Lady of the Roses (11 page)

AS URSULA RELATED TO ME THAT MORNING WHEN
I returned from running the queen’s errand, she had run into the castle courtyard in a panic, calling for help. Her cries had been answered by good Duke Humphrey, who was just then arriving for the council meeting. By the time I returned from my errand to the toy maker in town, the entire castle was buzzing about the fracas in the garden between John and Somerset. As I feared, the queen knew about it as well, and a royal summons awaited me.

I hurried to her chamber, praying all the way and hoping she would not detain me long, for the matter stood unfinished and I had to warn Duke Humphrey of Somerset’s plans for a fight that evening.

Seething with rage, Marguerite d’Anjou stomped to and fro before me. “
Alors
, this is how you repay me? ’Tis high time indeed that you were wed and we are rid of you!” I hung my head. She drew up sharply before me to glare before resuming her pacing. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

“The duke’s attentions are unwelcome to me, my lady queen. I made that clear to His Grace.”

She swung on me. “So he is not good enough for you?”

Bracing myself, I raised my head and looked directly at her. “My queen, I am not good enough for him, and well he knows that, or he would not choose to dishonor me. Even were it not so, I would never repay your great kindness with such malice, and I informed him so.”

“Indeed?” Her hard look softened, and she drew closer. “What was his reaction?”

“He threatened me with rape.”

The queen’s lovely features twisted in fiendish rage. “
Sang dieu!
He shall soon know the full measure of our displeasure!” She dropped into a chair and placed a hand to her temple. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and her lips trembled with emotion.

So the rumors were true.
She loved him.
Had she also loved his father, killed at St. Albans? If so, then heartache and loss had proved themselves her steady companions for a great part of her life in England. I knelt before her.

“My dear lady queen, men are weak creatures for all their strength. But we are strong…. Look what we must bear.”

Dropping her hand, she gazed down at me. We were but two females united in womanhood and the sorrows of love. Then a bright light struck in her eyes. “He shall pay!” she said.

I lowered my head so she would not see my smile of satisfaction.

Following my interview with the queen, I fled in search of Duke Humphrey to inform him of Somerset’s plans to fight John in town that night. To my shock, his suite of apartments lay empty. “Where’s the duke?” I demanded of a servant sweeping the ashes in the hearth.

The man turned and looked at me, his face covered in soot. “He left after the council meeting this morning.”

“Where is he gone?” I cried.

“I dunna know. But fear not, lady, he’ll be back this evening.”

“That’ll be too late!” My mind raced in a thousand directions. “Is there someone who can tell me where he’s gone?”

“Maybe…but I dunno who. They left with him, all m’lord o’ Buckingham’s men…. Maybe one of the grooms—”

But those in the stables who might have known had dispersed to attend other chores around the castle. I returned to Ursula in a panic.

“What can I do, Ursula? Somerset will kill him! There was murder in his eyes—”

Ursula made me sit down on the bed. “We’ll get word to the mayor. He’ll stop it.”

I grabbed my cloak. Ursula laid a restraining hand on my arm.

“Not you, dear lady. You’ve been through too much today. I shall go in your stead.”

“But the mayor will never see you—”

“The mayor is a friend of my father’s. He’ll see me,” she said firmly. “Now you must pray for Sir John. He is a valiant knight, and he’s not lost a fight yet, but he can use your prayers and God’s help. I’ll bring you news soon as I can.”

As weary as I was, I made no protest. I took Ursula’s hand like a child and followed her obediently to the small castle chapel. Having deposited me there safely, Ursula left. I lit a candle for John. Falling to my knees before the wooden altar, decorated with ribbons and greenery for Yuletide, I fixed my eyes on the jeweled statue of the Virgin and Child standing in a niche flanked by holly and candles, and beseeched Heaven for his safekeeping. When my prayer was ended, I began my recitation over again, giving scant notice to the fading day or to the people who slipped in and out of the chapel, in search of God’s help for their troubles.

Hours later, after darkness had fallen, Ursula returned. Fear and hope churning through me, I rose to my feet. She cast a quick glance around, then smiled. A cry of relief nearly broke from my lips as she whispered, “God in His almightly wisdom has answered your prayers, Isobel!”

As giddy as if I’d drunk too much fine wine, I grabbed the hand she offered, and hurried out to a secluded, shadowy corner of the court, now quieted from the day’s bustle of noise and out of range of the light thrown by a flaring torch in a wall bracket. Ursula gave me a full report of the day’s doings as the men at the watchtower exchanged ribald jests with each other, their laughter drowning out her words to all ears but mine.

“By God’s will, when the mayor and the city fathers learned of Somerset’s challenge, they were ready for him, and hundreds of armed citizens were in the village to drive him off when he arrived with his men,” she said breathlessly in a hushed tone. “But Somerset was so angry at being thwarted that he killed three of their sentries. The irate citizenry wanted blood, and had the Duke of Buckingham not arrived in time to save Somerset from their fury, the mob would have killed him—”

“The Duke of Buckingham?” I repeated, stunned.

“Aye, he was returning from Leicester when he came upon the fracas.”

“How do you know this is true?”

“It’s true—I got it from a groom in the mayor’s stable, who came back from town where he was visiting a maid in the household of a Coventry goldsmith. The goldsmith happens to be a good friend of the mayor’s and was present at the melee.”

I closed my eyes in relief.
John was safe.
In my mind, I saw the eyes of the rabble, armed with pikes, yelling curses, and ordering Somerset out of their city. I had seen the same fury and heard the same oaths in London.

That night I slept better than I had in weeks. The next day brought a missive from my uncle; I gave the boy messenger a coin and, with my mind spinning, broke the seal, unfurled the letter, and read:

My hands trembled as I folded the missive and slipped it into my bosom. Seized with an urgency for prayer, I made my way into the chapel, seeking God’s help in forming the words that would move my uncle.

He arrived a week later and lost no time sending for me. Soon after I had broken my fast, a page arrived with his summons. I followed the boy as he wove along the passageways, past retainers, messengers, servants, clerics, and all manner of folk both noble and plain, down several flights of worn stone steps, and across the inner bailey and up to my uncle’s quarters in the east tower. My uncle’s servants were carrying in his coffers and setting up his belongings around the spacious chamber. Not one to waste time, he stood dictating letters to two scribes at once, while interrupting himself to instruct the servants where to place various valuables. He looked up when I was announced by the yeoman at the door. His stern features softened, a wide smile lit his face, and he opened his arms. I flew into them.

“Uncle, dear Uncle, what joy to see you!” I grabbed him tightly around the chest, my eyes moist with happy tears as I gazed up at him.

My mother’s brother was my only immediate family still alive, and he had owned a piece of my heart since childhood. He’d read to me on his knee, and played blindman’s bluff with me, and had shown even greater patience with me than my nurse had. I loved my uncle Tiptoft with an all-abiding affection that neither time nor distance could erase. But I felt a pang of sadness to find him changed, for he had reached the seasoned age of thirty.
The years must leave their mark,
I thought, gazing up at his temples, brushed with silver now; at his cheeks, slack around the jaw; and at the frown lines between the eyebrows, which accented his only unattractive feature: his eyes, which, though a pleasant shade of blue, protruded sharply. Despite this, he was still a handsome man by any measure. Age had not bent him, and he held himself stiffly erect.

He dismissed the servants with a wave of his hand, and the door closed with a dull thud. “Dear child, here, take a seat—” He indicated one of the chairs a scribe had just vacated, and sat down at the desk, across from me. “You’re looking very well,” he said, scrutinizing me. “Very well indeed. Your mother would be proud that you have blossomed into such a beautiful young woman.”

I dropped my gaze. I had been just six years old when the sickness had taken my beautiful mother, Joan Tiptoft, and I would carry her loss with me to the end of my days.

“Aye, she would be proud—as I am, dear child—” He contemplated me for another moment, and then he slapped his knees. “Now, what’s this about Salisbury’s son?”

My mouth twitched with the need to smile. My uncle was not a man to waste time in getting to the heart of the matter. I explained our situation, sparing no details. He listened intently. “I love him, Uncle,” I concluded.

“That is reckless of you, my dear…most unwise. The Nevilles have sided with the Duke of York, and York’s situation is precarious, in view of the queen’s enmity. There is talk that he may be dispatched to the Tower now that King Henry has recovered. The queen hungers for his head.”

“Living at court these past three months has made that very clear to me, but it changes nothing. I love Sir John Neville. We wish to wed. I cannot bear the thought of life without him.” I reached for my uncle’s hand. “When you lost your second wife, Elizabeth Greyndour, you were inconsolable. You swore never to wed again. You have kept your vow. You know what love is, dear Uncle. Save me from a lifetime without love.”

He remained thoughtfully silent for a long while. Then he gave a sigh. “Very well, I shall do my best.” Joy bubbled in my breast, but was dispersed by his next words. “But do not hope too much.”

As I waited in the great hall later that afternoon, reading Horace, my eyes kept stealing to the windows of the state chamber where my uncle had been received by the queen to discuss matters in Ireland—and my destiny. By supper I still did not know what had passed between them, for my uncle had gone from that meeting directly to another with the archbishop of Canterbury. Although the queen invited me to sup at the royal dais with the distinguished company, my uncle’s expression told me nothing, and her thoughtful gaze, which rested on me several times during the meal, added to my onerous burden of anxiety. After dinner, she issued a general invitation to the nobles and her ladies to join her for amusement in her solar. Church bells had pealed for Compline by the time I had a chance to learn from my uncle what had transpired between them.

In his apartment, he bade me to sit, while he stood, arms crossed, rubbing his chin as he gazed at me. “It appears you have had some impact on royal matters in the short time you’ve been here, Isobel. Thanks to you, the Duke of Somerset has offended the queen—so deeply that she has ordered him to Wales and has written James II of Scotland suggesting a match between Somerset and the king’s sister Joan—”

An audible gasp escaped my lips.

“In response to my plea on your behalf—delivered so eloquently, I might add, that I nearly brought myself to tears!—she has agreed to give her consent to marriage between you and Sir John Neville.”

I could barely breathe. I half rose to my feet in shock and sank back into my seat when my legs proved too feeble to sustain me.

“However, before you rejoice, let me advise you that she holds you in exceedingly high esteem. Since you are the sole heir to all my estates and titles, the price she demands for a match between you and Salisbury’s son is exorbitant and out of all proportion to the income generated by your lands.”

I clutched the armrest of my chair. “How much?”

“Two thousand pounds. You must agree, ’tis a queen’s ransom. There’s no way Salisbury can pay it.”

I felt the room spin around me. I placed a hand to my temple to steady my dizzy head.

“In her own words,” my uncle said, “she is determined to make some money from this.”

I SAW SOMERSET ONE MORE TIME BEFORE HE LEFT
Westminster. It was the night after my uncle’s departure for Rome. I was returning from the privy when he waylaid me in the main passageway.

“So you would spurn me, would you—” He grabbed my arm. His breath stank of stale wine, and even in the gloom, I saw that his pupils were dilated with desire. “No one spurns me—”

I screamed for help and tried to shake myself loose. From deep in the darkness, a guard appeared. “Halt!” the man cried, drawing his sword.

Without relaxing his hold of my arm, Somerset turned and looked the man full in the face. The guard lowered the point of his sword and backed away, apologies dripping from his lips. I realized no help would come from this quarter, and I would have to save myself. Withdrawing my dagger from my sleeve, I slashed Somerset’s hand while his attention was focused on the guard. He released my arm with an oath. As he staunched the flow of blood, I tore along the passageway back to my room, nearly tripping in my panic. Slamming the bolt into place, I fell quivering in Ursula’s arms. The next day I kept to my chamber until Ursula came to tell me he was gone.