Flemyng Court? Would Tal have left for Calais, still pretending that Jack was dead, if he was not? Cicely did not know what to think, except that her distrust of Sir Humphrey Talbot was returning. But she had to be sensible, and was it sensible to think Jack might be alive after all? Jon had seen the riderless horse and the burial in the willow hollow.
‘Does Edgar say anything else, Mary?’
‘That there is a cousin in need of you, and of my know-ledge as a wisewoman, my lady.’
Cousin? Now Cicely’s heart leapt. Might it really be Jack who sent for her? Or could it be a trap? But set by whom? She had to go, though. If it could be Jack, she would never fail him.
‘Bring the pale-blue velvet, Mary,’ she said quietly, then thought again. ‘No, wait.’ If it was Jack, she should not go openly as Viscountess Welles. ‘We must be in as much disguise as we can. I will wear that brown gown of yours, and you stay in the grey.’
The maid was horrified. ‘My lady?’
‘Just bring your gown, Mary. I am ordering you. And … is there anyone in the stables you deem trustworthy enough to have him prepare two unremarkable horses for us?’
‘Yes, my lady. I will attend to it.’ The maid hurried away.
Flemyng Court lay in the west of the city, and from Pasmer’s Place, Edgar conducted the two women along the busy mile of snowy Thames Street, one of the most crowded and prosperous thoroughfares in the capital. The messenger was a short, wiry man of forty, with sharp grey eyes and an air of being well able to take care of himself.
The fresh snow had already been cleared into piles at the side of the street, and the sky was clear and blue now. London sparkled in the cold sunlight.
Thames Street extended from Tower Hill in the east, to Blackfriars, where it met Puddle Dock Hill, just before reaching the city’s western wall. The hill led up from the river, where the towers and battlements of Bayard’s Castle rose from the waterside, alongside the stretch of quays and wharves called Puddle Dock. The castle had once been the main London residence of the House of York, and was where her father had been proclaimed king … and where Richard had reluctantly accepted the crown pressed upon him by the Three Estates. His regret had been evident to all, but there was no choice. He was the king. And so had begun the inexorable path to Bosworth.
Along the way towards Blackfriars, there were merchants’ premises of almost every description, from spicemongers and apothecaries, to shoemakers and silk merchants. Street vendors shouted their wares, carts bumped along with eggs, cheese and milk, and winter vegetables from the many country farms just beyond the city walls. Gentlefolk brushed with the most common of souls, weaving to and fro along the cobbled way, while whores leaned from upper windows, their bosoms on full view.
Cicely hardly noticed anything. She felt as if she had been holding her breath since the moment Mary had brought the leopard’s head note.
Mary was more alert to everything, and was soon conscious of someone following. She turned in the saddle, and saw a youth of about sixteen, very elegant and well mounted, with an exceeding fine head of auburn curls. He was intent upon them. The maid reined in. ‘My lady?’
Cicely turned, and so did Edgar.
The maid manoeuvred her mount closer. ‘Please, do not look behind me obviously, but someone is following us.’ She described him to them. ‘I do not know him at all, but no common man would be able to wear such garments, and that white stallion will have set him back a fat purse. As will the red leather trappings. He is of noble birth, very conscious of it, and not afraid to be seen, except by us.’
Edgar leaned forward, as if to adjust Cicely’s bridle, but cast a sharp look behind.
‘Do you know him?’ Cicely asked nervously. The description Mary had given brought Tal’s description of Edmund de la Pole to mind. But … why would Edmund be following them? Unless … It must have something to do with Jack.
Edgar was nodding. ‘Yes, I know him. It is Lord Edmund de la Pole. In fact, I am probably the one he has recognized.’
Cicely’s heart sank. Jack did not like his younger brother, so this could surely not be benevolent interest. ‘So it is Lord Lincoln to whom you take us now.’ She would never forgive Tal for withholding this from her!
‘Yes, my Lady. His life is in great danger, and he has a wound that should be tended to properly. Secretly. It is not far now to the end of Thames Street, and I can cause a diversion before then. There is a small herd of cattle approaching from Blackfriars. I will stampede them, and they will disrupt everything behind us. Lord Edmund will have his work cut to keep his fancy horse under control, let alone pursue us. Lady Cicely, I will then set my horse for our destination, and I wish you and your maid to follow with as much speed as you can. We can reach Flemyng Court without the fellow knowing anything.’
‘Or lead him straight there,’ Cicely replied.
The messenger shook his head. ‘I will know if he is still following, and will lead him a merry Christmas carol. He is a little too conspicuous to blend into any convenient background. That is where arrogance gets him. If he is up to something he should not, then riding out like a peacock on a unicorn is not the way to do it. Come, we will continue slowly, and the moment I set the cattle agallop, we are to kick on at speed.’
They rode on, and as the docile cattle came alongside, Edgar suddenly began to whoop, whistle and yell, and much to the fury of the drover, brought a small whip down upon the rumps of several cows. There was instant uproar as the panic-stricken beasts surged forward in confusion. Edgar spurred his horse on along the street, and the two women followed. Thames Street was left in chaos behind them. Mary glanced swiftly back, and saw that Edmund had been unseated, and was struggling to keep hold of his frightened horse’s reins.
The three riders galloped past Baynard’s Castle, alarming a cartload of chickens in cages, and then up Puddle Dock Hill, which would eventually pass the Royal Wardrobe, where all the robes and other clothes were stored. But before then it ran alongside the church of St Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe, close to which was a warren of overhung streets and alleys. But there were also fine residences, including those of Flemyng Court.
St Andrew’s Church loomed above the rooftops as the riders gained the narrow way into the shelter of the court. Tal’s house was exactly as he had described, with bay windows through three storeys, facing them as they entered. It was a handsome house, befitting the Marshal of Calais, and as Cicely reined in breathlessly, she scanned the windows. She was only yards from Jack!
Edgar jumped down and helped Cicely and Mary to alight. ‘We have lost him, my lady! But go straight inside, while I take the horses out of sight, to be sure. You are expected. Please, hurry!’
They caught up their skirts, Mary struggling with the heavy casket, and in a moment they were in the house. They heard the clatter of the horses, and then silence outside.
A steward hurried to greet them. ‘Lady Cicely?’
Cicely flung her hood back and nodded.
He immediately sank to his knees.
‘Please rise, sir, my rank is hardly of consequence under the circumstances,’ she said, waving her hand for him to rise again. ‘Is Sir Humphrey here?’
‘His lordship arrived after Sir Humphrey had left to present himself to the king first thing this morning, and then sent word that he was leaving for Calais aboard the Elizabeth. By the time the man I sent reached Three Cranes, the vessel had departed.’
So, Tal was not guilty after all.
The steward bowed respectfully. ‘Please, if you will follow me, my lady, I will take you to his lordship.’
The house felt as if it was Tal’s residence, she thought as she ascended. His character was imprinted in everything, almost to the point of leaving behind a trace of cinnamon. Yet there was nothing that she could have pointed to and been certain it belonged to him, except, perhaps, the tapestry of Calais facing the stairs on the first landing. Yes, that was his.
The boards creaked on the second-floor landing, and
it was much cooler as she was led to the door of one of the principal bedchambers at the front of the house. It had to be the room with the topmost of the bay windows, she thought. The steward knocked upon the door, opened it, and then stood aside for her to enter. Mary remained discreetly outside.
Cicely moved slowly, her hem rustling and her steps muffled on rush matting. Please God, let Jack be waiting for me… .
His voice warmed her frightened heart. Just one word. ‘Sweetheart?’
Her eyes fled to the curve of the window, and the black outline of a man against the cold sunlight. He moved, and she could see him at last. Jack! Her lips said his name, but not a sound came out. He smiled, his dark eyes shone and his almost-black curls were as unruly as ever. He wore clothes she recognized at Tal’s, and he was a little pale and drawn, but it was him. The living man, not an illusion conjured by the terrible grief within her.
His left arm was in a sling, so it was his right hand he extended. She ran to him with a glad cry, and his lips found hers again in a kiss that was ablaze with love. Once again she knew the joy of thyme on his breath and in his hair, and the sheer wanton gratification of his body against hers. Death had not claimed Jack de la Pole after all, he had come back to her! Her prayers had been answered, and this time it was not imagination, which was all she had now of Richard.
He was kissing her hair, whispering her name, and loving her as she loved him. She put a hand to the back of his neck, her fingers moving adoringly into those wonderful curls. She could feel his heartbeats, taste him, treasure him again, and even if she had been able to find the words, she could not have uttered them. This passionate but silent reunion was so momentous that everything centred upon it. Upon him. She held him, tears welling from her eyes. He had not been lost forever.
Henry Tudor was pushed into perspective. What a baneful shadow he was, casting his dark presence over her existence. And over England. Jack de la Pole was dazzling light, warm, sweet, rewarding … and so very beloved that she was still afraid this was not happening.
He pressed his cheek adoringly to the top of her head. ‘Sweet Jesu, Cicely, I love you so much,’ he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.
‘As I love you, Jack. As I will always love you. If you fade from my arms now, I will—’
‘I am real enough, sweetheart. The pain in my left shoulder is proof enough … to me, at least.’ He moved back a moment in order to slide his arm gingerly back into the sling.
She began to pull away in consternation, but he caught her again with his good arm. ‘No, sweetheart, I must hold you a little longer. The thought of being with you was the only spur I needed to somehow force my Yorkist hide back here. This is all the balm that is needed to heal me again.’
Tears leapt to her eyes and then wended down her cheeks. ‘Richard left me forever, but here you are. I feel so blessed, so very blessed to be granted this boon. But Jack, before anything else, there is something you should know first.’
His smile disappeared when he saw the look in her eyes. ‘What is it?’
‘Your brother Edmund followed us along Thames Street.’
Jack’s eyes hardened. ‘That embroidered little fart? Are you sure?’
‘Your man, Edgar, recognized him.’
‘Yes, and Edmund would know Edgar, too. Tell me what happened.’
She related it all, and he smiled about the cattle. ‘I trust Edmund was deposited in horse shit.’
‘You dislike him that much?’
‘We dislike each other that much. It saddens me to say Edmund resents being the second brother. Well, he thinks he is that no more, and could not wait to slip from Oxford to be at court. Tal tells me he brags that he is to be the next Duke of Suffolk, and has been known to wish our harmless father on his way. That same father who wants nothing more than a quiet existence, away from politics and court intrigue, and who has to tolerate his “loving” second son stepping eagerly into my place, without even a moment’s show of grief.’
A nerve flickered at Jack’s temple as he thought of his father, who could so easily have been a truly powerful and prominent magnate, but chose instead to live quietly on his lands with his Plantagenet princess wife.
‘Edmund pretends to be loyal to Henry, but in fact has a grandiose ambition to be the next Yorkist king. Henry will be watching him closely, you may be sure of that. Sweetheart, are you sure you eluded him?’
She nodded. ‘Edgar is certain.’
Jack glanced down into the court. ‘It seems deserted.’
‘Does Edmund know you survived Stoke?’
‘I have no idea. I certainly did not inform him.’
‘Then he may simply be intrigued to find Edgar here in London,’ she said.
‘I pray that is the sum of it. Believe me, my “death” at Stoke would have put Edmund in what the Mussulmen call the Seventh Heaven.’
‘You must leave London, Jack. You have to soon anyway, because you cannot raise an army here. You will have to go to Burgundy again, as you did before.’
He smiled. ‘You are right, of course, but not before you and I have spent time together. But I will leave Tal’s house before then.’
‘I know he is really Sir Humphrey Talbot, not Taliesin ap Gruffydd.’ She made brief mention of the overheard conversation with Henry.
‘Forgive my fib, sweetheart, but Tal did not want to be identified.’ He looked at her. ‘So, dear Henry still imposes himself on you?’ He studied her face. ‘My poor darling, how beset you are by your desires.’
‘I think you are the only one who has ever understood.’
‘Because I am the same as you, sweetheart.’
‘What Henry did to you at Knole has made me despise him.’
Jack took a long breath. ‘My darling, you have to hide that change of heart He has to be convinced all is the same as ever, because if he should come to suspect you … I need not say more, I think.’
‘I cannot bear to think of your agony at his hands.’
‘I do not remember any of it, sweetheart. Nothing, from the time Tal and I fled from the hall, until I came around again to find Tal trying to help me. Henry was on the floor, having received a thwack around the head with a candlestick, and a kicking from Tal’s enormous boot in his nuts.’
Jack put a finger to Cicely’s lips, and drew it sensuously across them, before kissing her again. In a trice her arms went around him and they held each other tightly as the kiss, and the emotions it aroused, swept them both into their desires. But then he drew away a little. ‘I … cannot make love to you now, my darling, because I cannot do you justice, and after all this time, I must be able to make love to you with all the skill and passion you deserve.’
‘Jack—’
‘Please, sweetheart.’
She smiled. ‘I was only going to say that I will do whatever you wish, Jack de la Pole. If you want to wait, then I will wait too. It is enough for me that you are alive after all, and I can feast my gaze upon you as a starving creature upon a banquet. But for now, I think it is time for Mary to tend your shoulder.’ She went to the door to usher Mary in.
The casket was soon opened, its array of contents fully displayed. For every recognizable ointment, syrup, herb and phial, there were others of a very different order. Dried things, some once living creatures, lay next to others, less distinguishable, steeped in sealed jars. Tightly rolled bandages, deceptively small pads that could soak up infinitely more than their size, and oils in tiny bottles seemed to make up most of the rest, except for the small but precious pestle and mortar that Mary took out first, together with certain special herbs that were fresh because she grew them in pots in a sunny window at Pasmer’s Place.
The maid, who had always liked Jack a little too much, blushed as she removed his upper clothes, and then examined the wound.
‘You are fortunate, my lord. The blade did not damage your bone, pierce your lung, cut into a vein or across your muscle, but slipped into one of the few places that would do the least la
sting damage. When Tal drew it out and put the pad on, he saved you from more harm and from a great deal more loss of blood. You are fortunate.’
Jack smiled at her. ‘It does not feel so, Mary.’
She blushed. ‘I … I must clean the wound, my lord, which someone has done very well, but not as expertly as I would like. I must be sure there is no rotting flesh that may become poisonous to you.’
‘I give you permission to do as you please.’
‘Thank you, my lord. It will hurt. A lot.’ She glanced around the room, at the ceiling and in the corners, then went to gather all the cobwebs she could find. Returning, she draped them carefully over the edge of the casket, and then nodded. ‘My lord, please be so good as to place the hilt of your dagger between your teeth.’
‘It will hurt that much?’
‘I fear so.’
He did as she said, and then nodded that he was ready. Unable to bear his pain, Cicely looked down into the court again, still fearful that Edmund had managed to trace them, but it remained deserted. She lingered there, her gaze fixed on the entrance from Puddle Dock Hill, but there was nothing to suggest anyone was keeping sly watch.
Mary worked swiftly and efficiently, wiping and dabbing, applying first this and then that. Jack bore it all in silence, but there was perspiration on his forehead, and he closed his eyes for much of the time. At last the maid was satisfied that no more cleaning was needed, and straightened.
‘I have finished that, my lord, and just need to apply the salve and some dressings.’
Jack took the dagger away. ‘Thank God,’ he said with feeling. ‘Jesu, lady, you may be a pretty little angel, but you know how to inflict agony.’
‘I am so sorry, my lord.’ Mary was mortified.
But he caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. ‘I tease, sweetheart, for I am truly grateful to you.’
Mary’s blush brightened to crimson, and she made much of placing the pad and bandages in readiness, and then mixed the salve a little more.
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