Mistress to the Crown (30 page)

The courtyard was raucous with shouts and the rattle of harness. I opened the window. Horses with rider leg shields attached to their saddles were being led in – post horses. Across by the mounting blocks, an impatient crowd of knights and esquires were yelling at the grooms to hurry. One after the other, the messengers spurred out through the archway, the stones thrown up by their horse’s hooves already like earth on Ned’s coffin. I envied Richard of Gloucester in Yorkshire. For a few more days, his brother would still be alive for him.

‘Mistress.’ I had not heard Isabel’s knock. Kindly girl, she stood behind me with a cup of honeyed milk, teardrops on her cheeks. ‘My Lord Chamberlain sent a page across. He says he will let you know when they have laid out his highness’s body. I’m so sorry, Mistress.’ The latch fell softly.

I leaned back against the wall with the beaker warming my palms, knowing that strangers’ hands were eviscerating my lover’s body as though he was a traitor, smoothing perfumed ointment over the skin that my fingertips knew so well, closing the eyes that had looked at me with so much love.

‘Are you here watching us for a little space, Ned?’ I whispered, blinking up through my tears at the pall of grey sky. ‘Look, Heaven honours your passing, my darling. There is no “rising sunne” this morning.’

My brother William arrived. He said someone from the family should be with me. Cynic that I am, I believe he itched to ladle my soul back into the pail of righteousness. Nevertheless, I was glad of his consideration and compelled him to escort me across the yard. How amused Ned would be to see me linking arms with a priest. Except …

‘Elizabeth?’ Will sensed the sudden ebb of strength and shot out an arm to support my back. ‘You do not have to do this now.’

‘But I want you to meet him, Will,’ I whispered. ‘Maybe then you can tell Jack and Rob why I love … loved him so.’

Recognising me, the knights on vigil in St Stephen’s Chapel permitted us the unique access to the King that had always been my privilege. Will accompanied me into the chancel, stunned that his sister should have precedence, but it only took the twitch of a hoary eyebrow from the kneeling Bishop of Ely to snuff out Will’s confidence. I could feel his nervousness as we approached close to the bier.

Ned lay beneath a purple and gold cloth of estate before the altar with a crown on his head and scarlet shoes upon his feet. I stood in reverie touching the tapered leather of his shoes. Had it been permitted, I would have washed his feet with expensive perfume and dried them with my hair.

How hard to believe that his eyelids would never lift again, or the mouth I had so often kissed ease into a wicked smile. I bent to touch my lips to his forehead and froze, repelled by the waxy unguent. My brother, conscious of duty, was drawing me back to kneel, and yet I was trying to recall the fresh, clean scent that always thrilled my senses. Already the remembrance was elusive and I felt a surge of panic. I knelt. Frantically, I grasped for a lifeline of ancient prayer to speed Ned’s soul and haul myself back to sanity.

Before long, my brother tugged at my sleeve. Discomforted by so many mitres, embarrassed that his sister was the harlot in this Gethsemane, he was impatient to be done. I let him steer me away. I no longer belonged here either; I would spend my night vigil alone and light my candles for Ned in my own darkness.

‘Mistress Shore!’

I turned, in surprise. John Morton, the corpulent Bishop of Ely, had followed us out. He beckoned us aside. My brother would have kissed the episcopal ring but Ely kept his gloved hands clasped and unavailable.

‘My dear child,’ he said to me. ‘I wanted to tell you that a few days ago King Edward, God keep his soul, remarked to me, “You know, John, many women I have had, but her I loved.” He was talking about you, my daughter. Press those words in the book of your heart, and take them out in the winter of your years, eh? No, don’t thank me.’ He drew a blessing. ‘Go with God, “Jane” Shore.’ He waddled back into the chapel leaving Will open-mouthed and me so utterly grateful.

‘That was so kindly of him to tell me that.’

My brother’s indignation surfaced in an instant. ‘Kindly, sister? Condoning your sin when he should be encouraging repentance. Oh, I know his sort, using Holy Church as the stairs to temporal power.’

‘I think you are angry because he ignored you, Will. He deliberately tries to disconcert people but he has a delicious ironic humor and once you know him, he’s good to banter with.’

‘
Banter with?
’ Fraternal disapproval; a shove of hands deeper into the sleeves of his robe.

‘It would be heartening, Will, if at least one of my brothers acknowledged that I was more than a courtesan.’

‘I am here, am I not?’ But he clearly resented my credibility – I was just a family mess, ripe for a spring clean.

We might have continued in sulky silence except a familiar figure met us on the stairs – Edmund Shaa in his lord mayor’s robes, leading a group of solemn aldermen.

‘William, Elizabeth.’ He left his companions, heedless that speaking to me might cause him scandal. ‘This is a sad business, my dear,’ he said, after offering me his condolences. ‘And the new king only twelve years old. Who is to rule us?’ He looked round at the trickle of bareheaded nobles and churchmen going up to pay their respects and lowered his voice. ‘If you hear anything of note, Elizabeth, pass it on, my dear. These are difficult times and to be forewarned is to be forearmed. Remember, eh?’ Then he nodded to my magpie brother. ‘Take her home, Will lad, and get a pot of mulled ale into her. She’s looking as white as a miller’s apron.’

Endure a closeting with Will and a sawdust sermon on mending my ways? The last thing I needed, but since he seemed burrlike in his attention, I led him down towards St Peter’s Monastery. I needed activity for my restless, grieving spirit. Besides, this was the beginning of farewell to Westminster; I should never stroll these paths again.

As we picked our way west along the muddy path that skirted the wall of the abbey garden, Will delivered his usual dose of comfort for the freshly bereaved. I did not listen.

We reached the little river that separated Westminster from the marshes of Millbank, and followed it southwards. A hopeful navy of mallard ducks kept us company, furrowing the water, desirous of their daily bread, but today my hands and heart were empty. A spatter of rain drove us to shelter beneath the willows where the tributary mingled its life with the Thames.

‘Wasn’t it generous of Mayor Shaa to stay and speak with us?’ I muttered, trying to stopper Will’s sermon.

‘I confess myself astounded that the Lord Mayor of London should ask for
your
help, Lizbeth.’

‘Don’t be.’ I walked back out into the rain and said over my shoulder. ‘You know very well that plenty of people have come to my door these last few years and some of them are merchants like our father.’

He gave me a sharp look. ‘Next you’ll tell me you were responsible for sending archers to Brittany.’

‘Oh, was it that obvious?’ But seeing him so gullible, I protested, ‘No, Will, I am jesting But I do admit that at times Ned did consider my couns …’ My breath faltered as reality slapped me around the face like a tormentor. I felt fragile again.

Will’s tilt of nose told me my reign was over and I should seek redemption. He scrambled back onto the path and hastened after me. ‘I tell you this. I’d not wish myself in Edmund Shaa’s shoes, wagering on to whom to bend the knee. Stay away, that’s my advice.’

Stay away?

We walked in silence past the Exchequer. Candles glowed behind the diamond panes. ‘Gentleman Usher No 5,’ I murmured sadly. Will was right that I must put the past behind me. I tried to swallow, to keep hold, but then I came utterly unravelled, for there was tethered Ned’s barge, empty of laughter, its lanterns staunched.

‘We w-went fishing just last week, Will,’ I whispered, struggling not to weep. ‘Th-there was no g-gainsaying him.’

I expected censure but Will surprised me. ‘Aye, the dying often have these sudden whims. Last week I was confessing a sick man and all he kept asking for was a beef pie from the
Dagger
. He scarce had one bite but was dead two hours later.’

My brother came back with me to my house in Westminster and stayed until almost curfew, talking about family matters. As he was about to take his leave, there was a knocking below and Isabel brought a cloaked man up to the solar.

‘Elizabeth! I—’ Hastings stopped short at seeing a priest with me. As for me, I stared at him in astonishment that he had come there at such a time. How desperate he looked, how sorrowful and stricken. Grey stubble covered loose flesh. He had lost substance these last weeks, forgetting meals in his losing battle to save his friend.

‘B-Brother,’ I said nervously, setting my hand on Will’s sleeve, ‘this is Lord Hastings. My lord, may I present my youngest brother, William Lambard, Parson of St Leonards, Aldersgate.’

My brother stared from our visitor’s distraught face to mine and his body went rigid. ‘I’ll take my leave then,’ he said coldly. ‘My lord, sister.’

‘I’ll see you out.’ I grabbed his arm on the stairs. ‘It isn’t what you think, brother.’

But the look on his face was like a stern archbishop condemning a self-confessed heretic.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Christ’s mercy, I had to get away, Elizabeth.’ Hastings collapsed on the settle before my fire and buried his head in his hands. ‘I can’t believe it yet. It should have been me for the coffin not him, not him. O Jesu, a man could not want for a greater friend.’

‘Easy, my lord. Here!’ I fastened his hands around a jack of mulled ale and knelt at his knee. He reached out a hand to my face.

‘Damn fool I am disturbing you. I wanted to be with someone who loved him as much as I did.’

Poor Hastings. I scrambled up and wrapped comforting arms about him as Isabel had done with me that morning.

‘Do not hold back your tears,’ I whispered. ‘There is no unmanliness in grief.’

I guessed all day he had gone about his duties, stern as a stone saint above a cathedral door, while the man inside him was howling to unleash his anger and sorrow. Now the façade crumbled and the trickle of tears became a torrent, tumbling down over his cheekbones and splashing into the blackness of his mourning.

When at last he straightened, knuckling the moisture from his upper lip, I summoned Isabel to bring us some refreshment. ‘Have you eaten anything today, my lord?’ I chided and he shook his head.

‘No, Mama,’ he mocked and blew his nose heartily.

‘That’s better.’ I refilled the jacks. He was not looking so ashen now although his hand trembled as he drank. When he seemed calmer, I said: ‘Tell me, my lord, how is the Queen bearing up?’ My lover’s wife deserved some charity on my part.

‘Her?’ He almost spat. ‘The bitch! She was in last night with Bishop Rotherham haranguing poor Ned to sign a new will giving the kingdom to her charge.’

‘And did he sign?’ I asked in alarm.

‘Thank the Saints, no. I sent Canterbury and Ely in to stop her mischief.’ I watched his fingers rub anxiously across his forehead and I marvelled anew at how great a burden he carried on his shoulders. Loyal to Ned, even after death.

‘I think it great pity that she did not summon the Prince of Wales to be at his father’s bedside,’ I said.

To my surprise, Hastings reared like a poked snake. ‘God’s mercy, Elizabeth, don’t be so womanish. Do you not understand? That was my doing. I stopped her.’

‘Your doing? But why, my lord? Surely both of them deserved that moment?’

He set his cup down. ‘You think it reprehensible, but if the Prince were already here, we should have a coronation by tomorrow and the Woodvilles would be all over the kingdom like a plague of locusts.’ I must have looked at him in utter confusion for he added, ‘It’s simple, my dear, if he is crowned before Richard arrives to take charge, the boy will have the authority to make his mother Regent of England.’ I had not understood that the crowning was so crucial.

‘And you know what that arse Dorset said to me an hour since, Elizabeth? “Things are going to change round here, Father Hastings. I’d make haste back to Ashby if I were you.” Christ forgive me! I had to come away before I stuck a dagger in the sot. They want my head, Elizabeth.’

He was overwrought. I doubted even the Queen would go that far. Kick him out of office, perhaps, and appoint Rivers as King’s Chamberlain and Lieutenant of Calais; yes, that could happen. Ned had foreseen there would be fur flying and claws out.

‘I thought you all swore peace and brotherhood across Ned’s coverlet, my lord.’

‘Pah, with our fingers crossed behind our backs. We only did it to please him.’ He flung himself from the settle and paced, clutching his temples as though he wanted to wrench out his mind. ‘O Jesu, what a mess! What a damned cursed mess! Why did he have to die, Elizabeth? Why now? After all those battles and ne’r a scar! Why now, before his sons are grown?’ He kicked the footstool over in his rage and stood before the hearth, his back heaving. ‘You were right. Ned should have spent more time with
the boy instead of packing him off to Ludlow. What does Rivers know about training a king?’

‘You will have the chance, I’m sure.’

‘I damned well trust so.’ His breath grew more even. ‘Well, I’ve written privily to Richard and Harry Buckingham, warning them they’ll need to hurry to intercept the Prince on his way to London. It’s the only way to rein in the Queen.’

‘You’ve
already
declared sides?’ I would have kept the playing cards close to my chest.

‘What is the plaguey alternative, Elizabeth? Dorset lording it as High Constable of England? I’m not swallowing that. Over my dead body!’

Isabel’s knock forced him into the semblance of calm. I opened the door for her and when she had set out the platters, I bade her fetch the valerian posset that she had infused to help me sleep.

‘Let me stay here tonight,’ Hastings pleaded.

Heavens, no, I thought. Gossip could have the Lord Chamberlain and Mistress Shore fornicating on King Edward’s shroud soon as blink an eye. How Gloucester would love that.