Royal Mistress

by Anne Easter Smith

  A buxom woman selling nosegays of violets remarked: “The king is merciful for once. I wonder what came over him? Too much wine, I’ll wager. Or too much of a good thing in bed!”

  Roars of laughter accompanied this, and Jane hurried on, pulling her hood down to conceal her face, as many Londoners might recognize Mistress Shore of Coleman Street.

  Despite her maudlin mission today, Jane’s heart rejoiced that perhaps Edward had heard her plea for pardon the night before and let one man go.

  Jane and Ankarette arrived in front of the gallows in time to see the cart carrying the prisoners rumble up the hill to the scaffold. A band of musicians heralded their arrival with pipes and tabors, and a cheer erupted from the waiting spectators. Those following the cart pushed and shoved their way onto the field, and screams were heard as a few people were trampled beneath their feet. Jane wished she had brought Martin, her steward, as she became aware how small and vulnerable she was in this multitude. But resourceful Ankarette had found an empty tun on their walk, and now she made Jane step up on it for a safer vantage point. Jane was amused by her servant’s fearless defense of her mistress’s safety and resolved to reward her later with a trinket of her choosing from a peddler.

  Within a short time, the burly guards had dragged the two bound men from the cart, both white with terror, and prodded them up the steps of the scaffold. Two nooses hung loosely swinging in the wind, and as if to sanction the gruesome event, a crow took up its perch on the gibbet, occasionally adding its crass caw to the crowd’s clamoring. After reading a litany of their crimes, the stouter of the two men took a tentative step forward, and the spectators quieted, respecting his wish to be heard for the last time.

  “As God is my witness,” he cried in an indignant voice, “I am innocent of any treachery against his grace the king.”

  “They all say that,” shouted someone from the middle of the crowd and waited for a laugh. Instead his neighbors shushed him loudly as Burdett continued.

  “I told the truth to the judges in Parliament and I reject their verdict and this unjust punishment. I wish it to be known that I go to my Maker protesting my innocence, and may God have mercy on my soul.” He turned back to John Stacy, who was trembling so vigorously that people at the back of the crowd remarked upon it. Stacy’s nervousness caused him to start grinning and giggling, but taking it as a sign of disrespect, the hangman wasted no time in fastening the heavy rope around the man’s neck. Another guard pushed Burdett back under the second noose, frightening the crow that flapped its wings and, in a final ignominy, loosed its dropping directly onto Stacy’s bared head. The crowd gave way to relieved titters after having expressed misgivings about the legitimacy of the men’s fate.

  As the priest began the ritual “Indulgentiam, absolutionem et remissionem peccatorum nostorum . . .” hoods were placed over the men’s faces and with a sharp nod from the captain standing off to the side, the floorboards beneath the men’s feet were snapped open, and with a great cheer from the audience, the two men fell toward the earth, their twitching bodies dancing freely in the air.

  A woman’s wail rose, heartrending, above the now-hushed throng, and Jane, much moved, swayed unsteadily on her precarious perch.

  “Take me home, Ankarette,” she begged, putting her hand out to be supported by her maid. “I should not have come. ’Tis a cruel world we live in, in truth.”

  All the way back to Thames Street, her feminine intuition kept telling her that Stacy’s and Burdett’s end might well mark the beginning of Edward’s undoing.

  NINE

  WINDSOR AND WESTMINSTER, SUMMER AND WINTER 1477–1478

  Edward took Jane to Windsor with him the following week, although he knew Elizabeth was already in residence. He had not forgiven his wife for her sanctimonious behavior, and so he had no compunction about breaking his promise not to flaunt another mistress under her nose. However, he was taking his time getting to Windsor. He might have been irked to know that some of his gentlemen thought he was cowed by his beautiful but arrogant queen and might be purposely delaying the reunion. If they could have asked, however, Edward would have told them he merely wanted to share some of his favorite haunts along the Thames with Mistress Shore.

  The royal party floated on the sumptuously furnished barge as far as Shene Palace, a favorite residence of both Margaret of Anjou and then her bitter enemy Duchess Cecily, where Edward and Jane had lingered for two days, hunting in the extensive park, before abandoning the water and riding on to Hampton. There they had feasted in his cozy hunting lodge and continued to the riverside town of Staines, over the old Roman bridge, following the river road, and on to Windsor.

  “You are well liked, Jane, so have no fear,” Edward said, allaying Jane’s worries about her presence on this journey. “No one will dare shun you for fear of angering me, so be at ease and enjoy yourself. A word of warning, though,” he added softly, “keep out of Elizabeth’s way. She is likely to scratch out your eyes.” Jane paled, and Edward laughed. “Windsor is big enough to avoid a meeting, sweetheart. Indeed, ’tis my favorite residence, and”—he pointed to the massive round keep rising above the fields in the distance—“there it is.”

  Jane was awed by the size of the castle on a mound overlooking a bend in the river, its imposing crenelated bailey wall incorporating more than a dozen sturdy square towers and enclosing the many buildings in its inner wards. It had been built by William the Conqueror to secure the western approach to London and was the most important of several fortifications built then to encircle and defend the capital.

  “I could not have imagined such splendor,” she said. “I believe I shall feel safe from marauders there. ’Tis a giant of a castle for a giant of a man.”

  Edward laughed happily. “Always one for an apt phrase, sweeting.” He admired again her perfect nose in profile and her shell pink complexion, its color heightened after the ride in the late May sunshine. “I know the place suits me well, and I pray you will be comfortable. On the morrow I shall show you the work on my new chapel dedicated to St. George.”

  Jane nodded bravely. Although she did not look forward to the first night in this strange, forbidding place all alone, surrounded by prejudiced noblewomen, she would not let the king see her unease.

  Closely followed by a few of his intimate courtiers and their wives, Edward led the way through the gatehouse and into the inner courtyard, where grooms were waiting to help the party dismount. Taking Jane’s hand, Edward reassured her that he would come on the morrow and show her the rest of the castle.

  “But for now, my dear, I must attend the queen. Lady Howard will be near to make sure you are comfortable. Norrys!” he called to his squire. “See Mistress Shore to her lodgings, I beg of you.”

  Jane felt very small and not a little afraid standing in the vast courtyard under the massive keep, watching her protector stride away. She searched the many windows of the royal lodgings, wondering if Queen Elizabeth were observing the scene, and she could not remember when she had felt so vulnerable.

  June was in full bloom at Windsor and Jane had become accustomed to the castle routine, walking in the grounds, or keeping to her allotted, sunny chamber reading, weaving on her lap loom, or attempting to learn the lute, and waiting for Edward’s summons. She accompanied him to the hunt once and attended several public feasts, seated far from him and the queen. He had shown her the progress on the magnificent chapel he had commissioned, its soaring nave nearing completion, and Jane had marveled at the number of brave masons who appeared suspended from nothing as they chipped away at the pillars to create the filigree decorations.

  One day she had walked across the short bridge to the hamlet of Eton and seen the beginnings of the school that Edward’s rival, King Henry VI, had begun before his death. Jane was impressed with the Gothic beginnings of the building and much taken with the idea of a school where the boys would lodge, but Edward had sniffed and told her King Louis’s pension money was better spent on his chapel at Win
dsor.

  Now it was midsummer’s eve, the time of witches and fairies, and she was looking forward to the feasting and merrymaking. Considered a pagan festival, it was one Jane thoroughly enjoyed, although this was to be her first celebrated outside London. The bonfires had been stacked high in the wide lower bailey and in the fields across the river, and Jane could not resist wandering down to the water’s edge to pick flowers to put under her pillow. It was said the ritual would ensure that dreams of love would come true.

  She had Ankarette dress her in her lightest gown, for the weather had turned hot and a few of her favorite bodices were stained. In palest mauve, the square-cut gown was modest but exposed enough of her chest to invite a breeze to cool her skin. She wore a simple coif so there was nothing draped about her neck, and she decided she could endure the heat and enjoy putting her feet in the river.

  She had gathered campion, yellow flag iris, heady meadowsweet, and ragged robin and was bending over a clump of blue forget-me-nots when a small dog bounded up to her and began to lick her hand.

  “Good day to you, sweet pup,” Jane said, delighted by the intrusion, and petted the fluffy white bundle of energy. “What is your name, pray?”

  “Ficelle! Ficelle, viens ici, you bad dog,” a woman’s voice came from over the bank. “Katherine, where did she go, did you see?”

  The French immediately alerted Jane to the presence of a gently born lady, and picking up the wiggling Ficelle in her arms, she called, “I have the dog, madam. I will bring her to you.”

  She climbed back up the riverbank and came face-to-face with Queen Elizabeth and her lady-in-waiting, Katherine Hastings. “Oh!” was all Jane could think to say before sinking into a deep reverence. “She is not hurt, your grace. See.” And keeping her head bent, she thrust the dog up at Elizabeth.

  “I thank you, mistress,” Elizabeth said pleasantly, cuddling Ficelle to her, but then Jane raised her face and the queen saw who she was. “You!” she snapped. “Katherine, do you see who it is. My husband’s latest harlot.”

  Jane was miserable with confusion. Should she fall on her knees? Should she stand still, run away, or should she defend herself? Such an encounter had been her worst nightmare, and it was almost as bad as she had imagined it could be. “Aye, I . . . I am Mis . . . stress Shore,” she stammered, but before she could stop herself she added the customary, “if it please you.”

  A high-pitched laugh like the shattering of fine glass made Jane cringe. It was not a kind nor a merry laugh but one intended to discomfit and insult. “If it please me? If it please me?” Elizabeth shrilled. “Nay, madam, it does not please me. And yet my husband chooses to flaunt you in front of me. Beware, Jane Shore, for the day will come when he will tire of you, and you will be discarded, believe me.” She bent down to hiss in Jane’s face: “He will forget you as he has all the others.”

  Jane sank back on her heels as Elizabeth put down the dog, turned around, and stalked away.

  “I knew you were trouble the first time I set eyes on you, Jane Shore,” Katherine Hastings added, sneering. “You have broken my dear lady’s heart, and I hope one day you will pay for your wantonness. You should not have looked above my husband, my girl, for the queen is a far more formidable foe than I could ever be.” Then she hurried after the queen, calling to Ficelle to follow them.

  Jane’s flowers discarded around her, she fell onto the mossy bank and, feeling humiliated and ashamed, she wept.

  Later, after Ankarette had pampered Jane in a cooling bath perfumed with rose petals, Jane lay for an hour on the lumpy mattress, which was the best the castle could provide for a person not of noble blood, and relived the nightmare. Now, feeling brave, she conjured all manner of cleverly worded retorts that she might have parried with the queen. One of the scenarios even had her slapping Elizabeth and throwing the flowers at her. She had to laugh then, and her good humor restored, it was not long before she could look forward to the festivities that would last well into the summer’s eve. The court was used to seeing Edward dancing with her and even fondling her now, although he was mindful not to when the queen was present. Jane wondered if Edward would ask for her to come to him tonight. She hoped so, because now that she had discarded her flowers, she did not want to risk dreaming about Tom Grey without them under her pillow.

  Tom Grey. What was wrong with her that she could not forget him? It had not helped that he had reawakened her yearning with his unexpected presence at her house those weeks ago. Why had he come? Had he wanted to humiliate her? Or was it . . . nay, she did not dare to think he truly loved her. She frowned. He had not been among the retainers Edward had brought with him to Windsor, but Ankarette had discovered that he had gone to his residence in Devon, where his wife was in confinement. He was to be a father, she thought sadly, wishing it were she who was carrying his child and not the young, wealthy Cicely Bonvile.

  Thinking of children, Jane wondered why, after being with Edward for well over a year, she had not yet quickened. True, she had learned the court ladies’ trick of inserting a sponge soaked in vinegar to avoid conception, but she had also heard it was not foolproof. Perhaps her barrenness was just as well, she mused, as Edward had warned her that Elizabeth would not tolerate another bastard.

  Ankarette began dressing Jane’s hair an hour later, threading the thick braids that coiled around her head with pearls and tiny white sprigs of meadowsweet, creating a veritable crown. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, never missing a syllable of gossip that she could impart to her mistress. The two women were wont to discuss the happenings in the city during the ritual of dressing, but Jane had learned from Margaret Howard to listen more and talk less to a servant. Ankarette was keenly aware of her mistress’s moods, but she was not often privy to the reasons for them.

  Today Jane heard about an affair one of the queen’s ladies was having with a handsome young squire in Edward’s household, how a wise woman had helped another young girl rid herself of an unwanted babe, and that Ankarette herself had indignantly denied having been involved in the mystery of a missing ring.

  “But mistress,” Ankarette ran on eagerly, “all the talk today is of your meeting with the queen. I have been peppered with questions, but I never said a word, I swear.”

  Jane groaned. “And now I must face the court and their gossip. Perhaps I should feign a headache,” she mused. But then, her curiosity aroused, she asked, “What are the clatterers saying, Ankarette?”

  “That the queen will not leave her chambers until you are gone from Windsor,” Ankarette blurted out. “She will not appear at the feast until you are on the road back to London.”

  “God’s teeth!” Jane cried, turning on her servant. “Why did you not tell me this first.” She began tearing the decorations from her head, making Ankarette chase the pearls all across the room, and ordered the poor woman to pack up their belongings. “I will not be made a fool of, and I will not have the king humiliated by my presence. Now find me Master Norrys at once, so I can make arrangements for a horse and an escort.”

  Ankarette stopped what she was doing, and putting her hands on her hips, she eyed her mistress. “Which would you like me to do first, mistress? Fetch the squire or pack? I cannot do both at the same time.”

  Jane raised her arm, as if to slap the insolent servant, but as quickly let it drop, realizing it was not Ankarette’s fault. It was hers. She took a deep breath and spoke more gently: “I will gather our things if you would fetch John Norrys. But do not try my patience today, Ankarette Tyler, or I shall have to look for someone new to serve me.”

  Ankarette did not need a second bidding.

  With Ankarette riding pillion on their sturdy but slow rouncy, and two men at arms to guard her, Jane found the journey back to London interminably slow. She had written Edward a hasty, apologetic note that John Norrys assured her he would put into the king’s hands as soon as her party was away from Windsor. John had heard of the earlier encounter on the riverbank and thought Jane had every
reason to disappear; he had seen the queen lose her temper with Edward once before and had wished himself a league hence.

  On the third day, as Jane and her escort were passing the road to the hunting lodge where, on the outward journey, Edward had entertained his mistress in merry fashion, they heard horses galloping from behind. The escort drew their short swords and herded the rouncy off the road and out of harm’s way as the party of more than a dozen riders came around the bend. The noise and speed of the riders made Jane’s horse whinny and caper, but Jane kept the reins tight.

  “The king!” one of her men shouted to the other, and both put up their swords.

  Jane’s heart leaped in her breast. As in the romances of old, she imagined Edward had come to claim her and carry her back to Windsor. She pushed a wayward strand of hair back under her traveling bonnet and sat serenely on the quieted horse.

  Reclaiming Jane was the furthest thing from Edward’s mind, and he brought his mount up sharply when he saw her, his face grim. “Why, Mistress Shore, I am happy to see you but fear I cannot linger. A matter of urgency takes me back to Westminster. However, I will walk on with you apace and explain,” he said, taking her rein and pulling her mount closer. Ankarette dismounted respectfully and walked behind while the king spoke to his mistress.

  “What is it, my lord? Is there ill news from France?”

  “Nay, Jane, France is not the problem. But my brother Clarence is,” he told her, a sadness mixed with the anger in his expression. “There is no end to his folly. I wanted to believe ’tis all simply foolishness, but this time he has really gone too far. Unheeding my warning in the execution of his familiars, he has once again overreached and now barged into a council meeting without my permission.”

  Jane quietly observed him, his powerful jaw set, his brow lowered over his eyes, and she shivered. This was not the Edward who laughed and made sweet love to her. She was in the presence of an angry sovereign.