Cicely's Sovereign Secret

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  Then Jack drew Cicely to one side. ‘Sweetheart, about your reunion with Henry. I wish something important of you. I wish you to inveigle Henry’s great secret from him.’

  ‘Oh, Jack… .’ She was reluctant.

  ‘It’s important. We have Tal’s records and documents, but to hear it all from Henry himself will fill any gaps. Do you understand? He wants to tell you, so make sure your company and your sweet, sympathetic little ears are irresistible. Make sure all of you is irresistible.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘I will do my best.’

  He bent to kiss her, and she knew Tom had turned away.

  Jack ushered her to the church door. ‘We will go back inside now, Tom, and I want you to slam the door as much as you can behind us, to announce Lady Cicely’s apparent arrival. I will hide, but she will have us both within calling distance.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  Jack opened the door softly, and ushered her inside again. Tom waited until Jack had slipped away from her into the shadows, and then heaved the door to as loudly as he could. The noise reverberated around the nave, and as the echoes died away, there was the sound of that other door, muffled and distant. Then Tal emerged from the sacristy.

  She had to be a supreme deceiver now, and she hurried to him, evincing great pleasure as she held out her hands. He caught them both and drew them to his lips. She felt the topaz ring, which seemed to be the only ring he ever wore.

  ‘Cicely, how good it is to see you looking so much better.’ Perhaps he saw the light in her eyes. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Nothing at all, unless you count a reunion with Henry. I am glad your hair is its proper shade again.’

  ‘And I am less of a strutting coxcomb in those silks and finery?’ He smiled.

  ‘How are you now?’

  ‘Improving. Cicely, I need to thank you again for helping me at Esher. If you had not, well, I would probably have suffered the fate my idiocy deserved.’

  ‘Jack helped you too. And Jon.’

  ‘How are things with him?’

  ‘Strained, but we speak.’

  Tal sighed. ‘It is all my fault, and I accept the blame without reservation. I have grovelled to Jack, and if I could to Jon, I would, except that I fancy my visage would not be welcome.’

  She smiled, for it was easier to seem at ease with him than she had feared.

  ‘Cicely, should you think my gratitude is too easily expressed, let me say again that I am so much in your debt now that there is nothing I would not do for you. Do you understand? If you ever need me, I will come to you, no matter what.’

  ‘You are an honourable man, Tal.’ She met his gaze.

  For a moment she thought she saw something less than confident in his green eyes, but then it had gone. ‘Cicely, do you feel a need to protect Henry?’ The question was blunt, and yet not.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I now have everything I need from Brittany concerning Roland de Vielleville.’ He explained about the notices and documents hidden somewhere in the church, but said nothing at all about Leo. ‘Their content is not for you to know just yet, if only because your astonishment when you learn the truth will be all the more convincing. Please trust me in this.’

  ‘Jack has said the same thing to me. Tal, are these documents the reason you wished to see me today? To tell me you have the proof at last?’

  ‘Yes.’ He searched her eyes. ‘You have changed towards me today. Why?’

  ‘No, truly, it must be the shock of Henry,’ she insisted.

  He was amused. ‘You cannot have thought he would leave you alone? Not he. Let me recite a poem.

  ‘Oh, cruel fortune, to me most contrary,

  Out of her favour to whom had I promised

  My service forever, without duplicity.

  In thought nor word her never to displease,

  Nor from her service ever to depart

  Til death had cast on me his mortal dart.’

  ‘A rhyme royal,’ she observed.

  ‘How very knowledgeable you are.’

  Such rhymes had been introduced by Geoffrey Chaucer, but this was not Chaucer. ‘You wrote it?’ she asked then.

  ‘I did, cariad. The Welsh poet lurks within this carcass. I wrote it some time ago, but it seems fitting for this moment. I am out of your favour, but have promised my service forever. Whatever has happened to change your view of me, never forget that if I am needed, I will come to you.’

  ‘And what of Leo?’ She could not help but ask.

  ‘That is something that lies in the future. Please, Cicely, I swear I will not do anything at all concerning him without consulting you first.’

  ‘What if I do not agree?’

  ‘But you will, Cicely. When the time comes, you will. You will understand his importance.’

  Two days later, Cicely received a message from Tom Kymbe, sent while he waited to be ferried from the mainland. All was well, and Leo in fine fettle. Mistress Kymbe had come to Pasmer’s Place, and was very happy to do so, because she could instruct Mary in all manner of spells, charms, salves and potions. She also extracted from Jon the promise that come the spring, he would allow a small portion of the garden behind the house to be turned over to the growing of medicinal plants.

  One night there was a small fire at St Andrew’s. It seemed to have been caused by a taper accidentally left alight and knocked over by a cat, which escaped with no more than a singed tail. The altar had been consumed by the flames, and a hiding place discovered beneath it that had perished completely, as had the stacks of papers concealed within. What they had been was a mystery, but Cicely knew Tal’s precious, long-awaited proof from Brittany had been destroyed.

  Had the fire been deliberate? If so, did it mean that someone present in the sacristy was not as loyal to York as they pretended? Somehow she did not suspect John Pasmer, and certainly not Tal himself. Nor would Jack have destroyed the long-awaited evidence that would damn Henry. But what of Étienne Fryon, the Duchess of Burgundy’s loyal servant?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  After Easter there came the occasion of the small feast at Pasmer’s Place. Henry had been wrong about his queen, who was prepared to sit through ten courses with him. Cicely was less than happy. There would be wine aplenty at the occasion, and maybe Bess perceived a chance of poisoning him again? Cicely prayed not, but could only wait.

  The thought of another confrontation between the king and queen, like the one at Hallows Lane on Leo’s birthday, was most unappealing. Cicely wished Jon had not issued the invitation, but now the best had to be made of it. She could only pray the feast and entertainment pleased both monarchs.

  Before then, however, a great problem sprang up involving Annie and Roland. It happened in the small hours on the very eve of the banquet. Cicely and Jon had retired to the main bedchamber to take a cup of warm, honeyed wine together. He came to sit with her every night, and came fully dressed, which told her he intended to retire to the principal guest chamber. She followed her own pattern, and received him in her nightgown and robe. Did she want him to be in her bed again? Sometimes, yes. Other times … the stiltedness between them was impossible to ignore.

  There was a timid but urgent tap at the door, and on Cicely’s response, Mary entered nervously. ‘My lord, my lady, forgive me, but …’ Her tongue passed over her lips. ‘The Lady Ann has gone up to Master Roland’s room. I … I was returning to my own chamber after sitting with my aunt, when I saw her.’

  Cicely was disquieted. ‘Oh no! Thank you, Mary. We will attend to it.’

  When the maid had gone, Jon got up angrily. ‘Damn Henry, damn his libidinous little by-blow, and damn your apprentice jade of a sister.’

  They ascended to the uppermost floor of the house. Roland’s chamber was at the far end of the passageway, partly within the roof. He was only a squire, and was treated as such, so could consider himself fortunate to be in the house, not wherever his fellows had to make do. It was another frosty night, with
little sound, but as they neared the door, beneath which crept the glow of candlelight, they heard Annie’s smothered giggles.

  Jon kicked the door open furiously. Annie and Roland were sitting together on the bed, he in his nightshirt, she still fully dressed. They scrambled from opposite sides of the narrow mattress. Roland’s face was a picture of guilty dismay, and he did not say a word, but Annie burst into tears, caught up her gown and scampered from the room, along the passage and then down the stairs to her own chamber. Roland, on the other hand, became arrogantly haughty, gazing past Cicely at the slope of the roof above the window.

  Jon confronted him. ‘Well, sir? Have you anything to say for yourself?’

  ‘Non, monsieur le vicomte.’

  ‘In English, if you please.’

  ‘No, my lord,’ the boy corrected, his chin still fully raised.

  ‘So, you have nothing to say about seducing my lady’s young sister?’

  ‘I was not seducing her, my lord, she came to me.’

  ‘And you did nothing to ensure she left again without delay.’ Jon was icy. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Fourteen, my lord.’

  ‘How old is Lady Ann?’

  ‘Twelve, my lord.’

  ‘You, sir, are old enough to know she should only be in her own bedchamber.’

  Roland did not respond.

  Jon became incensed. ‘Your dick, sir, is to be kept only unto you, but I have had far too many reasons to punish you for fucking around! If the itch is so very imperative, I suggest you resort to relieving yourself. You do know how to relieve yourself, I take it? Or are you too superior for such vulgar, unholy practices?’

  Roland went red.

  ‘Well, profane and forbidden such acts may be, but they are also far less troublesome than the act of tampering with the queen’s too-young sister. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Apologize to my lady for your lamentable conduct.’

  Roland’s chin seemed to rise even more.

  In one stride Jon had shoved him face down on the bed and then placed a booted foot on his exposed buttocks. ‘Now then, sir, apologize.’

  Roland struggled in silence.

  Jon was now very angry indeed, and slammed the heel of his boot down savagely on Roland’s backside. ‘What have you to say, sir?’

  Roland howled in pain. ‘I am sorry, Lady Welles! Forgive me, I beg of you!’

  Jon released him. ‘You are to stay away from the Lady Ann, do you understand? Be caught in another misdemeanour like this, and not only will your hide be thoroughly beaten, but you will be returned to my nephew the king, for him to deal with.’

  Roland froze. ‘Please do not do that, my lord.’

  ‘Give me one sensible reason why I should not.’

  ‘I am afraid of him.’

  Cicely wondered again what Henry had done to bring about such dread in his own son, who trembled visibly.

  Jon was not impressed. ‘Afraid of him? Then you should have thought of that before, should you not, monsieur l’écuyer? The king will hear of this if I become aware of as much as a whisper about your conduct from now on. I am tired of your arrogance, surliness, ill manners and laughable airs and graces.’

  ‘Je vous demande pardon, monsieur le vicomte.’ He hastened to correct himself. ‘I am sorry, my lord, and I crave your pardon.’

  ‘You will spend tomorrow here in this room, you will not have food or go about tasks and training with the other young men, and you certainly will not attend the dinner.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  Jon stepped away, and then nodded at Cicely. ‘See to your sister. I will not venture there with you.’

  She turned to go, but Roland suddenly called to her. ‘Forgive me, my lady, I know how I have disappointed you. It will not happen again, I swear it.’ He scrambled from the bed and knelt facing her. ‘I am ashamed, my lady, and I plead with all my heart that you pardon my transgression.’

  It was said sincerely, and he did not look up at her or do anything to suggest his usual disdain. He was only fourteen, she thought, remembering herself at that age.

  ‘I will forgive you this time, Master Roland, but my wrath will match my lord’s if it should happen again. And my lord and I do have the king’s ear, so beware of taking chances.’

  ‘Je suis vraiment reconnaissante, gracieuse dame.’

  He was grateful to her? Yes, she imagined he was, because Jon was ready to deal much more severely with him. She nodded and withdrew.

  She found Annie curled up in a ball on her bed, sobbing. ‘Sit up, Annie, I have to talk to you.’

  Sniffing, trembling and with tears still pouring down her face, Annie did as she was told, but she could not meet her older sister’s eyes.

  ‘Well?’ Cicely demanded. ‘How far did it get?’

  ‘We only k-kissed, Cissy.’

  ‘Is that the truth? Maybe this was not the first time you have sought Master de Vielleville’s room? I know he is the only reason you wanted to come here. Certainly you did not come to make up with me. Nor have you mended your ways. So? The details, if you please.’

  ‘This was the first time, and we did not do anything else.’ The girl’s tears seemed real enough. ‘You will not tell anyone, will you, Cissy? If Thomas should learn of it …’

  ‘Thomas? You fear him?’ Cicely was alert to the rumours.

  ‘I do not fear Thomas, I just do not want him to think I am … no longer as pure as I should be. And please, Cissy, do not tell Bess, and especially not the king. I could not bear it. Truly I could not.’

  ‘Then behave yourself. And what of Edmund de la Pole?’

  Annie glanced up, caught off guard. ‘Edmund? He is not interested in me.’

  ‘Are you interested in him?’

  ‘I was, but he was unkind.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He laughed at me.’

  Cicely was relieved it was no more than that. ‘Stay away from him, Annie, for he is dangerous.’

  The girl nodded.

  ‘Who do you really wish to marry? Thomas or Roland?’

  ‘Roland.’

  ‘A mere écuyer?’

  ‘He is close to the king.’

  Had he guessed who he was? ‘And you believe him? He is only here as the king’s favour to his father. That will not make him a grand noble, you may count upon it. If you wish to marry well, I suggest you start behaving as if worthy of it.’

  Annie hung her head.

  ‘This is your last warning, Annie. Any more ill conduct—any!—and the king will know of it. His attention has already been drawn to you, and not flatteringly.’

  The girl’s eyes flew to her in horror.

  ‘He will not be lenient,’ Cicely continued. ‘You may beg to go to Mother at Bermondsey in preference to the low marriage you will be faced with. Do you understand?’

  Annie’s lips pressed together mutinously.

  ‘Do—you—understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a convivial gathering in the brilliantly lit great hall at Pasmer’s Place. Minstrels played, there was dancing and singing, and all manner of entertainment, including Henry’s favourite fool. The food was magnificent, the wine rare, and the surroundings sumptuous. A surfeit of costly beeswax candles illuminated the scene, and a huge log fire roared in the hearth. Chosen members of the court were present, although Margaret was unwell. Jasper Tudor had refused his invitation in no uncertain terms, displeasing both Henry and Margaret, if not Lord and Lady Welles, who had felt constrained to invite him in the first place.

  There was sudden excitement and anticipation as trumpets in the courtyard announced the arrival of the royal cavalcade, where Cicely and Jon waited. A hundred flickering torches illuminated everything, and the night was mild and clear. A lovely spring night.

  Jon glanced at all the torches. ‘Dear God, I hate to think how much this is depleting my coffers.’

  ‘Well, you would do it.’
/>   ‘Thank you for the sympathy and understanding.’

  ‘You are welcome, my lord.’

  He smiled. ‘And so are our monarchs,’ he murmured, as they both made deep obeisance when Henry halted his fine red horse, which danced around nervously, even though two of Jon’s grooms strove to soothe it.

  Bess was in a gilded litter that bore the royal colours and devices, and when she alighted, assisted by Jon, was very beautiful in a pale-russet brocade gown edged with matching fur. The colour blended exquisitely with her hair, which was swept up loosely beneath a golden headdress and veil.

  Henry swung his leg over the pommel and jumped down lightly. He wore black and ermine, the jewels and precious metals of his collar and hat brooch shining as the torches flared in a mild stir of breeze.

  Cicely remained in a deep curtsey. ‘Your Majesty.’

  He bent to raise her. ‘Lady Welles.’ Their eyes met, and he smiled, his hand remaining beneath her elbow. ‘You should wear that gown more often; it becomes you.’

  Jon and Bess were already proceeding into the house, and he offered Cicely his arm. ‘I was tempted to hope you would wear the plum brocade.’

  ‘In front of the world? I think not.’

  More trumpets sounded, and the entire gathering bowed or curtsied. As Henry signified the evening to continue, the music, chattering and entertainment resumed. Tumblers and jugglers preceded the royal couple, who nodded graciously to left and right.

  Cicely and Bess left Jon and Henry conversing by the fire, Bess having expressed an interest in the cold viands displayed on a long side-table. Not only were there viands, but all manner of other cold dishes, as well as wine, mead and all manner of drinks. Jon had acquired some particularly select wine from France, and Bess was interested to sample it. Or so she said.

  The attendant servants drew respectfully away as the royal sisters approached. Bess smiled. ‘What discreet staff you have, Cissy. Ah, I see Henry has sent his own wine.’ She indicated the particular white Rhenish that he had chosen to drink since being poisoned.

  ‘He takes no chances, although I notice his taster has yet to arrive.’

  ‘I believe his taster is … unwell, this evening.’ Bess smiled again. Such a pretty smile, just like the Bess of old.