Virgin Widow (32 page)

‘No need, brother. I was about to offer myself as Lady Anne’s partner.’ Clarence amazingly appeared at my elbow, all smiles. To my astonishment, he took possession of my hand as if it were his right, as if it were decided without any response from me.

‘Dance with your own wife, Clarence,’ the King intervened. ‘Gloucester can do the honours here. He dances better than you.’

Which compliment to Richard’s abilities to tread the measures I did not believe for one moment. Nor did Edward from the glint in his eye. I stood, mute as a statue. What was happening here?

‘If you wish it, sire.’ Clarence bowed, but his grasp on my fingers tightened.

There was a little silence, the outcome still up for debate, until Gloucester smoothly filled it.

‘It will be an honour for me to dance with Lady Anne.’

I narrowed my eyes at him. Was this irony? But he promptly held out his hand, indicating that I should transfer mine from Clarence to his, all the time his eyes pinning Clarence, daring him to refuse. Fascinated,
Edward stayed to watch the storm of ripples that he had created by throwing this particular stone into the pond. Which left Clarence with no choice but to retreat. But there it was again. The strange triangle, Richard, Clarence and myself, the vibrations between us strong enough to taint the air. Why had Edward pushed the issue, why had he involved himself at all? What did it matter to him if I partnered Clarence or Gloucester? The Devil leered in the grin he cast in my direction as he obeyed his wife’s promptings and joined the dancers.

‘My lady.’ Gloucester led me to follow. ‘Since everyone is so keen on it, let us dance. We must make sure to give every appearance of pleasure to those who have an interest in it. Or then again…’ his smile became wry ‘…perhaps it would be better if we didn’t.’

A strange thing to say. And almost as if speaking his thoughts to himself. I looked up at his stern face. ‘I’m sorry you were forced into something you did not wish to do.’

He looked down, clearly brought back to the immediate. ‘Forgive me. That was unpardonable. I was merely thinking aloud. A bad habit and a rude one as I am sure you would tell me. And I am not reluctant. I enjoy dancing.’

And what should I make of that? Dancing, yes. But not the company. But there had also been the touch of humour, of past intimacy. It was like floundering in a choppy sea without map or compass.

It was never easy for even the most friendly of partners to exchange words in a progression, but we didn’t even try. That did not mean that I was not aware of every soft brush of his body against mine, the cool pressure from his fingers on mine as we stepped and turned. No words, except once. When we came close in the dance and the progression was almost at an end. Gloucester leaned, almost unobserved, so that he could whisper in my ear, ‘I see, from your magnificence tonight, that you have not taken the veil.’

I stepped away, then back, and arched my brows at the sharp appreciation in his glance as he took in the undoubted magnificence of the red brocade, the rubies set in gold, the hennin with its gold-edged drifting gauze. ‘No, I have not.’

The dance moved us apart.

‘Thank God!’ he added as we came together again.

And that was it. When he kissed my hand at the end, his lips were cool, yet they burned. I swear he would feel my blood hammering through to my fingertips.

‘There, my lady, we have pleased everyone except brother Clarence.’

He had that right enough. Clarence positively glowered.

‘Thank you, your Grace,’ I replied with all maidenly modesty, when it was in my mind to demand:
Why? What is it between you? What is my role in this?

‘It was entirely my pleasure.’

He bowed as he prepared to leave me. I thought it had not been a pleasure for him despite his words. There were dangerous undercurrents here, encompassing the Plantagenet brothers, but that also threatened to drag me under.

At the last vanity prompted me. Not that I cared, of course, but I would know how he saw me after so long apart, even though I might not enjoy the answer. Would he still see me as the immature girl he had kissed in the chapel at Warwick? Or as a fashionable woman in a steeple hennin?

‘Richard…’

He turned his head.

‘When you saw me for the first time—at Coventry—what did you think?’

‘I thought…’ The line was dug deep between his brows. ‘I thought here is a lovely woman, grown into her beauty. A woman who is strong and courageous.’ I must have looked taken aback, as I was. ‘You seem surprised, but you are beautiful. You are a woman any man of sense would—’ Delivered in a brusque tone, it was quickly cut off at Isabel’s approach. Richard turned on his heel.

All of which cast me even deeper into a quagmire of uncertainty. There was one certainty from the whole episode. Without doubt, Richard’s elegance in dancing had improved beyond recognition. I did not
care to speculate on the fair partner—probably in Burgundy—with whom he had practised.

Once the idea had become lodged in my mind at Warwick, it would not go away. It was impressed on me at every turn that I was being softly but thoroughly guarded. It was almost as bad as my days at Margaret’s Court, but with more subtlety. I went nowhere unless with Isabel or Clarence, or with a substantial escort of soldiers and servants from Clarence’s household. Whether it be an audience or a feast, Isabel was invariably at my shoulder. If the hedonistic pleasures of shopping enticed us, an armed guard accompanied us, far removed from the usual pair of servants to carry any cumbersome parcels. It gnawed at my carefully constructed complacency; the uncomfortable sensation of being free and an honoured guest, yet at the same time a discreetly guarded prisoner, grew stronger until it squawked loudly in my consciousness.

The strange lethargy of my mind, tolerating all things, finally snapped into burning resentment when, having risen early one morning, I found one of Clarence’s servants stationed in the corridor outside my room. He followed me to the chapel. And then back to my room. Discreetly, I must admit, but still I felt this presence, his eyes on my every move. After weeks of slumbering, my temper rose.

‘I’ll not have it!’

‘Thought it wouldn’t last long,’ Margery observed as I drew her aside later in the day.

‘What wouldn’t?’ I eyed her suspiciously.

‘Not a thing, my lady.’ Her smile was a positive smirk. ‘But it’s about time!’

‘What is?’

‘That you showed your teeth, lady!’

I did. In a tight snarl. ‘Put on a cloak, Margery, and come with me.’

‘Where are we going, lady?’

‘I think, if my judgement is correct, that we shall not be going anywhere!’ I would test it for myself. With only Margery in attendance, when I had made the excuse of resting in my room, I took myself, unobtrusively, to the stables where I sought out Clarence’s chief groom.

‘Two horses, if you please, Master Whittaker.’

‘Ah…’ He left off grooming Isabel’s favourite mare, and his eyes slid from me to Margery, then back. ‘Will you be going far, mistress?’

‘To Westminster.’

‘His Grace of Clarence has left no such instructions, my lady.’

‘His Grace of Clarence does not know. I am not answerable to his Grace of Clarence for my movements,’ I snapped with an impressive show of authority. I knew he would find it difficult to refuse me. Yet he did.

‘Forgive me, lady. It’s not possible. His Grace says there’s a disturbance in the City. No one must go out without an escort. I don’t have enough men to send with you. I dare not let you go.’

‘Not even for the Queen’s audience?’

‘No, my lady. I dare not.’ A weak excuse, the unease evident when the groom would not meet my eye, but I did not push it. It had proved my point.

‘What do you know of this, Margery?’ I asked as we retraced our steps.

‘Nothing, lady. Except that you are to be kept close.’ Margery sniffed with ill usage. ‘I’m not in her Grace’s confidence.’

‘So Isabel knows. Of course she does.’ I considered as we mounted the stairs. ‘Do they mean me harm?’

‘I don’t know, my lady. I don’t see that they can.’

Neither did I. But it did nothing to dissipate my mounting suspicions.

My docile acceptance finally came to an end on the occasion of a banquet at Westminster from which Isabel had for once cried off. The musicians had barely packed away their instruments than Clarence informed me peremptorily to make ready as he was busy, but would escort me home to Cold Harbour, Clarence’s town house. No, we could not stay longer, he had other demands on his time.

That’s it, I decided. Enough was enough. I would
not be ordered about, like some low-born retainer, at the convenience of others. As soon as I got back to Cold Harbour, I would ask my sister outright and refuse to be put off. Did they suspect me to be part of some nefarious scheme to overthrow the King? Unlikely, but whatever it was, something was amiss.

We saddled up in the courtyard. Clarence helped me to mount, hampered as I was by the heavy skirts of Court dress. The escort—substantial as ever—fell in behind. We were moving towards the gateway when a young squire approached at a run.

‘Your Grace…Wait, if it please you!’

We reined in. The lad slid to a halt, breathing heavily, removing his hat to bow. I did not know him, but he wore royal livery.

‘What is it?’ Clarence asked, impatient to be off.

‘His Majesty requests your presence, your Grace. There’s news. From Burgundy. His Majesty asks that you will stay.’

Clarence, not entirely pleased, dismounted. With a cynical smile I watched him stripping off his gloves. He would seize any opportunity to be in Edward’s confidence. ‘Inform his Majesty I shall be with him immediately.’ Turning to the sergeant-at-arms, he made to dismiss the escort.

‘Do I have to stay as well?’ I asked. I did not see that I should.

‘It would be best.’

‘Surely I am well enough guarded to reach Cold Harbour without mishap!’

‘I think…’

‘I think it would be ridiculous to dismiss the whole troop when I could be home within a half-hour.’ I put temper in my voice. ‘Do I have to sit and wait for you in some antechamber? Who knows how long the King will keep you!’ I could see him weighing the sense of my suggestion. I raised my chin as if I would give him an argument. ‘I would go home. Now.’

It swayed him. His handsome features tightened into a frown, but he obviously did not relish a lively difference of opinion in public with the escort straining to hear. Without another word to me he engaged in some rapid orders to the sergeant and then we were off.

‘Take care. Stop for no one!’ were Clarence’s final orders.

It was late enough that the City was quiet apart from the clatter of our horses’ hooves in the narrow streets. We made an impressive little force. Some of the men carried torches to illuminate dark corners where thieves could lurk and I heard the metal slide of swords being loosened in scabbards. I was conscious of no real danger and rode, comfortably surrounded, lost in my plan to interrogate Isabel until a roar of laughter and coarse shouting erupted from a rabble who staggered from the open door of the Golden
Lion at the far end of the street. Now they lurched along the road in our direction in the manner of the very drunk, oblivious to the body of armed men riding down on them. The sergeant shouted a warning that they ignored, intent on raucous singing. The sergeant swore. Ordered our party to draw rein. No point in riding them down. He drew his sword.

‘Get them out of the way,’ he ordered two of his men with a grunt. ‘Don’t kill them unless you have to.’

‘Out of the way, lads.’ The soldiers pushed forwards.

Coarse laughter swelled. ‘Come’n join us, friends.’ A small barrel was held precariously aloft. ‘We’ve wine enough for all.’

Then all changed. The drunken revellers threw off their mummery, magically transformed into a troop of disciplined well-armed men. More emerged from a dark lane to our left, these on horseback, as well as others from the rear. Light glinted along blades, drawn and ready for use. We were surrounded, outnumbered and overpowered. After a token resistance in the enclosed space, I saw my escort disarmed before my own bridle was seized and I was dragged, clumsily, helplessly, from the horse. It was all too quick for fear. A heavy cloak was bundled round me to pinion my arms and legs and silence me when I would have cried out. A deep hood was pulled smartly up over my head. Strong arms lifted me, passed me on like an ungainly package to the arms of another on the back
of an animal that set off carrying both of us at a smart canter. I fought, kicking, struggling as much as I might.

‘Keep still. You’ll not be harmed.’

It was a soft voice, no ruffian for sure, that hissed in my ear. My thoughts whirled as I was held tighter. Revenge? Ransom? Who would kidnap me? Only someone who had a desire to be revenged on Lancaster. But why not kill me on the spot? Was it robbery? If they coveted my jewels, why not simply snatch them? I struggled more.

‘Quiet, lady.’

The voice again. I got the sensation that my abductor knew who I was. This was no indiscriminate felony. Well, I would not be compliant. I twisted my head and, through the folds of the hood, I bit the hand that held me close.

The hand was snatched away on an oath. ‘Damn you! You were always a vixen.’ And there was the ghost of a laugh.

He definitely knew me. I was grasped even more tightly as we picked up speed with the sharp strike of hooves on cobbles. Then came the sound of a challenge of guards ahead. Guards…? From the muffled echo I knew that we passed under an archway and then the horses stopped. My captor dismounted and I was hauled down from the horse’s back. No sooner had my feet touched the floor than I was swept up again. Carried inside some building and up a flight of
stairs. A deep hush fell, the footfalls changed from stone to wood. Through a door that someone opened. Muttered words reached me, but I could make nothing of them through the wrappings. As the door closed behind us I was promptly dropped to my feet and released. The cloak was unwrapped and let fall around my feet. I emerged. Dishevelled, ruffled, undoubtedly afraid, but in no good temper.