The Spitfire

by Bertrice Small

  Elizabeth of York was a sweet-faced young woman with thick flaxen braids and beautiful light blue eyes. She received her guest in a small private garden, for the afternoon was pleasant and warm. She had with her but one attendant, a discreet lady who busily plied her embroidery needle without even looking at her mistress’s visitor. Arabella, kneeling meekly before the queen, was asked to rise and state her case. The priest who had brought Arabella to the queen also remained by her side.

  Kissing the queen’s hand, Arabella then stood and explained as carefully as possible her difficulties regarding Greyfaire. She finished by saying, “So you see, madame, if I might just lay my case before the king and win his approval, I could return home to reassure my people. They do not understand any of this and are frightened, as you may well imagine. I am, however, a woman of no great importance, your majesty. Had it not been for Mother Mary Bede’s brother, Father Paul, I should not have even had a means of redress to you despite the letters I carried. I only want my rights, and those of my daughter Margaret, confirmed so I may return home. I am no woman of the world, merely a simple country woman.”

  “Why is your husband not with you, Lady Grey?” the queen asked, curious.

  “I divorced my husband, madame. He swore a sacred oath that he would aid me in my quest to regain Greyfaire, and yet he did not. He swore an oath to me that he would give our daughter, at age six, into the keeping of an English husband so that King Henry would be assured of Greyfaire’s continuing loyalty, and yet suddenly he began to speak of matching Margaret with a Home or a Hepburn.”

  “You are certainly a woman of strong character, Lady Grey,” the queen noted, just a trifle shocked. “Did your husband not oppose this divorce?”

  “King James believed my cause was just, madame, and he is my husband’s nephew,” Arabella replied, not quite answering the queen’s question. “The Archbishop of St. Andrew’s also concurred. It is not a decision I made lightly, madame. I love my husband.”

  “Then your pain is certainly doubled, Lady Grey,” Elizabeth of York answered, “yet I understand better than many what it is to lose everything you hold dear. In my case I could do nothing and was at the mercy of others to solve my problems. You are very brave, I think, to attempt to right your own wrongs. I will certainly bring your plight to my husband’s attention as quickly as possible, and I will arrange for you to have an audience with the king.”

  “For whom will you arrange an audience, Beth?” Henry Tudor had entered the queen’s garden and overheard the last part of his wife’s sentence. He was a serious-faced man, already slightly stooped with the worries of his office. He had a long, prominent nose, and fathomless eyes that seemed to register little if any emotion, and yet those eyes softened when they gazed upon the queen.

  Elizabeth arose and curtsied prettily to her husband. “This is Lady Arabella Grey, my lord, and she needs your majesty’s aid greatly.”

  “You would have an audience of me, my lady? Then say on, for you have my ear,” the king told Arabella, who curtsied deeply at the king’s entry and handed him James Stewart’s letter of introduction.

  Once more Arabella told her story.

  When she had finished, the king said, “A border keep such as yours, however small, needs a man.” Henry Tudor briefly scanned the parchment she had given him before handing it to his servant. He vaguely remembered a recent communiqué from the Scots king regarding this matter.

  “I have a man, Sire,” Arabella answered. “FitzWalter, who was my father’s captain, has had Greyfaire in his keeping ever since my father was killed seven years ago. His son Rowan stands behind his father, ready to take his place one day when he is needed. We are a small keep, Sire, but we have ever been loyal.”

  “Sir Jasper Keane is loyal,” Henry Tudor said, curious to see what reaction his words would have. He was not disappointed.

  “Jasper Keane is loyal to himself first, Sire!” Arabella said furiously. “He murdered a noble Scots woman, and then refused to give her betrothed husband the satisfaction of honorable combat. Instead he hid behind an elderly priest to save his cowardly skin, thus endangering all of Greyfaire. His actions have caused the difficulties that I face. His marriage to my mother was an open scandal, and he was responsible for her death as well. Jasper Keane betrayed King Richard in an effort to steal my property. I cannot believe a man of your majesty’s nobility and good reputation would retain such a man as a friend, or reward such a craven creature for his shameful perfidies!”

  The queen and the few about her were somewhat aghast by Arabella’s angry words, but the king’s mouth twitched with frosty amusement.

  “You speak bluntly, madame, for a humble petitioner.”

  “Sire, I have given everything I have to regain my home. If you refuse me, what more can I lose?” Arabella asked honestly.

  “Tell me how you came to be involved with Sir Jasper,” the king said. “Did your father match you?”

  “No, Sire, King Richard matched us.”

  “Yet you claim to be a woman of no importance,” the king said craftily.

  “I am not, Sire, but my mother, may God assoil her sweet soul, was Anne Neville’s beloved cousin and friend. When my father was killed in England’s defense, my mother, who was a gentle creature and helpless without my father’s counsel, asked Queen Anne to arrange a match for me for Greyfaire’s sake. Sir Jasper Keane was King Richard’s choice. Neither my mother nor I had ever laid eyes on him prior to the king’s decision; and Sir Jasper, wicked knave he is, had no sooner laid eyes on my mother than he seduced her, poor frail lady she was.”

  “Do you seek revenge then, madame?” Henry Tudor asked.

  “If I were a man, Sire, I should have long ago had satisfaction of Sir Jasper Keane, but alas, I am a weak woman. I must meekly swallow my anger and pray God for my poor mother’s soul, but I would do those things on my own land. Jasper Keane has no right to Grey lands. He has his own lands at Northby, though his house was burned by the Scots,” she concluded, a small smile touching the corners of her mouth.

  “What of another husband for you, madame?” the king inquired.

  “I would prefer to not marry again, Sire,” Arabella said. “Managing Greyfaire so that my child’s inheritance is safe and prosperous will take all my time. I would not have the time for another husband, or other children. Life in the north has never been easy, my lord, and Sir Jasper has neglected Greyfaire badly while forcing our young men and boys into his service that he might impress your majesty.”

  “How old is your daughter, madame?” the king asked.

  “Just two, Sire.”

  “Would a Percy suit you, madame? A minor one, of course,” the king said, gently acknowledging her unimportance. “Sir Henry has a young bastard of whom he is quite fond. The lad is six now and being raised in the Percy nursery. His mother, the daughter of one of Percy’s captains, died in childbed with him. The Percys are a difficult family at best. Giving them a small heiress for this child might help to bind them to me.”

  “The Percys know Greyfaire,” Arabella said thoughtfully, “but if you are not quite certain of their loyalty, leave the keep in my hands until after the marriage between my daughter and the Percy bastard is consummated. I would even prefer that there be no marriage ceremony until Margaret is at least fifteen.”

  “There must be a formal betrothal, however, if the Percys agree,” the king replied. “I cannot promise them an heiress whose dowry is to remain in her mother’s hands until a consummation without offering some sign of good faith.”

  “And another thing,” Arabella said boldly. “Instead of my daughter going to the Percys, have them send the boy to me when he is ten.”

  “What, madame?” The king looked astounded.

  “Sire,” Arabella said in a reasonable tone, “you do not really trust the Percys, you say, but to put them in your debt you would match their favored bastard with my heiress daughter. If the Percys are indeed tempted to disloyalty against your majesty, woul
d it not be better that the boy come to me that I may teach him to be your majesty’s faithful servant, rather than that the Percys possibly teach my Scots-born daughter to be treasonous and turn her keep against you?”

  “By the Rood, madame,” the king said admiringly, “you are a clever woman! Aye! The Percy lad will come to you. We will say it is so you may teach him of Greyfaire firsthand. ‘Tis most plausible.”

  They had walked to the far end of the queen’s garden that the others might not hear them and gossip about their conversation.

  “Then you will reconfirm my right to Greyfaire, my lord, and that of my daughter?” Arabella said hopefully.

  “It would seem a prudent course, madame, particularly if what you have told me about Sir Jasper Keane is indeed true,” the king answered slowly, “but it is my habit to always sleep upon such a decision. Then, too, I must sound out Sir Henry as to whether such a match between his cub and your child is acceptable to the Percys. You do not lodge at court, do you?”

  “Nay, my lord, I have not the means. My child, my servants, and I have been staying at St. Mary’s-in-the-Fields, close by Sheen.”

  “Your daughter is with you?” The king seemed surprised.

  “Aye, Sire, she is. Margaret is far too young to be separated from her mama, and I could not bear to be far from her,” Arabella admitted.

  “But the rigors of travel,” the king protested.

  “Margaret is a strong and healthy lass, praise God, and she seems to thrive on travel,” Arabella told him.

  “Would that my son Arthur be the same,” the king said softly.

  “May the queen bear your majesty a fine, strong son before year’s end,” Arabella said graciously.

  “I will send to St. Mary’s when I wish to see you again, Lady Grey,” the king told her in dismissal.

  Arabella curtsied low and kissed the king’s outstretched hand, but as she arose, her lovely face plainly bespoke her concern.

  “I will not keep you waiting more than a day or two, madame,” Henry Tudor reassured her. “I am certain, given the importance of your visit to court, that you can manage until then.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Arabella said, her face now composed, even as her mind recalled the number of coins left in her purse. Traveling was more expensive than she had anticipated. With another curtsy to her sovereign, Lady Grey hurried back up the garden to bid the queen farewell and to thank her for her kindness. “God bless your grace,” she said. “I will beseech our Lord for your safe delivery and a healthy son come autumn.”

  Elizabeth of York smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Lady Grey. I pray that your audience with my husband, the king, has been a successful one, and that I have truly been of aid to you.”

  “I have hope, your grace,” Arabella said quietly, not wishing to appear smug, although her heart was racing with excitement.

  She was almost certain that Henry Tudor would return Greyfaire to her!

  “Then I have done my duty toward you as your queen,” came her gracious reply. “If I do not see you again, Lady Grey, I bid you Godspeed.”

  Arabella curtsied a final time, kissing the queen’s beringed hand gratefully, and backed slowly from her presence accompanied by Father Paul.

  “The king has granted your request, madame?” the priest asked.

  “Not yet, Father, but he has promised to render his decision to me within two days’ time,” Arabella told him.

  “Then he will,” Father Paul answered, “for Henry Tudor is a meticulous man in all matters. He is not like so many of these great ones who promise yet do not find the time to grant. You will hear. You will hear.”

  Arabella reached into her purse. God, there were so few coins left, and yet she knew she must reward the priest for his intervention on her behalf. Almost reluctantly she drew a silver coin forth and pressed it into the cleric’s hand. “I wish,” she apologized, “that it might be more, Holy Father, but I have little left, a long journey ahead of me, and my child to consider. Still, I would thank you for all your kindness toward me, and ask that you remember my mother, the Lady Rowena, in the Mass.”

  “Of course, my daughter,” Father Paul said in kindly tones, fingering the coin and mentally computing its value without even looking at it. He moved to help her mount her mare when an unpleasantly familiar voice interrupted their conversation.

  “Christ’s bones! Is it you, Arabella, my pet?”

  Her head snapped up and her angry eyes met those of Sir Jasper Keane.

  “By God,” Sir Jasper drawled admiringly, his gaze boldly assessing her, “you’ve grown into a rare beauty, my pet! Why, you’re fairer than your mam, I’ll vow.”

  “Do not dare to speak of my mother, you foul devil,” Arabella said in a tight, angry voice. “She lies dead because of you!”

  He laughed nastily. “She lies dead because she could not keep her legs closed to me.”

  Arabella hit him with all her strength, the Grey signet ring on her finger opening a cut upon his cheekbone just below his right eye. She was speechless with the violence of her anger.

  Stunned by the fury he saw in her face, Sir Jasper Keane stepped back a pace, his hand clutching at his wound, which was pouring forth blood all over his fine sky-blue satin doublet. “Bitch!” he finally managed to grate out. “You will pay for that, I swear it!”

  She felt no fear at his words, only a cold and deep rage that seemed to spread throughout her entire body, numbing it. “Should you ever approach me again, sir, I will kill you where you stand,” she said icily, and then turning, mounted her horse.

  Shocked by events he could not understand, Father Paul climbed upon his mule, and not knowing what else to do, rode off after her. “My daughter,” he said when he finally managed to catch up with her, “what manner of behavior is this that you would strike a gentleman? Men were put upon this earth by our God in order that they might rule their women and the beasts. Your disrespect has, I fear, placed your mortal soul in great jeopardy.”

  “That man is responsible for my mother’s death, Father. He was to wed with me, and when I was carried off by the Scots, he forced my mother to the altar, thereby causing her death from shame, and all in order that he might steal my property! He is a dreadful man! A devil out of Hell!”

  “But,” the priest admonished her gently, “he is a man.”

  Arabella snorted impatiently. She was grateful to Father Paul for having gotten her an audience with the queen, but the man was an innocent fool. “And is that dangling piece of flesh between a man’s legs God’s way of conferring superiority, Father? I would think that those of us chosen to conceive and bear life were far superior.”

  The priest’s eyes grew round with his shock, and he mouthed the word, Blasphemy.

  To soothe him, she softened her tone and said, “I will pray for God’s forgiveness for my evil temper, Father, and I will pray for my enemy as well that I may learn to forgive him.” Blessed Mother, how she dissembled in order to get her way. If she had erred, then that was surely her sin, not her personal belief that women were as equal as any man, and in some cases superior. How often Tavis had teased her that though she be English by birth, she was a Scot in her heart and mind. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps he had been right about a lot of things. She was no close to regaining her heart’s desire, and yet she was unhappy. Why?

  Sir Jasper Keane stood watching her departure. Now that the surprise of seeing Arabella Grey here at Sheen was fading, he was beginning to wonder what had brought her here. Where was her husband, that border bandit bastard who called himself an earl? There had been no one with her but a priest, and that in itself was strange. He would have hardly thought a single priest a fit escort for the King of Scotland’s aunt by marriage. Where was her retinue? Her servants? Had she indeed even been married, or had it been but a hoax to embarrass him? Most important of all, why was Arabella Grey here?

  Sir Jasper Keane hurried to his lodgings and sent for his man, Seger.

  “My lord, your face…
” Seger began, his voice actually concerned.

  “It is not important,” his master told him. The wound had already begun to clot. “I have just seen Lady Arabella Grey, Seger. She was coming from the queen’s garden. I would know why she was there. Why is she not in Scotland? I would have answers, man. Quickly!”

  “Very good, my lord, I will see what I can find out, but you really must let me take care of that cut upon your face. It is quite deep and will surely scar your handsome face if not properly treated. How badly depends upon how quickly I may treat the wound,” Seger fretted.

  “Very well,” Sir Jasper replied ungraciously, “play physician if you must, but then find me the answers that I seek, for I will not rest easy until I learn why she was here.” He suddenly realized that the gash Arabella had opened upon his cheek was beginning to pain him. “She will pay,” he said almost to himself. “That curst spitfire will pay for all her insults to me!”

  “If we could but find where she is staying, my lord, perhaps we might take her back to Greyfaire, where you could bring the bitch to heel until she was like a tamed hound, fawning and licking at your feet,” Seger suggested knowingly.

  “She has become a great beauty, Seger,” Sir Jasper said almost musingly. “She has far surpassed her mother, and has a look about her that only comes to a woman well-loved. I should not be unhappy to have her in my bed for all her vile temper. If she were in my clutches, I should beat the devil right out of her, I swear it!”

  “She is really yours by right, my lord,” Seger murmured evilly. “If we could but get her back to Greyfaire…”

  A look of stunned comprehension suddenly lit Sir Jasper’s handsome face. “Greyfaire!” he shouted at Seger. “She has come for Greyfaire! Of course! Why else would she leave her life in Scotland but for that damned wretched keep she so prizes?”