Cicely's Sovereign Secret

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  She drew back sadly. ‘As you wish, Jon, but never forget that I made a conciliatory move. You chose to rebuff me.’

  ‘I simply point out what you expect of me.’

  Cicely turned to go back inside, but he spoke again. ‘You are right. Let us be civilized. My viscountess has come out to welcome me, and I am content to be welcomed.’ He took her hand and rested it over his arm.

  It was not much, but constituted a beginning, she thought.

  He saw Annie in the entrance. ‘We have a guest?’

  ‘I fear so,’ she answered dryly.

  ‘You fear so?’

  ‘That is something to tell you when we are alone. How is Master Roland?’

  ‘Need you ask?’ Jon nodded towards the boy, who was alighting from his rather splendid Spanish mount, a bay that was rare enough for Henry himself, let alone his unacknowledged bastard son, whose dark-blue cloak was rich with embroidery. The vivid, pale-green clothes he wore beneath it were even richer, and he carried himself as if he were someone of immense importance. His face still bore its haughty expression, his lips carried a sneering twist, and his hair seemed unaffected by the rigours of riding.

  Annie suddenly caught up her gown and hurried towards the boy. As she called his name and he turned, the interest in his eyes was clear.

  Jon watched. ‘I have already had good cause to have him beaten for being found in … delicate circumstances. His pizzle needs knotting.’ He turned to Roland. ‘To your duties, écuyer!’

  Roland glowered as only he—and perhaps his great-uncle, Jasper Tudor—could, but did as he was told. Annie scowled as well, although quickly dissembled to smile sweetly again as she tripped prettily back to the house.

  Jon drew a heavy breath. ‘The threat of Henry’s ire has so far proved to be a very effective deterrent with our brave Breton. If that fails, his pizzle really will be knotted.’

  She smiled a little. ‘Jon, I am so glad we can at least talk again.’

  ‘Talking does not constitute forgiveness, Cicely. Being dragged into your Yorkist affairs was bad enough, but what really hurt me was your deceit. You did not say Jack was still alive. I find it impossible to forgive, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ She would not blame Jack, because she had not been forced to obey him. And Jack had been thinking of Jon.

  ‘Yes? Is that all?’

  ‘All?’ She looked at Jon. ‘What more do you wish me to say? I accept your grievance, Jon. Would you rather I did not?’

  He held her glance for a long moment, and then gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘Oh, Cicely, you are never dull.’

  ‘Nor are you.’

  ‘I am your husband, so allow me the last word, if you please.’

  She complied.

  He sighed. ‘Now you have had the last silence instead.’

  In the bedchamber later that night, Lord and Lady Welles sat beside the fire that provided the only light. He was still dressed, but she had changed into her nightclothes. He had ordered the main guest chamber to be prepared for him, and she had said nothing to dissuade him. Maybe she was not ready either. Things were so different now, but they could still keep company.

  She had told him about Henry, the poison, her suspicion about Bess, and everything else she could think of, because she was determined to never again be accused of keeping truths from him. But she did not speak of Jack, nor did Jon ask. Lord Lincoln was a forbidden subject.

  One thing she mentioned was Henry’s cryptic remark about not having confided a secret.

  ‘You say that in a rather odd way,’ Jon observed. ‘Why? Because if you plan to do anything with Yorkist intent, I—’

  ‘I cannot if I am no longer privy to Henry’s thoughts.’

  Jon rolled his eyes. ‘You think he is going to stay away from you? Dear God, lady, he will be playing with himself all night and day.’

  ‘My concern is Leo. He will grow up to know who he is. I can protect him now, but later … he will be such a danger to Henry… . I have to be York, Jon. If—’ She broke off, for intentions were forming that she had not seen coming. ‘If Henry wants me to return to him, I will. And if he tells me his secret, I—’

  ‘Do not tell me! There can be too much honesty, Cicely. You already stretch my patience. I made threats at Esher that I have not entirely discarded. Do you understand? We may be relatively civil at this moment, but do not think that you have won me over so easily, because you have not.’

  She recoiled a little. ‘You have made yourself clear, I think. So do you wish to know that the Kymbes have brought Leo here to London? To the house you so thoughtfully secured, for which I am grateful. I am to go there the day after tomorrow. It will be Leo’s birthday,’ she added.

  ‘I am aware of the date. He was supposed to have been our son, was he not? So, it is two years since you first came to Wyberton? Sometimes it seems as if it were only yesterday. How is he progressing?’

  She told him, and then added, ‘Henry wishes Leo to be taken to him. He remembers him from Friskney. It is a very great honour to the Kymbes, I know that, but … I am afraid, Jon.’

  ‘There is nothing to be done about it. If Henry wishes to see the boy, then he must be obeyed.’

  ‘Come to see Leo with me, Jon.’

  ‘I cannot. Henry expects me to wait upon him tomorrow and the day after. You must still go, of course.’

  ‘Bess is to accompany me. She has told Henry she wishes to show favour to Mary, whom he remembers was once her maid too.’

  ‘Has she been churched already?’ He was surprised.

  ‘No, but there has been some arrangement for just this one day, I do not know what. A priest has been persuaded, Margaret is compliant, and that appears to be that, although Henry insists she is strictly disguised. No one must know she has emerged before her churching.’

  ‘He indulges her because of their lost child?’

  ‘Presumably.’ Yes, that was it, she thought, remembering the look on his face when he had emerged from seeing Bess. She sat forward, the flames dancing over her peach robe. ‘If he is attempting to mend matters with Bess, he will not find her in the least receptive. She cannot abide him.’

  ‘And has tried to poison him? I still find that hard to credit.’

  ‘I have only told you what I believe, Jon. Not what I know to be true. And Annie really must be warned of the risk she takes with Roland. And maybe Edmund de la Pole. Both thoughts make me shudder, and if Thomas Howard detects her in anything, she will forfeit him.’

  Jon paused. ‘To be honest, all three make me shudder. Young Howard repels me as much as the others.’

  She was surprised. ‘Repels you?’

  Jon was silent for a moment. ‘Well, it has been reported to me that he likes to beat his whores. He has a liking for buxom laundry girls, it seems, although whether they like his horse face is anyone’s guess. I imagine he is aroused by the smell of starch. I also imagine he pays well, too well for them to say anything. But word is getting around. He apparently has no respect for women. If it’s true, then he seems to hide it well enough from Annie, because she is, after all, the queen’s sister and therefore a great catch for him when he has no actual prospect of becoming a duke.’

  ‘And you believe the rumours?’ she asked.

  ‘Short of having witnessed him thrashing a wench until the starch rises in clouds, there is not a lot I can say, except that I first heard it from someone I would regard as reliable. And, on the few occasions I have been in Howard’s company, I simply did not like him.’

  Cicely did not know what to think. She had never been impressed by Thomas Howard, but had never suspected anything like this.

  Jon rose from his chair. ‘I will take my leave now.’

  ‘God keep you, Jon.’

  Perhaps he had expected she would plead with him to stay, for he hesitated, but then inclined his head and left her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was midday on the Feast of St Valentine, a crisp, sunny, still day t
hat was more April than February. Cicely was impatient as she rode slowly along a thronged Thames Street, with Mary and Tom Kymbe. Following them was the tightly curtained but very plain litter that conveyed Bess, and behind it two armed guards for protection. No one in the city’s busiest thoroughfare paid any attention.

  There was a shadow over Cicely despite her anticipation, because she was to meet Tal a little later. The fact of meeting him was not the reason, rather was it the tone of his message, because it suggested that something was wrong. She had not even realized he was back in London. Perhaps he had never gone away. If so, Jack did not know. Or had not, the last time she heard from him, which had been the previous night.

  Tom had brought the note before she even broke her fast that morning. ‘My lady, last night I was approached by the knight you call Tal. He gave me this note for you, and said it was urgent. He asked where you be would today and knew you would be visiting Master Leo. I do not know how. He told me to be sure to give this note to you.’

  She broke the seal reluctantly, and read. St Andrew’s Wardrobe. 2 after noon, tomorrow. T.

  ‘My lady, he will wait at the church in the hope you can be there. If not, then he will contact you again to meet at the Red Lion, as before.’

  Cold anxiety lurked in the pit of Cicely’s stomach. The noise and colour all around seemed distant as she wondered if something was wrong. But what could it be? Jack was well enough, she knew. And so was Leo, because Tom had brought news of him when he delivered the note. She could only wait, and pray there was nothing to fear.

  Hallows Lane was, like Flemyng Court, almost in the shadow of St Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe, although to the east, and the narrow, three-storeyed house lacked window-panes, having wooden slats and shutters instead. Half-timbered and gabled, its upper floors projecting over the cobbled way, it was separated from an adjoining property by a shared alley to a tiny yard strewn with crushed clinker. There was a single stable, and a small walled garden containing two apple trees that in a few short months now would be sweet with blossom.

  The alley was too confined and low for riders, so their horses remained in the lane, obliging Cicely and Bess to alight rather publicly, but they both wore unremarkable clothes, and no one could know that the Queen of England was in lowly Hallows Lane.

  Tom and Mary followed them into the low, wainscoted hallway, to offer assistance with their cloaks, and no sooner had that been done than Bess waved them away. ‘I would like to speak privately with my sister.’

  The brother and sister hurried up the stairs to the next floor, and then into a room on the first landing. Bess turned and spoke in a low voice that was muffled by the wainscoting. ‘Cissy, there has been a remarkable change in Henry. He has been all kindness and attention since I lost the baby.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes. Not that it changes anything for me. I actually applaud the poisoner’s valiant attempt.’

  Cicely hoped nothing showed on her face. ‘Oh, Bess, you ought to try a little. He clearly is.’ She thought again of the moment she had encountered him just after the loss of the baby. He had come face to face with his own guilt. Confronted by it. That was the word he had used. It explained so much of the way he finally parted from her. Such regret, such feeling, such gentleness.

  Bess was answering. ‘Why should I try? He is a monster, and I am delighted he now suffers from gout as well.’

  ‘Gout?’

  ‘Indeed. He seems inclined to suffer from almost everything. How he remains so outwardly strong I really do not know. By the way, he is going to acquire a monkey.’

  ‘A … monkey? Why?’

  ‘Well, I suspect it is his peculiar notion of humour. You see, he intends to call it Crumplin.’

  ‘Oh.’ Yes, it sounded like Henry. Jack had told her of her father’s pet name for Richard. Crumplin meant ‘small and crooked of body’, and Richard’s spine curved sideways, which could not be seen when he was dressed, except for one shoulder being slightly raised above the other. Henry would indeed be amused to call a monkey by that name.

  ‘I hope the horrible creature bites him,’ Bess said.

  ‘Do you really care so little for the father of your babies? He cared when you lost your last baby, Bess, and you wrong him by thinking otherwise.’

  ‘All he wants of me is living male heirs,’ Bess replied. ‘Soon I will have to accommodate his person again, and I shudder at the thought. I wonder he does not count the thrusts aloud. One day he will continue dictating to his secretary while he mounts me.’

  ‘Not even Henry would have his secretary in attendance!’

  Bess drew a long breath, and changed the subject. ‘Jon is beneath the same roof again, I note.’

  ‘But not in the same bed.’

  ‘Oh. Well, no doubt that will change. You were too happy together for his resolve not to weaken. And in the meantime, you could easily have a young, strong, rather attractive Lincolnshire gentleman in his place. Do not look so outraged. A virile man is a virile man, and he is just another one longing for you.’

  The furious screams of a very small, very cross Leo ended the calm. ‘Me! Me! Me!’ he screeched.

  Bess glanced upstairs. ‘Listen to that clamour. You were a screecher too, Cissy.’ Her eyes sparkled again. ‘Oh, do let us go to him.’

  They ascended to the next floor, where Leo’s loud complaints issued from the door through which Mary and Tom had gone earlier. Sunlight pierced a narrow window, where an elderly, rather cross tabby cat sat. Its ears were turned back and its tail twitched at each yell from behind the door opposite.

  ‘I want! I want!’ Leo demanded.

  The sisters entered. Elderly Mistress Kymbe—small, bright-eyed and swift-minded—was knitting and ignoring the demands of the angry, red-faced infant who wanted to be picked up.

  ‘No, sir,’ she was saying. ‘Only when you ask properly, will I cuddle you, but not before.’

  Leo inhaled for another bellow, but then saw Cicely and ran to her, arms raised, but he stumbled and would have fallen had she not caught him and swung him up in the air.

  He squealed with laughter, his little face lighting up, those memorable eyes dancing with pleasure.

  Bess gazed at him. ‘Sweet God, Cissy, he is so like Richard.’ Her tears welled and she had to swallow back a sob.

  Cicely kissed Leo on the cheek and he squirmed because now that Bess had spoken, and he liked her voice, he wanted to go to her. He held his arms out, as he had once to Henry.

  Bess was overwhelmed as Cicely gave him to her and he clasped her around the neck. She held him tenderly, her face filled with emotion.

  Tom leaned against the window ledge and vertical wooden slats, his arms folded. His hazelnut eyes were warm as he observed the fond scene, although, perhaps it was not the entire scene he watched, just one part of it, or so Bess was to point out later. ‘Tom Kymbe had eyes only for you, Cissy. If he is not your lover, he certainly longs to be.’ Henry’s words too.

  Aware that Cicely had brought the queen herself, Mistress Kymbe set her knitting aside hastily and tried to sink into a deep curtsey. Cicely swiftly instructed Tom to help her back to her chair, which he and Mary did with great care. Bess was too engrossed in Leo to notice anything.

  Cicely knelt beside the chair. ‘How are you, Mistress Kymbe?’ she asked, making sure her lips could be read.

  ‘Oh, generally well. But how are you, my dear? That is more to the point. Did my green salve do its work?’

  ‘Indeed so. I thank you. As the Earl of Lincoln once thanked you too, remember?’

  ‘Ah, that sinfully handsome young fellow. Enticement in human form.’ There was a whispered addendum. ‘And still not as dead as he is believed to be.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I see it in your eyes, my dear. There is a colour that is there only for him. I saw it at Friskney, and see it there again.’

  Cicely smiled as Leo burst into giggles because Bess tickled him. ‘He is so very well. You will ne
ver know how grateful I am to you, and to Tom.’

  ‘Tom will always help you, Lady Cicely,’ Mistress Kymbe said quietly, holding her eyes meaningfully.

  Cicely blushed and glanced at him, to find his eyes upon her. He looked away quickly. Everyone seemed to have noticed, except her, and now she felt awkward.

  The old lady spoke of Leo again. ‘Apart from that one ailment last year, your boy is a strong, healthy, loving little child. His father would have been proud.’

  ‘Yes, he would. Please do not think badly of me, Mistress Kymbe. I know I should not love as I do.’

  ‘Take care with the present king, my dear, for he is a very dangerous man. If he should learn of Lord Lincoln, or of Leo’s true parentage, there is no saying what lengths he might go to.’

  At that moment the sound of hooves echoed outside, and Tom turned swiftly to look down. ‘Jesu, it is the king!’

  Cicely was horrified. ‘Why? He wished Leo to be taken to him!’

  Bess was guilty. ‘He changed his mind and said he would accompany us here today. I did not think he meant it.’ She put Leo down, which did not please him, so Tom stepped swiftly to take him up to see the horses and men in the lane below the window.

  Cicely steeled herself as Henry’s tread sounded on the stairs, but paused on the landing. She heard his voice, low and almost fond, and then he entered with the delighted cat purring in his arms. Clearly the soft-spoken King of England was very much to the haughty creature’s liking, for it kneaded its sharp claws on his fur sleeve as he rubbed its ears.

  The beguiling scent of cloves entered with him. There was a sapphire brooch in his black velvet hat, and he wore a long sleeveless surcoat, dove grey embroidered with blue and gold. Beneath it was a black fur tunic that would have kept him warm for the ride from Westminster. His cheeks were flushed, and he held his chased leather gauntlets in one hand as he made a fuss of the cat with the other.

  He glanced coldly at Bess as everyone made deep obeisance to him. ‘I had expressed an intention to accompany you today, madam.’

  ‘I did not for a moment imagine you meant it,’ she replied in a rather combative tone. ‘Why would you wish to see my former maid’s nephew?’