Royal Mistress (13 page)

Elizabeth shifted her position, wincing from the overstretched muscles and hampered by her heavy breasts, and made up her mind she would try once more for a son, but that at age thirty-eight and after nine children, she was tired of being a brood mare. But try telling Edward, she grumbled. After all these years of marriage, he still sought her bed for pleasure, not merely for duty, and called her his beautiful Bessie. So why did he seek other women to lie with? she wondered for the thousandth time. Granted, she had often refused him her bed over the years, but surely two or three intimacies a month were sufficient for their ages. It was true, she admitted, he is five years younger than I, but even so. She contemplated the large betrothal ring on her finger, thinking back to earlier times. She had been glad when the sensual Elizabeth Wayte had been married off and sent from court, together with Edward’s bastards, Arthur and the girl. That mistress had flaunted herself without shame for four long years and had had none of the good breeding of her predecessor, Eleanor Talbot. That poor woman had ended up taking her vows, Elizabeth remembered, wondering now what had become of her. She smiled grimly when she recalled the unkind moniker the nun had earned: King Edward’s holiest harlot.

Eleanor, however, was out of favor by the time of Elizabeth and
Edward’s secret marriage in 1464; and Elizabeth still congratulated herself for winning the most eligible bachelor in Christendom. Some thanks were due her canny mother, Elizabeth acknowledged now, remembering the love potion with which Jacquetta Woodville had tempted Edward. Who knew if her mother’s witchery had worked; Elizabeth tended to put the victory squarely on her own undeniable charms and Edward’s insatiable lust. She had been chagrined when Edward had not wanted to shout their union to the world, but then he was young, she remembered, and under the thumb of the high and mighty earl of Warwick, the devil take his soul. She felt no remorse for the schism her marriage had created between the king and his kingmaker, who had been negotiating a foreign match for the king and was politically embarrassed by Edward’s surprise admission. Elizabeth had got what she wanted—and what her mother wanted—and the Woodvilles had risen to the top.

Elizabeth ran her hand down her body, despising the havoc birthing did to it. It was no wonder Edward sought out younger, virginal women to fornicate with—aye, that was all it was, she told herself, fornication—and she chose not to berate him every time word came to her that he and Hastings had been seen out whoring in the city. She and Lady Hastings had fallen in together mostly in mutual support against their philandering husbands, despite Katherine’s Neville pride—or was it prejudice—over consorting with upstart Woodvilles. And now the two men were initiating Elizabeth’s eldest and most beloved son, Tom, who was also Katherine’s son-in-law, into their filthy practices. As long as no other concubine was taken under their roof again, Elizabeth had once promised Edward, she would not play the injured wife. “Out of sight, out of mind,” she said aloud now.

“Are you referring to me, Bessie?” Edward’s voice startled her, and her eyes flew open. She smiled at him with genuine warmth as she always did when she saw him, his lovable grin chasing his faults from her mind. What was it about him that kept her
loving him? She did not know. He was exasperating, he flaunted his mistresses, drank too much, certainly ate too much, and if anyone had bothered to ask her, she was ashamed that he came home from France without firing an arrow. But he had bought her a diamond as big as a robin’s egg with some of the pension, which she had snatched from him without a second thought, so she had kept her mouth shut and locked the jewel away to wear after she was churched.

Elizabeth reached out her arms, and after drawing the bed curtains, Edward climbed awkwardly onto the bed, his bulk causing it to groan.

“Nay, I was thinking about the Anjou woman,” she lied easily, “and how glad I shall be when she has gone back to France. It cannot be too soon, for black melancholy follows her wherever she goes.”

The French consort of dead King Henry had been a fishbone in the Yorkist family’s gullet for the entire bloody civil war. Thankfully, King Louis had released the ransom money for Queen Margaret, who had been living as a virtual prisoner in Yorkist England since 1471.

Edward harrumphed. “Put all thought of her from your pretty head, my love. You have just given birth and must not allow such dark thoughts to trouble you now. Queen Margaret will be gone after yuletide, I promise. Louis has paid, and the She-wolf can go home.” Edward stroked his wife’s silky, silver hair, which had always been so pale he could not tell if some of the strands were now white. “Have you thought more on a name for our newborn?”

“Aye, if it pleases you, my lord, I thought we might honor your oldest sister and name this child Anne. I know you have had a soft spot for Nan, and I should probably show my gratitude for her brokering the marriage between Tom and her own daughter, God rest the girl’s sweet young soul. As you know, Nan and I have been carrying at the same time,” Elizabeth continued, “and
I have heard she is not well. Perhaps news of my easy birth and that we have chosen to name the babe after her might lift her spirits. What say you?”

Edward grinned. “ ’Tis not like you to be so diplomatic, Bessie.” He feigned a wince of pain as his wife thumped his leg. “Anne is also the name of my grandmother—the one whose Mortimer name led me to wear this crown. I like it, and I believe it will delight my sister, too. I have no doubt the news of Exeter’s drowning on the voyage home from France will cheer her greatly. Good riddance! Another scourge gone from my life along with the She-wolf of Anjou.”

“Was it truly an accident, Ned?” Elizabeth asked softly. The violent duke of Exeter, who had been Nan’s first husband and a fanatic Lancastrian with a possible claim to the throne, had reluctantly come into the Yorkist king’s circle after being Edward’s enemy all through the civil war and had been among the lords on the French campaign. “It is not like you to be so closemouthed.”

“ ’Tis time I left you to sleep, my dear.” Edward evaded her question and her repartee as he heaved himself off the bed. It was between him and God whether the dangerous Exeter’s unexpected demise had been an accident or not. So vile a husband had he been to Nan that Edward had agreed to his sister’s divorce, and she had since married her lover. “Forget about Exeter. With him and Margaret out of the way, I will be able to reign in peace without looking over my shoulder. Our line will be secure.”

He kissed her hand and turned to talk to Katherine Hastings, who was hovering nearby. “See that she is not disturbed again tonight, my lady. The queen needs her rest.”

Behind him, Elizabeth’s mouth curved into a half smile, thinking of Exeter’s convenient exit. Well done, Ned, she crowed. Her husband had not lost his ability to manipulate events to his advantage.

J
ane knocked on the door at the back of St. Mary-le-Bow church where the dean of the Court of Arches presided. This was the third
time she had come to see him and beg to summon William to be questioned about his impotence. She bade Ankarette wait outside and walked into the untidy office of the ecclesiastical judge who could transform her life, if he would but listen to her. Her parish priest had faithfully set her upon the lawful path to annulment, and the dean was supposed to be her savior. The unkempt old man heard her name spoken in his ear by his clerk and he groaned. “Not the mercer’s wife again!”

Jane had purposely dressed to show off her charms, although she was careful not to give the impression of wantonness; she had decided the more attractive she looked the more credible her plea might be. She had read for herself the words in the theologian Thomas of Chobham’s manual that were still in use regarding impotence and annulment:

There must be a physical examination of the man’s genitals by wise matrons. Then after food and drink, the man and wife are to be placed together in one bed and wise women are to be placed around the bed for many nights. If the man’s member is always found useless, the couple are well able to be separated.

It had struck Jane that from what she had heard about men’s members, there might be many lustier lovers who would be useless in such a situation, but in William’s case it would make no difference.

Jane knelt for the cleric’s blessing and then stood straight as the man slumped back into his chair, his fingers blackened from ink, and his spectacles perched on the end of his bulbous nose; judging by its color, Jane could well imagine that the dean enjoyed his wine.

“Right worshipful Dean Reynking,” she addressed him in the expected way, “I beg of you to summon my husband in this matter of our marriage. It has been more than six months ere we were wed, which is the lawful time for a man and wife to have lived
together before the court will hear a petition for annulment, and this is my third appeal. He has failed in his duty to me and thus I am deprived of my right of motherhood.”

“I am aware of your case, Mistress Shore,” Reynking snapped, “and I am reviewing it. You cannot hurry the law.”

“Then the law is unfair, your worship. It must be that the law is male; I cannot think that it would make a man wait as long as I have for justice.” Damnation, she thought, watching the dean’s face turn purple, why had she been so bold?

“How dare you question church law, mistress,” he spluttered angrily. “It would seem to me that your clattering tongue is what makes your husband limp. Perhaps you deserve a spell on the cucking stool.” And he began to write something on the vellum in front of him.

Not knowing if he was making a note about her or whether he had moved on to the next case, Jane made her exit before he could blink and wonder where she had gone.

Ah, Jane, she told herself, hurrying to St. Sithe’s Lane and the sanctuary of Sophie’s practical presence, when will you learn prudence and keep your thoughts to yourself. She had no doubt that Dean Reynking would relegate her case to the bottom of his pile after today, and she cursed her folly all along Watling Street.

W
ill Hastings chose a rare warm day in November to send a messenger to Coleman Street requesting the pleasure of Mistress Shore’s company for a day of hawking. Jane listened to William read the formal invitation with a mixture of eagerness and trepidation. Naturally, William was included in the outing, but there was nothing he liked less than traipsing around in nature waiting for a rabbit to be impaled on a bird of prey’s claws. He could see no point in the pastime, and besides, his bony arse did not fare well on the hard saddle of a trotting horse. With business to attend to today, he was offended the baron had given no advance notice,
but he looked down at Jane in cold calculation. “I will allow you to go. Perhaps he will buy more from us, wife, if you are pleasant with him.”

Pleasant with him? Jane was incredulous. How stupid was William, or did he truly want his wife to succumb to the renowned seducer of Westminster? One side of her wanted her husband to protect her reputation, but the other more dangerous side hoped he would not come today. The dutiful wife found herself saying, “I think you should accompany me, William, ’twould do you good to have some fresh air. The rain of late has kept us all too much inside.” But the imp in her did not remind him that he might accomplish more business with Hastings if she went alone. She waited as he contemplated her words, longing for permission yet afraid for her virtue if she gained it.

William crumpled the parchment and threw it in the fireplace. “I have too much to do, my dear. You will take Ankarette with you, and I am confident Lord Hastings will have a party of ladies and gentlemen with him, so you will be one of many. He will take good care of you. Go, wife. I know how you love to ride.”

The decision taken out of her hands. Jane was ecstatic, but she controlled the urge to exult. “I confess, William, that I am delighted to hunt again, and I thank you for allowing me the chance.” And before he could change his mind, she ran to her chamber to change her clothes.

She was escorted to Thames Street on her jennet, while Ankarette was mounted pillion behind one of Will’s young squires. The lord chamberlain himself greeted her in the courtyard of his impressive brick town house and took her up the steps to an antechamber, where others, dressed in hunting garb, enjoyed a glass of ale. Only a week ago, she had been shown the merchant’s back entrance into this inn, and now she was invited in the front door. She held herself with dignity and wished she were six inches taller as Will introduced her to the two other ladies present. As she bobbed a
curtsey to the gentlewomen, she was aware of every male eye upon her, which heightened her confidence.