Grace let out a soft whistle—an unladylike sound learned at Westow to call off the sheepdogs—that made Katherine smile. “Then I fear I shall not be able to stop you from carrying out this audacious plan,” she said, “because you will be a hindrance to Richard’s escape, you see. A young man is more able to travel unnoticed and more quickly alone.”
Katherine’s eyes blazed. “I will go with my husband. I belong by his side, and I will die by his side if ’tis necessary. Would you not follow your love if you could?”
John’s distraught face at the Newgate prison floated before Grace’s eyes, and she remembered thinking she could save him. But in the end, she mused with shame, she didn’t even try. She stared at the grim line of Katherine’s mouth and the fire of resolve in her eyes and knew the Scotswoman was made of sterner stuff than she.
She leaned back against the door and thought for a moment, and Katherine checked the corridor again, but all was quiet. “I shall have Enid fetch me something from the apothecary to help me sleep,” Grace whispered, gripping Katherine’s arm. “My groom will engage the two Johns”—Grace’s code name for Richard’s guardians—“while we are at our supper and slip the powders in their ale. On the morrow, you will show me the window of the wardrobe and the lay of the land around it. Edgar shall be in attendance. Have you seen my groom? He is a giant. Perhaps Richard can climb down onto his shoulders?”
Katherine nodded, her eyes shining with excitement now. “Aye, ’tis possible. But why not go through the door when the old locks are removed?”
“How can we know how long it will take? As well, there would be too many opportunities for others to see him,” Grace answered. “Other guards to steal past. Nay, ’tis simpler my way.”
“Then we must get far away from Westminster as quickly as we can,” Katherine told her. “They will look for us at ports and on ships for Flanders. But we shall be running in the opposite direction—towards Wales and our son.”
Grace was again impressed with Katherine’s pluck and quick intelligence. “You will need a boat—can Richard row?” Seeing Katherine nod eagerly, Grace went on: “Edgar shall make sure there is one tied up where it cannot be seen.”
Voices nearby stopped them planning further, so Grace took Katherine’s arm and walked confidently along the corridor to their apartments before they could be discovered. “If you talk to Richard tonight, you must advise him of our plan. All will be in place upon the first night the old locks are removed—whether they are replaced or no.”
Katherine agreed, and Grace put her finger to her lips as they reached the door to the queen’s bedchamber.
“Come!” Bess called. “Ah, there you are Grace. I was wondering what had kept you. You asked to comb my hair tonight, and I had to fight the other ladies off to keep my word.” She looked from one woman to the other, but, seeing nothing suspicious, smiled and held out her ivory comb.
“HOUNDS!” GRACE CRIED, waking from a heavy slumber and seeing the first light of dawn slanting through the shutters. Cecily sat up beside her, and they listened to the mournful sound of the baying dogs in the distance.
Controlling her excitement, Grace allowed Cecily and their two maids to run to the window and throw wide the casement. He must have escaped, she exulted. Sweet Mother of God, their plan must have worked. More shouting from the palace grounds accompanied the dogs’ barking, and a guard below their window shouted to another: “Go to the abbey, Rob. Could be he took sanctuary.”
“Addlepated ass,” Rob retorted. “The abbey were the first place the king looked!”
In the next room, where Katherine slept with Bess’s other two sisters—Catherine and Anne, there were voices and questions about the noise from below. Grace slipped on her soft slippers and threw a bed robe over her chemise and ran to see if Katherine was missing. She stopped still on the threshold when she saw her friend sitting up on her truckle bed and rubbing her eyes, eyes that were red from crying. Luckily, Anne and Catherine were leaning far out of their window while their maids hovered behind them trying to see. Grace ran to Richard’s wife and knelt down beside her.
“What happened? Why are you still here?” she whispered.
Katherine glanced at the others and back at the door before answering: “He forbade me to go with him. Oh, Grace, I have never seen him so angry. He said our son would have a chance if I stayed, making it look as though he had escaped by himself. He said Henry would be kind to me. I begged him—I implored him, and I even tried to get into the boat, but to no avail.” The tears began to flow, and Grace shook her.
“Soft, Katherine. You must go to the garderobe, take the washbasin and stay there until we are with the queen. I will make your excuses—’tis your time of the month or the like. But if they see you have cried already, they will know you were a part of the escape.”
Katherine nodded and wiped her eyes on her linen chemise. Without another word, she followed Grace’s advice, and no one saw her slip into the niche in the wall to use the privy. Then Grace joined her sisters at the window.
“What has happened to cause such a racket?” she asked, her eyes wide. “I will go and see to Bess. Maybe she knows.” And she hurried out of the room and joined Cecily, also on her way to Bess’s chamber.
They found the queen sitting rigid in her chair, staring at the window, which had been opened onto the Thames, letting the cool morning breeze into the large painted bedchamber. Her glorious fair hair was loose about her shoulders, which told her attendants that Henry had visited her that night. She turned her pale face and anxious eyes to her siblings as they ran in.
“Henry has just left,” she said dully. “It seems the boy escaped last night. Perkin has run away.”
Catherine, Anne and now their aunt Elizabeth of Suffolk all crowded into the room and heard the pronouncement. Escaped! they all mouthed at each other.
“How?” demanded Cecily. “Was he not locked in the king’s wardrobe with the two guards?”
Bess nodded. “And with new locks on the door,” she said, looking from one expectant face to the next. “Henry believes one of the two men must have passed Perkin a key—or failed to lock the door properly. The men were dead to the world when Will Smyth went to dress Perkin for the hunt today. Still in their cups from the night before, presumably.” The women clucked their tongues and whispered questions among themselves.
Seeing her sister shivering, Grace placed a shawl about her shoulders. “If he left by the door, are there not guards outside to pass as well? Someone must have bribed them,” she commented. Her heart was in her throat; her plan must have worked.
When Katherine Gordon entered the room, Grace gave her an approving glance and a subtle nod. She had tidied herself up, and the dark circles under her eyes could have been due to her courses. The attendants had forgotten about her, but now they silently glided out of the way, leaving a passage to Bess.
The queen held out her hand. “Come here, Lady Katherine,” she said kindly. When Katherine knelt before her, Bess told her of Perkin’s flight, and Grace was astonished to see Katherine blanch and sway, as if in shock. The woman has unlimited talents, she thought with grim amusement.
“G-gone, your grace?” Katherine whispered. “How c-can he be g-gone?”
Noises floated up to the group from the wharf below, and Grace went to the window and reported that large numbers of men were taking to boats and fanning out in both directions.
“The king is mounting a full-scale search,” Bess told them, rising and seeing for herself. “He has sent horsemen as far as Poole and Lyme in the west, King’s Lynn and Yarmouth in the east, and the channel ports shall all be alerted from Dover to Southampton. He cannot escape.”
“But did he not confess he was a mariner? All he needs to do is change his clothes, dirty his face, use his other languages and climb aboard a merchant ship bound for Flanders,” Grace remarked in what she hoped was a neutral tone. “Certes, he would try to return to his homeland, do you not think, your grace?”
“How many hours do they believe he has been gone?” Cecily asked, and Bess shrugged. Cecily went to Katherine, who was now standing near the fireplace, and put her arm about her. “This must be a shock to you, Lady Katherine. But it proves your husband has no thought but of himself. Did he not think that he would be abandoning you—and that the king might be inclined to punish you just for being his wife? He is not worthy of you, my dear.”
“Quite right, sister.” Henry’s voice startled the ladies, who all sank into curtsies. “Le garçon is not worthy to kiss Lady Katherine’s feet, and I shall tell him so personally when I capture him—yet again. Rise, my lady,” he said, putting his hand under Katherine’s elbow and helping her up. He smiled into her eyes. “We cannot have this noble and gentle woman so insulted by one of such low birth, can we?”
Grace held her breath. Now that she knew Katherine Gordon better, she would not be surprised if she spat in Henry’s face. But Katherine was less impetuous than Grace, and she cast her eyes down demurely and thanked the king for his kind attention. Grace heard her Aunt Elizabeth harrumph quietly behind her. The mother of John de la Pole, earl of Lincoln, once heir to the house of York and the fallen leader at Stoke, had no time for Henry Tudor, but with a second son who was rumored to be fomenting rebellion against the king, she dared not cross the man now. Grace breathed a sigh of relief; it appeared Katherine was not suspected in her husband’s escape and that Henry had no intention of treating her any less kindly.
“The bells will ring for Mass shortly, ladies,” Henry said pleasantly. “If you have not forgotten, ’tis the celebration of the Holy Trinity today. By the end of the day, I have no doubt we shall be thanking God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Ghost for delivering us the foolish fugitive. Madam.” He bowed to Bess, smiled benignly on the rest of the women and stalked from the room.
He is altogether too complacent, Grace thought suddenly. He has lost his caged bird, his personal popinjay and the safeguard against his overthrow, and yet he smiles and goes about his business as if he’d merely mislaid a coin of little value. She was puzzled; it made no sense. And then cold fingers reached around her heart. God help you, Perkin, if he catches you, she concluded: the escape is the excuse Henry needed to know what next to do with you. You were the king’s guest, and you have scorned his hospitality. Now the hand gripped her heart in an icy vise, and she knew with certainty that Perkin’s days in the sun were gone. She prayed to St. Peter, the fisherman, that Henry’s far-reaching net would have a hole in it large enough for a minnow to swim through. And she prayed devoutly to the Holy Trinity that the tragic young man who tried to be king would know peace again aboard a ship bound for the ends of the earth.
BUT GRACE’S PRAYERS were not heard. Four days later, although no one in the queen’s wing knew it, Henry received a visit from Ralph Tracy, prior of the Carthusian charterhouse that was situated adjacent to Shene Palace, a mere twelve miles away.
Grace was in the wardrobe, searching for a gown that was sorely in need of a new hem that Bess had asked her to fetch. She was surprised to see Piers Courteys, the keeper of the king’s wardrobe, seated on an old footstool and chewing the end of a quill, a piece of parchment lying across his knees. She ascertained he was taking inventory so she merely offered a “Good day to you, Master Courteys,” and would have left him to his work, but he had stayed her.
“’Tis Lady Grace, is it not?” he said pleasantly. “I have seen you in the company of Lady Katherine Gordon, have I not?” Grace nodded and Courteys lowered his voice and said, “Perhaps you would like to tell her that they have found her husband.”
Grace gasped and went back to close the door to make sure no one would enter without notice. “Go on, sir,” she begged him.
He let the scroll roll up and took the pair of spectacles off his nose. “Prior Tracy of Shene is now closeted with the king. ’Tis said he came to plead for the pretender’s life.”
“Shene?” Grace murmured. He only got as far as Shene, she thought, dismayed. “Is he still there?”
The man shrugged. “I have heard the prior interceded prettily, and his grace agreed to spare Perkin’s life if he came out of sanctuary.”
“Aye, but this time, certes, he will not be so merciful,” Grace reflected gloomily. “He must surely imprison this man who so threatens—” She stopped herself and looked anxiously at the wardrobe master. “I speak too boldly, sir; forgive me. The appearance at court of one who claimed to be my half brother has been a test of my—nay, all of our resolves.” She hoped the statement sounded noncommittal. She did not want the man tattling to Henry or any of Henry’s entourage.
Courteys glanced over his shoulder. “I am discreet, my lady, and was ever loyal to your father, God rest his soul. I cannot say for certain that this man is indeed Prince Richard, whom I helped clothe on more than one occasion, but I do say that he reminds one of the young King Edward—but for his size, certes. Aye, the York family resemblance is there.
Grace’s eyes widened. “Are you saying…?”
“I shall not say anything more, my lady. ’Tis not prudent to make comparisons these days, if you value your life. All of us who served the little prince know it makes no sense to give our opinion on the matter.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I will say that seeing young Gloucester—King Richard—all those years as I did, it was never my belief he had it in him to murder his brother’s children.” He leaned forward. “Prince Richard could have survived, is all.”
“And thus, Perkin may indeed be who he said he was?”
Again he shrugged. “I could not say, my lady. He did not know me or his servant, Rodon, nor even his own brother, Thomas of Dorset, when they brought him before the king after his capture. Strange indeed.” He busied himself with the inkpot in his writing kit, and Grace saw he did not want to communicate further; he had said enough.
“I thank you for the news, Master Courteys. You may count on my discretion, and I shall tell Lady Katherine in my own way.” As she hurried back with the queen’s dress, a sudden thought stopped her in her tracks. He had been tortured when he confessed, Master Courteys, she wanted to go back and tell him. Certes, he would have been too frightened to know anyone.
KATHERINE STOOD LIKE a statue next to Grace and Cecily on the top of the steps of Westminster Hall and stared down at the pathetic figure locked in chains and the stocks atop a scaffold made of empty wine barrels—Henry called it Perkin’s empty throne—erected in the center of the room. On most days the hall was a concourse for merchants and others meeting to discuss business, but today, the Friday of Corpus Christi, courtiers and commoners flocked into the areas known as “Heaven” and “Hell” and left “Purgatory” to Perkin. They mocked him on all sides, calling him “king of an empty throne.” Grace felt a tear roll down her cheek, but she dared not wipe it away, aware that Henry and his mother were somewhere, watching them watching.
“I cannot bear it,” Katherine murmured, feeling for Grace’s hand in the folds of Grace’s gray dress. “He has been ill-treated, I can see. There is blood on his shirt, and his lip is misshapen.”
“You must bear it, for his sake,” Grace whispered back. “See how quietly he bears it. Like a prince, in truth.” She felt Katherine’s body straighten and saw how Perkin never took his eyes from his wife’s face. “You are his strength at this moment, Katherine. Do not fail him.”
Henry ordered Perkin to be led away after only two hours, and Grace breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps the worst is over, she thought, and he will just be put in prison somewhere where he need not face the insults.
She was wrong. On Monday Perkin was taken into the city of London and pilloried at the Standard, a gigantic post upon which the citizens would tack random notices, bulletins and ballads. It stood by the conduit in front of one of the most famous taverns of the Chepe, The King’s Head. That day the Standar
d’s pinned-up papers told snippets of Perkin’s life for those who could read. For those who could not, the town crier read aloud parts of the confession as Perkin stood helplessly above the crowd on the empty barrels from ten until three and endured derision from a multitude of curious and angry citizens.
This time, Henry allowed the women of the court to remain at Westminster, and when Katherine heard how her love had collapsed from standing in the hot sun for five hours, she, too, fainted. Even Bess was overcome with sympathy for the man and his gentle wife, and she commanded that Katherine be taken to her own chamber and placed in her bed. When Katherine awoke, Grace told her that Perkin was to be locked up for his lifetime in the Tower of London.
“I WANT TO leave court,” Grace told Tom that night, when they met in the little garden beside St. Margaret’s chapel. “I have never liked Henry, ’tis true, but now I hate him. I want to go far from here with our children and not allow them to witness such cruelty. Is it possible, Tom?” She snuggled into the crook of his arm as they sat on the grassy excedra and breathed in the scent of roses and lilies around them. “I miss Yorkshire; I miss your mother; and I long for that simpler life.”
The heat of the day had dissipated only somewhat in the shadows of night, and Grace had worn her light worsted dress and left her long sleeves in her chamber. Tom could feel her skin beneath the fine lawn of her chemise as he turned her to him. “Then perhaps I should get you with child, sweetheart, so we shall have an excuse to return to your ‘lying-in’ manor at Westow,” he teased. He kissed her tenderly. “Tell me you love me, Grace,” he whispered. “I fear love has disappeared from this court, and I have a need to hear its name spoken tonight.”
Grace hitched up her cumbersome skirts and straddled his lap. Looking straight into his eyes, midnight blue in the light of the moon, she told him she loved him with all her heart and mind and soul. Then she kissed him, gentling open his mouth with her lips and tongue and tasting the sweet hippocras they had shared earlier. With deft fingers she untied the bow of his codpiece and gently took him in her hand. With their passion mounting in the kiss, she guided him into her, slowly rising and falling in the rhythm of love.
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