The King’s Concubine: A Novel of Alice Perrers

by Anne O'Brien

  I looked ’round at those I knew and those I did not. Would there be justice? I thought not.

  Be calm. Be reasoned. Be aware. Don’t allow yourself to be tricked into any admission that can be used against you. Tell the truth as much as you can. Use the intelligence God gave you. And don’t speak out of turn or with misplaced arrogance.

  Windsor had been brutal in his advice.

  But I was so alone. Even his love could not still the rapid trip of my heart.

  “Mistress Perrers.”

  I looked up sharply. Their spokesman, a sheaf of pages in his hand, was Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, Marshal of England. A close associate of Gaunt. I did not like this. I did not like it at all, but I clung to my resolve and I inclined my head.

  “My lord.”

  “You are summoned here to answer to charges of a most serious nature. Do you understand?”

  So that was how it would be. Formal and legal, entirely impersonal. I still did not know what the charges were.

  “Yes, my lord. I understand.”

  “We require you to answer questions concerning your past conduct. There are outstanding charges against you.”

  “And they are?” Fear bloomed against all my desires.

  “Fraud, mistress. And treason. How do you plead?”

  “Innocent,” I replied instantly. “To both. And I question the validity of any evidence against me.” I might be circumspect in my replies, but I would not be a fool. I knew what they were about, concocting some spurious occasion on which I had committed treason. Even fraud was a matter for debate.

  “They are serious charges, mistress. Perhaps you should take time to consider.…”

  “In what manner have I ever committed fraud?” I kept my voice clear and strong and confident, my spine straight as a halberd staff. “I have never used dishonest deception or trickery to benefit myself. I have never used false representations. If you are questioning my holding of royal manors, they were freely given to me by King Edward, gifts of his generosity, out of his affection for me.” Let them accept that statement! “Those I purchased in my own name were done so openly and legally, through the offices of my agent. I utterly deny the charge of fraud, my lords.”

  My breathing, with great effort, was slow and controlled, my voice even and commanding. What evidence could they possibly have?

  “But in the matter of treason, mistress…”

  “Treason? On which occasion did I violate my sworn allegiance to my King?” I was on firm ground here. Not even this august body could find evidence of my bringing the state of the King into danger. “I challenge you to find any evidence of my being a danger either to the King’s health or to the security of the realm.” Perhaps not wise, but fear compelled me to state my case so bluntly. I appraised the faces turned toward me. Some met my gaze; some looked anywhere but at me. “Well, my lords? Where is your evidence?”

  The Lords moved uneasily on their benches, whispered together. Northumberland shuffled his documents.

  “We must deliberate, mistress. If you would wait in the antechamber?”

  I stalked out.

  “What’s happening?” Windsor was immediately there, drawing me to sit on the bench recently vacated by Wykeham.

  “They are deliberating.”

  “What, in God’s name? You were barely in there for five minutes!”

  “I don’t know.” I could not sit, but prowled across the width of the room and back.

  “I presume it’s not going well?”

  “Nothing is going well. They charged me, but refused to produce any evidence against me. What do I make of that? If they have no evidence, why call me here? I am afraid, Will. I’m afraid of what I don’t know.”

  “I wish I could be there with you.” He rose to prowl with me.

  “I know.” I leaned into him. “But I don’t think it would do any good. Even the Archangel Gabriel himself could not keep the Lords from my tearing out my throat.”

  Within the half hour I was called back.

  “Mistress Perrers,” Northumberland said, with a self-satisfied air. “The Lords have debated the evidence against you. That you did wantonly and deliberately disobey the orders issued by the Good Parliament.”

  What was this? A completely new direction? Fraud and treason had suddenly been abandoned, unless it was treason to disobey Parliament. In that moment I realized that the Lords had known from the beginning that these charges were untenable. But what was the implication here? I felt the ground shift under my feet. This was far more dangerous, a presentiment of it shivering along my spine. How I wished for Windsor’s strength beside me.

  “Which orders?” I asked, genuinely puzzled. Had I not obeyed them to the letter? Surely this could not be witchcraft again? Nausea gripped my belly.

  “The orders that banished you from the person of the King and from living anywhere in the vicinity of the royal Court…”

  But had I not done what they asked of me?

  “I reject that accusation.”

  “Do you?” A complacent curve of Northumberland’s mouth attested to his certainty that my denial would hold no weight. “You were banished—and yet you returned to be with His late Majesty in the weeks before his death.…”

  Be calm! They cannot prove your guilt on this.…

  “I observed the orders,” I stated, choosing my words with care, whilst my heart galloped like a panicked horse. “I lived in retirement. I did not return to Court until my lord of Gaunt had the orders against me rescinded. I state this, a fact that must be well-known to all here present, as proof of my innocence.”

  “This Chamber knows nothing of that. It believes that you are guilty of breaking the terms of your banishment by Parliament. A most heinous crime.”

  “No! I did not! I was informed by the hand of my lord of Gaunt himself that I was free to return.”

  “And you have proof of this?”

  “No. But the pardon must exist.”

  The letter. What had happened to it? My thoughts skittered like rats in a trap. There must be proof.…

  “Furthermore”—Northumberland continued as if I had not spoken—“you are charged that you used your malign influence on His Majesty King Edward in the final days of his weakness, to achieve the pardon of Richard Lyons, whom Parliament had condemned for his dire culpability in matters of finance. By your instigation, Lyons was released from the Tower.”

  It was simply not true. I considered the accusation, my mind racing over the facts. There was no evidence of my involvement. There was none! My spirits rose, and yet I was puzzled at this accusation.

  “Lyons was pardoned on the authority of my lord of Gaunt, in King Edward’s name, when the decisions of the Parliament were reversed,” I replied, once more sure of my ground. “He and my lord Latimer were both released. It is no secret. It must have been known to your lordships.”

  Northumberland denied it. “This Chamber holds that you are guilty of effecting the pardon of this man, a man considered to be a threat to the realm.”

  “No…!”

  “The scale of his embezzlement was an outrage. To grant him a pardon was an act against the authority of Parliament.…”

  “There must be Court officials who know the truth. Gaunt himself…”

  Northumberland’s eyes met mine, horrifyingly bright with his supremacy over me. “We are aware of none. Not one has come forward in your defense.”

  “I can find them.” How amazingly composed I sounded, yet the palms of my hands were slick with sweat. “The lawyers involved with the case will speak for my lack of involvement. I had nothing to do with Lyons’s pardon. It must be on record that my lord of Gaunt had the legal papers drawn up.”

  Silence. Not even the habitual scuffling of my aristocratic judges. I found that my hands had curled into fists, the nails digging into soft flesh. Northumberland gave a curt nod.

  “It must not be said that this Chamber is guilty of trampling justice underfoot. We will allow you
time to find your witnesses, mistress. We will hear them and assess their evidence.”

  “How long?” I asked. “How long will you give me?”

  “One afternoon and one night, mistress.” His smile was a smirk, if I was not mistaken.

  “But that’s impossible.…”

  “A committee appointed by us will meet tomorrow at ten of the clock to hear your evidence.”

  “I beg for longer, my lords.…” I looked ’round at the faces, but knew that my plea fell on willfully deaf ears.

  “That is the best we can do.”

  I walked from the room, shoulders straight, head high. They knew I would lose.

  “One afternoon and one night? By God! They’re sure of themselves. And I don’t like having a door slammed in my face!” Windsor struck his fist against the wall, then became fiercely practical. “So where do we start?”

  “It was Gaunt’s doing; he ordered Lyons’s release. The evidence must exist,” I fretted. “All I need is someone to unearth it from wherever it’s filed away and stand beside me to put it before the Lords’ Committee.”

  “Who? Who would know?”

  We were walking rapidly through the corridors to the wing of the vast palace given over to Court business, a rabbit warren of clerks and lawyers.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “One of the Court’s legal men. There are enough of them.”

  “But will they?”

  “Will they what?” My mind was already leaping ahead. Who could I pin down?

  “Find the evidence. Present it before the Committee. Who in God’s name can you find to stand before the Lords and challenge their rulings?”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Why would they not?”

  “If there’s an interest to keep the evidence hidden…” He raised his hand as I opened my mouth to deny such an outcome. “If, I say…then retribution against any man who spoke in your defense could be sharp and swift. It could keep mouths firmly closed. Even if the evidence still exists…and I have my doubts!”

  I blinked to hear it spoken so brutally. For was it not what I feared? The assurance of Northumberland had stirred my fear to hot flames.

  “I can’t do nothing! I can’t just accept it!” I retaliated.

  “No. And our time is slipping past.” Windsor had redoubled his pace. “Let’s see who we can track down to their legal lair. Who was the man who took all your property from Pallenswick? He might consider that he owes you the truth.”

  “Why is it, Will,” I grumbled, “that you always think along the lines of debts that can be called in and gifts that need to be reciprocated?”

  “Because I’ve spent my life calling them in or repaying them!” He strode on, pulling me with him. “Do you remember his name?”

  “Thomas Webster.”

  “Go and talk to him.” He pushed me through a door that would take me into the legal rabbit run. “I’ll see if any of Edward’s servants manage to have a memory that I can prick. With a dagger if I have to.”

  I tracked Thomas Webster down to a small, shabby room where he was surrounded by vellum, ribbons and seals, and the smell of ink and elderly documents. How evocative that smell was, with memories of past times. Safer times. Master Webster looked up impatiently as I entered, then, seeing me, instantly dismissed his clerk. Not, I decided, a good sign.

  “Master Thomas Webster.” I stood before his desk, arms at my sides, as he came slowly to his feet.

  “Mistress Perrers…”

  “Do they exist?”

  He knew why I was here in his den. His eyes shifted beneath mine, and slid down to where one hand toyed with an inky quill. He knew exactly my meaning: the documents to prove that Gaunt had had the pardons drawn up.

  “I am sure they do, mistress.”

  “Will you find them for me? Will you stand as witness for me?”

  “No, mistress.”

  Well, that was plain enough. “Why not?”

  Now he looked at me. “You know the reason. It’s more than my position is worth to help you.”

  “Will you not even help me to prove that my banishment from Court was revoked by my lord of Gaunt?”

  He did not even bother to answer.

  “Then who will?” I demanded. “Who will help me?”

  His face as bland as a baked custard tart, he cast the quill with its ruined nib onto the desk. He did not need to reply. As I discovered in further fruitless search for the whole of that afternoon, no one would help me. The Court lawyers became invisible. They vanished into the stonework and paneled walls like cockroaches at the approach of a candle. Those whom I cornered claimed an astonishing loss of recall.

  “It’s hopeless!” I met up with Windsor, who was looking unusually harassed, in the Great Hall.

  “So Webster is intransigent?”

  “Webster is a self-serving bastard!”

  “Edward’s servants are also less than cooperative,” he remarked. “But there is one who might come up to the mark.…”

  “How much did you pay him?”

  “Best not to ask! I wouldn’t wager on his appearing in the final shake-up, but at least he did not refuse outright.”

  I had little hope. If a lawyer would not stand for the truth, with all the legal documents to prove his case, how could I expect a page or servant to put himself forward against the will of Parliament?

  “Don’t give up hope, Alice,” Windsor said, though his face was grim. “Not until the final judgment is given. There’s always hope.”

  “I’m not so sanguine.”

  “Nor am I. But we can’t both give up before we begin!” I balked at the unexpected harshness, but he drew my hand through his arm and led me toward the screened door at the end of the hall.

  “What do we do now?” I asked.

  “We stir up the kitchens to find us ale and something that passes for food. Then we keep my wavering witness under surveillance.” His grin had a not altogether pleasant edge. “If he changes his mind, we do all we can to change it back!”

  We had little sleep that night.

  Ten o’clock. Edward’s beloved clock at Havering would be marking the hour. The Committee chose a smaller, more intimate chamber in which to examine my evidence, one just large enough to hold a half dozen of their number and the accused. And a witness, if one were brave enough to appear. Or sufficiently foolhardy…

  I entered. I curtsied to the chosen Lords seated before me behind a table, a solid barrier between accusers and accused. I looked from face to face to see who would determine my future.

  The temperature in the room dropped to ice.

  Seated in the center of my judges, presiding over the case against me, was Gaunt himself. My erstwhile supporter, my ally, who had striven to win my allegiance, who had annulled my banishment to allow me to return to Edward.

  Sitting in judgment?

  I inhaled slowly, deeply, trying to calm the terror that flared anew. Why had he chosen to do this? What effect would his weighty presence have on the judgment for or against me? The answer was as plain as the flamboyant black-and-red damask of his tunic. I looked directly at him. He looked at me. If I had hoped to find a friend amongst the Lords, I had been woefully mistaken. But then, I had never trusted him, had I? I was right not to. Gaunt’s presence, I knew full well, would destroy the one solitary hope I had clung to, however hopelessly, through that endless night: that he might once again come to my rescue. He was here to punish me. He was here to destroy any evidence that we had worked together in the past by making an example of me. He was hunting, his eyes as hard and cold as granite, and I was the quarry. I would find no rescue here.

  “Mistress Perrers…”

  My attention was dragged back, my interrogator once more Northumberland. Not that it mattered. Gaunt might not personally undertake the examination of my evidence, but his authority would color the whole proceedings. The outcome was, I feared, his to direct.

  “Mistress Perrers—we will weigh your evidence to support your inn
ocence. Have you discovered any lawyer who will speak of the origin of Lyons’s pardon? Have you discovered the documents?”

  “No, my lords. I have not.”

  “Then the evidence against you still stands and you must be presumed guilty.” How gentle his voice sounded. How venomous!

  “I have found one who will speak for me,” I stated.

  “Indeed?” The disbelief in that single word was impressive, and chilling to the depths of my soul.

  “I would call John Beverley,” I said.

  “And he is?”

  “An attendant in King Edward’s retinue. A personal body servant. A man whom the King—the late King—trusted implicitly.”

  “Then we will hear him.”

  The door at my back was opened. I prayed, I prayed as hard as I could, that John Beverley had not fled.

  “Keep him here, whatever you do!” I had told Windsor that morning, “and stop scowling at him.” John Beverley was the only man Windsor and I could locate who had a smidgen of courage and respect for the truth. Whatever effort it had taken from Windsor, we had brought Beverley at least as far as the door to the chamber. I thought perhaps the means employed by my determined husband had been physical: Beverley was nervous. I feared he was also untrustworthy. But what choice had I but to put my freedom into his hands? All I could do was pray that his past loyalties would hold true. He entered, thinning hair untidy, as if he had dragged his hands through it, his gaze flickering over the Committee. When he saw Gaunt, his nervousness changed to horror. The skin of his face became gray, and my heart fell.

  “John Beverley,” Northumberland addressed him.

  “Yes, my lord.” His hands were gripped ferociously, his broad features anxious.

  “You were body servant to King Edward?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “We are here to ascertain the truth of the pardoning of Richard Lyons. You recall the matter to which I allude? To your knowledge, did Mistress Perrers persuade His late Majesty to grant Lyons a pardon?”