The King's Grace

by Anne Easter Smith

  Grace’s expression of dismay stirred something in the old sea dog’s heart and he picked up her hand and patted it. “Let us walk in the abbey gardens and think how we might resolve this. I know it would distress your mistress if you returned with this news. I saw how much she was counting on getting word about her son from Burgundy. Her health is not good, I could see that.”

  Grace shook her head. “She does not eat, Sir Edward, and she complains of dizziness and shortness of breath.”

  Sir Edward nodded. “Her heart has been broken too many times, I fear. It has weakened over the years.” He took her hand and tucked it under his arm and called farewell to de Worde, who hurried to see them out, where Edgar was waiting.

  “I have been fortunate enough to speak to your sister, Viscountess Welles, while I have been at court. She is also a very lively young lady,” Brampton said.

  Grace smiled and sighed. “Aye, she is, and I miss her very much. She and I became fast friends until our lives forced us apart. She has come twice to see her mother and me, but she spends much of her time in Lincolnshire at her husband’s estates, I understand, which,” she confided in her companion, “would not please her one little bit. She hates being away from court.”

  “I told Lady Cecily of my visit to your mother and how dismayed I was to see the penury in which I found her. I hope she has influence with the king, and that he will relent and allow her grace, the dowager, a place at court again.”

  “Hmmm” was all Grace said in response.

  The herber behind the abbey was a pleasant place, and Grace remembered her time at the abbot’s old house with Elizabeth well. So much had happened since those early days when she had first been taken in. It was hard to believe six years had passed. Sir Edward’s squire fell into step behind his master and Grace, and Edgar lumbered along a few paces behind the squire. It was nigh on two o’clock and Edgar was thinking about the return journey and the pot of ale waiting for him at his tiny cottage under Bermondsey’s walls. He didn’t much like the look of this foreign gentleman, with his ridiculously high plumed hat, and he was not going to let Grace out of his sight. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and then cleaned it down his belted tunic. He lounged against a wall, just far away enough to be visible and yet close enough to come to Grace’s rescue if necessary.

  Grace led the way to her favorite excedra and sat down while Brampton paced back and forth, deep in thought. “I have an idea,” he said suddenly. “’Tis a bold one, and you may dismiss it out of hand, but I have the means to make it work.”

  Grace’s young eagerness delighted him, and he took her hand and kissed it. “Queen Elizabeth must be thankful to have such a pretty and lively attendant, my lady. I was fortunate enough to have a page once who was curious and eager to learn, and he reminds me…” He stopped. “Jesu Christus,” he exclaimed in Portuguese. “I wonder what happened to young Pierrequin.”

  Grace frowned. “Your plan, Sir Edward. What is your plan?” she said, dismissing the remark about the page. “I dare not return to her grace without hope of delivering this letter. ’Twould break her heart—and her spirit,” she added, touching her chest.

  “It would take an act of courage to embark on this adventure, and I do not know how brave you are, my lady,” he said, raising a quizzical eyebrow. He was amused when Grace leaped to her feet and faced him. “Soft, Lady Grace, I see you are no milk-sop. Sit down again and listen.”

  “GRACE! MY DEAREST sister,” Cecily cried when Grace was ushered into the room. “I am so glad to see you, although”—she stood back to look askance at Grace’s plain brown gown—“I trust all is well with mother? You look as though you have fallen on hard times.”

  If you came to see her occasionally, my dear Cecily, perhaps you might find out for yourself, Grace thought indignantly. But she was too happy to see the gregarious Cecily, well into another pregnancy, to chide her out loud. In truth, Elizabeth had received word from Henry’s treasury in February to say her pension was to be raised to four hundred pounds, but, as was typical of all things in government, she had yet to see a penny of the increase.

  “How I have missed you, Cis!” Grace said, kissing Cecily warmly on both cheeks. An unexpected lump came into her throat; she had not realized until now how much she longed for company of her own age. She touched the long draped sleeve of Cecily’s fashionable square-necked gown, admiring the rich red kermes silk, delicately woven with white flowers, and envying the ermine-trimmed, stiffly gabled headdress. The jeweled collar that lay prominently upon Cecily’s full breasts was worth a king’s ransom, Grace was sure. I could be wearing a similar garb if I weren’t in attendance on the cloistered queen dowager, she thought fleetingly and was instantly guilt-ridden.

  Eyeing the curious attendants, she whispered, “You do know why I am come? Or I will have spent a night in a dingy room at the White Horse for nothing. Edgar—my escort from the abbey—and I had to share straw pallets in the room with four other travelers. I could not sleep for the snoring of one fat woman and the bedbugs eating me alive. Even the dormitory at the convent was better than that.” She crinkled her nose in disgust.

  Cecily let loose her high laugh and took Grace in her arms again. “You should see your face, my sweet girl. It would sour milk! Aye, I was expecting you. Come and sit with me, and tell me about Mother,” she said, staring meaningfully at Grace. She turned to address her astonished attendants. “For those of you who do not recognize this lady, Grace is my half sister, and I am right glad to see her. Now, we should like some privacy. You may leave us.” The women curtsied to their mistress and to Grace and left, disappointed.

  Grace could hear them chattering after the door had closed, and grinned at Cecily. “This will be all around the palace in a matter of hours, I have no doubt,” she said. “I pray Henry will just think I am here with a message from the queen dowager.”

  “Oh, a pox on Henry! He will not even care; his mind is on France and Brittany these days, and trying to arrange for Arthur to marry the Spanish infanta,” Cecily said, easing her ungainly body down on the bed with a satisfied grunt and patting the brightly colored counterpane for Grace to join her. “Now tell me everything. Sir Edward was infuriatingly vague, but I did glean that Mother’s well-being was at stake and that I should see you as soon as I could. I told him that I will go to Bermondsey and tell her where you are. ’Twill be safer if I go. Two visits from Sir Edward in as many weeks will give Henry’s spies plenty to twitter about,” she said. “Pray God Mother is not angry; I do not think I could support her ire at the moment.” She winced, her hands caressing her belly. “This one is a kicker. Can you feel him? My sweet Anne never gave me such trouble.”

  Grace blushed at the idea of touching Cecily’s distended stomach, but she was glad she did, for the thrill she got from feeling the babe’s foot protruding determinedly through the taut skin was a joyful one. “So you think this is a boy?” she asked, and Cecily nodded confidently.

  “I pray you are right, dearest Cecily,” she said and changed the subject. “Before we proceed with the reason for my mission, what news can you give me of Bess? Is she happy? Does she enjoy motherhood? Why does she not come and see her mother more? Does Henry forbid her?”

  Cecily frowned. “As John Welles’s wife, I am not at court so much, as you know. Hellowe—his seat in the flat fens of Lincolnshire—is a world away, God help me. It is so dull there, I would even prefer Sheriff Hutton,” she groused, making Grace chuckle. “Bess is always glad to see me, but ’tis not so much Henry who guards her against her own family but that bat-fouling baggage of a mother-in-law. And”—she snorted, and Grace smiled, having forgotten Cecily’s way with words till now—“do not forget, she’s Jack’s stepsister as well. ’Tis all so incestuous, Grace, and I dare not speak a bad word about any of them to any of them for fear it will be repeated. But most of all I fear the Beaufort bitch.”

  “Aye, Scraggy Maggie,” Grace murmured. “Certes, she is the queen through Bess, I can se
e that. Poor Bess; she was always the dutiful one among us. I pray you, give her a kiss from me and tell her I pray nightly for her and her babes. I do not, however, pray for her husband. He has treated the queen dowager very ill indeed.”

  Cecily nodded. “Bess will be glad to know that you pray for her, Grace—as do I.”

  Grace untied and took off her cap. Unpinning her dark curls, she shook them out and breathed a sigh of pleasure as they tumbled free. Cecily pounced on a louse that fell off the linen cap and crushed it between her finger and thumb. “Ugh!” Grace groaned. “It must have come from the tavern straw. Dear Cis, pray comb my hair and make certain there are no more. They are the very devil to be rid of.” While Cecily ran the rosewood comb through Grace’s unruly tresses, Grace asked: “Now, tell me, how much do you know of my upcoming adventure? And will you help me?”

  “I would do anything to spite Henry for forcing Jack on me,” Cecily snarled. “I hate my life as it is, and if there is a chance our brother, Dickon, might take back the throne for York, then, aye, I will help you! The first thing I’d ask him is to grant me a divorce.”

  “But you would be excommunicated, Cecily,” Grace said, aghast. She could not conceive of such a fate, but Cecily merely shrugged.

  “Do not take everything I say so seriously, Grace,” she answered. Then a secret smile replaced her grimace. “Besides, life is not quite as bad as I paint it. Now, let us concentrate on the matter at hand. You need a different gown, new stockings and chemise, a pair of nice crackows and a more elegant head covering. You really do look like a peasant in that.” She chuckled. “One of my tiring women is about your size and, as I recently gave all my attendants new clothes, she will be able to spare you some old ones. How soon do you go to Burgundy?”

  Grace put her finger to her lips. “Hush, Cecily, not so loud,” she begged. “Sir Edward told me when he fetched me this morning that a Merchant Adventurer’s ship will be leaving for the Low Countries on the tide this evening. He has arranged for me to be a passenger, as his first wife’s niece.” She wore a worried frown. “Sweet Jesu, I hope I remember that my name is Grace Peche. The abbey groom who came with me here will accompany me. And William Caxton—ah, I see you know the printer—is arranging for his son-in-law’s sister to be my tiring woman for the journey. We shall all meet at the Sign of the Red Pale at four of the clock.”

  Cecily clapped her hands and jumped off the bed. “I wish I was going on this adventure with you, Grace Peche!” she cried.

  Going to a silver coffer on the table by the window, Cecily opened it with a key hanging from her belt and took out a velvet pouch. She counted out several rose nobles and slipped them into it. Then she held up a silver necklace decorated with blue enameled flowers, and earbobs to match, and nodded. “I can spare these without my lord noticing. You must look like Father’s daughter when you are presented to Aunt Margaret, or you will not get past the first usher.” She put the jewelry into the pouch with the money and drew the cord tight.

  Grace drew in a breath. “Aye, Aunt Margaret. I hope she is not as awe-inspiring as she sounds.” She took the proffered pouch and flung her arms around Cecily’s neck. “I am a little fearful, in truth,” she whispered on a sob. “Pray for me. Oh, Cis, I am afraid I may never see you again. I have never been on a ship before.”

  “Such folly!” Cecily retorted. “People sail back and forth to Burgundy all the time. I only wish I could go. Besides, maybe Aunt Margaret will find you a young count who will take you away from your dreary life at the abbey.”

  That made Grace laugh. “Aye, and I am the fairy queen,” she said, but she felt better.

  “And did you not tell me that Cousin John is with Aunt Margaret’s court? You had a soft spot for him, I seem to remember.” Cecily let out a peal of merry laughter when she saw Grace’s telltale blush. “Surely you do not still carry a torch, Grace? Ah, I see that you do. Such a pity, for I know a man who carries one for you.”

  Grace’s eyes widened and her blush deepened. “You do? How is that possible, sister, when you and I have been apart for so long and, certes, do not move in the same circle anymore?”

  “Tom Gower, Grace. Remember? He is now one of my husband’s squires!” Cecily was triumphant when she saw Grace’s look of amazement. “Once, in idle conversation, I reminded him of our visit to his farm that day, and he blushed in the very same way you do now. And I know ’twas not for me.”

  “I have not thought of him for many months. I cannot believe you speak the truth, Cis. Surely he is wed by now?”

  Cecily shook her head. “My Lord Welles keeps him too busy. Besides, he is the second son of a lesser branch of a Yorkshire family. He is not sought after by many, and may remain a bachelor. Or”—she giggled—“go into the church. So, to save him from that fate, I requested that Jack take him into our household after our cousin of Lincoln’s untimely death at Stoke.” She smirked. “Jack was feeling generous in those first few months of our wedded bliss”—she spoke the last two words with such sarcasm, Grace could not forbear to smile—“and agreed. Tom’s father died, you know, and his eldest brother now owns the manor.”

  Grace nodded. “John told me. I am pleased he is in your household now, but I cannot think you are right about his liking for me.” She chose not to admit that Cecily was right about the torch she carried for John. ’Tis best kept to myself, she decided.

  The two young women spent their precious time together reliving old memories of the days at Sheriff Hutton and the changes in their fortunes since then. Cecily told Grace that Edward of Warwick was still housed in the Tower and well guarded, but that his sister, Margaret, was under Bess’s wing and a marriage was being contemplated with another relative of the Beauforts. “I tell you, ’tis incestuous,” Cecily repeated with vehemence. “Poor little Margaret; she has become obsessed with her Bible and prayer.”

  Grace crossed herself and asked the Blessed Virgin to watch over the young woman and her imprisoned brother.

  A knock at the door stopped the conversation, and Cecily called out, “Come.” A young woman as diminutive as Grace stepped into the room, followed by two servants carrying a plain wooden chest. The men bowed and retired, leaving the attendant to close the door behind them. She curtsied and stood quietly by while Cecily hurried to the coffer and flung open the lid. “’Tis perfect, Kate, thank you!” she cried, pulling out a pale blue taffeta gown edged with dark blue velvet. “This was the gown I thought of immediately when I knew my sister Grace was in need. And this other one,” she said, throwing the blue to Grace and holding up another dress of dark red worsted wool, “will be for traveling. And this hood is pretty enough. You may go now, Kate. Lady Grace is only borrowing these, and will return them anon.”

  “Aye, my lady,” Kate said, nervously curtsying again. Although barely thirteen, she knew she had no right to question why the clothes were needed. She slipped out and closed the door.

  “And now I must commit to memory the reason for my journey,” Grace said, smoothing out the somewhat crumpled letter on her lap. Such a hurry-scurry about one small piece of paper, she thought, but then, a crown could topple because of its contents.

  13

  Burgundy

  SPRING 1490

  Sir Edward led Grace, Edgar, and Caxton’s relative, Judith Croppe, to the waiting boat at the Westminster wharf and settled them on the cushions for the short voyage to the Pool of London. It was William Caxton who had devised a plausible reason for Grace’s visit to the Duchess Margaret, and that reason was in a bag tied securely to her belt. Grace could feel the comforting weight of the leather-bound book against her leg as she thought back to the scene at the workshop.

  “’Tis well known her grace loves books, my lady,” the old man had told her. “When you seek an audience, you should mention my name and that you have a gift from me. She will welcome this particular book, of that I have no doubt.” Grace had turned to the title page and read The Moral Proverbs of Christine de Pisan and nodded earnestly, a
lthough she would have preferred a copy of Morte d’Arthur to while away the hours on the upcoming voyage.

  “You knew my lady aunt well, did you not, Master Caxton?” she asked.

  “Was she a…will she…?” Her stammering expressed her anxiety at meeting the imposing duchess.

  “Aye, I know her,” Caxton said, fingering a small ruby ring that hung on a chain around his neck and smiling. “She was most generous to me in so many ways. I would not be here were it not for her. Not only did she display a fine mind, but she had an admirable sense of humor as well. Never fear, Lady Grace. When she sees this book, I promise you will see her softer side.”

  “I hope you are right, sir,” Grace said, and carefully replaced the book in its bag.

  Caxton leaned forward and whispered: “I happen to know Duchess Margaret has a partiality for rose-petal jam, should you wish to—forgive the pun—sweeten the audience with her.”

  Grace had given him one of her most brilliant smiles, and it was in that smile that Caxton knew she was truly her father’s daughter.

  The velvet pouch with Cecily’s money was safely tied around Grace’s neck and tucked under her bodice. She only wished her heart would stop racing and her stomach heaving. Sir Edward patted her knee as the boatmen pushed off with their oars.

  “Courage, my little one,” he said. “Master Ward, the captain of the Mary Ellen, will see to your comfort, and you have my letter of introduction to my agent in Bruges. You should be there in two days, if all goes well and the winds are favorable.”

  He reached into a purse at his waist and brought out a small packet. “’Tis the powder of galingale for the mal de mer. Take it when you sail past the Isle of Thanet and leave England behind; it will settle your bile.”