Royal Mistress (45 page)

Tom wrapped his arms around her, noting how thin she had become. “Never fear, Mother, you have always been first in my heart,” he told her, cleverly avoiding the promise. “Always first.”

Until now, he mused, imagining Jane’s soft body in his arms instead. Until now.

T
om’s daydreaming abruptly came to a halt when he saw the two prelates coming toward him in the cloister and recognized the new chancellor, John Russell, bishop of Lincoln, and the hairy old bishop of Bath and Wells, Robert Stillington. They all bowed solemnly, and Tom asked casually if they were at the abbey on church or state business.

“We come on behalf of the protector, my lord,” Russell said, his pleasant baritone echoing among the old stone arches. “We are here to see her grace, the queen.”

“Not again,” Tom muttered to himself, but he smiled politely and let them pass. He was certain Richard had sent yet another mission to persuade Elizabeth to leave sanctuary. He loitered near his mother’s chambers, and when he heard her lamentations he knew he was right.

“I do not believe that Richard of Gloucester will see me safely out of sanctuary,” Elizabeth cried at the long-suffering priests. “If he wants me, he can come and get me. And no, I shall never let my younger son out of my sight, coronation or no coronation. The so-called protector has taken Edward’s and my oldest boy, but he shall not have Dickon. Go back and tell him so, my lord bishops. If we need to, my children and I shall spend the rest of our lives in sanctuary.”

Tom, never failing to be impressed by his shrewd parent, grinned. “That’s the spirit, Mother. To the devil with Richard of Gloucester.”

A
light drizzle shrouded the spire of St. Paul’s from Jane’s view when she started out with Ankarette on a morning in early June to see Sophie. Will had already left for Westminster to arrange yet another council meeting, and Jane knew he would be gone until late in the day. It was her chance to fulfill her promise to Tom, although she walked along Thames Street with an uncomfortable guilt gnawing at her. She ought not to be on Tom’s business while under Will’s protection.

Her hood sheltering her from the weather, she chose the long way to St. Sithe’s Lane not only to prolong the walk but also to make use of the Chepe’s paved thoroughfare and avoid the mud along Watling Street. Somehow the rain would always make the usual stench of the city gutters smell worse, and she kept her tussie-mussie close to her nose as she picked her way on her high wooden pattens through the leavings of the gong farmer’s cart, rubbish, and rotting vegetables. She crossed over to the north side of the wide street to avoid passing in front of her father’s shop and walked by the Maid on the Hoop brew-house and the entrance to Mercers’ Hall, housed in the hospital of St. Thomas of Acre. She held her thumbs, hoping there was no meeting of the guild there today, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she recognized no one in her path. She was in no mood for an awkward confrontation.

Ducking behind the conduit, she was about to cross back across the Chepe into Bucklersbury Lane when she was distracted by
the sound of trumpets and many horses’ hoofs clopping along the pavement behind her. She and Ankarette eased themselves between two women filling buckets from the conduit and stopped to watch. Ah, Jane recalled Will’s words before he had left that morning, ’twas the protector’s duchess and her entourage arriving from her northern castle of Middleham. She assumed from Hastings’s information that it was Richard’s closest friend, Sir Francis Lovell, escorting her through the streets.

With her midnight blue cloak spread over the back of her horse, Anne Neville shyly observed the citizens of London who had stopped to gawp. She lifted her hand occasionally, and when she did, people cheered. “ ’Tis the Kingmaker’s daughter,” someone cried, and more cheers followed. Richard Neville, earl of Warwick had been a popular figure in the city, and even though he had turned traitor and betrayed King Edward, the older folk with long memories were recalling his generosity to them in a happier time. The duchess of Gloucester had rarely set foot in the city since her marriage to Richard in the early 1470s, and so Londoners were curious to catch a glimpse of her. A sweet enough expression, Jane determined, but she was not striking like her second cousins, young Elizabeth, Cecily, and Catherine of York.

As the cavalcade rode by on its way to Crosby Place, an impressive town house where the duke resided in Bishopsgate, Jane noticed a youth on a small palfrey with a striking resemblance to Richard of Gloucester.

“I wonder who that is,” she remarked to Ankarette. “He is too old to be Gloucester’s son. Edward of Middleham is only eight.”

“He is John Plantagenet, mistress, Richard of Gloucester’s bastard,” stated a woman standing behind her, the pride in her voice unmistakable.

Jane turned her head and looked into the most remarkable pair of amber eyes she had ever seen. “How would you know, mistress?” she asked, noting a truant tendril of chestnut hair escaping from
the widow’s wimple and clinging to her damp cheek. Even with the unbecoming head covering, she was beautiful.

“Because he is my son, mistress,” the widow said, smiling at Jane and admiring in her turn the delicate beauty of her fellow spectator. “I am not ashamed to admit it.”

Jane’s mouth gaped in delighted astonishment. “Then you must be Kate Haute, if I am not mistaken. I have heard much of you, mistress, and all of it good.”

Kate’s low laugh made Jane smile, too. “And who knows of me, mistress, that they can say good or ill about me?”

Jane held those golden eyes in merriment for a second before confessing, “ ’Twas my lord of Gloucester’s brother, King Edward himself. You see, you and I are much alike. I am Jane Shore. Perhaps you have heard my name before, too?”

Now it was Kate’s turn to gape before she burst out laughing. “ ’Tis fate placed us side by side today, Mistress Shore,” she said, and she cast her eyes heavenward. “God works in mysterious ways, does he not. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you. Do you have time for ale?” And she nodded across the street to the Maid on the Hoop tavern adjacent to Mercers’ Hall.

Tom’s request could wait a few more minutes, Jane decided. This was too wonderful an opportunity to miss. “Certes, I do, my dear Widow Haute. We have much to talk about, and if I know my fellow citizens, in their turn, they may well talk about us,” she said, tucking Kate’s arm in hers. “Come, Ankarette, do not dawdle, we mistresses have much to discuss.”

Ankarette looked from one lovely, laughing face to another and clicked her tongue. What could be so amusing, she thought, hurrying to keep up. Once inside the tavern, Jane and Kate found a corner of a long table in the area reserved for gentry, while Ankarette settled herself on a bench with other servants and contented herself with a flagon of ale. Recognizing Jane, the landlord brought the two women a flask of wine and begged a word with Jane.

“My son still sings your praises, Mistress Shore. Your intervention with the king’s victualler saved him from disgrace. He has learned his lesson and his business has increased thanks to you.”

Jane smiled an acknowledgment. “ ’Twas nothing, Master Troughton, although I am no longer in a position to help, more’s the pity.” Understanding, the innkeeper nodded sympathetically and left.

Kate watched Jane’s expression change to gentle concern for the man and smiled. “I now know why word of your kind heart has spread far and wide.”

Jane was astonished. How would Kate Haute have heard of the small favors she had been glad to afford some of her former neighbors? She found herself blushing and hurried to deflect attention from herself.

“I would hear more of your liaison with Richard, Kate. I can see from the light in your eye that as yet you harbor some affection for him. Has he your heart still?”

Kate grinned. “As clear as a sky after rain, am I not? Aye, there is none other in my heart now or ever, unless you count my children,” she admitted. “The day I had to accept we would never more be lovers was the hardest of my life, except perhaps the day I had to give up John into Richard’s keeping.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “Richard made you give up your son? How unkind must he be.”

Kate patted Jane’s hand. “It was promised from the day he knew I carried his first child that he would provide for them. It was for the best, although I could not see for tears at the time. Both Katherine and John were raised in royal households, Jane. Katherine is now lady-in-waiting to Duchess Anne, and John is squire to Sir Francis Lovell. Richard loves them as much as he loves his heir, I promise you, and I see them from time to time.” Would she entrust Jane with her greatest secret? Nay, she would
keep her third son, named for his father, to herself. Only Margaret and Jack Howard knew the truth: that he had been raised by Kate’s brother and wife in Kent as their own child. Best leave well enough alone, Kate decided; she had no idea whether she could yet trust this Mistress Shore with a secret.

“May I be frank and ask why Richard did not keep you as his mistress? Edward had no qualms about keeping me despite his married state.”

Kate’s face clouded at the painful memory when Richard had told her he was to marry Anne Neville and must end their affair. “My dear Jane,” Kate told her new friend, “the most important ideals in life to Richard are duty and loyalty. He could never have been unfaithful to his marriage vows, and even though I know he loved me truly, he put duty to his family and his rank before any love for me. Duty led him to wed Anne, and he has been loyal to her ever since. Do I make sense?” Kate saw Jane nod slowly. “To Richard, disloyalty is the ultimate sin. That is why I have stayed away from him, why I have kept my promise to him that we should never again live in sin. All I hope is that his memory of me remains sweet.”

Jane found herself blinking back tears at this heartfelt confession. She took Kate’s hand. “You do me great honor to entrust these truths to me, Kate, and certes, I must admire Richard for his fortitude. I loved Edward dearly, but I now see that his younger brother may be the more honorable man.”

“I promise you he is, and Jack Howard believes his overzealousness since his brother’s death has all to do with this unexpected new duty being thrust upon him,” Kate mused, a smile curling her generous mouth, “but I know that earnestness well. ’Tis naught but his way of understanding his new situation and establishing control. Underneath, he is still my beloved Richard.”

From Will’s description of events lately, Jane was not so sure that Kate would recognize her lover now.

T
he rain had stopped by the time Jane and Kate bade each other farewell and went their separate ways. Jane mulled over all she had gleaned from Kate as she hurried toward the Vandersands’ house. She came to the conclusion her situation had been easier than Kate’s, although how she envied Kate her children. If only she had borne Edward a child.

She turned into St. Pancras Lane and almost bumped into a priest exiting Benet Sherehog church. He issued a reprimand, but Jane was too engrossed in her thoughts to notice. Before she and Kate had parted, she had asked what Kate might know of Buckingham, who appeared to have so much influence on the protector.