The Stolen Crown: The Secret Marriage That Forever Changed the Fate of England (39 page)

2 6 4 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m enough to acquiesce in this pretense of normality. “Soon I’ll be sending Bishop Morton to Brecon,” he informed me as I got ready to step into my Stafford-knot-adorned chariot, surrounded by an even larger entourage than usual. Harry might despise me as a parvenu, but he evidently had no intention of losing face by letting me travel in less than ducal style. “He is to be lodged as befits his office, of course.”

“Of course,” I said coldly. How did he expect me to lodge an imprisoned bishop? In a dungeon?

“Give the children my love. I will be there soon once my business here is finished.”

I nodded, and Harry bent and pecked me on the cheek, then the lips— for show, I thought scornfully as I let him hand me into the chariot. When we were safely out of sight, I brushed with my finger at the place where his lips had been.

Beside me, Cecilia snorted as she heard the driver crack his whip. “I’m not to discuss a certain matter, I know, but I’ll say this much. Do you know what the driver told me?”

“What?”

“That he wanted to use that whip of his on someone else we all know.

And that there’s not a man in the household—your lord’s as well as yours— who doesn’t feel the same way.”

I smiled.

A couple of weeks after I had settled back down at Brecon, Bishop Morton arrived, as promised, with an entourage that belied the fact that he was a prisoner. Harry had every reason to have an uneasy conscience, but at least it could not be said that he mistreated a man of the Church.

Though the record-keeping aspect of running my household had never been my outstanding point, I was quite capable of making my guests, willing and otherwise, comfortable. After I had given the bishop some time to settle in and have some refreshment, I went to his chamber.

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Bishop Morton smiled at me as I entered.

“I came to make sure that you had everything you needed.”

“Indeed, yes.” He gestured toward a chess set that I had provided, complete with its own table. “It was kind of you to think of this. Do you play?”

“No.” It was yet another one of my many failings; I’d never enjoyed the game and had forgotten most of the little I’d learned about it from Harry.

“I prefer more frivolous pastimes, I fear. Such as cards.”

“Really, my lady? I confess to a weakness for them myself. Perhaps when you have a spare moment we can have a game.” He patted a stack of fresh parchment approvingly. “And you have been thoughtful enough to provide writing materials too, I see. I shall quite forget I am in prison, with such consideration. You see to everything, my lady.”

My eyes filled with tears. It was a novelty for me to receive a compliment from a grown man these days. Bishop Morton missed nothing. “I have grieved you somehow, your grace. I beg your pardon.”

“It is not that,” I said. “It is Harry.”

In moments I was spilling out the whole miserable saga, sans Harry’s forcing himself on me. “I am certain he will annul our marriage,” I concluded. “Richard will have thoroughly convinced him that he can do better. Perhaps he will marry abroad, or there is even that bastard daughter of Richard’s. I would not be surprised. And then what will become of me and the children?”

“Surely your husband would not bastardize his children?”

“Who knows? Perhaps Richard has even convinced Harry that they are another man’s. They are not,” I added hastily. “I have never been with any man but Harry. Not even in my thoughts. But what does the truth matter now, in Richard’s England? I have been friendly with other men; it is my nature. Richard can twist that into any slander he likes, just as I am certain he twisted King Edward’s dalliance with that Eleanor Butler woman into a precontract. If Richard says I lay with some dead man like poor William Hastings, how can I possibly disprove it? If my ladies testified that I have

2 6 6 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m spent every night with them that I have not spent with Harry, Richard would say that they have been suborned by me. The children have my coloring more than Harry’s, too, which makes it even easier. And—”

“Dear lady! Your worries may be all for naught. I have heard your husband speak with pride of his children.
His
children. The worst you fear may never happen.”

“No, and then I will merely have to live out my life with a man who despises me and my kindred.” I shook my head. “And I feel scarcely different about him. It has all gone so wrong, Bishop Morton, and so suddenly.

I don’t understand it. I have been a good wife to Harry; I have my failings, but don’t we all? Yet Harry was kind to me up until recently—and to my family. At least, he never spoke ill of us. But now he is entirely under the spell of—that hellspawn.” I sighed, then came to myself. “I have been rat-tling on about myself, your grace, and I apologize. Your lot is worse than mine. I am merely a miserable wife; you are a prisoner. Tell me; we are alone, and your secret is safe with me. Was there a plot against Richard?”

“Upon my word, no. Hastings believed until the last minute that Gloucester’s motives were honorable. We did meet to discuss some concerns we had—among them, I must say, that your husband was being given too much power too quickly, given his inexperience and his past impetuos-ity. Hastings was also, I think, feeling neglected in terms of offices and the like. But he was willing to wait until the young king was crowned and to see how the situation developed.”

“You were right about Harry, I fear. I will tell you: I believe that Hastings was killed because he knew there had been no marriage with Eleanor Butler and could give evidence to that effect. Harry would tell me that was women’s imaginings.”

“If so, my lady, I am unmanned, for I have imagined the same thing. And I will do you one better by suggesting that the Archbishop of York and I were arrested to get us safely out of the way in case Hastings had spoken of the matter to us. Were we not men of the Church, I do not doubt that we would be dead as well.”

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We sat there staring at each other mournfully for a while. “What news is there from London?”

“Gloucester has left on a royal progress so that his subjects may get to know him better.”

I snorted. “They might find they know him as well as they want to. Is there news of my sister and her children?”

“I have picked up little, but it appears that there have been no attempts by Gloucester to force Queen Elizabeth—I may call her that in her sister’s company, I hope—from sanctuary, as some feared he might do. The boys—”

He stopped. I crossed myself and said, “There is a piece of the True Cross in this place, passed down from Harry’s Clare ancestors. I will swear an oath upon it that if you have a secret to tell me about the boys, it shall stay with me.”

“There is no need, Duchess. Your honesty shines upon your countenance. There is a plan, led by some of the old king’s faithful servants, to free them from the Tower, then to take them abroad where they can be kept in safety until young Edward can be restored to his rightful throne. Through some of my household with contacts in the Tower I have lent what support I can—mainly money.”

“Oh, that it might succeed!”

“I hope so, my lady. I pray so. For I fear that if it does not, I shall have no need to pray for the welfare of the boys, as I do daily. I shall be praying instead for the welfare of their souls.”

xx

Harry: July 1483 to August 1483

With my new offices, i had been given magnificent chambers at Westminster that were, if not quite fit for a king, certainly fit for a kingmaker. One had to get through several outer chambers, and the suitable complement of servants, before one could even get to see me. I had hung my walls with rich tapestries and covered the floor with rugs from the East, and there was not a silver cup in sight—everything was gold. It was the sort of room that I had dreamed of during all of those years of obscurity in Wales.

It was certainly not a setting that was conducive to misery—and yet, just a few days after Richard’s coronation, a triumph of good order and high ceremony, I was utterly miserable.

The night before, I’d lost my temper with Kate. I had had every right to; her recent insolence and disobedience were more than any husband, not henpecked, could be expected to endure. But I had gone too far; I had known that even then. I’d insulted her lineage and made her sound little better than a peasant and a whore. And when she had spat straight into my face, I had struck her, then forced myself upon her. It had been as if some other man had inhabited my body, for though I’d been annoyed with Kate many times over the years, I’d never hurt her. Not in that way. It was against every rule of chivalry I had ever been taught.

I’d only wanted her to show some respect to me, and to Richard. Then I could take her to court again; then Richard would see how gracious and lovely she could be, Woodville that she was. She in turn would see him for

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the good man he was, despite the hard measures he had had to take. We would be reconciled, and then we could lie together—not as we had the night before, but as lovers—and we could make another child. One whose presence would perhaps ease our grief over our little Humphrey, who had died in my arms one cold November night at Brecon, though we had prayed so hard for the Lord to spare him.

I suddenly shivered, warm as the July day was, for I could not help thinking about my living sons, Edward and Hal. Hastings had cursed Richard and me, and our sons. Richard had said that it was an impotent curse, but…

I shook my head and reached for an apple on my table. I was half-famished and exhausted, that was all. I’d been keeping later hours than usual lately, and I hadn’t slept well last night or eaten this morning. I’d felt too ill to eat or sleep, for I could see and think of nothing but Kate’s terrified eyes as I went down upon her— “Why the long face, Harry?”

I blinked. There might be many chambers one had to go through to reach me, but they were not an obstacle for the king. “Kate left for Brecon this morning.”

“Oh.” Richard looked thoughtful for a while. “Tell me, old man. Have you ever considered annulling the marriage? You really could do better, you know.”

I dropped the apple. “Are you mad, Rich—your grace?” And yet Kate had said the same to me the night before. “I would never do that to Kate.

And how could I? I’ve been married to her for eighteen years. We’ve had five children!”

He shrugged. “You were children yourselves when the Woodville wench palmed her off on you. And rather slow to consummate it. You could say you were forced to consummate it.” He smiled. “After all, you once told me that it was the girl who seduced you, instead of the other way around.”

I flushed, wishing I’d not shared this story with Richard. “Her mother was a witch, so is that sister of hers, I’ll wager. Who knows? Perhaps your bride knew some tricks of the trade.”

2 7 0 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m “It was nothing like that.” I thought of my first night with Kate, her luscious body at last in my arms, her eager yet suddenly shy face as I taught her the little I knew about the act of love. There had been no sorcery there, just a lovely girl with desires of her own.

“Are you even sure she was a virgin? You weren’t the most experienced swordsman at the time, were you?”

“I am very sure.” For the first time in my life, I found myself becoming angry at Richard. To calm myself, I added, “Besides, have you forgotten our children? I’m fond of them. Why would I bastardize them?”

Another shrug. “I’m fond of my bastards, too. Treat them as I will mine.

Marry them well and put them in high positions. Why, one of your bastards could marry one of my bastards, you know.”

For a moment I actually gave this some consideration before coming to my senses. “Richard, I have no bastards! They are my lawful children, from my lawful wife, and all will stay that way.”

Richard sighed. “Well, I tried. But in any case, you won’t need to marry well.”

“Richard?”

“I’m granting you your Bohun inheritance. It will have to be approved by Parliament, but I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

I was dizzy with shock. All these years, I had hoped for this—but never in my wildest dreams had I thought it would simply be handed to me like the apple on my plate. “How can I possibly thank you?”

Richard shrugged again. “You’ve earned it, Harry. It’s a small token of my gratitude.” He turned to go. “I’ve some people to see before I leave on progress. I spotted your aunt Margaret out there, by the by. Shall I have your men send her in, or tell them to shoo her away? She’ll want to inveigle you about that son of hers, no doubt, and you look peaked. The Countess of Richmond should be taken on a full night’s sleep and with a full belly, I think.”

I grinned at him. “I’ll hazard it.”

Even before Richard became king, my aunt had been after him— through me—to allow her son to return to England and take up some of

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his inheritance. I had broached the subject to Richard, as the countess was, after all, kin to me and the only Beaufort relation I had left. But Richard had been less than receptive.

“Your brother was on the verge of letting Henry Tudor come back,” I had reminded him. “With some of his lands, and some of the estates of his grandmother, the late Duchess of Somerset.”

“Yet another reason Ned was a blockhead. For one thing, who would come back? Not only the man himself, but that Jasper Tudor. Why not invite the Earl of Oxford back as well? It’d be the House of Lancaster’s grand reunion. No, Harry, sorry. Your aunt Margaret is going to have to do without her heart’s desire. She got to carry Anne’s train at the coronation.