by Karen Harper
We left Rhys with the horses, since for now he was to be Nick’s squire. With a nod from the guard at the outer door, as ever we went in the back way, up stairs, down narrow hallways, and entered the chamber where I had spent so much time carving the four royal effigies. The queen, who had been sent word we were coming, awaited us there, pacing among her waxen kith and kin. Full well I noted that a large, new block of fine beeswax for carving stood in the dim corner, but I said naught on that.
Nick bowed, and I curtsied. Her Majesty stepped forward and raised us. She was garbed all in pearl-studded black satin that whispered when she moved. “I thank the saints and the holy Virgin you are safe. I must hear all you learned, but the king is coming to my withdrawing chamber so that you can explain to both of us. Is there…is there much to tell of the special charge I gave you…of the prince’s death?”
“There is,” Nick and I said almost in unison.
I watched her expression change from hopeful to vengeful—I swear that is what I saw as she clenched her fists and her nostrils flared. I noted she was thinner, paler, with little crow’s-feet perched deeper at the corner of each blue eye.
“I knew it,” she said through gritted teeth. “And the king must too.”
It had been staggering enough for me to meet the queen six months ago, but to be called to explain all this to the king! My knees were shaking, but Nick seemed only eager as we followed Her Majesty to her suite of rooms. I tried to buck myself up that, after all I had been through in Wales, this was nothing to fear. The one to fear was the man who murdered anyone who got in the way of his treachery and vengeance.
As we entered the queen’s withdrawing chamber, I was shocked by the king’s appearance, but calmed by it too, for he seemed genuine in his grief. In processions and parades, he had looked great and grand, with broad padded shoulders and fine, flashing garments as he rode or strode past. Now he seemed shrunken, gaunt, his skin sallow and his hair lank. How he must have suffered Arthur’s loss, not only as prince but also as son.
My heart went out to both of them, for I understood their pain if not their position. Why, if I learned my sweet Edmund—or my own Arthur—had been poisoned, I would hunt his killer to the ends of the earth! Yet how relieved I would be when they sent others besides me out looking for their son’s poisoner.
“Rise,” His Majesty said as we both bent before him. “The queen has told me of your covert mission in Wales, so what say you? Nick?”
Nick began to recount what had happened at Ludlow. I warrant it was best he spoke, for I would have colored it all with more emotion. But he stopped after telling them of our first visit to Fey and what we found in the cromlech, turned to me, and said, “Varina, why don’t you explain what happened when I wasn’t with you—the second interview with the princess and what happened in the bog?”
My voice trembled at first but picked up speed and pluck. I told of all that; then, with a nod from Nick, I explained my encounter with the mysterious man in the cemetery of St. Mary Abchurch in London nearly six months ago. I went on to what had happened to me in the crypt, omitting that Firenze and I had created the queen’s effigies, implying only that the artist and I were linked by the chandlery guild’s painted coat of arms. I included the best description we had of the peddler, broached the topic of the wild garlic, and mentioned the carcass of the king’s beast found cut open near the bog.
The king interrupted. “That’s where the traitor got that heart he sent us! I believe this story can only get worse! Arthur was poisoned, wasn’t he? Our Prince of Wales was poisoned, and someone’s going to pay!” He crossed his arms over his chest, then grasped his shoulders as if to hold himself up. “Why in God’s precious name didn’t Surrey suspect any of this? But Arthur—out on a quest for a garlic love potion and with only two guards? Why did he think I sent all those guards along?”
“Your Majesty,” the queen interjected, “he was only a young man in love who wanted to make us proud by begetting a son. At least he had his wife’s love and ours too—he knew that, so it made him bold, bold as you have ever been.”
The king snorted and began to pace. He almost made me dizzy. Nick picked up the tale again, adding information about our visit to the herbalist and how he gave us the link between the harmless wild garlic and deadly meadow saffron.
“And, Your Majesty,” he added, “the peddler-poisoner’s knowledge of local lore and of the lay of the land suggests he was someone who used to live in the Ludlow area.”
“As did a huge rat’s nest of Yorkist loyalists, the ones who served Richard and were there with him before Bosworth Field and some at Stoke! Say on. Is there more? We owe you much in gratitude and payment, but is there more?”
With a nod at me to explain, Nick withdrew the two pieces of black candles with the grotesque faces on them. I told of how quickly and cleverly they had been hacked apart, crudely carved and thrown into the crypt, even how we had retrieved them.
“In and out of many a scrape, eh, Mistress Westcott?” the king said. I vow there was a hint of admiration in his voice.
Each of them took a candle from us and gaped at it. The king swore a string of oaths and heaved his into the cold ashes on the hearth. “It’s…it’s worse than the heart,” the queen whispered, and, as if it burned her, she thrust her candle back at me and collapsed into a chair.
“We’ll get him!” the king vowed with clenched fists. “We’ve faced opposition before, but somehow, none as covert or insidious. Instead of raising rebellions around impostors or leading men in battle, the cowardly churl’s gone underground! It’s Lovell; I swear it is!”
He raised his head to look me straight in the eye, then back at Nick. I had no time to realize I should have lowered my gaze.
“Nicholas Sutton and Mistress Westcott, you have served us well,” the king said. “Nick, can you give even more information about this tall, caped, white-haired, bearded man with the raspy but commanding voice who dared to walk about our capital city and perhaps stalked Prince Arthur even then? And for some reason, he accosted Mistress Westcott in a city cemetery and a crypt—both places of mourning and the dead. Either or both of you, speak up again.”
As if he must spew out that name before it poisoned him, Nick cried, “Yes, I concur it is Viscount Francis Lovell, Your Majesty.”
“Varina?” the king said.
“Yes, I agree. But why he has an interest in me, I am uncertain.”
My eyes met Her Majesty’s wide gaze. I could read her thoughts: If you believe it is because Lovell knows about the effigies and hopes to hurt them or me, say nothing else.
“Perhaps,” the king plunged on, “it was because you carved a few candles for the princess, and he thought he could bribe or coerce you to gain access to the palace. What a spider’s web! We have recently learned that Lovell was housed and hidden in France at our castle by another dangerous”—he looked at the queen—“and murderous man, Sir James Tyrell, who has long deceived us with his true loyalties. Tyrell has just been executed for his treason. But Lovell, that slippery serpent, was not there when we recently besieged and took the castle. Perhaps he was in Wales, eh?
“Nick, I must call upon you for another dangerous quest. I told you in the missive I sent to Wales that Lord Lovell was back, but my people may now have discovered the lair wherein he hides himself between his vile deeds. Bold and wily as ever, he goes to a site he loves and knows, but a place so obvious he must be betting we’d never search there: His own long-forfeited Minster Lovell, the castle where he grew up. I’ve had spies in the area, for I once gave the estate to my dear uncle—which no doubt galls Lovell all the more. My informants there have caught distant glimpses of someone they believe might be Lovell outside the place, near it, walking toward it—but then he vanishes, and they can’t locate him.”
“As ever,” Nick said, “the ghost who wreaks havoc and disappears.”
I could see that his hands were trembling. I too stood aghast at how the pieces came together. Nic
k had been right about Lovell, not merely obsessed with him. While the queen and I stood silent, Nick told the king how Lovell had led on, then deserted Nick’s beloved brother, Stephen, in the Battle of Stoke, and then melted into the mist. For a moment, I thought Nick had made a massive mistake in reminding the king that the Suttons had fought against him once, but I had misjudged Henry Tudor.
He gripped Nick’s shoulders and told him, “Besides your loyalty to your country, we have a cause in common then. Before Lovell does us more harm, we must find and stop him, and I swear that God has set you before me as the man for this righteous task! And, Varina—Mistress Westcott,” he said, turning to me and taking my hand in his cold one, “because Lovell is a man of disguises, a man of deception, and you have evidently seen him of late more than once, I ask you to go along with Nick, not to put yourself at risk, but to identify Lovell once he’s caught. Both of you, get a good night’s rest while I assemble your guards and lay plans. Be back here day after tomorrow to ride to Minster Lovell. And, of course, you will both be well rewarded.”
“My reward will be justice at last,” Nick said.
My heart was beating so hard at the mere thought of facing Lovell again that I could only pray we’d capture him easily and he would kill no one else. And since I had been given a day’s precious leave, I was going to spend it with my own beloved Arthur.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND
The driving rainstorm reminded me of Wales, and delayed us so that it was the next afternoon before Nick and I rode into the chandlery courtyard. As the skies cleared and the late-afternoon sun came out, I prayed good weather boded better things to come. I was so anxious to see my boy again. I knew he would not be back from school yet, so I would surprise him with open arms.
Nick dismounted and went out back looking for Jamie, while I greeted Gil. “Don’t fret now,” he said, and patted my shoulder. “Maud left in plenty of time to accompany Arthur home. He’s missed you sore and will be jumping for joy.”
“If I’d been a bit earlier, I’d have gone in her place and wouldn’t he have been surprised?” I said, clapping my hands in excitement as if I were a child myself. Surely, after a short journey to Minster Lovell—and facing down that demon who had been bred there—I could return to my family and all would be well. Well, that is, if I could only keep Nick in my life.
While Gil turned back to overseeing the apprentices, I went outside and led my horse toward the stables where Nick had gone to find Jamie. I was approaching the door when Nick stepped out and gestured to me: Keep quiet and come here!
I let go of my mount’s reins and tiptoed to him. What’s amiss? I mouthed.
He thrust a finger over his lips and pulled me inside. I heard men’s voices, Jamie’s and another I recognized, that of his brother Silas, the Tower guard who had told Jamie dreadful stories of what went on there. I peered around the beam of the first horse stall. Yes, it was Silas Clopton, a hulking man with ragged-cut hair. He had bright blue eyes, but I shuddered to think what those eyes had seen in the depths of cells or dungeons. Jamie had told Gil that Silas oversaw some of the torments, the dreaded rack and who knew what else.
“Aye, strange indeed,” Jamie was saying. “Why wasn’t Tyrell allowed to say a word afore he was beheaded? ’Tis tradition.”
“Ne’er heard the like. He chattered like a magpie in the Tower. Guess the first time being racked was all he could take.”
“So then, you heard him talk when he was tortured?”
“Aye, and it haunts me still, when none o’ that usually frets me. I be so used to it, and prisoners are mostly villains to the core.”
“And Tyrell wasn’t?”
“Oh, aye—the worst,” Silas said, and lowered his voice so I had to strain to hear. Nick seemed to be holding his breath, and he gripped my wrist hard. “The king’s inquisitor asked him what he did the night the two young princes in the Tower went missing. I wasn’t turning the screws that first day, but I heard it all.”
“They think he hurt those royal lads back then? If so, maybe he died for that, as well as for disobeying the king’s order to give up the French castle and come back to London.”
“Oh, aye, the wretch admitted he hurt those boys, ’stead of swearing by all that’s holy he was guiltless like he done at first. He’d confessed real easy to other things, like hiding some other blackguard name of Lovell. He kilt those boys and must have got rid of their bodies, but on whose orders? Why didn’t they ask him who put him up to that, aye?”
Nick scowled, and I pressed a hand over my mouth. Tyrell had murdered the princes in the Tower! But why had that not been trumpeted far and wide as a major reason for his execution? No doubt the princes’ evil uncle, King Richard, had them killed to clear his way to the throne, but why would the Tudors not want to proclaim Richard’s guilt in the most public manner?
I leaned against Nick, shaking, picturing the waxen images of those young princes I had carved for the queen. They had looked so real after Signor Firenze painted them and she’d had them garbed and wigged that even I would swear they merely slept. Finally, she must know who had killed her brothers! A conspiracy against the Crown, indeed. Lovell, following in Tyrell’s footsteps for dispatching heirs, had murdered Prince Arthur. Now that Tyrell was dead, if Nick could capture Lovell and he was executed, would not the Tudors finally rest easy on their throne?
Tears in my eyes, I was about to tiptoe outside again when Jamie cracked out, “If Tyrell killed those lads, he deserved to be racked and beheaded! Why, two young boys, just like us years ago, Silas. So why should it fret you if he got what he deserved?”
“’Cause of the way he confessed,” Silas said. “On the rack, he kept saying to the king’s inquisitor, who come special for the task, ‘Just tell me what you want me to say! I’ll say anything he wants if you’ll just stop. God will know the truth, God will know the truth, and the king does too!’ You know,” Silas added, “once he said that, the king’s man said to halt the torment and asked Tyrell for no more details, like they usually do. Not about how he did it, not about where the bodies been hid. And since Tyrell wasn’t allowed to give no speech from the scaffold ’fore he lost his head, I been thinking…”
“Listen to me!” Jamie said, his voice tense and desperate. “You’d best not think about it more, best not be telling me this, not anyone. Let it be. He confessed, he’s dead, and that’s that. You go talking more about this and you’ll be losing your own head!”
“I had to tell someone. I do good work there, have a strong stomach, but this time—something’s strange, that’s all.”
On trembling legs, I slipped out of the stables with Nick right behind me. As we hied ourselves toward the back door of the house, I said, “Silas is right. Why would the king keep all that quiet? It sounds as if his inquisitor tried to make Tyrell say something that wasn’t true.”
“I know not, but we have another task. We must concentrate on finding Lovell—letting him share Tyrell’s fate. Jamie’s right that it’s best not to question all this, at least not now and not aloud. Varina, I’m off to Whitehall, but I’d treasure a moment with you first, and I know your boy will be home soon and then I won’t get so much as a hug or a kiss.”
He pulled me into the house and closed the door behind us. We hurried up to the solar, where I was hoping to surprise Arthur when he and Maud returned. They were a bit late.
“Since you will have all day and night with Arthur, I’d covet a bit of attention right now,” Nick whispered into my wild hair. He seemed hurried, almost panicked by what he’d heard in the stables, and I was distraught too. We clung together, trying to shut out everything but our last moments for a while.
He crushed me to him as his lips took mine. I lifted my arms around his neck and held on hard. Nick’s hands went everywhere, caressing me, moving, cupping, grasping until I thought I would go mad. We did not break the kiss, our mouths open, our tongues dancing and demanding. If he had taken me there, standing, I would have welcomed it
. This was madness, after all we’d been through, in midafternoon, soon to be facing danger again. But it was a wonderful madness.
He laid me flat on the floor and threw himself down beside me. I arched my back as he stroked, then kissed my breasts right through my gown. My entire being sprang alive as he slid one hand up my leg, ruffling my hem above my knees. His lips skimmed down my throat, down— And if Arthur and Maud rushed in…
“We can’t—right now,” I said, breathing as hard as if I’d run miles.
“I know. Besides, I can’t tarry. Varina, at the last moment, the king asked me to go ahead without you, and you’ll follow with guards on the morrow. I didn’t want to tell you before—have you worry or argue. He didn’t want to wait another day before I searched Minster Lovell. And that will give you more time with Arthur, if not me.”
Nick sat us both up and lifted me to my feet. He held my chin in one big hand to stare down into my eyes. “I vow to you, Varina Westcott, we will find the time to make things right between us. Then will you say yes?”
I would have said yes to anything he wanted, because I wanted him at any cost. Our different stations in life, our unfinished quest, and Lovell lurking aside, I would have ridden out with him to fight the world bare-handed if he had but asked.
“I know not to what question,” I whispered, “but yes. Yes!”
He kissed me hard, set me back, and stomped out.
Leaning breathless against the inside door to the once familiar solar, I listened to Nick’s quick boot steps fade. I heard his horse’s hooves strike the cobbles as he rode out of the small courtyard. I ran to the street-side solar window to watch him go, but the latch jammed, so I saw him distorted by the thick panes of glass as his form shrank and disappeared.
And what would Nick ask of me? I wondered as my skin still tingled from his touch. To let him possess my body? To be his mistress or—dared I dream so—his wife? But now, where were Maud and Arthur?
