‘Yes, he is changed,’ Bess agreed to Catherine's question. ‘Humphrey would be so pleased. And what of your daughter? Is she content with Sir Thomas Grey?’
‘Since he has become Marquess of Dorset, well content,’ Catherine smiled. ‘She likes her position though she sees little of him. He and William are forever dining or supping in the city. The King has a new mistress there and they must vie with each other to make sport for him. God knows what they all get up to when the curfew bell is rung.’
Bess wondered why it should still cut her when she heard of Edward's mistresses, and when a few days later Thomas came to her chamber to say they were invited to dine in the city with the King she asked rather sharply if the Queen was to be there. ‘Of course. We are to be feasted at the Guildhall. Why should she not be there?’
Bess did not answer this. With her growing family and her latest pregnancy she had been excused much attendance on the Queen and in some ways she was relieved. The court as usual swarmed with Elizabeth's kin, all falling over each other to be in the King's favour, a new generation of children filled the palaces with noise. The older established families tended to hold aloof, the Herberts and the Talbots, the Percys and the Dacres and many others, and even Bess's own friendship with Elizabeth was less than it had once been. Subtly, perhaps, her fondness for the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester coupled with Thomas's sobering influence was changing her, and when she saw Edward on the first night at home, he seemed to her to be growing heavy, a stomach on him that he had not had before, fleshy skin beneath his eyes, his chin less sharply defined. He lounged in his chair, ate and drank what seemed to excess. Bess felt a depression settle on her spirits.
‘We must look our best for the Guildhall,’ the Queen told her when they were preparing for the dinner. ‘I do not often go into the city but when I do I and my ladies must outshine those tiresome merchants' wives who consider themselves so superior.’
‘Yes, your grace,’ Bess agreed in some bewilderment. There was a note in the Queen's voice that made her wonder if there was one particular wife she had in mind.
‘I should like to see you in orange and cream,’ the Queen said. ‘Do you still have that gown that became you so well a while ago?’
Bess shook her head. She thought she would never wear those colours together again, for they evoked too many memories. ‘But I promise you all the finery I can lay my hands on.’
Elizabeth laughed, ‘You have kept your figure better than I. With six children and another in her grave, poor mite, I fear I have lost some of my beauty. And I suspect I have yet one more under my skirt. But then I have a lusty man, have I not?’
She had indeed grown plumper and her face rounder, but the fair beauty that had entrapped Edward Plantagenet was still there and when they set out for the city Elizabeth looked magnificent. Crowds were gathered to see their King and his Queen pass, but she barely inclined her head and when Edward called out greetings in his familiar way to the men whom he knew she gave only a supercilious glance to their wives. Several of her sisters, riding behind her, were no more gracious and Bess thought, no wonder she is not popular in the city.
The hall was crowded with hot humanity, the rich dinner sat heavily on her stomach and it was with relief that Bess pushed her last platter away. In the pause while the sweetmeats and fruit and nuts were passed round, glasses refilled, Bess looked about her and saw, farther down a table opposite, a woman smiling at her. The face was familiar and for a moment she searched her memory in vain. Then she remembered the triumphal day of Edward's return seven years ago and the excited crowd pushing her beside another girl. What was her name? When the company rose Bess went over to her and the name returned. ‘Mistress Shore, isn't it? Do you recall our meeting?’
‘Indeed, madame,’ Jane Shore answered. She was still very pretty with the same bright eager eyes. ‘But I am afraid I can't bring your name to mind.’
‘I was Dame Bourchier then,’ Bess answered, ‘but my husband was slain at Barnet. Now I am wed to Master Thomas Howard – see, sitting there beside Lord Hastings.’
‘Oh, I know Lord Hastings. He used to come often to my husband's house with the King.’ She paused. ‘Concerning the wool staple in Calais or some such business.’
‘Used to?’ Bess queried. ‘Is your husband no longer trading?’
‘I am no longer married to him,’ Jane said in a low voice. ‘Shall we find a seat together, madame? Some citizens from Chepe have got up an entertainment for the King. I can't promise it will be good, but it will be loud and we can talk softly.’
They found a bench as a company began to sing with perhaps more zeal than talent. Bess said, ‘I am so sorry that you too should have lost your husband. Was it a sickness?’
‘He is not dead,’ Jane answered. ‘Our marriage has been annulled. My husband was – is – a good man, but – incapable.’
‘Oh,’ Bess said. What a relief it might have been had Thomas been the same! Yet then she would not have had little Tom. ‘Are you to wed again?’
Jane stared across at the singers and then gave a shrug. ‘Perhaps. I envy those who have children. How many do you have?’
‘Four and another to come in the summer. I have lost two so I hope Our Lady will grant me a safe delivery and healthy child this time.’
‘I will pray for you, Mistress Howard,’ Jane said simply. ‘The Queen is fruitful, is she not?’ Bess's glance strayed to the chairs set for the King and Queen. They were surrounded by the Queen's family. Her eldest son the Marquess of Dorset leaned negligently on his mother's throne, a cruel set to his mouth, his eyes wandering round the room towards all the prettiest women and then up and down their figures – as if he was undressing them, Bess thought disgustedly and wondered that the King should choose him so often as a companion. Edward himself had his arm about his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, a fair child with a gentle face who was obviously enjoying the singing.
At that moment the King looked up and his eyes met Jane's. There was a swift smile though in an instant hers were lowered. She is Edward's mistress! Bess thought with swift intuition. She is the new fancy Catherine talked of. There was a voluptuousness, a warmth about Jane that had puzzled her for it did not come from being a lonely wife separated from an impotent man. Abruptly she rose. ‘It has been pleasant speaking with you, Mistress Shore, but I must go back to the Queen.’
Jane rose too, but there was neither shame nor concealment in her face. ‘You are but newly come back to London, are you not, Dame Howard? Gossip springs up like –’
‘– a weed on a dunghill,’ Bess finished and then, crimson in the face, caught at Jane's hands. ‘Oh, I did not mean that. I did not know until this moment that –’
‘That I give his grace some pleasure? I do, madame, and he is all I live for just now. If it lasts but a week or a year, I shall be happy that I have been his.’
To Jane's surprise, Bess still held her hands close. ‘Forgive me if I sounded harsh. I am glad you please the King. He is all that matters.’ And then hurrying away she wished she had not spoken so openly.
Later as the entertainment finished and the King moved round the hall, talking to all and sundry, the Queen remaining in her seat, Bess saw him pause and speak to Jane, saw Jane curtsey, the slight smile as he put her hand to his lips.
‘They say he has bought her a house,’ Catherine said in her ear. ‘Well, I suppose it is the privilege of royalty. I think William cast his eye on the little cat first, but he had no fortune when the King was in competition.’
Bess felt a little sick. How Catherine could take it so matter-of-factly she did not comprehend. She thought of Jane's last words and understood them only too well. If one loved Edward the King one had to be grateful for the very least that he gave and to her it had been little enough. Yet she could not be jealous, for there was something about Jane Shore that she could not help liking.
A week later Isabel's baby died and before January was out two more deaths had occurred, that of Duke Char
les of Burgundy, fighting the French, and contrastingly that of the much younger Duke of Norfolk in his bed. Both left only daughters to inherit their wealth; Mary of Burgundy a catch that half Europe would angle after, while little Anne Mowbray had become the greatest heiress in England.
Lord Howard, as Norfolk's cousin, took over the administration of her affairs and the Duke's offices, particularly that of Earl Marshal, at Edward's command. ‘I must have a Marshal,’ he said, ‘and you, Jockey my friend, will fill that post better than your cousin ever did.’
‘We must not let this chance slip through our fingers,’ Lord Howard said one night at supper with his son and daughter-in-law, a few weeks after the Guildhall dinner. ‘Only Anne Mowbray stands between us and dukedom, my son, and I see no reason why she cannot be betrothed to your Tom.’
‘It would be a great thing for us,’ Thomas agreed. ‘It would give all East Anglia into our hands and put the Pastons in their place into the bargain. What do you say, Bess?’
She hesitated before she answered. ‘It is the King who will decide, is it not?’
He gave her an odd glance. ‘That is always your answer, isn't it?’
‘I agree it would benefit you.’
‘And you. Why do you always speak as if we were not one family?’
Lord Howard laughed. ‘My son, you talk nonsense. Of course Bess is one with us in our hopes. I am sure you are as anxious for little Tom's future as we are, aren't you, my dear?’
‘Perhaps,’ she agreed, but it occurred to her that ambition had never been hers. Born to a considerable inheritance in her own right she had never felt the need, nor the greed, for more. ‘But Tom is such a babe still and I don't think we need to consider his espousals just yet.’
‘The earlier the better for a good match,’ Lord Howard retorted plainly. ‘Though,’ he added for good measure, ‘Thomas did better by waiting.’
The compliment was paid in his usual hearty manner in between demolishing a plateful of oysters, yet it left her untouched. ‘Do as you think best, my lord,’ she answered politely, knowing he would do so in any case, and turned the conversation by talking of her need to go to Canterbury on Elysia's behalf.
‘Go by all means,’ Thomas said, and she set about organizing the journey, aware that when she was pregnant he was less likely to refuse, for at such times he seldom forced his body on her.
She sent word to Master Hay, requesting lodging for a few days for herself, Elysia, her knight Sir Robert Bellasis and their attendants. There was room enough for all, Elysia said, and her father would be honoured. An elderly cousin kept house for him and would no doubt be thrown into a panic by their arrival but she was sure all would be managed.
Bess took her small entourage which included Annette, now her constant companion, though not the younger children, to visit St. Thomas's shrine. They joined the queue of pilgrims, passed by the magnificent gilt effigy of the Black Prince and made their offering at the scene of the martyrdom. Bess prayed for a safe delivery, for her youngest child, St. Thomas's namesake, and then in a burst of guilt and misery besought the saint to intercede for her own forgiveness, that she might know peace of mind again.
Master Arthur Hay, slightly bewildered, welcomed them all, and his cousin, hot and fussed, nevertheless produced for the season of Lent a very pleasing dinner. ‘We may serve ‘poor John’ most of the week,’ he said smiling, ‘but when my daughter brings so great a lady to the house we must replace our cod with better delicacies. We are near enough to the coast for that.’
‘The turbot was delicious,’ Bess said, ‘and these stewed eels are in a most tasty sauce. You must give me the receipt for my cook, Mistress Dorothy.’
Master Hay evidently took a liking to Robert for he talked a great deal to him, of London, of the changes in the style of jousting, of the new printing press, and the King's rebuilding of the Garter Chapel at Windsor, and while they spoke Bess watched him. Elysia, though chestnut-haired where Arthur had once been fair, was very like him, and thinking of the portrait Bess wondered too about his past. That he knew London well was obvious, that he had once been a fighting man also, and his education seemed above that of the average merchant. She could not see why he had shut himself away in a fusty house in Canterbury, nor apparently told Elysia anything of his early life.
The next morning she asked the favour of a private word with him and briefly explained the situation. He listened, his face grave. ‘Well, I like the young man,’ was his first comment, ‘and if Elysia wants him I've no objection. I always hoped you would see her well settled. As for dowry there is a sum set aside for her and I have a mind to retire to Oxford. I would sell this business and apart from a small amount for my own needs the rest may go to Elysia. She will be no pauper, my lady.’
‘I did not think it. But Sir Robert's father would know something of your family as well.’ She added apologetically, ‘You will understand that it is necessary.’
He rose. He was a tall man but stooping now, and he paced the room twice, hands behind his back, before he answered. ‘It is a long story, madame, but if you have the patience to listen, I think I must tell it to you.’
‘I always thought there was – something. Elysia has that about her that made me think –’
‘That she came of better stock than would appear from our surroundings?’
‘Yes. But I ask only to smooth the way for her bridal.’
He sat down again and set his fingers together, tip to tip deliberately. ‘You are right, my lady. Forgive me if I am slow, but I have spoken of none of this for more than thirty years. My mother was indeed the daughter of Master Hay who owned this house. Her name was Margery and when she was no more than fifteen a royal gentleman came to lodge here on his way to Calais. He wanted her – briefly my grandfather thought – and she did not deny the gentleman. But it seemed that when he came home from France he visited her again. He found that I had been born and chose my name himself. He took us to London for a while and then to Penshurst Place which he owned. I had a sister born there, Antigone, who was married eventually to Sir Henry Grey, though she is dead now, may God assoil her.’
Bess was sitting quite still, staring at him. ‘Then I think I know,’ she said. ‘I saw a picture once, hanging in the King's solar, a drawing of a man's head. The King told me it was his father’s cousin, the previous Duke of Gloucester.’
Master Hay gave her a faint melancholy smile that brought that charcoal sketch even more vividly before her. ‘Duke Humfrey was my father, madame, and if a bastard may claim a name, mine is Arthur Plantagenet.’
Bess stared at him, speechless for a moment, seeing the resemblance even more strikingly, and even to Edward himself in a certain carriage of the head and the well-shaped hands. She continued to gaze at him, taking in every feature, until at last he spoke rather sadly.
‘I am sorry, my lady, perhaps I should have told you when Elysia came to you but it did not seem relevant. You are very shocked? If my poor Elysia is to suffer for her grandfather's sins and my neglect –’
‘Oh, no, no,’ Bess said hastily. ‘It is only that it is so surprising. How could I think less of her, or you, for knowing it? After all she is –’
‘– The granddaughter of a duke, great granddaughter to King Henry IV who lies buried here at Canterbury,’ he finished. ‘Yes, it is true. But I am still a bastard and therefore – nothing.’
‘The world is not too hard on bastards,’ she said, smiling a little. ‘There are many who grace the court. Master Hay, I could not but guess she had good blood but when I asked some questions, careful questions, she seemed to know nothing of your family.’
‘Nor does she. I did not consider it either right or necessary. After my father died – he had been in poor health, I'll not deny that, but I believe they murdered him and at Queen Margaret's orders – all I wanted was to hide myself away, become forgotten. But I was arrested, I and my friend Elys Foxton who had served the Duke all his life. We were taken to London and we we
re on the scaffold with the ropes about our necks when the King sent a reprieve to us.’ He paused and Bess seemed to see what he was seeing, the scaffold, the bound men at the very moment of death. She shuddered and he added quietly, ‘It is a long time ago now, my lady. But we thought it best to live quiet after that. I returned here and took my mother's name. When I was forty I married Elys Foxton's eldest daughter. She was only seventeen at the time but we were very happy for the short while we had together. I lost her when Elysia was born. I named the child for my friend Elys, and she became my only joy.’
‘Yet you parted with her when you sent her to me,’ Bess said wonderingly.
‘It was for her betterment,’ he said simply. ‘She was worthy of more than a dull life in a wine shop. And now this Yorkshire knight wants her and she will be a lady of the manor one day as my sister was – a little betterment but not too much.’
Bess was looking at him with a new respect, a warmth she had not expected. ‘Sir, I don't know what to say, except that I admire your generosity, your self-sacrifice more than I could say. I hope you will not be too lonely, that you will find content in Elysia's happiness.’
‘I shall,’ he said, ‘and in Oxford.’
‘Oxford? Why do you want to go there? It is a long way from Canterbury and you must have many friends here.’
‘Not many,’ he answered. ‘I have not wanted them. As for Oxford, my father built a library there, his dearest dream.’ A sudden smile illumined the gravity of his face. ‘And perhaps that is where my heart lies also.’
That evening the tale was told again to Robert and Elysia. She clung to her father and kissed him and when he asked if she would love him less for what he had concealed for so long, she cried still more and kept her arms about his neck. Robert's astonishment was equal to Bess's, but he too showed a deep respect for Duke Humfrey's son, and declared himself the more determined to wed Elysia. He departed the next day for Yorkshire and, leaving Elysia to have a short while alone with her father, Bess and Annette went on to Humphrey's Kentish manor.
The Sun in Splendour (The Plantagenets Book 6) Page 17
