Cicely's Lord Lincoln

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  Jack was engaged upon something secret and dangerous, and the whore did not behave as if she followed him simply to complete the consummation interrupted on that other occasion. Had there been an ulterior motive for engaging him then, an attempt to be close to him for something other than a matter of the flesh? Might she be in Henry’s pay? Was such a conclusion too much of a leap? Alarm cut jaggedly through Cicely, and she had no intention of taking the chance.

  She ran from the parlour, calling for Mary to bring a dry cloak and hood. Within moments, ignoring Mary’s anxious protestations, and forbidding the maid to come too, she hurried out into St Sithe’s Lane and, looping the train of her gown over her arm for more freedom and to keep it from dragging through the wet and grime of the street, she ran as fast as she could towards Gough Alley and the Mermaid tavern.

  The rain stung her face and the wind gusted through the city streets, sucking almost spitefully between the taller buildings. Gutters and drains gurgled as water streamed from eaves, and there were puddles and rivulets everywhere, gradually coming together to cascade downhill in torrents towards Three Cranes and the Thames. Only the most strongly secured lanterns on the corners of buildings managed to defy the elements and stay alight, and there was hardly anyone about, only a detachment of mounted men-at-arms in Tudor livery, riding slowly in the direction of St Paul’s. Cicely knew instinctively that they were not involved in anything that might concern Jack, but were simply on their way to whatever ordinary duty they had been allotted.

  Crossing over empty Thames Street, where the cobbles were so water-washed they lost all form, she made her way quickly down an overhung street towards the river at Three Cranes. Everything was drenched, and her feet were cold and wet. The downpour soaked through her cloak and hood, but at least she could now see the whore ahead, if no sign of Jack and Héraut. He must already be at the Mermaid.

  Reaching a corner, the whore halted to peer into the narrow alley that culminated in the popular Mermaid tavern. As the girl slipped out of sight, Cicely hurried to the corner behind her. Looking around it in the same way, she saw the whore’s cloaked figure against the lanterns outside the tavern, from which emitted a great deal of noise and raucous male laughter. Drunken laughter, for the most part, and it seemed inordinately loud, as if the tavern were much closer than its actual twenty-five yards away. It was something to do with the shape of the alley, Cicely thought, astonished that she was actually able to hear fragments of mostly foul-mouthed conversation.

  There was no sign of Jack, but she heard a horse whinnying from the stables at the rear of the tavern. Héraut? The whore hid behind a stack of four large tuns against the alley wall, almost next to the doorway. She could only be seen from Cicely’s direction, not by anyone who emerged from the tavern.

  Cicely was undecided what to do. Wait? Or go into the tavern to find Jack and warn him? That would not be easy, for only a certain type of woman entered such low places, and anyway she had a costly gown beneath her cloak and over her arm, which if observed would immediately arouse unwelcome interest. But even as she deliberated, Jack appeared in the narrow doorway, brightly lit from behind, the hood of his cloak flung back as he turned to the man who emerged with him.

  The stranger, cloaked and as yet unhooded, moved into the full light of a lantern, and she saw that he was at least twice Jack’s age, taller, with curling shoulder-length grey-blond hair and a short pale beard that merely coated his chin. His bearing was assured and he was well built, although without any of the thickness of middle age. His hair and cloak fluttered as he faced Jack. He was striking if not handsome, with a firm jaw and straight nose, and expressive eyes set beneath unexpectedly dark brows. As his cloak flapped wildly in the wind, she saw he was dressed plainly beneath. Not entirely due to a desire for anonymity, she thought, because he somehow seemed very at home in such clothing. In many ways he was the very opposite of Jack, who was always dashing and flamboyant.

  Then, to Cicely’s dismay, although Jack spoke quietly, his words were clearly audible above the noise of the tavern.

  ‘So when is it to be, Tal?’

  ‘It needs careful thought, my friend.’

  The voice of the man called Tal was soft spoken, with a definite Welsh lilt. Another Welshman, she thought.

  ‘I know we have the support of—’ Jack turned away to face the tavern, and whatever he said was suddenly lost amid the other sounds.

  The whore was straining to hear, and maybe she could from her position! Cicely reacted in a heartbeat. Still holding her gown up from the street, she ran noisily down the alley, calling out loudly. ‘My lord! My lord! I knows I’m late, but I’m ‘ere for you now!’ she cried, disguising her voice.

  Jack whirled about, his hand reaching defensively beneath his cloak for his dagger. His companion did the same. Cicely continued to run, and as she flung herself into Jack’s arms, her hood fell back and he realized who she was. ‘Jesu, Ci—’

  She stopped him with a hearty buss, and then stood with her hands suggestively upon her hips, her head tilted saucily. ‘Two of you, sirs? Why, I’ll be ‘appy to accommodate you both, but I’ll charge you twice, make no mistake of that!’ She beamed at Tal, who looked at her as if she was the spawn of the Devil.

  Jack went along with her immediately. ‘Well, wench, we were just about to give up on you, were we not?’ He gave his friend a reassuring nod.

  The other relaxed visibly. ‘It is never wise to give up on the fair sex,’ he responded, managing a convincingly jocular tone.

  He did not look it, but he was definitely Welsh, she decided, or at least from somewhere along the Marches, and there was an intensity in his sharp eyes—green, she saw now—that quite commanded her attention. The wind sucked ferociously into the alley, dragging his cloak so violently that it lifted sufficiently for her to see that around his neck he wore a long gold chain from which hung a crucifix and a small, richly jewelled wheel of St Catherine. A man of piety?

  But now was not the time to assess Jack’s stranger. She gave Jack another resounding kiss, and then seized his hand. ‘Come, I do not mind being out in the open, sir, but a little privacy is best when I go on my knees before you!’

  ‘I am more than ready for such attentions from you, sweetheart,’ he replied as she led him deliberately towards the tuns. As they neared, the whore bolted from her hiding place and fled down the alley and out into the street. Jack recognized her.

  Relieved, Cicely looked urgently at him and his friend, making sure her back was towards the street. The whore might yet hear what she should not. ‘No names! Do not say more in this place, Jack, because it echoes everything. I was at the end of the alley but could hear you quite clearly. The whore certainly could. Come, we must go out into the open, for she may still be listening.’

  They moved out of the alley, and the wind and rain buffeted them as they emerged into the street. There was no sign of the whore, but she might be just out of sight in a doorway. The torrential rain sank through their clothes anew, chilling their skin. Their hair clung in rats’ tails and their faces gleamed, but at least the lantern on the corner had given up its battle, leaving them in much more shadow.

  She could feel the stranger’s gaze turn towards her, assessing her as she assessed him. ‘May I speak freely, Jack?’ she asked, and when he nodded, she went on, ‘You recognized the whore from the Three Cranes steps? Well, she followed you from Pasmer’s Place. I saw her from the window. Was it a chance encounter that day at the quay? Or was she waiting for you?’

  He thought. ‘Well, I did not think it at the time, but yes, she was waiting, although how she knew I would go that way, I do not know.’

  ‘You must have told someone. Think, Jack. Who was it?’

  He thought again. ‘A new page,’ he said after a while. ‘I sent him to advise my steward that I intended to call upon Lady Welles to see that she was well. The steward I would trust with my life, so it had to be the page. Sweet God, Henry’s tentacles have reached into my own house
hold! I would—I have—risked my life by trusting those immediately around me. Jesu.’ He was clearly shaken, and she knew he was thinking of Richard, who had also trusted unwisely. Fatally. ‘Well, the boy will be sent on his way, lucky not to have his hand severed at the wrist.’ He caught Cicely close and kissed her on the lips. ‘Thank you, sweetheart.’

  ‘Jack de la Pole, if tonight’s work is a sample of your discretion and secrecy, you are not going to triumph over Henry.’

  ‘Do I not know it! Truly, we will be wiser from now on.’

  The other man cleared his throat. ‘Jack, are you going to introduce me, or leave me standing here like two left legs?’

  Jack was apologetic. ‘Forgive me, both of you. Tal, may I present my cousin, Lady Welles, once Lady Cicely Plantagenet, daughter of Edward IV, niece of Richard III.’

  Tal removed his gauntlet to bow low over her hand. ‘Your servant, my lady.’ A particularly strong gust of wind almost snatched his words away completely.

  She saw that he wore a handsome dark yellow topaz ring and for a moment she could smell cinnamon, warm and spicy, as she imagined the air of the Holy Land would be. But already the perfume had faded, because he drew away again. Another man to associate with a distinctive scent and a fine ring, she thought, sensing that, because of Jack, she was going to know this man very well.

  Then Jack made the second introduction. ‘Cicely, this is my old friend . . .’ He hesitated, and then finished, ‘Taleisin ap Gruffydd.’

  She saw a look of surprise cross Tal’s face.

  Jack continued, ‘He and I are allies in this, so you may speak freely. And Tal, you may always trust this lady, for there is none stauncher to York.’

  Cicely suspected that Jack had confided more about her, and felt suddenly defensive. So she addressed Tal rather pointedly. ‘Staunch to York and to my cousin of Lincoln, even if I do lie with Henry Tudor.’

  Tal held her gaze steadily. ‘I know what you do, Lady Welles, and why you do it. Please be at ease in my presence, for I do not censure you.’

  She was a little mollified, but no matter what he said, she sensed his concealed disapproval. The wearing of the crucifix and the Catherine wheel was indicative of his religiousness. He probably adhered to the very letter of the Bible, she thought, and might even have a prayer book with him now, as Henry’s mother always did. What would he say if he knew she had also lain gladly with her own uncle, and borne him a son? She glanced at Jack. Surely he would not have betrayed that to this Welshman?

  Jack felt the glance and drew her aside. ‘Forgive me for telling Tal of your closeness to Henry, my darling, but there may come a time when I will have to think of using you to communicate direct to him. Tal is my right hand, and so I have confided your situation to him.’ He caught her hand and squeezed it. ‘But please, never think I would confide Leo’s existence. I hold you in the highest regard, Cicely. If you had not been here tonight, Tal and I might well have given far too much information away. I will hide Héraut somewhere else now. With luck the whore will not have realized he was to be left at the Mermaid.’

  He took her back to Tal. ‘Tal, please take care of my lady while I get my horse again. We dare not use this place now.’ Then he hurried back into the alley.

  Cicely felt awkward with Tal. She was aware of him in an uncomfortable way, not least because although he had a Welsh name and accent, with his blond hair and green eyes he simply did not look Welsh. There was something unsettling about him, as if he was not who he claimed to be. Yet Jack clearly trusted him implicitly.

  Tal was conscious of her as well. ‘What do you think of our venture, my lady?’ he asked suddenly, watching her closely.

  ‘I wish I could feel more confidence in it.’

  ‘With all respect, Lady Welles, it is a well-planned rebellion that will put York back on the throne of England.’

  ‘But you are Welsh, sir, how can it be in your interest to turn a Welshman off the throne?’

  ‘Tudor may have Welsh blood, my lady, but he has done Wales no favours. The land of his birth is worse off now than it ever was under the House of York. And both your father and King Richard had higher-born Welsh blood in their veins than this dismal Tudor. There are many in Wales who deeply regret his triumph over your uncle.’

  His voice was gentle and measured, and she felt that Taleisin ap Gruffydd was a thoughtful, highly educated man who considered everything very carefully before acting.

  He spoke again. ‘Please be so good as to call me Tal. It is best, and it saves you from wondering how to address me.’

  ‘Very well. Tal.’ She did not like being so familiar with him so quickly. He disturbed her unaccountably. ‘Do you reside in London?’ she asked, for something to say.

  ‘I have a house here, but my lands and principal residence are in Berkshire. I am seldom there at the moment. It is best you do not know more, Lady Welles, for your sake, not mine,’ he replied. ‘The less you know, the less you can ever tell.’

  ‘You think I would go to the king?’ She prickled.

  ‘No, I meant the less the king’s torturers would be able to elicit from you.’

  She stared at him.

  He met her eyes. ‘Forgive me, but if it came to a decision between Henry saving his own neck by being ahead of his enemies, or sparing yours because he loves you, I fear his own worthless carcass would come first.’

  She did not say anything more. Hearing this stranger say such things brought the danger of this plot home to her as nothing else. She felt even colder than before, as if her blood had lost its vitality.

  The rain chose then to become a cloudburst, and Tal drew her right against the wall and pulled her close, sheltering her as best he could. It was not an affectionate gesture, or one that suggested physical attraction, just the action of a man who wished to shield her as he could.

  She was relieved when Jack led Héraut back to them and addressed Tal above the racket of the weather. ‘I think we must abandon tonight.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Tal moved away from her. ‘Second on the list, the day after tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Tal turned to her. ‘I bid you farewell for the moment, Lady Welles. I have a feeling we will see each other again.’

  She shared that uncomfortable prospect, but gave him a smile of sorts. ‘Farewell . . . Tal.’ She watched as the Welshman hastened away uphill towards Thames Street, and then disappeared towards the east.

  Jack observed her mixed expression. ‘What is it?’

  ‘He said something that has made me finally realize how great a hazard you face, Jack.’

  Héraut was restive in the storm, and Jack controlled him as he put an arm around her. ‘It will end in victory, sweetheart. We cannot fail.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Tal? A friend.’

  ‘You have never mentioned him. And what did he mean by “second on the list”?’

  ‘It is not your concern, sweetheart.’ He put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her lips to kiss her.

  For a few seconds the stormy night ceased to matter. They were engrossed in each other, lips joined, hearts beating together. Then he rested his forehead to hers. ‘I will take you home now, and then remove myself to the respectability of my own dwelling.’

  He had recently taken a house in Gracechurch Street. ‘It is a long way on a night like this,’ she said.

  ‘Are you offering me a bed for the night?’ he asked, smiling.

  ‘No. Having you sleep at Pasmer’s Place would offend Jon and incense Henry.’

  ‘Then I must toil my lonely little way home in the cold, wet and dark.’ He laughed at her face. ‘Oh, dear, I cannot believe you are taken in by such pathetic male whimpering. I am quite capable of hying my hide back to my own bed, in which I will lie totally alone, I swear.’

  ‘There is not much I could say if you went to bed with six whores.’

  ‘The words “well done”, and “my God, what endurance!” might suffice.’ He lifted her eff
ortlessly on to Héraut, and then mounted behind her, his arm firmly around her waist. He kicked his heels and urged the horse up in the direction of St Sithe’s Lane, and she was glad that the rain hid how many tears she wept for this sweetest of cousins, and the increasing danger in which he put himself with each new moment of this plot.

  They both glanced back several times, but there did not seem to be anyone following. The weather must have finally driven Henry’s creature to ground.

  Chapter Nine

  Cicely awoke late the following morning to find it was still raining, but the wind had lessened to a gentle moan around the eaves. A good fire flickered in the hearth, and when she turned her head towards it she saw Mary seated in the chair, fast asleep.

  For a moment she could only think of what had happened with Jack, and the mysterious Tal, but then her thoughts went back to a little earlier the night before, and being with Henry at the Tower. A sinking feeling overtook her, and she curled up tightly in the bed, trying to drive it away. But it persisted, and she was afraid.

  ‘Are you well, my lady?’ Mary had awakened and come to the bedside.

  ‘I . . . think so.’ Cicely uncurled and pulled herself up as the maid arranged the pillows behind her.

  ‘Perhaps you should not get up at all today, my lady. You were out until so very late, and were so cold and wet. Twice. I fear you may get an ague.’

  ‘I will be well enough, Mary. I am certainly warm and dry now.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ The maid spoke on an odd note, and Cicely looked quickly at her.

  ‘Something is wrong?’

  ‘A royal messenger came not long since. A spoken instruction from the king himself that you are not to go to court unless summoned.’

  Cicely’s heart sank still further. ‘I see. Thank you, Mary.’ Now Lady Welles really was excluded, because defying her sister was one thing, but defying the king’s express order was out of the question.

  ‘Do you wish me to bring you something?’ Mary asked. ‘Something to restore you? A cordial, perhaps? I have one of my aunt’s recipes.’