‘Mistress Kymbe’s recipe?’ Cicely smiled, for elderly but deaf Katherine Kymbe was the midwife who had delivered Leo. She was also a wise woman, with knowledge of arts, herbs, poisonous plants and all manner of other things, including restoratives and similar potions. ‘Then I am sure it will be just the very thing. And some bread and honey, if you please.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Please bring my robe. I will sit by the fire.’
‘Yes, my lady. Oh . . .’
‘Yes?’ Cicely sat on the edge of the bed.
‘A letter from my brother arrived for me an hour ago.’
‘Why are you telling me? Is something wrong with my son?’ Cicely asked, alarm igniting in an instant.
‘No, my lady, not at all. But Tom does write of him, and wishes me to let you read the letter. I . . . think it is actually for you, although Tom would not presume to actually address it as such.’
‘I would not be offended, for I like your brother.’
Mary assisted her with her warmest robe, and ushered her to the comfortable chair by the fire. Then she took the letter from her purse, removed the final page, and gave the others to Cicely. ‘I will bring your refreshment, my lady. Is there anything else?’
‘Not yet. Thank you.’ Cicely smiled at her. ‘What would I do without you, Mary Kymbe? You are worth a hundred of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting.’
‘And you are worth a hundred queens,’ Mary replied, smiling as she went out.
Cicely began to read Tom Kymbe’s letter, which was written in a surprisingly elegant hand. Although why she should be surprised, she did not know, because Tom Kymbe was a gentleman, and far from being rough.
My dearest sister. Greetings.
I would have you know that all is well here. Our aunt thrives, and has much occupied herself with Leo, who also prospers. He is now nine months old, and a fine boy. He has grey eyes and dark chestnut hair, and so is not at all like the Kymbes. I believe he takes after Felice’s uncle.
Cicely smiled. How carefully Tom Kymbe worded it, telling her so clearly that her son took after Richard. Felice was the mother of Tom’s dead son. She had died in childbirth, and her baby soon after. Now Leo had been given the safety of that baby’s identity.
He crawls now, and has a lusty voice when he wishes for something to be done. I believe Felice must have been higher born than she realised, for to be sure her child has imperious moments. But he is also affectionate, loving nothing more than to be fussed and cuddled. I love him dearly, and my only regret is that Felice cannot see and hold him for herself.
Cicely swallowed. Tom was telling her everything she wished to know, and she was indebted to him for it. She had liked him from the moment they met, and nothing she had heard of him since had changed her mind. The Kymbe family were all, without exception, truly admirable and honest.
Leo eats well, even though he is small. By that I mean that he is small for his age, but then his mother was as well, and so was the uncle after whom Leo so clearly takes. He will be a handsome boy too. His health leaves nothing to be desired. He simply flourishes in every way. He will be a credit to his parents, of that I am sure.
Sir Jon Welles has been here this last week—
Cicely broke off. Jon was at Friskney?
—to attend to some negotiation with the Earl of Lincoln’s agents concerning a disputed watermill. It is not a truly serious matter, merely an awkward clause that casts doubt upon to whom the miller must submit his dues. Neither Sir Jon nor the earl, both being rich men, will die of starvation if such a small matter goes against him. But the law is the law, and must be adhered to.
Sir Jon is perhaps a little thinner than he was, but his temper is even and his humour still sharp. He has shown an interest in Leo. Perhaps he regards him as the boy he and his lady lost. Certainly he is anxious to provide Leo with whatever I may not be able to. He is a very good lord.
Cicely smiled. Her disloyalty with Henry had clearly not impaired Jon’s sense of duty. He had promised to watch over Leo as his own son, and that was what he was doing. Could she have ever expected otherwise? No, because Sir Jon Welles was all honour.
I cannot speak of Lord Lincoln, who holds Friskney. I have never met or even seen him, although I understand he once dined here with our father. He is of the House of York, of course, which cannot always be a recommendation in these parts, but to my knowledge he has never been unjust.
Cicely paused again, this time to wonder what sort of lord Jack was to those whose wellbeing was in his hands. He was her dear cousin and she loved him in all ways, but she saw a different Jack de la Pole than perhaps the likes of Tom Kymbe. She smiled. It would be very hard to imagine Jack as anything other than a just lord.
She wondered why Tom had gone out of his way to men-tion Jack. Maybe it was because Jon had mentioned him? Yes, because he liked her cousin, and if Jack held Friskney, Jon was bound to speak of him to Tom. She read on.
There is one thing I hesitate to mention concerning Sir Jon, and that is—
To Cicely’s annoyance, that was all she could read, because Mary had detached the final page. Why remove it? What, exactly, had Tom written next? Clearly something his sister did not think Lady Welles should read.
Mary chose that moment to return with a tray, and Cicely eyed her immediately. ‘What is on the last page, Mary?’
‘Oh, only silly family matters, my lady.’ But the maid flushed.
‘No, Mary, because Tom was about to relate something concerning Sir Jon.’
‘It was nothing,’ the maid said again, while trying to avoid her mistress’s eyes as she set the tray gently on the little table beside the chair.
‘Please, Mary. I have to read it. Tom meant me to read it.’
Mary drew a heavy breath and then reluctantly surrendered the final page. ‘I am sure it is nothing, my lady. Tom must have misunderstood.’
Cicely took the page and read the final paragraph.
There is one thing I hesitate to mention concerning Sir Jon, and that is he is not alone here, but has brought a lady with him. Perhaps not a lady, exactly, because she is Lucy Talby’s younger sister, and you know my opinion of that hag. This woman is named Judith, and is far more beautiful than Lucy. I cannot mistake the nature of her dealings with Sir Jon, for she is clearly his mistress, as her elder sister was before her. They share a bedchamber. Lady Welles should not be in London, for she, I know beyond doubt, would soon see off this unworthy creature. Lady Welles should be with her husband.
Cicely was stricken, but knew she had no right to be. She had not been faithful to Jon—even less faithful now, with Jack as well as Henry—so why should he not be unfaithful?
But the feeling of unreasonable hurt was intense.
As if that day had not already been hurtful enough, fate now dealt Cicely another blow, this time in the form of an unannounced visit from Bess.
Cicely was trying to write another conciliatory letter to Jon, although it was now more difficult than ever, when the sound of Mary’s running footsteps interrupted her. The maid halted in the doorway, clearly disconcerted. ‘My lady? The . . . the queen is here.’
Cicely stared at her. ‘The queen?’ She had been so engrossed in her writing that she had not heard.
‘Yes, my lady. She wishes to speak with you in private.’
‘Then, please conduct her here, Mary. And see to it that suitable refreshment is prepared. The very best quality, do you understand? This is my lord’s house and he must not be shamed.’
Mary bobbed a curtsey and hastened away again, leaving Cicely to wonder why on earth Bess would come to Pasmer’s Place. Surely she would have enjoyed the authority of summoning her sister to Greenwich? Or perhaps she knew Henry had excluded Lady Welles, and had come to gloat. Yes, that might well be it.
Cicely got up slowly, smoothing her powdery golden velvet gown and praying she looked more composed than she felt. There was no time to think of a headdress. It seemed she stood there an age before
footsteps returned. Mary opened the door and stood aside for Bess to sweep grandly into the parlour in a flurry of peacock blue.
Cicely sank to her knees, and remained there while servants brought fresh wine and food. Then, when they had withdrawn, and the door was finally closed, Bess spoke coldly. ‘It pleases me that you are once again obliged to skulk away here, Lady Welles.’
There was no answer to give. Cicely kept her eyes upon the floor.
‘So, Henry has had enough of you? I believe he has ordered you to stay away from court.’
Cicely did not raise her head, or offer anything that might be construed as insolence.
‘What were you and Henry doing at Winchester? Look up at me, curse you! I wish to know the details.’
Surprised, Cicely did look up. ‘But . . . you know, surely?’
‘I have not demeaned myself by asking others, but now I order you to tell me.’
‘It was a kiss, that is all.’
‘All? Your husband left you because of it, so it must have been far more.’
Cicely shook her head. ‘Only a kiss,’ she said again.
‘Then it was clearly not a mild peck.’
‘That is right.’
Bess went to the table to read what Cicely had written to Jon. ‘Oh, dear, how you abase yourself. Does your Lincolnshire lordling really mean that much to you?’
‘Yes, he does.’
‘Then perhaps you should have thought of that before you seduced my husband.’
Cicely did not respond.
‘Why have you done this, my lady?’ Bess asked. ‘Why, when you had already had Richard, did you lie with Henry as well? Henry, the man responsible for Richard’s death!’
‘You would not wish to hear my reason. Truly.’
‘Oh, but I do, sister mine. I want to know everything. Beginning with the kiss that you have yet to explain.’
‘Please do not ask me, Your Grace.’
‘You will remain on your knees until you obey me in this. You no longer have Henry to hide behind, but are now at my mercy. If I show any.’ Bess helped herself to some of Jon’s wine, and then sat in the chair by the fire. ‘Well?’
‘You will not like what I say, Bess, so please, be very sure you wish to know.’
‘No familiarity, madam, for I am the queen and you my subject.’
‘Very well. Henry’s kiss at Winchester was passionate, filled with desire, and he wished it to lead to consummation. No, not there in that room, but later, in the bed I often shared with him at Winchester. I have told you before that he is a tender lover, and so he is, and I know so well how to please him. I enjoy his lovemaking, far more than I wish to, but I am a lost soul, is that not what Mother once said of me? Among other even less complimentary things. Oh, I was forgetting, you do not like Mother either, and refuse to have her anywhere near you. My, how difficult it soon will be to find anyone of your blood to be friendly with.’
‘You bitch!’ Bess leaned forward suddenly and tossed the contents of her cup into Cicely’s face. It splashed everywhere, dripping from her chin, into her hair, and down between her breasts.
Cicely did not move an inch, and was able to close her eyes in time. ‘Well, Bess, you asked me to describe what happened at Winchester, and I did. Do you wish me to go on to tell you why I lay with Henry in the first place?’
Bess gazed at her, and then sat back slowly. ‘Yes. Tell me.’
‘He threatened to do the same harm to Jack and my husband that he did to John. He said that unless I went to him, their punishment would be on my conscience.’
Bess stared at her. ‘I do not believe you,’ she whispered.
‘Then do not. It is the truth. I have become Henry Tudor’s leman because I wish to protect those I love. I would do it to protect you as well, Bess. I cannot help it that men seem to find me so desirable, but they do, and if I am able to use that fact to help those I hold in my heart, then I will. If Henry sends for me again, I will go, no matter what you say or do. I am sorry, Bess, truly I am, but what else would you expect me to have done?’
After a long moment’s silence, Bess got up shakily. ‘It is a lie,’ she said, trying to convince herself.
‘No, Bess. Yet I do not think only ill of the king. He is not an easy man, but he is sometimes a very engaging, gentle one. I know him, yes, far more than you, even though he is your husband. I do not seek it, because I do want him to be happy with you. It causes me great pain to know how things are in your marriage. If it is my fault, I have done nothing to seek such blame. I would never wish to supplant you. My heart is not given to Henry.’
‘You are so easy with words, are you not? You can weave sweetness out of the air and present it in tangible form, like a caress. You even reach to me, except that I am wise to your trickery. You do seek to supplant me. You want Henry to yourself, as his queen!’
Cicely forgot herself sufficiently as to get up without permission. ‘Do not be such a fool, Bess! How can I possibly become Henry’s queen? I am an adulteress, married to Jon to whom, as far as the world is concerned, I have borne a son, and I have been gracing Henry’s bed when I most certainly should not. I am definitely not suitable to be his queen, even if I wished it, which I do not! I love my husband. Oh, you may scoff, but I do, and I would never wish to cast him aside, although he may wish to do that to me. I loved Richard, so very much that I cannot think of him without grief. And now I love Jack de la Pole so much that my heart could burst of it.’
‘Jack?’
‘Oh, yes. He and Richard are the only men for whom I would ever defy every rule and convention, every chapter of the Bible or instruction from the Pope. I would do anything for Jack, and would have done anything for Richard. There are no limits.’
‘You are so abandoned?’
‘Yes,’ Cicely replied frankly.
‘You are a whore!’ Bess cried suddenly.
‘And so must you be if you are to win Henry!’
‘How dare you!’ Bess took several steps and slapped Cicely so hard across the face that she almost knocked her from her feet.
The blow stung and brought tears as Cicely tried to steady herself against the table, and she put a protective hand to her cheek as she faced her sister again. ‘Why such rage, Bess? Might it be because you know I am right? You have not loved in the way you must if you are ever to understand me.’
Bess was beside herself, and slapped Cicely’s other cheek, this time succeeding in knocking her to the floor. Cicely lay there a moment, biting her lips to prevent herself from uttering the sob that rose so sharply in her throat. Then, slowly, she got up, and faced Bess once more.
‘Do you wish to hit me again, Bess? Then do so. Here I am, at your disposal. You are my queen, and I dare not lift a finger to you.’
Bess’s eyes brimmed with tears, although whether they were of fury or contrition was hard to say. ‘Richard should have been mine,’ she said at last. ‘If he had returned my love, I would not be as I am now. I would be like you! Have you any notion of what it is to feel frozen inside? To so loathe a man’s touch that it makes me feel physically sick? Yes, I am jealous, Cissy, so jealous and consumed by it that I cannot bear the sound of your name. I want to want Henry, but he treats me as if I am nothing more than a milch cow. How can he possibly be as you describe him? An enjoyable lover? A gentle and engaging man? That is not the Henry Tudor I know.’
‘And who is the Bess he knows? Well? Is she warm, appealing, playful and amusing? Does she court him, want him and give him all he wants so that he will do the same for her? Bess, you are hopeless with him! I want to shake you for your foolishness. Henry would not need me at all if he could turn to you. But if he tried, you would reject him.’
‘I despise him,’ Bess whispered, turning away, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘Do you love Prince Arthur?’
Bess turned back in surprise. ‘Of course!’
‘Well, he is not yours alone, Bess, he is half Henry. You made your child between you
. Can you not at least see him like that? Without Henry, there would not be a Prince Arthur.’
‘I cannot forgive the manner of his begetting. Against a wall, like a common trollop.’
‘You cannot be like this with a man like Henry. He should not have treated you like that, but you anger him so. And was it really as violent and unwanted as you choose to remember now? He says it was not. Yes, I have spoken to him about it, because he told me and I was angry that he treated you so. Bess, you are so haughty and superior. It really will not do. Henry does not forgive easily. I believe he probably loathes me now, and—’
‘Why? What happened?’
Cicely told her. Exactly.
Bess stared at her. ‘I . . . I do not understand. You thought you saw Richard?’
‘I often think it, Bess. I loved him so much, and even though Jack is now in my heart, I still cannot stop loving and needing Richard. He was my first love, and had he lived, would have been my only love. I called out to him in front of Henry at the Tower, Henry was angry, and so I will not be welcomed to his bed again. But if I were, I would not find it a terrible place to be. I would know pleasure awaited. Have you ever known physical reward? Have you?’
Bess met her eyes. ‘No. At least, I do not think so.’
‘Believe me, if you had, you would know. It is such a wonderful, elating feeling, even more so if you reach it together. And Henry will wait, to be sure of it. He is that much of a lover.’
‘He is also half mad,’ Bess replied. ‘One moment he is all smiles, the next he is a monster.’
Cicely lowered her eyes. ‘I know. He cannot help it, Bess.’
‘Yes, he can. He has as much command of himself as everyone else,’ Bess insisted.
‘I do not think so. He really cannot keep a tight hold upon his moods. But when he is his true self . . . he is so good to be with. It is communion, Bess, such wonderful, exquisite communion. I knew it with Richard, once with John, and then with my husband and with Henry. Now I know it with Jack, with whom it is almost as sublime as it was with Richard. I know that feeling so very, very well that I am truly sorry you have never experienced it. But you can have it with Henry. You may be the Plantagenet princess, the senior daughter of a king, while Henry is merely an earl’s son with some royal blood, but he has the crown of England, and you, like it or not, are merely his unwanted queen. You have to seek his forgiveness.’
Cicely's Lord Lincoln Page 11
