Presently Margaret Beaufort, wife to his uncle Stafford, who had chanced to hear the talk, said in a low voice, ‘Pay no heed to my nephew. He is a little sour, but will soon come to terms with life – as I have had to do.’
Bess turned to look at her. There was something about Margaret Beaufort that was very attractive, an intelligence in her face though she could boast no beauty, and she had the reputation of being very devout and generous to the Church. Bess wondered what she felt, for she must think often of her son Henry Tudor, carried far away to Brittany by her brother-in-law, Jasper. Yet Margaret had become the Queen's friend.
‘You are right,’ Bess said, ‘you know what it is like to be widowed.’
‘And to wed again, as you will, I am sure.’
‘Not yet,’ Bess said involuntarily. ‘Please God, not yet.’ She turned away to look across at another widow. When Anne Neville had been found at Malvern with Queen Margaret Clarence had sent her at once to his wife. Bess guessed how both sisters must have grieved at the loss of their father and uncle, but she wondered whether Anne wept much for her youthful husband, slain, some said, by the man who now claimed to be her guardian. Both looked a little pale, though Isabel laughed and chattered to her guests. The Queen was distinctly cool towards both her and George, but Isabel pretended to notice nothing and talked of the mummers' play to be performed after supper. While the players were setting up their wooden castle as a background, Bess moved over to speak to the Lady Anne.
‘You are well?’ she asked. ‘You do not seem so tonight if you will forgive me for remarking on it.’
‘Oh,’ Anne forced a smile. ‘I am quite well, but it has been a painful time for me.’
‘Of course. I too have lost one that I loved.’
‘I know and I am sorry. As for myself whatever our disagreements my father was very dear to me.’
She did not mention her husband the Prince, and as the play was about to begin she whispered swiftly, ‘Dame Bourchier, may I come and see you? I would so like to talk to you – if I can slip away.’
‘You are welcome,’ Bess answered. ‘I shall be at my house on Monday and Tuesday.’ But, good God, she thought, does the Duke keep her prisoner?
‘Silence if you please, ladies, my lords,’ Clarence called out. ‘The play is about to begin.’
A hush fell and for some reason Bess remembered these last words. There was a painful anxiety on Anne's face, and Bess sat through a somewhat bumbling performance of a lady being rescued from the castle defended by an evil knight, without having heard a word of it or doing more than cheer the good knight who came to her succour. Life was more earnest than this nonsensical play and she felt a deep concern for the girl under Clarence's supposed care. Involuntarily she glanced at Richard of Gloucester, but he was watching without taking his eyes from the players and without a shadow of expression on his face.
On Monday Anne came and almost before the door was closed she hurried to Bess, both hands held out, and broke into weeping. ‘Lady Bourchier, oh help me, help me.’
‘What is it, child?’ Bess asked, aghast. She guided Anne to her own chair. ‘Come, sit down, tell me.’
Anne wept on for a moment and then raised a blotched face, the hectic colour spoiling her soft complexion, her grey eyes reddened, her brown hair fallen loose from her hood. ‘I am afraid, far more afraid than when we heard my father was dead and had to run away from Tewkesbury to that convent.’
‘Why? What is there to fear?’ Bess asked, though intuitively she knew the answer. ‘Indeed I had hoped that now –’
‘I know – I know!’ Anne broke into a fresh paroxysm. ‘Richard – the Duke – he's gone today to fight the Scots, as you know, but before he went he – he led me to think –’
‘Ah! Then surely all will be well for you?’
‘No! No! My brother-in-law is wicked, greedy. He wants all my father's lands, not only Isabel's share. He swears I shall marry no one without his consent and never his own brother. He says – he says I would be better taking a small dowry to a convent, but I won't, I won't!’
‘Indeed you will not,’ Bess agreed. ‘I never heard of anything so cruel when your heart lies elsewhere. What does Isabel say?’
‘Oh, she is kind enough, but she is afraid of George and begs me to do as he says. He is an evil man, he has beaten her more than once, he brings mistresses to her bed and sends her to sleep with her women. Why, there is a laundress in Bow Lane, and when she comes for the washing he sends for her and pulls up her skirts in front of Isabel. It is disgusting, and yet – yet she says she loves him. Oh!’ Anne screwed up her hands. ‘I have had one husband I hated. I’ll not have another.’
‘I see. I thought you did not mourn Prince Edward.’
Anne shuddered. ‘Jesu, no! And my mother-in-law hated me because she hated my father, for all they were forced to join together. And I hated her. I thank God I was never taken to that spiteful boy's bed.’
‘Your marriage was not consummated? Surely the Prince was seventeen when he was slain and you must be near sixteen.’
‘Yes, but don't you see? Queen Margaret wanted to be able to annul it if my father failed. I thank God also I will never, never have to see her again.’
Bess took both Anne's small hands in hers. Poor child, she thought, poor child to be surrounded by so much hate. To have it eating so at one must be terrible. ‘When Duke Richard comes back, the King will surely give you to him,’ she said consolingly. ‘Then you will be happy. My lord of Clarence cannot stop that.’
‘He says he is my guardian now.’ Anne's sobs began again. ‘I am so afraid of what he will do, for he will stop at nothing to have his own way.’
‘George of Clarence is all hot air and foolishness,’ Bess said bracingly. ‘If matters get too bad come to me, or to the Duchess Cicely. She will not have you ill-treated.’
At last she managed to soothe the distracted girl and sent her back to the Clarence household. She was quite sure that Clarence could never force his will on her without Edward's permission. And Richard would soon be back.
In the meantime to her amusement she had her own state under siege and from another and surprising quarter. The younger of the Paston brothers called to see her in the early days of September.
‘I am pardoned, my lady,’ he said. ‘My brother and I have been in dire straits since we fought at Barnet. My lord of Oxford was a good lord to us and naturally we felt obliged to march under his banner. We never made so wrong a choice. My elbow took an arrow in the battle but it was part spent and praise God I was soon healed though I lay in prison all the while.’
‘So I heard from my knight, Sir Robert Bellasis,’ she said. ‘It grieved me that we were on opposing sides. Your family have always been our friends.’
‘A war in one's own country always sets friends against each other,’ he said with truth. He seemed to Bess to have grown older in more than years. Always more steady than the arrogant Sir John, he now appeared to have acquired some wisdom. ‘But it is over,’ he went on, ‘and I thank God it has pleased the King to be merciful to his enemies. He has pardoned nearly all who took the sword against him. Our coffers need replenishing but we will manage that.’
‘And is your mother well?’
‘Aye, and as busy as ever. She writes that your lady mother is quite at a loss now that your quarrel with your uncles is over and the land settled.’
‘It was never my quarrel,’ Bess said. ‘How does your sister?’
John Paston smiled and instantly his face became boyish again. ‘She has wed Master Richard Calle at last. They wore my mother down with their persistence and now she finds Richard not such an ill-son-in-law. He is very good with the account books.’
Bess laughed. ‘I am so glad. What will you do now, Master Paston?’
He gave a little shrug. ‘Well, we have lost Caister to his grace of Norfolk – did you know his wife is brought to bed of a daughter? So there's naught to be hoped for there. My brother has offered his s
ervices to my Lord Hastings and has been graciously accepted. My lord has need of a man of business to travel to Calais for him. As for me, I suppose I will go home to manage our affairs there.’ He paused and looked down at his shoes, hesitating for a moment. 'I need a wife, Lady Bourchier, with some fortune to mend ours.’
‘Is there any lady you have in mind?’ she asked and began to guess that might be the reason for his visit. ‘If so we will forget our enmities and for the sake of past friendship I will do all I can to assist you.’
He came closer and went down on one knee by her chair. ‘Assist me, yes – but to your own hand. You need a husband, lady, and I a wife. If you would wed me, Paston lands and Tilney lands would march side by side. I'm sure your father would approve of that.' He caught her hand, but she withdrew it at once and rose.
‘Master Paston, I beg you not to be so foolish.’
‘Foolish?’ He jumped up and stood before her, his face flushed. ‘What is foolish about it? And I would love you well, dearest lady – indeed I am well on the way to it now.’
She fought back the desire to laugh. ‘Sir, you are not. You want a rich wife and for that I do not blame you, but I am not for you.’
‘You think me too lowly?’ he cried out, and as she paused went on, ‘Don't think I don't see that, but men may rise in this world and with your rank and wealth I won't be the first. The Pastons are an old and honourable family and not so far beneath the Tilneys.’
‘I did not mean to hurt you,’ Bess said hastily. ‘Indeed, I am sorry for you. But I have no thought of wedlock and when I do I shall consult the King's grace.’ She did not know why she said it but it had the desired effect.
John Paston snatched up his cap. ‘I see how it is. Sir Humphrey was the King's cousin. You have risen so high that you must crush my hopes.’
‘No, no, it is only that –’
‘I shall go on a pilgrimage,' he interrupted, ‘and pray that you have a change of heart. You cannot be so proud that you are set irrevocably against me.’
‘Not against you,’ she said quietly. ‘Nor do I think I am so proud. But I am too recently bereaved to think of marriage again. Goodbye, Master Paston. Do not think too hardly of me, but put all thought of wedlock between us out of your mind once and for all.’
He went, crestfallen, and alone again, Bess's amusement subsided. She gave a deep sigh. Two suitors already and she wanted neither. Why had she said she would consult Edward? It was Edward whom she wanted, who was even further from her reach than she from John Paston's.
In September Richard of Gloucester returned to London, a satisfactory truce concluded with the Scots. He came at once to Westminster and found the King there with the Queen and her ladies, the Duke of Clarence and their uncle Lord Essex. It was still some time before supper and Richard was welcomed, wine passed round, and for a while the talk was of affairs in the north, of Northumberland's effusive loyalty now that Edward was once more securely on the throne.
‘He entertained us well,’ Richard said. ‘Alnwick is a fine castle and we had good hunting, but a little of Henry Percy's company goes a long way. I am glad to be back.’ He glanced across at his brother George. ‘Where are my sister-in-law and the Lady Anne? Are they not at court?’
‘Not today,’ Clarence answered negligently. ‘Isabel has a slight cold and Anne would not leave her. She is a good sister and cares for my wife – as I care for my own.’
Bess, seated with Lady Scrope on a bench behind the Queen, laid her sewing in her lap. There had been no mistaking the undertone in Clarence's voice, nor his attitude, as he stood, shoulders against the stone mantel, looking down on Richard.
The Queen laughed. ‘You are prickly today, George. Do we not all care for our own? I am always being accused of seeing that my family prospers, but who does not?’
Clarence shrugged and the King said affably, ‘I hope the Lady Isabel will be recovered enough to attend the tourney on Saturday. Our friends from Holland will provide a challenge for us. It is a pity Anthony is away.’
‘Good God, he is not the only jouster in England,’ Clarence said. ‘We three Plantagenets will make a spectacle of the affair.’
‘I'm sure you will.’ The Queen's voice was silky. ‘You always do, George.’
Lord Essex quickly began a ponderous reminiscence of a tourney on London Bridge, and in a low voice Richard requested a few words in private with the King. They disappeared into an inner chamber, George stayed where he was, kicking idly at the stonework, the others listened to the Earl's tale and finally supper was announced. The King and Richard reappeared and neither spoke of what had taken them apart.
Bess made up her mind to risk calling at Le Herber, the fine London house that had once belonged to the Earl of Warwick and that Clarence and his wife now occupied. She had an uneasy feeling concerning Anne and the next day on being admitted learned that the Lady Isabel was still confined to bed. Anne, however, was pathetically glad to see her and they sat for a long while talking in her chamber along the gallery. Though neither said it, both were glad that the Duke was not in evidence and Bess repeated what had occurred the evening before. ‘I am certain my lord of Gloucester approached the King concerning you,’ she said, and saw a tinge of colour warm Anne's pale cheeks.
''Was Richard well? Did he – did he ask for me?’
He asked after supper if I had seen you and I told him you had come to my house and all we talked of. He means to wed you as soon as may be, of that I am sure.’
‘Oh!’ Anne clasped her hands together. ‘Then this past terrible year will be forgotten and I shall be happy. When they wed me to Prince Edward I thought I should never be so again.’
‘The Duke of Gloucester may be quiet but he is determined. And now I really must go.’ Bess gathered up her cloak but before they had done more than rise to their feet there was a sound of hammering at the outer door, raised voices, men entering.
Anne ran forward. ‘Oh Jesu! Can it be –’
Instinct made Bess catch the eager girl's hand. ‘Wait, wait. Let us see who it is.’
She looked down from the gallery into the hall and saw Gloucester standing by the door, his friend Sir James Tyrell behind him, while Clarence who had evidently returned came from the library, a goblet in his hand.
‘Well, brother Dickon,’ he demanded. ‘What do you want? Did we not find enough to say to each other yesterday?’
‘Enough,’ Richard agreed. ‘I have come to see the Lady Anne.’
‘Oh?’ Clarence made a gesture, dismissing the servant who had opened the door. ‘For what reason?’
‘You know very well. I have Edward's permission to approach her. I intend to make her my wife.’
Anne gave her a little gasp and every vestige of colour faded from her face. Bess, still holding her hand, felt her thin body trembling. ‘Keep still,’ she whispered. ‘Don't let them see us yet.’
George deliberately drained his cup and then walked across the space between them until he was facing Richard. ‘That,’ he said, ‘you will never do. I tell you now the affairs of the Neville family are entirely in my hands and I mean to relinquish nothing to you – neither Anne nor any of the late Earl's lands or wealth.’
‘You have no right –’
‘I have every right. As Isabel's husband all that is hers comes legally to me, and I hold wardship over Anne. When she is wed, if she is wed, it will be to a man of my choosing. Never, by God, to you!’
For one moment Bess thought Anne would run down, throw herself upon Gloucester's protection, beg him to take her away, but some instinct told her that it would be unwise, it would put them in the wrong. Richard would prefer the safe way, through Edward who loved him far better than he loved George of Clarence. And it seemed Anne was in the grip of fear of her brother-in-law more than any other emotion, for she shrank back against the wall in terror.
Richard had not moved. ‘You dare not defy Edward,’ he said curtly.
‘If he sees his brothers divided, do you
think he will favour one above the other?’ Clarence sneered in blind conceit. ‘I am heir now to all that Warwick left, and that is an end of the matter.’
‘Far from it. George!’ Richard threw out his hands. ‘Are we not brothers, as you remind me yourself? Have we not come through much trouble to be reunited? Why do you want to deny me the lady I desire for wife?’
‘England is full of women needing husbands. You may take your pick of them, I suppose – all but one. As for brotherly love –’ Clarence laughed and the sound was not pleasant, ‘– you and Edward have done little for me. It is you he loads with honours.’
‘It was you who betrayed him, not I!’ Richard's temper was beginning to fray. ‘And Edward forgave you. I advise you to think carefully before you anger him again.’
‘How you frighten me!’ Clarence mocked. ‘And little I got out of Edward's forgiveness, but I tell you his: Warwick dead shall pay for his cheating me in life. Not one penny will I give to you nor to anyone of what has come to me through Barnet field.’
‘Great God!’ Richard looked at him in contempt. ‘You are as miserly as a moneylender.’
‘And you are as greedy as a dog after a bitch, though whether it is the lady's body or her wealth you covet, I don't know.’
Richard drew his cloak about him. Deliberately he said, though his voice shook with rage. ‘Your words will choke you one day, George. I am going to the King.’
‘You can go to hell and back if you will,’ George retorted and Richard turned on his heel. Sir James Tyrell opened the door for him and he left.
The two women above, held rigid by the quarrel, stared at each other and then Anne's knees gave way and she broke into hysterical sobbing.
The Duke glanced up and when he saw his sisterin-law collapsed by the gallery rail and Bess standing beside her, his face darkened. ‘What the devil are you doing here, Lady Bourchier? Pray leave my house at once, and you, Anne, get you to your room.’
The Sun in Splendour (The Plantagenets Book 6) Page 13
