Jane rearranged the skirts of the riding gown she had designed from a fine murrey Milanese fustian, chosen for not only its warmth but also its plush look of velvet, and gratefully sat down out of sight behind a clump of blackberry bushes to stretch out her stiff limbs and knead her sore back. The late-November sun was warm enough to let her shed her mantle, and removing her jaunty feathered hat, she loosed her thick braids, which had been pinned under it, and mopped her perspiring forehead and neck with a kerchief.
“That is much better,” she said aloud to a squirrel that was eyeing her from a bare birch tree. “How fortunate you are, Mistress Nutkin, to live in such a beautiful place. Do not misunderstand me, my little red friend, I love the hustle and bustle of London, but there are days when I long for an hour without a ringing bell, the constant buzzing of voices, rumbling of carts, chanting clerics, and the clatter of hoofs. Listen! Here all you hear are birds and the song of the river—except today there are our loud visiting voices. I am afraid we may disturb you, dear squirrel.”
She laughed at herself for talking to an animal, but then she ruminated on why she was there at all. Why had Lord Hastings invited her? She had convinced herself she had flirted only to annoy William and to prove that she was still desirable despite her husband’s snub of her the night before. She was not in the least attracted to Hastings, especially as her waking dreams were filled with young Tom Grey. When she had seen Hastings at the door this morning, he had looked old, and she was dismayed then to think he might want to seduce her. Why, he must be twice her years, she suddenly thought. Aye, what had she been thinking when she agreed to come today?
“Mistress Shore, are you quite well?” the object of her thoughts asked, peering around the bush, his face full of concern. “Lettice Strathum told me you had wandered over here. I sincerely hope the ride was not too much for you.” Then his face broke into a grin. “But here you recline, looking as much a part of the woodland as a nymph or a siren, and just as lovely.”
Will felt the familiar rush of blood as he admired the graceful, recumbent figure, her skirts raised to her knees, revealing slender legs and delectable ankles. He had to resist pushing those petticoats up around her waist and taking her there and then.
Jane sat up, hurriedly covered her legs, and pulled her hat back on. “Sirens live in the river, my lord,” she faltered, recognizing desire in his eyes. “I am quite well, thank you, and I apologize for causing you any concern.”
“The only concern we may cause is by staying behind this bush any longer, Jane. I may call you Jane, may I not?” he said as he helped her to her feet and retrieved her mantle.
Jane painstakingly pulled on her gloves to hide her reddening face. “Only if I may call you Will, my lord,” she countered with false bravado. “And as I never intend to call you Will, I think you know my answer. I pray you, let me be Mistress Shore.”
“God’s bones, Mistress Shore, you are even lovelier when you are cornered,” Will answered, disappointed but undeterred. “I had the strongest notion the first time I saw you that we would become . . . friends, at least. Tell me you are not displeased with my candor.”
She looked up at him then, her composure restored, and smiled. “How can I be displeased with you, Lord Hastings, when you are so kind as to bring me to such a glorious place.” They were nearing the group now, and Jane noticed Richard of Gloucester assessing her with disapproving eyes. Sweet Jesu, she thought irritably, what did he think we could have been doing in those few seconds behind a thorny bush? His gaze made her hold herself more erect and she answered Hastings quietly: “I shall be honored to be your friend, my lord, and consider myself fortunate.”
If she had offended him, it was not evident, for Will became the affable host again, conversing with one, slapping another on the shoulder or bending down to offer more wine to the two ladies reclining on cushions. When Jane heard Lettice Strathum inform Will that she and her friend were too comfortable to bother with hunting, Jane knew she must refuse, too: she had caused enough gossip for one day and did not want any more attention. Instead, as the men trotted along the hillside, she chose to climb to the top of the watch tower to follow their progress and admire the falcons as they swooped upon their prey on that last fine day of the year.
At one point, Will, his white horse easily discernible among the other riders, turned in his saddle and, shading his eyes, found Jane’s small figure standing alone atop the tower, and he raised his hand in salute. You have a friend in me should you need one, Jane Shore, the signal seemed to say, and Jane gave him an answering wave. He had not taken her rebuff amiss, and she was grateful.
She might have been chagrined to know that Will’s salute had been accompanied with a slow smile of resolve: he would see a lot more of Jane Shore than just her legs in the not too distant future.
PART TWO
1476–1478
My want was wealth, my woe was ease at will,
My robes were rich, and braver than the sun;
My fortune then was far above my skill,
My state was great, my glass did overrun,
My fatal thread so happily was spun,
That when I sat in earthly pleasures clad,
And for a time a goddess place I had.
Thomas Churchyard, “Shore’s Wife,” 1562
FIVE
GREENWICH AND LONDON, YULETIDE 1476
The queen watched her son move nimbly through the intricate steps of a country dance with his young wife, Cecily, and wondered when Tom would tell her she would soon be a grandmother. After all, the couple had been married almost two years. She eyed her daughter-in-law dispassionately and had to acknowledge that fortune or no, the girl was homely.
“They make a fine pair, do they not, your grace,” Katherine Hastings remarked by her side on the dais. “I wager we will have word of a child soon. They have spent more time in each other’s company this yuletide than since before the French fi . . . expedition.” She had almost said fiasco, but she knew Elizabeth would not tolerate criticism of Edward’s policies, although she and Elizabeth had bonded over the years because of their husbands’ infidelities.
“I was thinking the same thing, Katherine.” She held her thumbs for the lie.
Katherine’s tiny titter told Elizabeth that Lady Hastings was pleased with the comparison, and the queen became reflective. It was hard to know who to trust at court; who was truly a friend or only acting a friend because she was queen. Granted, her senior ladies-in-waiting could be counted on: Anne Bourchier was her sister, and Elizabeth Scales her brother Anthony’s dull wife. But Katherine was a Neville and Edward’s first cousin, despite being the sister of the kingmaker and turncoat, Warwick. Her first husband, Baron Harington, had been a loyal Yorkist supporter and indeed had lost his life in the cause at the Battle of Wakefield, alongside Edward’s father and brother. Aye, Katherine’s friendship and loyalty could be counted on, especially in the matter of their husbands’ excesses.
The great hall at Elizabeth’s Placentia Palace of Greenwich was alive with the toe-tapping sound of recorders, lutes, viols, and tambour that accompanied the festivities on that Twelfth Night. Elizabeth noted with a satisfied eye that her court reflected the prosperity Edward’s reign had finally brought to England. After a hundred years of fighting in France, England’s coffers had been nigh on empty. And the costly civil war between York and Lancaster had then also drained the kingdom of men and money, before Edward had won the crown and brought a lasting peace.
That night’s feast, featuring nine courses, had given strength to the dancers, and the ten tuns of wine that had been consumed made for even more raucous conversation than some of the prior events of that yuletide season, when a sober company had celebrated first the birth and then the circumcision of the Christ child. This evening would bring the winter festival to a close with its most pagan tradition of reversing for a few hours the roles of lords and servants, all presided over by the Lord of Misrule. Elizabeth hated the ritual, but this ye
ar, because of her recent confinement, her doctor, Domenico de Serigo, had forbidden her to serve her ladies on her knees, as they had to do at special occasions, so she sat back and watched the dancing. All too soon, the wretched cake would be brought out, in which some unsuspecting person would find the fateful bean and be crowned lord of the feast and of misrule.
The musicians changed their tune, and a slow estampie began. Without warning, a grotesquely masked courtier precipitated himself in front of Elizabeth and in a husky voice asked, “May I have this dance, your grace?”
Katherine let out a little squeak of alarm at the satyr. “How now, sirrah, unmask before the queen!”
But Elizabeth rose and grandly reached down her hand to be kissed. “By all means, sir. My lord and husband seems to have deserted me.”
“And you the most beautiful woman in the room, madam. He should be ashamed.” The sensual mouth under the mask curved into a smile, and it was then Katherine knew him for the king.
“For shame, cousin,” she chided him. “I was about to protect the queen’s honor myself.”
Side by side, the king and queen made their way to the middle of the hall, chuckling at Katherine’s indignation. “You are incorrigible, Ned,” Elizabeth chided as the company moved aside to let them take their places. Edward laughed. His sister, Margaret of Burgundy, had used exactly the same word to describe him when they had conferred together in Calais before the French campaign. “Where did you get that hideous mask?” Elizabeth asked.
“I borrowed it from Will’s man Knyveton. He tells me he has had success wooing wives with it, and I wanted to see if it would work.”
Elizabeth shook her head in despair as they began the dance. Truly all men were little boys at heart, she told herself. She wished her little boy-husband would grow up and out of his pleasure-seeking ways. She gripped his hand and they stepped out together to the delight of the admiring spectators. Edward tossed the mask into the throng and concentrated on the music, for he was not skilled in the art of dance. He looked around for his brother George of Clarence, known as the finest dancer at court. Ah, good, Edward noted, he was not dancing, as there he was in conversation with Will Hastings.
Edward instinctively knew to look in the farthest corner of the room for his youngest brother, Richard. He felt a twinge of annoyance as he contemplated the intentional distance between Richard and George. Edward had treated George with generosity too many times in the past six years, not the least of which occurred after George’s desertion to side with Edward’s one-time ally turned traitor, Warwick. Foolish George—he had thought Warwick would make him a king, too. With the help of their sister, Margaret, and much cajoling by their mother, Duchess Cecily, George had come back into the family fold, and Edward had welcomed him unconditionally. Like Margaret and young Richard, Edward believed in the power of loyalty to family, but somehow George had been absent when that lesson was learned.
“He does not know his place, Ned,” Duchess Margaret had told Edward in Calais last year. “He was spoiled as a child for his charm, and he cannot accept his place as younger son. You must give him more responsibility; show him you trust him.” Aye, George had always been Meg’s favorite.
He and Elizabeth had come to the end of the hall and turned to process back down, giving him full view of Richard, sharing a quiet word with Jack Howard. He had to admit that ever since Richard was a small boy and prone to many childhood illnesses, Edward had had a soft spot for this serious youngest brother. And his kindness to Richard had been rewarded by a fierce loyalty that would have made their father proud. Aye, this was the man he could count on to hold the north strong for the Crown. He did not fit in at court, Edward knew, and resolved to send the young duke back to Middleham in a few weeks. It seemed Richard missed his wife and son, and now, dear God, he was scowling at a woman whose bodice had spilled out its pink-nippled contents to the delight of the young man dancing with her.
Edward grunted. He blamed prudish Anne Neville for Richard’s pious attitude toward the court. Why had Richard set his sights on Warwick’s other daughter? How much easier if he had found another match, but that was past and gone. The two brothers were now warring over their wives’ joint inheritance. They were heard quarreling in corridors at Westminster, shouting insults at each other in family gatherings, and embarrassingly behaving like children. As the dance came to an end and he bowed to his wife, he decided he must put a stop to the squabbling and insist the two reconcile. It was not good for the family, and it certainly was not good for the stability of his throne. He hoped the problem would go away, resenting how much time he was forced to think about such unpleasantness. It made him irritable.
And to make matters worse, he had been kept from his wife’s bed for nigh on six months now and he had no substitute at present. A few conquests in the city and on his progress through Hampshire and Wiltshire had briefly sated his lusts, but he missed the familiar feel of Bess and even of his former mistress Elizabeth Wayte, until she had been removed from court when he had tired of her. He refused to think about Eleanor Butler and his betrayal of her. Nay, that little secret would stay buried forever, he prayed. Certes, he and Hastings had never talked of it again since Bruges, so he thought it safe to presume Will had forgotten it. His eyes began to wander over the ladies in the hall, looking for a tasty prospect. The uninhibited lady with the large paps, perhaps? He grinned at her, and fluttering her eyelashes and feigning modesty, she cupped her hands over her nakedness. Then he caught sight of Richard’s face, and his own smile faded.
“Spare a thought for me, my lord,” Elizabeth complained on their way back to the dais; she knew exactly where Edward’s eyes were focused. “I have asked you three times whether you have visited baby Anne since we removed to Greenwich.”
Feeling guilty, Edward turned to her. “Forgive me, Bessie, I have those two squabbling brothers on my mind at present.”
“Certes you do, Ned,” Elizabeth reproached, almost smelling his lust. “But pray answer my question.”
Edward grinned, caught in his fib. “I have seen little Nan, in truth,” he assured his wife. “I swear she smiled when she saw me. She seems healthy, God be praised.” As he helped Elizabeth onto her throne, he bent near her ear before taking his seat and enjoyed the view of her cleavage. He never failed to be moved by his wife’s alabaster skin, silken hair, and delicious curves. “And I would like to get you with another, now your churching is done. May I come tonight, my love?”
Elizabeth’s laugh always drew notice. It was high, silvery, and depending on the reason for it, sharp or infectious. Those close to the dais smiled as they heard it, wondering what their king had said that had so amused his queen.
No one but Elizabeth knew that the laughter masked her relief that Edward had not found a new mistress while she was confined. Instead, fully confident once more of her seductive power over him, she whispered, “I shall be retiring very soon, my lord. I, too, have missed your company.”
It was not a cold winter but a dreary, drizzly one, which Jane decided was more unpleasant than snow and its resulting slush. At least with snow the rooftops were white and sparkled in the sun once the clouds had dumped their heavy loads on the city. Footsteps were muffled, children laughed and played in the fluffy whiteness, and somehow neighbors were friendlier, inviting one in to imbibe hot cider or wine and sharing in chores. But this winter, every day dawned as gray as the next and it was a question of how hard it would rain today, not if it would rain. Townspeople hurried along the muddy alleys and lanes to the next shelter and did not attempt to be sociable. Shopping in the markets was a soggy business, the barrows’ canopies inadequate to shield whatever vegetables had survived since harvest and were not rotten. Jane lamented that her clothes never dried out properly despite the luxury of a fireplace in three of the Shores’ rooms. She could not help but think of Sophia and her family, knowing well that the rain would be dripping through the thatch into the many vessels Jehan would place strategically to catch it.
If only she controlled the money that William took in with his burgeoning business: the first thing she would do is give the Vandersands the means to roof their house with slate. That being improbable, Jane had to admit the weather was good for William’s business, as customers sought cloth to replace rain-shrunken gowns and mantles.
Aye, William’s spirits were high that month, but Jane did not benefit. Her husband was no longer even offering her bribes to keep her peace about his inadequacy, and thus no new gowns were forthcoming. Husband and wife ate dinner together for the sake of appearances, but since the day of the hunt, Jane had resolved to stop the pretense that either had respect for the other, and they barely spoke unless it was in front of customers. They certainly did not share the same bed.
Toward the end of January, when Jane despaired of ever seeing the sun again or knowing what being happy meant, she and William were summoned to court in a gesture of Edward’s gratitude to the city merchants for their part in financing the French expedition. For very different reasons, the anticipation of this event made both husband and wife courteous with each other again. William spared no expense in dressing Jane in the most luxurious satin in his warehouse and paid a vast sum to have a hundred white silk roses sewn upon its iridescent sea green sheen.
“It matches your eyes, lieveling,” Sophie had said when she came by on the day to bring Jane a handwoven silken belt to wear for good luck. She plucked a pendant of ambergris on a delicate gold chain from her friend’s jewel casket, shaking her head at the jumble of pretty gewgaws it contained. “A simple necklace is enough, I believe.”
Jane twirled for Sophie, the golden veil on her headdress floating like a sunset cloud about her. Then she stopped abruptly. “I wonder if Tom Grey will be there?”
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