Mistress to the Crown (8 page)

I was returning from Mass at St Mary’s Aldermary when, at last, a retainer with Hastings’ badge stitched upon his cap waylaid me.

‘My lord begs that you will meet him at five o’clock on Monday evening for supper. The same chamber as before.’ The servant’s eyes slid over my person with approval. I made pretence of gravely considering the matter, before I nodded graciously.

VI

I took the same trouble as before in choosing my apparel. My rose madder gown had a splash upon the skirt, but ashes-in-lye took care of that.

Attempting to be inconspicuous on the street and alluring in the bedchamber was not easy. The day was windy and it was going to be a battle to keep my veil from fluttering up, but at least most passers-by would have their eyes down to avoid the dust. I resolved to wear my voluminous dark blue cloak, and instead of the silly affected headdress, all wires and stiffened gauze, which my lover no doubt had found a nuisance, I plaited my hair loosely and pinned on a simple cap that had a hood at the back to hide my hair.

What concerned me most was finding an excuse to leave our house after four o’clock supper. Earlier in the day it was easier because Shore would be down in the workshop or busy with customers, but at four he would leave Howe in charge and come up to supper and unless he was meeting with friends, he would linger at the board. In case he decided not to go out, I told our cook to make a batch of oatcakes that I might take to a poor family down off Cornhill. And so it was that I had to sneak
out with my basket by the back postern, for Shore was still at home.

It was not just the fear of his questions later that had me anxious; I was very unhappy at being on the street at this hour for there were plenty of braggarts strolling between taverns and the watch did not start their rounds until nine o’clock. Safeguarding my good name from tittle-tattle bothered me as well. I was certain Hastings would arrange an escort to see me safely back to Cheapside before curfew but the less his people knew of me, the happier I should be. I resolved to bid his servants leave me at the nearest corner to my house and then scurry on alone.

Gerrard’s Hall was still serving supper as I arrived and this time I made my way alone past the tree. I could hear laughter and talk from all the lower chambers and to my dismay I espied several well-clothed men leaning upon the gallery rail as they conversed. A trio of hawks. I understood now why rabbits and voles dart so fast. Resolving that I would never agree to come at this time again, I affected the dignity of a noble married traveller and made my way upstairs.

Not only did the men at the rail watch me pass but I found two retainers sitting cross-legged outside ‘Ashby’s’ door playing at dice. Both scrambled to their feet at my arrival. One touched his cap to me with a wink.

‘Mas’er Ashby be ‘ere shortly, Mistress.’

‘Then go and buy yourselves some ale,’ I said sweetly finding them each a coin. I did not want any eavesdroppers. They seemed surprised at my largesse – or perhaps the paucity of it – but they politely accepted.

The small oil lamp hanging above the bed was lit and a potkin of sweet violets neighboured a bowl of blushing apples on the small table beside the bed.

I hung up my cloak and veil behind the door, set my basket
down upon the bed and then I leaned against the bedpost to let my heartbeat settle.

A rustle disturbed me. Turning, I saw the hem of the recess curtain billow subtly. I smiled. Ah, so his servants had dissembled; my lover was already here.

Mischievously I tiptoed across to make a gleeful pounce, but it was the breeze from the window light that teased the curtain. The alcove was pristine. Fresh napkins were folded on the wooden rail above the washstand. I lifted the jug beside the ewer and took a deep breath. Today the water was perfumed with sandalwood; last time it had been rosemary. But I could still smell rosemary; yes, a ribboned spray of silvery spikes and tiny mauve flowers lay upon the cloth that disguised the stool of ease.

Lord Hastings’ blue robe was hanging on a wall hook with a bronze hued wrap beneath it. I dreamily lifted a silken fold of the blue to my cheek, trying not to think about how many other women had worn the bronze. No worse than a communion cup at Easter, I consoled my conscience, but I would not put it on.

He was late. The bell struck the quarter before swift, heavy footsteps stopped outside. The latch rose. But it was not Hastings. It was the stranger who had disturbed us last time. He was wearing the same black hat tugged forward over his face and I remembered the broadness of him.

I glared at him with dislike, sure now that he was not a courtier. The corner of his earth brown cloak was thrust up over the opposite shoulder like a night thief’s, but the huge gloves and creaking leather doublet trumpeted soldier – soldier with a message from Hastings that would render this evening’s subterfuge a waste of time.

No, I was wrong. He was removing his gloves with the air of a man who was staying. If only I had not sent Hastings’ servants away!

‘Mistress Shore, I believe.’ He touched his hat brim with a slight bow.

I did not curtsy. I was so angry, so hurt. This was betrayal.

‘Ah you must not blame Will,’ he said cheerfully, unwinding his cloak. ‘We hauled him down into the Tower dungeons, thrust him upon the Duke of Exeter’s daughter and turned the screws.’

I had not one iota what he was talking about. ‘Pray do not make yourself at home,’ I said, with contempt underscoring every syllable.

‘It could be a threesome if you insist.’

I must have looked shocked, for he quickly added, ‘Except Will doesn’t know I am here. Listen, I do apologise for tricking you but he’s up at Ashby-de-la-Zouch and I thought you might lack for decent company.’

‘Please leave, sirrah.’

‘Oh,’ he lamented, cocking his head like a crestfallen rooster. ‘I beg you give me a fighting chance.’

I remembered my father’s lectures. ‘Three things,’ I growled, restraining the urge to stick my fists on my hips. ‘Firstly, I am not a harlot; secondly, if I have any arrangement with Lord Hastings, it is none of your business; and thirdly, I am leaving. Now remove yourself from between me and the door or I shall kick you so hard in the ballocks you will have difficulty walking, let alone procreating with your wife or anyone else.’

‘
What
!’ He was laughing but in ridicule. ‘Firstly,’ he spluttered, ‘whether you are no harlot does not matter; secondly, I do not think you are giving us a fair chance to be acquainted; and thirdly, although you may be tall for a woman, I am six foot-three inches tall and long in the arm, so I think your chance of getting anywhere near my ballocks – with your clothes on, that is – will be highly unlikely.’

A scratch at the door. He opened it and the two retainers carried
in trays, set them upon the bed, bowed and departed. I cursed inwardly. Why had I not noticed earlier that neither of the fellows had worn Hastings’ livery?

‘Hungry?’ My unwelcome host uncovered the platter, crossed himself with his right hand and a mutter of grace, then spiked a twirl of beef and held it out to me.

‘I hope you choke,’ I said coldly.

‘No!’ He ate the meat himself, followed it with a sliver of fruit, and then drew a fastidious finger across his lips. ‘No, you can’t wish that. It’s against the law.’

‘Not in my book, it’s not.’ This was ridiculous. I grabbed my basket and swept to the door. ‘Good day to you, sir.’ I inclined my head with a dignity he did not deserve.

‘In my book, it’s treason, Mistress Shore.’ His voice had changed.

The threat in it brought me up short. My hand froze upon my cloak. I had no idea who this man was. If he was the same rank as Hastings, then he had the power to destroy my reputation. Malice is a cruel enemy. I had no intention of staying, but if he was going to set a torch to my honour, maybe I still had a chance to staunch the flame.

I turned. ‘I beg your pardon then, sir, but the jest is on Lord Hastings not me.’

‘Please do not go, Mistress Shore.’ His voice had grown kind again. ‘I realise we have not been introduced and you are at a disadvantage.’ He swept off his hat. The lion mane of bushy, brown hair tiptoeing on those broad, high shoulders seemed coarse and exuberant compared to Hastings’ sleek fairness. His face surprised me: not the fist-in-your-teeth features that usually went with a large body and stubborn nature but fine hazel eyes, a noble nose and delicate mouth. Now I could see him better, he reminded me of someone. He bowed, not deeply, more a teasing
concession, a curl of shoulder, his head remaining superior. ‘My name is Edward, I am the King of England.’

‘Oh yes, and I am the Holy Roman Em—’ The words jammed in my throat. Without his hat … O Blessed Christ defend me!

I had only ever seen King Edward from a distance in recent years – a playing card, cloth-of-gold figure watching the tournaments at Smithfield or else just a gloved hand, resting on velvet, half-hidden by purple curtains aboard the royal barge. But I knew the triumphant bow of this man’s lips, the victor of Mortimer’s Cross and bloody Towton, the nemesis of Warwick, Queen Margaret and King Henry; the upthrust fist that betokened the victorious conqueror.

Trembling, I sank in the lowest curtsy I had ever made, wishing the rushes and floor might swallow me out of sight. As if in punishment, I was left to wobble there in misery. Then he relented. A strong hand grasped my arm and helped me to my feet.

‘Now we have that out the way …’ He kept hold of me like a diligent groom until I was steady, before he stepped back.

I could not answer the look of inquiry. It would need a hue and cry to find my voice.

‘It will come back,’ he assured me affably. ‘Always does.’ Then, as if giving me time to regain my wits, he prowled across to inspect my basket and, like a curious child, flicked up its cover. ‘Mm-mmm, oatcakes! May I?’

I nodded, still in shock.

‘Ah, I’ve not had one of these for years,’ he exclaimed joyously, healthy white teeth taking a bite. ‘Hmm-mm, just the right hint of cinnamon. Good, very good.’ And then he astonished me even more. ‘Lambard’s girl, aren’t you?’ he said, savouring another mouthful and observing me with the curiosity of a lion that could crush a mouse with a swipe of his paw. ‘Stout heart and generous,
your sire. Loaned my father money when he was at low ebb. Helped me out as well back in ‘61, convinced the city to let me in so I could be proclaimed king. Not forgotten, I assure you.’ Then his friendly tone weathervaned to a cool north again. ‘Now are you recovered enough to have some supper? Some poor beast has died to give us food and we should be grateful.’

Refusal was impossible. ‘So please you, gracious lord.’

He gestured me to sit on the bedsteps, filled a platter for me and passed it down. ‘Usually takes half an hour for it to pass,’ he told me as he selected some viands for himself.

‘To p-pass, your highness?’

‘The awe,’ he said dryly, licking the sauce from his fingers and then wiping them on a napkin. ‘Eat!’

I was not sure I could, but I watched in fascination as he moved the tray bearing the jug and goblets to the floor and heaved out the nearest bolster from beneath the pillows. Doubled against the wall, it made a reasonable seat and he lowered himself down. With a wifely instinct that might have passed for repentance, I poured out the wine and that pleased him. He took up his mazer and held it out. I lifted mine, and the surface of the wine quivered as my hand shook. Metal kissed metal.

I found my regular voice again, albeit humble and wary. ‘Good health, my lord.’

He took a gulp and winced. ‘Too sweet, more my brother George’s taste. What do you think, Mistress Shore?’

Me? My first thought was that he was gulling me; the second that he meant it.

‘I prefer a red, fuller-flavoured wine with beef, my lord.’

The answer satisfied him. He settled back watching me still and at last I retrieved my appetite. It was part expedience. I could hardly sit opposite him idle. Later, I would laugh to myself that King Edward had sat on the floor to dine with me like some itinerant
tinker. In fact, I suppose it was in deference to my sensibility that we were not seated in comfort upon the bed and I was grateful.

On the same level, without his great height towering over me, I found him less daunting. His complexion was pale with a sprinkling of freckles and he had a Cupid’s bow mouth, narrow but full-lipped. I reckon his worst feature was his chin – too dimpled – and his neck might thicken with age – but he had intelligent eyes, hazel with flecks of green gold, which reminded me of sunlight shining through a meadow pool. Hastings’ eyes were more handsome, possessing translucence like clean-sheared crystal, yet there was a playfulness in the King’s that was very charming.

‘Is he in good health, old John, your father?’

‘Yes, I thank your highness. A touch of stiffness in the knees but otherwise quite hale.’

‘And your mother, Anne … no, Amy, yes?’

‘Anne. Very well, I thank you. Father has bought some land in Hertfordshire and is gradually letting my brothers take over the business. Robert is in Calais and Jack runs the shop.’

‘Jack? Ah, John Lambard the younger. Doing well?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, your highness.’

‘I’m not surprised. Robert Cousin, my Master of the Wardrobe, bought some Florentine sarsynett from your brother this week for seven shillings a yard.’

‘That’s ridiculously high,’ I exclaimed and then clapped my hand to my lips mortified.

The King’s face hardened. ‘Are you saying my officer was fleeced?’ A glimmer of humour that did not quite flatten the corners of his mouth replenished my courage.

‘Shorn might be a better word,’ I replied demurely, shaking some crumbs from my skirts.

My audacity amused him. ‘So what should he have paid?’

‘No more than five shillings and sixpence.’

‘Hmm.’ He swished his mouth sideways. ‘I’d better have a word with Rob.’

‘There are some really beautiful summer brocades due in any day now. I saw the samples a few months ago. The Queen has—’

He grinned. ‘Ah, gotten an order in already, has she?’ He took a gulp of wine and waved a hand while he swallowed. ‘Separate household, see. ‘Course being in business, you’d know how it all works. Can I have another of your cakes, if you please?’ I reached up for the basket and passed two across.