Bess surprised him with a dazzling smile. “’Twould please us all, in truth, Sir Robert. Although I think a few hours of fishing would please me the most.”
“Fishing, eh?” Sir Robert slapped his thigh. “Do you use a worm or a fly, Lady Elizabeth?” He doubted that one as refined as Bess would deign to handle a worm.
“Both, Sir Robert,” Bess replied without batting an eye. “One cannot learn how to fish properly without baiting one’s own hook. Tom Gower has taught us all how to fish for trout this summer, and I confess it is a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.”
“Sir John’s young nephew, is it?” And seeing Bess incline her head in agreement, he continued: “Then we shall have Tom Gower show us the best spots in the river, say, two days hence? I have business in York on the morrow.”
“Certes. We shall be happy to go with you, Sir Robert.” She seized the lighthearted moment and, turning her dark blue eyes to his admiring gaze, continued airily: “But I have a boon to beg of you. My sister, Lady Grace, is most distressed by her cousin of Gloucester’s confinement in the guard house.”
At the mention of her name, Grace looked along the table, straining to hear. Her eyes were still red from her sleepless night of worry for John, when she had tried to stifle her frightened tears into her pillow.
“I wonder if you would grant her an interview with Lord John to satisfy her that he is not being mistreated,” Bess said, a little more loudly.
Sir Robert was taken aback. Talking about fishing with Lady Elizabeth was one thing, but talking of state business was quite another. He coughed uncomfortably, trying to cover his inability to think of a reason why he should not grant this request. He was within his rights to refuse, but what harm could there be? Little Grace was but a child, and she did look as though she had been crying. He thought of his future; Elizabeth was certain to be queen and, judging from her beauty, she would have Henry wrapped around her little finger in no time, he deduced. Perhaps she would remember him kindly after she was crowned. Wiping his mouth carefully on his kerchief, he suddenly smiled, showing several gaps in his teeth. “Certes, Lady Grace may see her cousin, my lady,” he said, magnanimously, and then leaned into Bess, chuckling, “as long as she doesn’t help him escape. Ha!”
Bess gave a responding titter, trying not to reel away from his bad breath. “Aye, that would be a dilemma for you, would it not, Sir Robert? I assure you, Lady Grace has no more plan for John’s escape than”—and she pointed to a spaniel worrying a bone—“than that dog there!” And they both laughed.
Sir Robert was entranced by Bess and could deny her nothing at that moment. “I see nothing wrong in allowing all of you to visit the lad whenever you want,” he said, waving his hand to include Bess and Cecily. “There will, of necessity, be a guard outside the door, you do understand?”
Bess clapped her hands delightedly. “You are too kind, Sir Robert.” She called to Grace at the end of the table, “We may see John whenever we like, my dear Lady Grace, thanks to Sir Robert’s generosity.”
Grace’s usually serious face was transformed by a radiant smile, causing Sir Robert to notice her for the first time. By Christ’s nails, she will turn heads in the not-too-distant future, he thought; her mother must have indeed been a beauty—must have been to turn lecher Edward’s head. “Well, then,” he said, satisfied, “and there is an end to it!”
As soon as the meal was over, the benches stacked and trestle tables collapsed, Grace ran to the kennels, picked up her special puppy and presented herself at the guard tower door, where a large yeoman stood sentinel and eyed her suspiciously.
“Eh, lass, why be you here? It be no place for a child,” he growled, working a stringy morsel of meat out from between his teeth with a grubby fingernail and not recognizing her. “You canna come in here.”
“But I can,” Grace asserted, lifting her chin and holding the dog tightly. “Sir Robert Willoughby has given me permission to visit your prisoner.”
The guard’s mouth dropped open. “Did he now?” he said in disbelief. “We’ll see about that. Ho! Dan’l Miller, rouse your arse and come out here. There be a little lady to see us.”
“How dare you,” Grace said, standing her ground. And with the greatest difficulty she pronounced her name, complete with its title, just as Daniel Miller appeared in the doorway. “I am the Lady Grace Plantagenet.”
Daniel gulped, recognizing her at once, and cuffed his friend. “You dolt, Sam Withers. She be right. She be King Edward’s bast—er, daughter.” As Sam touched his forelock and muttered an apology, Daniel addressed Grace: “I be sorry, m’lady. Why’re you here?”
At that moment, Sir Robert’s squire arrived on the scene and corroborated Grace’s statement, chuckling at the girl’s enthusiasm. “Sir Robert gave his permission only a few minutes ago, lads,” he told the guards. “’Tis true, any of the royal ladies may visit John of Gloucester. But there must be a guard outside the door at all times.”
“Aye, sir,” Daniel and Sam said in unison, and straightening his helmet Daniel made way for Grace to precede him through the lower garrison chamber and up the spiral stairs to the second floor. Unhooking a ring of keys from a nail, he selected one and put it in the keyhole. “Visitor, my lord!” he said loudly, peering through the small grille at eye level. “A lady.” And not waiting for a response, he pulled the heavy oak door open and ushered Grace in, slamming the door behind her. The puppy wriggled out of her arms and, happy to be free, ran around in circles, chasing its tail.
Grace was surprised by the size and comfort of the room. She had imagined John in a dank, sunless cell, chained to a wall down which the damp would have created green slime. Instead she saw him standing by a curtained bed, an abandoned book lying on top of the wool blanket. The room also boasted a table on which sat writing materials and a silver flagon and cup, and a high-back cushioned chair placed next to a small fireplace. Sunlight streamed in through the open south window, and the larger east-facing window afforded a view over the outer bailey and village beyond. Certes, she thought, there are bars on the windows, but this is not the prison of my nightmares.
“Grace!” John’s hands were outstretched in greeting, and she ran to take them, squeaking with excitement.
“Are you well, John? Have they tortured you?” she asked anxiously, scanning his face and neck for cuts and bruises.
She was a little hurt when he laughed outright, lifted her up and swung her around, assuring her he had not been harmed. The spaniel yipped at his feet and promptly relieved itself on John’s shoe. John promptly dropped Grace and scolded the pup, pushing its nose in the puddle. “Bad dog,” he admonished it, and tapped it under the chin, making it yelp. “’Tis how you train them, Grace,” he said, seeing her dismay. “He’ll learn in time,” he said kindly. “Now, how did you manage to bribe the guard? I have had only one visitor since they dared to put me in here—Tom was allowed to bring me my things,” he said, indicating a few clothes hanging on a peg. He used his foot to push some of the rushes on the floor over the dog’s puddle.
“Bess asked Sir Robert if we could come, and he said we could on condition we did not plot your escape,” Grace told him. She lowered her voice. “I would be happy to help you escape, if you want, John.”
For a moment, John was tempted. But seeing the diminutive young girl and her innocence laid bare for him, he dismissed the idea out of hand. Instead he bantered with her for half an hour, hiding his anger at being so treated by Henry but understanding the reason. He had spent the night cursing his folly that he had not flown the coop long before Sir Robert had arrived, but although he liked to think himself a man, there was still a boy’s fear not far beneath the surface, and staying with his family had been his first instinct. He had no one but these cousins now that his beloved father and sister were gone, and he could not place his mother in danger by fleeing to her.
“No one is going to harm me, Grace. And no one will harm you, I promise. We are of no consequence in this fight
for the crown, you and I. They believe I could rally my father’s supporters if they let me go free, ’tis all. So here I sit.” He rose and paced the room as he had seen his father do many times. “Now if only we knew the whereabouts of your two half brothers, Henry might truly have something to fear. If they are still in the Tower, he is in no hurry to parade them in front of his new subjects. They have no love for him yet, but Ned and Dickon are their beloved King Edward’s sons, and I warrant the people would turn a blind eye to the illegal marriage to Dame Grey…. But what is the use? We know not where they are housed, and that is that. Certes, Henry’s other worry is Edward of Warwick. I wonder what he has in store for Uncle George’s boy, poor child. In truth, because of his father’s attainder, he is not eligible…” He pondered this out loud, almost forgetting Grace was still there. When his glance fell back on her, he changed the subject. “When do you leave for London?”
“On Friday, so we are told. On Thursday Sir Robert is taking all of us fishing on the Derwent,” she said. “I wish you could come.”
John made a face. “Fishing? ’Tis for faint hearts, little wren, although Tom Gower has honed his skill well and makes it mildly amusing. The thrill of the hunt is infinitely more gratifying, Grace,” he said, staring out of the window and onto the Galtres forest. “But ’twill be a change of pace for you girls. Send them a kiss from me.”
Grace sensed her visit was at an end, left the chair and moved to the door, the pup under one arm. “Farewell, John. I shall come tomorrow—and bring the others. We can play cards if that would amuse you,” she said.
“Aye, it would,” John said. “Except Bess always wins. You have brightened my day, little wren.” He tipped up her face and smiled at her. Grace’s heart stood still; would he kiss her on the mouth as he had done a few weeks ago? But instead he dropped a brotherly kiss on her forehead and knocked on the door for the guard.
As she made her way back to the kennels, she suppressed her disappointment by imagining herself in his arms and his mouth on hers. Wait until I am thirteen, she wanted to tell him, then you will see that I am not a child and you will want to kiss me.
AFTER BREAKING THEIR fast with cold meat pie, bread and ale, Sir Robert and the small fishing party rode under the gateway, through the outer bailey and the village and onto the road east towards the forested hills that hid the Derwent from view. The bracken along the way was turning brown, and the hedges of hawthorn, holly and field maple were looking threadbare, just as the wildflowers had lost their blooms and the grass its spring. Flocks of sheep grazed on the wolds, and starlings crowded the sky. The day was overcast and cool, but as long as the rain held off, Bess declared, nothing would stop her from enjoying perhaps the last day of her carefree life.
“Certes, but you are gloomy today, Bess,” John had told her the day before as they all sat in his cell and played cards. A cold wind howled outside, signaling the end of the fine autumn weather. “What ails you? You always love this game. Is it because you are losing?” He tried to coax her out of her melancholy, but her usually pleasant expression was marred by a scowl.
“If the wind changes, you will stay that way,” Cecily taunted her, eliciting a snort from John. Cecily was indignant. “Do not mock me, John; Mother told us ’twould be so.” She threw down a queen and crowed triumphantly. “Now best that!”
Bess suddenly squealed with glee and swooped up the card. “Even though she is an ugly queen, I will take her, and I shall win,” she declared, her mood lightening.
John looked admiringly at his lovely cousin and remarked: “When you become Queen of England, Bess, I shall propose they use a likeness of you instead. Elizabeth, the queen of hearts! What think you, Grace?”
Grace jumped. She had been an observer in the cousins’ game, as she had only recently learned to play, and so she shot John a grateful smile for including her. “Bess would indeed be more pleasing,” she said, peering over Bess’s shoulder. “I wonder who this old harridan was.”
“Looks like Scraggy Maggie to me,” Cecily exclaimed, and then regretted reminding Bess of her future mother-in-law, when her sister flung her cards down on the table and announced she was ready to leave.
She seems in much better spirits today, Grace thought as she held tightly to Bess’s waist while riding pillion and tried not to look down at the ground far below. They were abreast of Sir Robert, who kept Bess engaged in a conversation that she had a hard time hearing. Instead, she amused herself by listening for birdsong. She was able to identify the flute of the thrush, the warble of a blackbird, the chirrup of a lark and the harsh caw of a crow along the way.
Cecily was riding her own horse next to Tom, while two grooms brought up the rear. Grace could hear her light laughter and could only imagine her flirtatious remarks. She could not understand why Tom did not take off at a gallop—or at least move up in the procession to talk to Sir Robert’s squire, who rode behind his master. John would not stand for it, she was sure, but then, John is more of a man. Tom must have read her mind, she thought, as he kicked his horse’s flank and trotted ahead of Cecily and up to the squire just as they passed by St. Michael’s Church in the village of Cramburn. Soon they were atop the Howardian Hills, and then the road led down through the oaks, pines and ash that forested the slopes to the wide Derwent below.
Eventually reaching one of the only bridges for many miles, Sir Robert sharply reined in his horse, as did Bess, and Grace clung on for dear life. Tom rode up to Sir Robert and suggested they fish from the other bank.
“’Tis grassier for the ladies if they want to sit, and there are shallower pools where they may fish safely,” Tom advised Willoughby. He pointed over the next hill. “My home is in Westow, not a league from here. By your leave, sir, I would dearly love to ride and bid my family farewell at some point during the day. They do not know I am going to London. I would be happy to have the ladies’ company on the way, if they find the fishing irksome.”
“Why, Tom Gower,” Bess retorted, “do you have such little faith in our ability to catch anything? We shall be perfectly content to stay here with rod and line all day, shan’t we, Grace?”
“Not I,” Cecily muttered behind her. “A visit to Tom’s manor would make a pleasant diversion. What say you, Grace?”
Caught in the middle, Grace resorted to a quick silent Hail Mary to save her from disappointing either sister. But it was Tom, not the Virgin, who came to her rescue: “No matter; we should begin with the task at hand.” And he spurred his horse and led the way over the bridge to a sheltered spot along the lower-lying eastern bank. The grooms untied the fishing gear from one packhorse and baskets of food and utensils from another.
Hooking their cumbersome skirts over their belts, the girls put on thick boots to wade in the water. Even so, the river soaked their petticoats, which clung around their calves and ankles.
“I swear I wish I were a man,” Cecily complained, envying the men their longer boots and their breeches.
“Aye.” Bess laughed, nodding in the direction of a groom relieving himself upon a tree. “’Twould be easier.”
The overcast day proved favorable for fishing, and there were squeals of delight whenever someone caught a fish. Grace watched Tom with admiration as he cast his line far out into the river in a fluid motion. He caught her eye and grinned happily. Aye, this is where he belongs, she thought, smiling back. She did not enjoy baiting her hook in the least, but watching Bess digging through the muddy mound of worms for a juicy one gave her courage to follow suit. An hour later, she was so surprised when she felt a nibble on her line that she jerked the rod out of the water too violently and fell over backwards, landing in a soggy heap in the shallow pool. She squealed when she felt the cold water on her thighs and backside. Tom was there in a flash to pick her up. He could not resist chuckling at her expense, and soon everyone was laughing—even Grace.
“I fear your fishing is over for today, Grace,” he said. “We need to get you some dry clothes.”
Seizin
g the moment, Cecily cried: “Then ’tis time we visited your mother, Tom. Perhaps she has something to lend Grace.”
Sir Robert nodded his assent and turned to his squire. “Hugh, go along with Tom and the ladies. I shall be content to stay here, for I have found an excellent hole over there that is teeming with fish.”
“I shall remain with you,” Bess declared, “if you will allow me to share your spot.” Sir Robert beamed and offered Bess his arm to help her over the rocks. She looked at Cecily’s pout and said, “Nay, Cis, do not look so sour-faced! I am enjoying every minute here. You go with Grace.”
Grace squeezed some river water from her skirt before one of the grooms lifted her up behind Tom, but she was still wet from her navel to her knees, although the boots had kept her legs and feet relatively dry. The three horses cantered off along the river path and up past Kirkham Abbey to the tiny village of Westow. The Gower manor was hard by Badgers Wood and Grace was not expecting such a large and rambling house. A low wall fronted the stableyard and a few ducks and geese flapped noisily out of the riders’ path as they came to a halt by a well-worn mounting step. Tom slipped easily from his saddle and caught Grace as she slid from her perch, now shivering badly. Hugh had already helped Cecily down, and she was looking around her with interest.
“’Tis much bigger than I imagined, Tom,” she said. “You Gowers must own half of Yorkshire.”
“Aye, we are a large family, in truth,” Tom said. “I think I have upward of three dozen cousins in the region. And most of them are also named Thomas.”
The King's Grace Page 7
