Royal Mistress

by Anne Easter Smith

  Will paled. He understood at once that he was to be the scapegoat. Edward needed to blame someone for the failure of his own foreign policy. He shivered and went on one knee. “Sire, I swear on the cross of St. George that those accusations against me were false,” he cried, determined to defend himself. “I am your true liegeman and all here will vouch for me. Jack? Rotherham? Stanley?” He looked at each in turn and all nodded their assurance. None could find fault with their comrade’s loyalty. “I have kept you informed at every turn, your grace, and when you called for me to return home, I left the ablest man as deputy. I would trust Jack Howard with my life, and certainly the defense of Calais. I swear I have done all I could do to preserve Calais and naught but your bidding, sire. My loyalty is yours till the grave.”

  Edward studied his friend’s distraught face for a second before signaling Will to stand. “Aye, you are my loyal subject, my lord, I know that.” Then he turned back to Jack Howard, leaving Will bewildered. Had he been forgiven?

  Edward asked Jack: “And the pledge to wed my daughter to the dauphin? Will Louis uphold that, do you suppose?”

  Howard knew the answer would enrage Edward further, but he was not a man to dissemble. “The dauphin is pledged to Maximilian’s daughter, and the girl is being readied to go to the French court despite being only three.”

  Again the king’s fist thumped on the desk. “Young Margaret of Burgundy was contracted to Ned. She would be queen of England one day. And what do you have to say to that, Lord Hastings? Aye, you are loyal, but you have lost me my alliance. Where is a lawyer? Find me a lawyer! We shall soon see about breaking contracts.”

  Grateful to escape, Will quit the room, and his eye fell on the enigmatic face of one of his own retainers, William Catesby, who was leaning alone on a pillar, watching the dancing in the main hall. “Catesby,” he called, beckoning to him. Simulating washing his white, womanly hands, Catesby eagerly hurried to his lord. “Come with me, William, the king has need of you.”

  In his uneasiness, Will did not catch the gleam of ambition in the lawyer’s eye as he turned the door handle. Will had never before borne the brunt of Edward’s anger, and it had unnerved him.

  It seemed to Jane that during that long cold January, Edward’s zest for life began to flag. He laughed rarely, and the humiliation that Louis of France had visited on the English king gripped Edward in a form of melancholy. He summoned a Parliament to discuss the Treaty of Arras and its implications for England, most importantly the broken marriage contracts.

  Edward still called for Jane at Westminster, and for a few hours she was able to amuse him and make him feel loved. In between her trysts with the king, she and Will discussed the change in their lord and tried to ignore their fear for his health.

  Then one day in early February, Will burst unannounced into her solar, with Ankarette complaining in his wake. He shut the door unceremoniously in her face.

  “I am to go to the Tower!” he cried after Jane had leaped up to greet him. “Indefinitely.”

  Aghast, Jane’s questions tumbled forth. “The Tower? Why, Will? You mean . . . you mean as a prisoner? Nay, you must be mistaken, my dear friend. Edward is sending you to prison? What have you done wrong?”

  Will slumped into his favorite settle, and Jane’s new pup, a gift from Edward, tried unsuccessfully to scramble into his lap. Staring into the fire, Will absently fondled the dog’s ears, and the animal curled up at his feet.

  “Is there aught I can do for you? Plead with Edward? When must you go, my lord?” Jane wondered why he had come to her. Looking out of the upstairs window, she could see the guards stationed below in the street; John Norrys was also waiting.

  “I am on my way there, Jane,” Will replied, flatly. “I was given leave to stop by my house, alert my household, and gather a few necessaries. John Norrys, God bless him, allowed me to see you for a few minutes as well.”

  Jane turned back, her hands nervously playing with her braided belt. “The king must have accused you of something, Will. What was it?”

  “The king seems convinced that I had made plans to sell out Calais to the French. Lies, all lies,” he insisted, “spread by Rivers. God’s wounds, that man has much to answer for. ’Tis he who should be taken to the Tower, not I.” He shifted his weight. “But I know Edward after all these years. He needs someone to blame for not working harder to keep France and Burgundy apart, and I am to be that man. We all saw this treaty coming, and I warned him of it many times, but in his lassitude, Edward failed to act. Believe me, the Rivers feud is not the reason.” He ran his hands through his thinning hair and down over his face in a gesture of helplessness. “ ’Tis more than I can bear after having always been so loyal.”

  “He will come to his senses,” Jane reassured him. After all this time, she now understood how frail the ties were that bound loyalties at court. One day you were in a lord’s good graces and the next you were ostracized or worse, imprisoned and executed. She had learned to keep to herself and to trust only a few at court; her friend Margaret Howard had guided her well over the years. That the king’s chief councilor could not be safe frightened her; how soon before Edward turned on her? She shook off her fear, knowing she must try and cheer her friend. “He is angry and humiliated. It will not last, I am certain. How long must you remain in the Tower?”

  Will was glum. “I do not know. And to add to the ignominy, the king has removed me as master of the mint, a position I have held throughout his reign. ’Twas the first step. Then he ordered me to the Tower at his pleasure, I know not for how long. But Edward needs me,” he grumbled, “so ’twill be resolved, I have no doubt. But I am much mortified.”

  Jane knelt beside him and laid her head on his knee. For once, Will had no other desire for her than to stroke her head and accept her sympathy.

  “Would you like me to talk to Edward on your behalf, Will?”

  “I must forbid it, my dear Jane. Edward must not know we spoke today; I would not forgive myself if he turned his fury on you.” He rose, gentling her to her feet. “Nay, I shall bid my wife a fast farewell; she will be distraught for herself, but no doubt she will blame me for warring so long with the Woodvilles. I can hear her now: ‘You have brought this on yourself, husband. Your wenching nights with Edward have led poor Elizabeth to despise you.’ As well, the queen must have succeeded in exonerating her brother, Rivers, and pointing the finger at me. Katherine is right, and she has the queen’s ear. Her grace has no love for me, and she certainly has no love for you either, Jane. You must have a care while I am . . . indisposed.”

  “I am not afraid, Will. Elizabeth would not dare do me harm while Edward is still king, for all he has changed in a very short time. Take care of yourself and do not fret one whit about me.” She put her arm through his and led him toward the door. “Go now, lest adultery with the king’s whore be added to your list of crimes,” she said, trying to tease a smile from him. She thrust Edward’s book into his hands. “To while away the hours. What else shall I bring you when I visit you? Marchpane? Capon pie? A custard?”

  At the door, Jane turned to him, masking any anxiety she felt for his predicament. Her whole body exuded warmth and friendship, and he wanted to succumb to its comforting embrace. Instead he bowed over her hand, kissed it gently, lifted the latch, and left. He would have to settle for the sweet memory of her to warm the cold cell at the Tower.

  Jane ran to the window and looked down on the guards in the royal colors. She watched as they marched on either side of the king’s disgraced and disconsolate chamberlain, and she felt her stomach contract. John Norrys chose to look up at that moment, and she put her finger to her lips. He nodded, and she knew she could count on him to keep the meeting a secret.

  Curious onlookers were pointing at Will, who bravely held up his head as they processed along Thames Street. Jane could not help begging St. Elizabeth to protect her from ever having to endure such fearful public shame. If the king could turn against his greatest friend and most l
oyal servant, then what could she expect should she lose his love?

  ELEVEN

  LONDON AND WESTMINSTER, SPRING 1483

  Richard of Gloucester sat his horse as though one born in the saddle, and he preferred to ride from Westminster to the Tower that chilly but bright morning in February instead of taking the royal barge. As constable of England, Richard was responsible for overseeing the royal armies, and during this rare visit to London from his stronghold in the north, he was on his way to inspect the Tower garrison. A few cheers greeted him at the Ludgate when his White Boar badge was recognized, although his was an unfamiliar face to most Londoners. Richard preferred the company of the more rough-and-ready northern folk and considered the south a hotbed of vainglorious and soft-bellied men who lied and schemed their way into favor with the king. It was not that Londoners mistrusted the king’s brother, who, along with the popular Hastings, all acknowledged him as Edward’s most loyal subject; it was just that they did not know him. And Richard was content to keep it that way.

  As he rode along the main thoroughfares of London, Richard observed ample examples of how Edward’s reign had brought wealth to the city. If his brother’s foreign policies had not impressed Richard of late, he had no quarrel with how Edward governed his own subjects.

  His small retinue rode over the two moat bridges, and the horses skittered along the cobblestoned outer ward and under the portcullised Garden Tower gate that led to the inner ward. Grooms ran to greet the duke and his men, and Richard swung off his mount to the ground, grimacing as his vulnerable spine resisted. He bore the constant aching without complaint, however. His destination was the White Tower, but all at once he was stayed by the sight of two women exiting the covered stairway from the Garden Tower. He searched his memory, wishing he had Edward’s gift for remembering the most obscure names and faces, as he was certain he had seen one of the women before.

  “Tell me, lad,” he spoke quietly to a groom, “do you know who the lady in blue is?”

  “Aye, my lord duke,” the young man replied, a smile lighting his round, wind-chapped face. “She be one of us. We call her the Rose of London on account of the many kind favors she has done for us Londoners.” He leaned in to Richard conspiratorially. “Besides she be the king’s mistress, Jane Shore.”

  Two scenes sprang to his mind: one in the Chepe when a veiled, spirited mercer’s wife warned him of danger from behind; and the other upon a pleasant day of hunting at Greenwich. Certes, he knew Edward had kept a mistress named Jane for many years, and perhaps, Richard thought, his brother had several others hidden in houses about the city, but he had not connected that woman with the quick-witted wife of the lanky, flustered mercer who had been robbed.

  As he raised his eyes from the groom, Richard examined the object of Edward’s illicit affection, doubtless one of the causes of Edward’s depraved court. At exactly the same time, Jane turned her head and saw Richard. She dropped a curtsey and would have hurried away, but the duke reached her before she could take Sophie’s arm and disappear under the gateway.

  “Mistress Shore, is it not?” Richard’s rhetorical question was purposely blunt. “What brings you to the Tower? Do you have family who are garrisoned here, or does your husband have a customer here he has sent you to service?”

  His tone was offensive, and Jane was shaken by his crass insinuations. She arched an eyebrow and answered with icy civility: “God’s good greeting to you, too, my lord Gloucester. I am surprised you remember my name after all these years.” Sophie gasped at Jane’s gall and then dropped a curtsey. This was the closest the silkwoman had been to royalty. Jane brought Sophie forward. “And this is my friend Mistress Vandersand of Sithe’s Lane.”

  Richard, realizing he had foregone his usual unflagging good manners, acknowledged Sophie with a curt nod before rounding on Jane again. “I would ask you once more, what is your business here, madam? And this time, do not dissemble.”

  Incensed at this interrogation, Jane nevertheless forced a smile. “Your pardon, your grace. If you had asked me civilly, I would have told you straight that I was visiting Lord Hastings, who is lodged here for a short time at the king’s pleasure.”

  “Another of your customers, mistress?” Richard brazenly asked, his smile as forced as hers. But the thoughts behind the mask were ugly. He had no doubt this strumpet frequented the lord chamberlain’s bed as well as the king’s and that she held both men in thrall. Would he could put a stop to it, he thought. “I presume I am right?”

  Jane ignored this insult. “He is a friend,” she declared and, astonished at her own daring, lied, “I came with the king’s permission.”

  “I wager you did,” he scoffed. “You will not be forced to visit Lord Hastings here much longer. Aye, it would seem he is to be released within days. My brother, for all his faults, is merciful.”

  Jane’s face lit up. “My lord Hastings will be released?” she exclaimed, and then to Sophie, she added, “Do your hear, Sophie, my plea for him did not fall on deaf ears.” She was glad she had ignored Will’s directive.

  But poor Sophie was wishing herself a mile away in the safety of her small house and pulled in vain at Jane’s skirt.

  “Your plea, Jane Shore?” Richard was saying. “Nay, ’twas I who intervened with the king. We cannot afford to lose the affinity so loyal a baron, albeit one so dissolute.” He refrained from commenting on his brother’s deterioration and thought that perhaps Edward was not thinking clearly or making wise decisions. Upon seeing Edward after this lengthy absence, Richard had wondered if he ought not stay in London and monitor his brother’s ability to govern. The snit with Hastings was worrisome; clearly the man had done his duty in warning Edward of the possible treaty, and Richard considered Hastings a good councilor, if not the most moral of men in pursuing his pleasures.

  Richard fiddled with the dagger hilt on his belt, weighing his next words. He did not know why he was irritated by the woman’s presence; she had every right to visit a prisoner, if she had permission, but he was inclined to think Mistress Shore and Hastings had somehow contributed to his brother’s debauchery. Aye, he would speak his mind, he decided, and defend his beloved oldest brother.

  “Hear this, and hear it well, Mistress Shore. It is lewdness and impiety that has brought Edward to the unhealthy state I find him in, and I blame those, such as yourself, who have encouraged him in his corruption.”

  Jane gasped at his frankness, but before she could think of a retort, he nodded, wished her adieu, and marched purposefully toward the White Tower. Jane stared after him. When he had smiled, Jane had seen that the duke was darkly handsome, but his words were harsh, and instinct told her to beware of him.

  Sophie was already halfway back to the gatehouse by the time an irate Jane followed her.

  “I saw your whore today, brother. She claimed she had your blessing to visit Will Hastings.”

  Richard took off his velvet gloves and played with his signet ring, all the while fixing his eyes on his brother’s pudgy face. He could hardly recognize the stalwart warrior of his youth in this bloated carcass of a man. His devotion to Edward had never wavered until now, and coming face-to-face with the Shore woman had hardened his heart as he rode back to Westminster.

  “Come now, Richard, you do the lady a disservice. She is no whore. Jane is every whit the lady your Kate was and more. At least my mistress is educated and the daughter of an alderman.”

  For a second Edward saw Richard’s face soften, and he pounced on the chance to tease his solemn sibling. “Ah, I see you have not forgotten that you, too, knew love with an unsuitable bedfellow. You should be flattered that I saw much of Kate Haute in Jane Shore. Face it, Dickon, you will always love that bold beauty, despite your devotion to Anne. Believe me, I understand. I am in love with Jane but am also devoted to Elizabeth.” He tilted his head, amused at Richard’s discomfort. “Come, come, you are not good at pretense. Admit it, sir, you have not forgotten.”

  Richard poured himself some
ale and began pacing the room while Edward watched with amusement. Finally, Richard relented.

  “How can I forget the mother of my two bastards? They are as dear to me as my legitimate son.” He grinned ruefully. “In truth, there are days when I yearn to see Kate again, but I made a vow to Anne that I would stay away from Kate, and by God, I have kept that promise.” He could not let the matter drop without pointing out that, unlike Edward, he had never betrayed his marriage bed with another woman. “I admire Elizabeth for her steadfastness, even if I cannot like her as your queen.”

  Edward laughed. “I have missed your candor, little brother. It may surprise you to know that Elizabeth thinks highly of you. And it may surprise you to know we still love each other. Whatever else she may be—ambitious, haughty, scheming—her loyalty to me has never wavered, despite my . . . my transgressions.”

  Richard snickered. “A dainty word for so many mortal sins.” His tone became one of concern. “Are you well, Ned? You have an unhealthy mien. You are not even forty years old, but you move more like a sixty-year-old. I watch you consume twice as much as anyone at the high table, drink three times as much, and then purge yourself so you can eat more. Have a care for your heir, brother. You need to live long enough to see him to manhood before he becomes king. How old is he now, twelve?”

  Edward looked at his brother quizzically. “Why, Dickon, would you see me in my grave already? Do you, too, have an itch to wear the crown? Je m’excuse,” he apologized, seeing the shock on Richard’s face. “I am but jesting. Although, by Christ’s nails, you know how to drive the point home. Aye, I lack the same vigor I had when I became king, but with you fighting my battles for me in the north, and with England at peace, I have no more need for my soldiering skills. I am grateful for your concern, and I will try and curb my many appetites, but do not tell me to give up Jane. She is the joy of my life, and I believe she loves me, too.”