Sumerford's Autumn

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  The squire Roland had draped his own thick kersey coat around the Duke of York’s shoulders. A balmy June night, but the marshy water was cold and a wind crept through the reeds from down river. Roland said, “Underestimated or not, we had no choice, your grace. We’d set our plans for this night, and had to carry them through or risk immediate capture. I believe we were betrayed.”

  “But I should have realised. Almost, I knew.” The youngest son of the late King Edward, continued to smile. “The fault is entirely mine. Two guards have watched me each minute of my life since I was first captured, yet tonight, the very night planned for my escape, Rob went off happily to fetch wine, and Will Smith, who has been the most determined and unflagging guard of all, suddenly sleeps as deep and sound as a drunken hedgehog, though he’s barely touched his ale for a week. The window was unshuttered and unlatched, though the vines outside are as easy to climb as a ladder, so why change my chamber to that one? Truly the fault is mine, and if I’d been less frantic, less eager, less nervous, I’d have called the whole plan off. I’ll accept the consequences, but I’ll not accept you two sharing them. That’s an order. So leave me now.”

  Roland shook his head. “With all respect, I’ll obey your orders once you’re on the throne, your grace, and I can bend my knee to you instead of bending it in mud. You’re free now, and I’ll happily risk my life to keep it that way. I’m no loss to the kingdom, your grace, but you are.”

  “Perhaps I’m not either.” Richard of York pulled the woollen coat around him. The night wind was blowing colder. “I’m neither experienced nor ruthless. Perhaps Tudor’s the best king for England after all.” He sounded morose and the smile, for the first time, had faded.

  “We’ve time for neither recriminations nor regrets now, your grace.” Gerald Sumerford pulled his hat low across the back of his neck where the wind bit. “But I’d like to know who betrayed us. Who knew?”

  “My lord,” Roland sat closer, voice like the rustling of the reeds where the frogs continued to call. “Only we knew. One of us is a traitor.”

  “Of late there have been only seven of us,” said the duke. “I trust every one, and have done from the beginning, with my life.”

  “But more than seven at a distance,” said Gerald at once. “For instance, my brother financed this particular attempt. But he’d never have betrayed me, for that would risk my life as well as yours, your grace. But others – at the tavern – within the court.”

  “No matter.” The duke shook his head, the soft smile returning. “Luck may be out, but it’s unutterably good to breathe freedom again, even just for a little while. It’s cold and wet, but tastes as sweet as marchpane. So, I was betrayed. Hardly the first time. Meanwhile Tudor has long decided the game was stale, and wanted to change tactics. He was waiting for just such an opportunity, needing only an excuse. Now I’ve given him the perfect excuse and if I’m captured, it’ll be the Tower and the gallows. At least an end to vitriolic humiliations, so I won’t complain.”

  Gerald shivered. “You have to get away. To Scotland again. Or Ireland. Both will shelter you.”

  “Scotland’s made peace with Tudor.”

  “They break every treaty, and always have. They can break another one.”

  “Gentlemen, enough.” This time the duke had retained his smile. “I remember the Tower, and have been there before, it holds few terrors. Maybe I was born to humiliation after all. It’s my destiny perhaps. From prince to proclaimed bastard, smuggled abroad, put up as page to an adventurer, a child without parents, family or country, a wanderer, finally led to the life of pretender. But from the semblance of honourable captive at his court, a position I negotiated with Tudor when I surrendered at Beaulieu, now the king treats me as a servant. For all the roles I’ve played in my life, cleaning a man’s privy is not one I intend to adopt. They say life’s a wheel of fortune. Well, let the wheel form full circle and roll me back in the Tower. I’ve lost all those I love and although my aunt in Burgundy insists otherwise, I doubt I’m fitted for kingship.”

  “It’s blood and birth that fit a man for sovereignty, your grace.” Roland shook his head. “You have both, while Tudor has neither. And England needs her rightful king to save us from this hateful usurper, this foul creature of black moods and greed, bleeding the country wizened and dry with his vengeance and his taxes.”

  “And I must warn you, my lord,” Gerald sighed. “The Tower’s not the same place you remember. As a child you were housed in the royal apartments before King Richard had you moved, but the quarters were still rich and spacious. You were treated with honour. Now the Tower’s a place of dread, and with more prisoners each day since Bosworth, Tudor has bare space to squash a man into a stone cubicle.”

  Roland stood, shivering, the mud sticking to his doublet and hose. “Forgive me, but there’s no time for this, my lords. We’ve not gone far enough and they’ll be after us within the hour. For his own reasons, Tudor may have wanted you to escape, but he’ll not want you lost for good. He’ll want you recaptured, and quick.”

  Richard Plantagenet also stood. His plain clothes were thick with marsh mud and the threads of weeds and rushes. “You’re right, my friend, I’ve got my breath back and now I’ll be off. But alone, as I’ve told you.”

  “Not without me,” Roland said. He turned quickly to Gerald. “Get back to Lord William, my lord. You need to present a fair face to any who suspect you of conspiracy and if we’re betrayed, you need to see how far the treachery’s gone. I’ll stay with his grace.” He turned again to the duke. “Forgive me for disobedience. But I won’t leave you. You must not be alone. And since they’ll expect us to escape down towards the sea, we’ll keep to the plan and head upstream. If your leg is recovered now, your grace? And you have the strength to run again?”

  Ludovic Sumerford moved the girl’s face to the side, exposing the pale curve of her neck down to the turn of her shoulder. He flicked the short veil away. The marks around her throat were quite distinct, as if painted with rouge. Large finger tips, flattened and strong, had spread their darkening bruises. Ludovic, surprised, inhaled deeply. “Who? How?” he demanded.

  Alysson pulled away. “So – servants often get beaten. Why should you care? And anyway, you weren’t supposed to notice. Isn’t this what women always do? Hide their necks and stiffen their veils more than usual?”

  Ludovic shook his head. “Exactly as my mother does. I’m too well experienced to miss the signs. But this wasn’t done by Jennine. So who?”

  “Oh dear.” Alysson sat down abruptly and the long cushioned settle in Ludovic’s outer chamber creaked. “I don’t know who it was. It was dark and I couldn’t see and he didn’t speak. It was the same day I saw you last, after we walked in the orchard – and when you – well, you know.”

  He smiled. “I kissed you.”

  She continued in a hurry. “You sent me back with a page boy. Someone jumped us both. I don’t know what happened to the boy. This is what happened to me.”

  “You fought the man off? You got away? What else was done to you?” Ludovic seemed somehow angry. His annoyance confused her.

  “Nothing. Yes, I fought, and I don’t see why you’re cross. There are scratches as well, big nasty scratches that bled for ages, and more bruises too. But I got away. Then I went back to help the page, but he’d gone. Everyone had gone.”

  “Show me the other injuries. Have they been properly treated? Did Jennine send for the doctor?”

  “I can’t show you,” objected Alysson. “They’re in – difficult places. And Jenny helped me with ointments, but she didn’t want to call the doctor.” Alysson looked down at her lap, blushing slightly. “She didn’t believe me when I said it wasn’t you who did it all.”

  “Good lord. A fine reputation I shall have.” Ludovic bent over her, one finger beneath Alysson’s chin returning her gaze to his. “But it doesn’t smell right. There’s something more to this. What else did your intriguing mistress say?”

  “
Nothing.” Alysson looked away again, misty eyed.

  “Since now you call your mistress Jenny, I’ve an idea you know a good deal about her, and probably a good deal I’d like to know.” Ludovic frowned, again examining the five purpled bruises. “But I won’t ask. And I’m not cross with you, child, but with this whole damned situation. Only what has given Jennine the impression I’m into brutal seductions? I’m damn sure she was after me herself when she first arrived at Sumerford.”

  Alysson sniffed. “That’s very – conceited of you. And anyway, she has a very nice relationship with the Lord Humphrey. It’s quite – touching.”

  “Damned sure it is. Touching in more ways and more places.” Ludovic scrutinised his guest with deep suspicion. “And conceited I may be, impudent brat, but I’m neither blind nor stupid. I know exactly what a woman’s expressions invariably mean, and I know the difference between a lady and a whore. The two overlap often enough to cause confusion, but your mistress is as plain as starch to a codpiece.”

  Alysson gulped. “I don’t want to say -”

  “You’ve no need to say anything,” Ludovic interrupted. “I didn’t expect you to respond. But I placed you in that damned woman’s service in the first place, and now I’ll make damned sure you stay as safe as my own protection can keep you. Which clearly hasn’t been secure enough. I only invited you here this afternoon to let you know how my search for your brother has progressed, but now it’s evidently a whole different type of search I need to initiate.”

  “And did you find –?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve had men out searching as far as the forests, every farm and right through the village. I had my own groom ride the bucket down the full depth of the main well, and there’s nothing. The smaller wells don’t permit a man’s descent, but we’ve done our best with torches. This is a fairly difficult castle to explore and doubtless there’s corners I’ve never seen myself, but the staff have dug every herb plot and peered into every shadow from turrets to pantries. Even the cellars have been scrubbed out.” He laughed. “Frightened off whole colonies of rats, indignant to have their domains invaded. Two of the boys ended up with bites and one nearly lost a finger. But there’s been no sign of your brother. I haven’t given up yet, but I fear it’s the moat has claimed him. If there’s nothing else left to do, I shall send in swimmers but the waters are thick. No one can see under there, nor swallow without catching some foul disease.”

  “Then you’d better not.” Ludovic was still bending over her, his foot now on the edge of the settle where she sat, his elbow supported by his knee, his face intent. She found the scrutiny disturbing, and his voice, now more impelling than usual, still seemed to hide anger. “And I am grateful, in case you think I’m not,” she sniffed, trying to maintain dignity, “but perhaps it seems like an imposition – so you’re cross, and as for the other – business – I know it wasn’t you, and I promise I told Jenny it wasn’t.”

  Ludovic watched her for a moment, pausing without lowering his regard. “If you cry,” he said very softly, “I warn you, I shall be obliged to kiss you again.”

  Alysson fumbled for her kerchief, discovered it and blew her nose. She had a headache.

  The invitation to visit Ludovic in his chambers at the respectable hour of two in the afternoon, had arrived at an inopportune moment. The Lady Jennine had been lecturing her personal maid about the incongruity of avoiding a man’s rough love-making. “Men,” said the lady, “are trained to battle after all. Do you have any idea, Alysson, what battle must be like? A welter of blood and gore so vile it clogs the nostrils. Yet you expect a creature capable of such cruel brutality, to gently kiss your finger tips and sigh with unrequited desire?”

  “Chivalry,” muttered Alysson.

  The Lady Jennine had sniggered rather rudely. “What a fool you are, child. Chivalry is simply a children’s story, and a rule of law which used to keep the lords from slaughtering each other, taking hostages for vast profit instead, while satisfying their blood lust with the wholesale dismemberment of the common man.”

  Then the page had entered, announcing Lord Ludovic’s request to meet with Mistress Alysson. Jennine had bundled her into the blue silk with otter trimmings, had allowed her to hitch the neckline higher since that hid the partially healed scratches, and had arranged the little veiled cap herself. “Not that it matters,” she had said, “since the dear boy obviously made these bruises himself.”

  “He did not.” Alysson had resisted the urge to stamp her foot.

  Now her head throbbed and she felt hot tears blur her eyes. She blew her nose again. “I’m not crying. I’m just – tired.”

  “Then perhaps,” murmured Ludovic with a faint smile, “I should take you to bed.”

  “Oh dear.” Alysson fidgeted with her kerchief. “That’s very – silly. And you shouldn’t tease people at horridly uncomfortable moments. It’s not fair.”

  “You may remember,” smiled Ludovic, “that you’ve slept in my arms once already. But now, if you’re quite so horridly uncomfortable, perhaps I can help.” Moving forwards, he sat abruptly at her side, half facing her. The dimensions of the little cushioned settle pressed them close. Unless she stood to run, Alysson had no escape. She blushed, squeezing away. Ludovic removed the damp kerchief from her grasp, tucked it neatly up her sleeve, and grasping both her shoulders, held her firm, forcing her to face him. Then he leaned over, and kissed her.

  Involuntarily her fingers clutched at the front of his doublet, she leaned back as he pressed against her, and relaxed, relinquishing control. He released her only when she gasped for breath. “Open your eyes,” he demanded. “And look at me.” She obeyed with a gulp and blinked, gazing up at him. She thought his eyes glittered green, looking somehow demonic. “I’d take you as my mistress this minute, my sweet,” he said very softly, “but it would be to please myself and bring you little benefit. So I will not do it, or at least, not yet. But the time will come, Alysson, when you consent.”

  Baffled and suddenly intimidated, Alysson glared. “Am I at the end of the list then? How many other chamber maids regularly fall in and out of your bed?”

  Ludovic laughed. “As it happens,” he said, “I don’t make a habit of tumbling the castle staff. I’ve never been fool enough. The village girls in the past perhaps, but not my own family servants, and I’ve never brought any girl back here to my own rooms. Nor – strangely enough – am I used to the chamber maids informing me I’m silly, conceited, and promiscuous. You are, my dear, quite unique. Not last on the list, but first.” He still had a firm hold on her shoulders, forbidding her to pull away. “And my motives are clear enough, I’d have thought. My sister-in-law is playing a mighty strange game, and I won’t risk your safety by playing along until I understand the rules. Nor will I make use of my own power or Jennine’s pressure to intimidate you into something against your will. Yes, I desire you, and I want you to know that. But I care in many ways, which means I also want to protect you. I’m fully aware that you neither despise nor fear me. Yet it seems you fear any intimacy beyond kissing, so I doubt you’re ready for anything else, and I’ve more honour than that. So I’m waiting.”

  “You’re waiting? Because I don’t want you, or to satisfy your honour?”

  “Both.” He grinned. “Nor will I demean you by indulging in a stream of sordid assignations under my parent’s roof while you’re still employed by them as a servant. There’s a good deal I can’t explain yet, but in the meantime you need looking after.” Ludovic frowned suddenly, looking down. His hands on her shoulders had disturbed the wide fur neckline of her gown, and across the partially uncovered rise of one breast, the tips of dark scratches had become visible. “What in heaven’s name?” he demanded. “Are these the other wounds you spoke of?”

  Without hesitation, Ludovic grasped the soft otter trimmings and tugged the open neckline down. He touched one finger gently to the long ragged marks. “Don’t,” she whispered. “It’s almost better.”

&nb
sp; “Better be damned,” murmured Ludovic. “They’re healing badly. You’ll have scars, but thank the saints there’s no infection.” His hands were against her skin, her breasts were almost uncovered and Alysson shivered. “You should have demanded the apothecary or the doctor,” Ludovic told her.

  “Demand?” glared Alysson, pulling away and tugging up her gown. “How can I demand anything? I’m a servant, remember. And Jenny thought you’d done it, and the doctor would have just asked awkward questions.” The pain of the wounds had long faded but now she tingled where Ludovic had touched her.

  At once Ludovic leaned forwards and put his arm around her, drawing her close. This time his kiss was more urgent, she felt crushed, opening her mouth to his insistence. Her hands crept around his shoulders, gently savouring the rich velvet, her fingertips deep in softness, feeling the warmth of his body beneath. The thick silk of his hair brushed against the back of her hand. She reached up, exploring. Immediately she felt his own hands move, one grasping her tight, the other crawling around to her breast. His fingers were warm and dry and hard, and avoiding her injuries, tucked purposefully into her neckline, pushing towards the nipple.

  “My lord,” the voice was calling outside, footsteps running, the door pushed open, the draught like sudden ice. Ludovic lurched backwards, startled and looking around. “My lord,” the page bowed hurriedly, distracted and desperate. “His lordship the earl – at once, my lord – you must go to him at once. It’s our lord Gerald, sir. He’s been arrested – for treason.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “It’s orders, Mistress.” The boy clasped his hands behind his back, very grubby fingers tightly entwined. He planted his feet wide, stuck out his stomach, and glowered. “And I does as is ordered, wevver I likes it or doesn’t. Nor won’t say which. His lordship done told me personal. So that’s that.”