The Sun in Splendour (The Plantagenets Book 6)

by Juliet Dymoke

  ‘He has probably some small wound,’ Lady Scrope said consolingly, ‘and is returning more slowly.’

  It was afternoon when at last Lord Berners came with Humphrey's squire, riding in front of a hastily made litter. In terror Bess ran out and across the courtyard. There was no need for her father-in-law to speak – one glance at his face was enough. Fitchett lifted a corner of Humphrey's own banner which covered him. His face was still bloodied from the cut but there was no other wound visible, only an odd look of half-consummated triumph, mingled with the peace of death. The ghastly wound that had slain him Fitchett did not reveal but she would not have seen it for the ground heaved beneath her feet and the world went black. All she heard was an echo of Humphrey's words, ‘We have all our lives . . .’ and then with no more than one strangled cry she sank down unconscious on the ground.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The children had grown. Annette, at seven, was a pretty child with her father's colouring and a pleasing expression, though six-year old Margaret could only be called plain, a dark child, small as her mother had always been and with the same sallow skin. John, to Bess's mind, was entirely Bourchier, a belligerent boy and hard to handle. He had been spoilt by his grandparents at Ashwellthorpe and now, with no father to guide him, Bess feared he would grow out of hand. As soon as he was eight years old she would send him as page to some nobleman, Lord Hastings perhaps, or even the Duke of Gloucester.

  The nursery rang to the sound of his strident voice and the latest squabble came over his desire to be taken to see the King's triumphal entry into London.

  ‘Certainly not,’ Bess said. ‘We are a family in mourning, my son, and it is not fitting.’

  John said, scowling, ‘Father would want me to see the king ride in.’

  ‘Don't be silly,’ Annette told him. ‘How can you know what Father would want?’ Her face had gone a little pink for of the three she had cried most on hearing of Humphrey's death. ‘We shall see the King soon, shan't we, Mother? You said you might take us to court.’

  ‘Indeed I will,’ Bess agreed, ‘on a suitable occasion. You must go back to your lessons now, John.’

  His scowl deepened. ‘I don't like my lessons. I don't want to add up, or to read. I want Fitchett to show me how to use a bow.’

  ‘Then you are stupid and will grow up stupid,’ Margaret said with the superiority of an added year. ‘I am going to learn all I can.’

  ‘It doesn't matter what girls know,’ he retorted and made a face at her. ‘You won't count but I shall be Lord Berners when grandfather is dead.’

  ‘Oh!’ Margaret gasped. ‘You are a horrid boy.’ She seized his hair, he screeched, and Bess put both hands over her ears.

  ‘Be quiet – be quiet! I cannot have this noise.’ She pulled the two younger ones apart, smacked John hard, and rang the bell by her side. At once the children's nurse came. ‘Take them to Master Forde,’ she ordered. ‘It is time and more and he will be waiting.’

  Aline was a sturdy young woman and she took hold of John in a grip that despite his struggles and angry tears he could not shift, and with Margaret holding her other hand took them out. Annette was about to follow but ran back to kiss her mother.

  ‘I am sorry they were naughty. I keep telling them they should be good because you are so unhappy.’

  ‘Thank you my sweet.’ Bess caught the child to her. ‘You are a good daughter and your father would be so pleased with you.' She watched her run off and then with a heavy sigh took up her piece of embroidery. Outside the street was quiet, everyone gone to see the King's return to his capital, everyone praying the last battle had been fought and that peace and good trade would result. The bells were ringing and Bess thought of the day nearly six weeks gone when the bells had sounded the message that he King was home again. So much had happened since then but it hardly impinged on her. The shock of Humphrey's death, according to Robert Bellasis in the last moment of the battle, had driven out all else. Lady Scrope advised her to go home to Ashwellthorpe, that the Queen would not mind, but there was so much to be settled that she sent Fitchett and Robert to bring the children to London. Poor Fitchett was so beside himself with grief that she felt he would be better occupied, and he had long since cast an eye on Aline who might be of some comfort to him. Robert too had only added to her unhappiness by his own mourning for the man to whom he had become so devoted, and even his knighting on the field by the Earl of Essex had brought him little pleasure, followed as it had been almost at once by the sight of two men bearing Humphrey's body out of the fog.

  So Bess stayed at her London house, visited by family and friends. Lord Berners came, his grief all the more heartrending for his inability to express it, and he could do no more than sit beside her and occasionally stroke her hand. The Earl of Essex came too and Sir John Bourchier with his wife Lady Ferrers who had been so kind to Bess at the time of her bedding at Groby. But she sat alone for most of the time, thinking, remembering. It seemed, so ironic, so dreadful, that after a reunion bringing her closer to Humphrey than she had ever been, for once forgetting the hidden love, that he should be taken from her. She felt torn with guilt and remorse for the half measure she had given him for most of their time together. Yet when Edward, despite his busy preparations, had found time to send a message to her, her love for him rose as strongly as ever. And her torn emotions were such that for several days she retired to her bed, Elysia caring for her as tenderly as a daughter. Common sense at last roused her. There was much to do, lawyers to see, land and property to be settled, Humphrey's will to be read and implemented, and by the time Sir Robert and Fitchett returned with the children she was at least able to act as her normal self.

  Almost at once she began to doubt her decision to send for them. The Lancastrians were not yet beaten. At Easter Queen Margaret and her son had landed in the west country, even while Edward marched against Warwick at Barnet, and she had gained a considerable following, aided by Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke. Edward hastily raised a fresh army and marched out of London.

  For three weeks all was quiet. The children were a great comfort after the loneliness, despite their squabbling. They brought life into the silent house and stirred her to need to return to everyday living.

  And then one morning she woke to pandemonium. There was the sound of guns, heavy thuds in the distance, shouts and a babble of terrified questions as people poured into the streets. Elysia came running into her bedchamber and Bess cried out, ‘Oh, what is it? What's happening?’

  Elysia was white with fright. ‘My lady, they say there's a great army attacking the city. They’re at the gates this very minute. What shall we do?’

  Bess sprang out of bed. ‘Sweet Jesu, why did I bring the children here? Is Aline with them?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. John wanted to go out but she will not let them move from their bedchamber.’

  Bess was throwing on her clothes, Elysia finding her stockings, shoes, a plain white veil. ‘Send Sir Robert to me. He must go and find out –’

  ‘He's already gone out, madame. He will tell us.’

  Bess ran to the children's room, only to find them more excited than perturbed, though Margaret clung to her skirts in her usual fashion and asked if horrid men were coming to seize them. ‘Nonsense, my poppet,’ Bess said. ‘My Lord Rivers is in command in London and he will soon deal with whoever is outside. No, John, you may not go out. I will come back later when I have news.’

  She hurried down the stair to find Sir Robert Bellasis coming in through the outer door. When he saw the women on the stair he gave Elysia a swift reassuring smile and said to Bess, ‘It is Warwick's cousin, my lady, Fauconberg's bastard. He has brought up some men of Kent and is attacking the city gates, but our soldiers are holding them. Lord Rivers is at Aldgate and with your leave I would join him.’

  Elysia cried out, ‘Would you leave my lady without protection?’

  ‘We shall be all right,’ Bess said. ‘I'm sure Lord Rivers needs every man. Go, Robert.’
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  He went and for the rest of the day and the next day they heard nothing much. Fitchett came to say Lord Rivers had thrown the Bastard's men back from Aldgate and London Bridge held. The guns kept firing but none near Bess's house, and they did little damage in the city. Then suddenly they were silent and Robert rode back to say that the rebels had gone, that the Bastard had taken ship in the Thames and sailed away down the river.

  ‘But why?’ she asked. ‘Why?’

  He laughed, his fair, rather florid face alight. ‘Because, my lady, the King has won a great victory, at Tewkesbury so we heard. The Lancastrians are routed, beaten, done for.’

  ‘And the King?’ Bess asked in stunned relief. ‘He is not hurt?’

  ‘Not that we heard, my lady, nor his brothers. The Duke of Somerset and the Earl of Devon were taken and executed for the traitors they were.’

  Bess sat down suddenly on a stool. ‘What of Prince Edward? He did not fight?’

  ‘Oh yes, he fought, but he too fled at the end and we hear it was Clarence's men who caught him, or as some say the Duke himself, and he was slain half a mile from the field. The King sent two heralds to apprise all London of this and prepare for his return.’

  ‘And Queen Margaret?’

  ‘They have her too. She had disappeared but the King's men found her with the Lady Anne Neville in a poor priory at Little Malvern. He brings her to London with him.’

  Bess thought of the proud Queen whom she had never seen, now so utterly humbled. Perhaps if Humphrey had not died she might have felt a stirring of pity for her, but for the instigator of all this wasted blood and lost lives she had none. But she did think of Anne Neville, a widow at sixteen. Perhaps now after all Gloucester would have her, and there would be happiness for them if not for herself.

  Elysia saw her face and came to kneel by her chair. ‘Dear lady, we are so sorry. If Sir Humphrey had lived what a day of rejoicing this would have been.’

  ‘Don't,’ Bess said. ‘I cannot bear it.’ Yet at the same time a part of her cried out with relief that Edward was safe, that his enemies were crushed at last.

  Two days after his triumphal entry she had an unexpected visitor, bearing further news. When Master Thomas Howard's name was announced she was taken by surprise and minded to say she was receiving no guests but he had followed close behind her page Mark and was almost at the door.

  ‘Pray bid Master Howard come in,’ was all she could say and the next moment he was limping towards her and kissing her hand.

  ‘I came,’ he said in his blunt way, ‘to offer you my sympathy and my father's. Sir Humphrey was a good man and sorely mourned by us all.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she answered. She supposed she should have expected him to come. The Howards were near neighbours of Humphrey's uncle, their manors of Stoke and Nayland in the lovely Dedham Vale were not far from the Earl's vast lands, and she remembered Humphrey saying how they pursued the acquaintance in order to push themselves up in the world.

  ‘I would have come sooner,’ he was saying, ‘but for my wound which kept me abed and away from the King's great victory at Tewkesbury.’

  She realized she was keeping him standing and indicated a chair, calling for Mark to bring wine. ‘I trust it is healed.’

  ‘Well enough,’ he answered. ‘I shall not walk squarely for a while, that is all.’

  He had taken Humphrey's usual chair and she found herself flinching, his short figure, the hooked nose and dark hair and heavy brows totally unattractive after Humphrey's pleasant face and graceful ways. She wished he would go now that he had delivered his message but he showed no disposition to do so, merely settling himself more comfortably.

  After a moment's silence she said politely, ‘I trust your father was not hurt at Tewkesbury?’

  ‘No indeed, not even a scratch.’ He paused again and then said, ‘Had you heard, my lady, that King Henry is dead?’

  ‘No,’ she exclaimed. ‘When? Where?’

  ‘In the Tower. They say he had a seizure on hearing of the death of his son and of Somerset and so many others. And he knew he would not see his wife again. He had naught to live for.’

  ‘Poor man,’ she said in sudden compassion and crossed herself. ‘May his soul be at peace now.’

  ‘He caused enough trouble while he lived. It is well for England's peace that he should be gone to his eternal rest. His body lies at St. Paul's for all to see.’

  ‘You have been there?’

  ‘Aye, with half London. All properly done with torches and a guard honourably about his corpse.’

  A qualm stirred Bess. Henry dead must bring to an end the wars that had torn the country apart, and it could not have happened more fortunately. Had he died, as Thomas said, of shock? Or – but that thought she dared not pursue. She must believe what she had been told. After all, Henry was fifty and of a nervous disposition, and what more natural than that his heart could not bear the awful blow.

  ‘King Edward will have no opposition now,’ Howard said. ‘Jasper Tudor is fled to Brittany with his nephew so the west is cleared of rebels, the sting has been drawn from Archbishop Neville, and Bishop Stillington is to have the chancellorship again. As for me, I am to be one of the King's esquires of the body, a very responsible position, my lady. It is a great thing for me, a stepping-stone.’

  I am pleased for you,’ she said mechanically. ‘No doubt his grace wishes to reward you for your services at Barnet.’

  ‘And my father too. He is to continue as treasurer, of course, and is to be Deputy Governor of Calais. Now that Warwick is dead, my Lord Hastings is to be Governor there in his place and will I am sure be a good lord to us. We lack only property and means to rise, but these will come.’

  Bess stared at him. The Howards had been no more than modest country gentlemen but she could see ambition written all over Thomas's face. ‘God send you good cheer,’ she said politely. ‘Now, if you will forgive me –’

  He rose at once, kissed her hand again and limped to the door. ‘I may come again?’

  ‘If you wish, sir.’ She wondered why he should want to do so and then as the door closed the truth dawned on her. She was a widow and extremely wealthy. The Howards wanted money and her lands were also in East Anglia. It was as plain to see as the chair he had been sitting in. She had a sudden desire to laugh out loud. Of all the men she knew he would be the last she would consider. She supposed in time she might marry again – a rich widow in her position would be much sought after – but it would not be Thomas Howard.

  By late June she was back at court. ‘Dear Bess, you have mourned a while,’ the Queen said. ‘It will do you good to join us all. And I like to have my old friends about me. I believe I am pregnant again and you were my stay when I bore Prince Edward and the girls before him.’

  ‘I am glad your grace needs me,’ Bess said. ‘In truth I was growing weary of sitting at home, even with the children about. One must live.’ She thought of Queen Margaret shut away in Wallingford Castle, no living left to her, only existence. She herself had much to be thankful for.

  ‘My poor Bess,’ Edward said when she first attended the Queen again. ‘We miss Humphrey greatly. If there is aught I may do for you, you have only to ask me.’ His smile was kind, his sympathy genuine and he touched her cheek with his finger.

  Without Humphrey to fill her waking and sleeping hours, without the real affection they had for each other that on that last night had reached a new fulfilment, a new promise, she succumbed once more to her early love. He was always there, tall, dominating, full of energy, a man of so many and diverse interests that one never knew where he might be next, attending the Council, riding to meet merchants in the city, keeping himself informed about the price of wool, receiving envoys, amusing himself in divers ways and with numerous ladies. In her loneliness and grief her love grew more obsessive and she hurried to rejoin the entertainments at court where she might see him, dance with him. That many other women at court were eager to do the same and would, for all s
he knew, willingly take him to their beds, in no way deterred her. Even Elysia accompanying her mistress said, ‘There is not another lord like him, is there, my lady? Only Lord Rivers comes near him.’

  Bess laughed. ‘I thought you found Sir Robert Bellasis good to look upon? I see your eyes stray to him often enough. And his to you.’

  Elysia blushed, a little smile on her face, and Bess added, ‘I'm sure your father has never thought of wedlock for you – his head is too full of books. I can see I shall have to give my mind to it.’ She looked at the girl, at the well-shaped hands busy sorting out her jewel box, at the slender neck. She wondered she had not observed before that there was good blood there, and it would be well to find out more about Elysia's antecedents.

  But for the moment, immersed in court affairs, she was too busy to attend to Elysia's future. She and Lady Scrope and Catherine Hastings were in turn in attendance on the Queen who was surrounded as always by a great many of her family, her brothers Anthony and Richard, her sisters Lady Maltravers and Lady Strange and one of the youngest, the Duchess of Buckingham, her child­wedding now consummated. The Duke, a voluble youth, sat one evening beside Bess at the supper table.

  ‘Every entertainment turns into a Queen's party, does it not?’ was his opening remark. ‘It is time we asserted ourselves, we of the royal line, and I include you, Dame Bourchier, for your late husband had Plantagenet blood in his veins.’

  It was an extraordinary way to talk, Bess thought, even though he laughed as he spoke.

  ‘Seeing our host is the Duke of Clarence –’ she was beginning, but he interrupted her.

  ‘I was jesting, lady. My wife's family are as welcome to me as any – of the Queen's train.’

  The pause was not lost on her. She took an instant dislike to him and thought him conceited and with an unbridled tongue. Jests, she well knew, could cause more trouble than amusement. Perhaps Henry Stafford thought himself too secure in his position as yet another great-grandson of Edward III, but she was well aware that he resented having Catherine Woodville thrust on him as a bride.