloth of gold gleaming, his coffin lined with red samite. He was accompanied to his tomb with bells and torches and enough black cloth, draped and swagged, to clothe every nun in Christendom. A feast celebrated his life, the food valued at over five hundred pounds, at the same time that the gutters were filled with the starving. Such wanton extravagance. But he was a good man and the citizens of London would not begrudge the outward show. Why should their King’s life not be celebrated? The isolation and failure of his last years—when was the last time any of them had set eyes on him?—were pushed aside by those who bore witness to this final journey.

But what of me?

Should I not have been allowed to say my final farewell? So I think, but it was made very clear to me that my presence was not desired. Was not appropriate. It was made more than clear by a courier from the mother of the new child-monarch, who announced the news with a set face, speaking by rote.

Could the despicable Joan not have written her orders? Of course she could have, but that would have meant treating me as an equal—and that she could never do. Even on her deathbed, if I held out to her the gift of life, I swear she would have spit in my face.

“You are not to attend, mistress.” The messenger at least dismounted and marched over to where I waited for him. I had thought he might shout from beyond the courtyard arch. “It is unseemly for one who is not a member of the family to accompany the coffin. His Majesty King Richard has ordered that you remain outside London during the ceremonies.”

“His Majesty?”

“Indeed, mistress.” He revealed not a flicker of an eye, not a quiver of a muscle. But we both knew the truth.

“I will consider the request.”

The courier looked askance but presumably carried a more suitable response back to Westminster, while I called down curses on Joan’s malevolent head. But she had the power now in the name of her son, and I was banished. I must remain at Pallenswick, where I had been reunited with Windsor. I watched the courier gallop from my land, watched until his figure was swallowed up by distance. Then I leaped into action.

Ordering my barge and an escort to be made ready for the following day, I sped up the stairs to my chamber in search of suitable garments in which to mark Edward’s passing. I had discarded no more than three gowns as too drab or too showy before Windsor appeared in the doorway.

“I didn’t know you were here,” I said, engrossed. “I thought you were riding over to inspect the repair of the mill wheel.”

“To hell with the mill wheel! Don’t do it!” he ordered, without preamble.

“Do what?”

“Don’t play me for a fool. Alice! I can see inside your head! Don’t go!”

So he had the measure of me. How could he read me so well? He was the only man who could. I kept my eyes on my busy hands, matching a fur-trimmed surcoat to an underrobe of black silk.

“Why should I not? Do I obey the directives of Joan?”

His stare was intimidating enough. “Don’t go because I don’t want to have to visit you tomorrow night in a dungeon in the Tower!”