Richard thought Edward too selfish to know real love, but he nodded gravely and changed the subject. “Tell me about my nieces, Ned. They are among the most beautiful girls I have laid eyes on, after my own Katherine, certainly.” For the next hour, the two brothers conversed amicably about their children’s virtues, which led to tales of their own childhood, which had been at once warm and loving yet fraught with danger.
All was well on that cold February day, but not two weeks later, Richard spurred his horse north and home to Anne, taking with him his brother’s deepest gratitude for his handling of the Scottish campaign. Richard of Gloucester and his descendants were given permanent wardenship of the west marches, between Scotland and England, as well as of Carlisle and its castle and many other crown possessions in the north. As long as Edward remained king, Gloucester, as his loyal brother and Lord of the North, would keep the border safe. The monumental grant was no less than he richly deserved, Richard thought, when he had listened to Parliament consent to Edward’s request. He would do better than Edward in ruling the unpredictable north country.
March brought more cold days, and Londoners hurried from one place to another muffled in warm cloaks against the biting wind.
One plump figure in black velvet, her hood lined with squirrel fur, approached with hesitant steps the house on Thames Street. She tapped the knocker lightly and stepped back. She did not have long to wait, for the door swung open and a balding man with a cherubic face greeted her and, upon hearing her name, invited her in.
“Mistress Lambert,” the steward announced, ushering Amy into the warm solar, then disappearing with her cloak.
“Mother!” Jane jumped to her feet and ran to embrace her parent. “How glad I am to see you.”
Amy held her daughter’s hands, searching Jane’s face for any sign of falseness. Seeing none, Amy smiled, reassuring Jane that her mother was happy to see her, too.
“How I have missed you,” Jane cried, drawing Amy toward her own chair by the fire. Then she noticed the circles under her mother’s once-luminous eyes and the worry lines carved deep in her face, and she knew something was wrong.
“Is it Father? Is he dead?” she asked, surprised that the thought of her father’s demise gave her an unexpected stab of regret.
“Nay, Jane. He is as well and as stubborn as ever. ’Tis Bella,” she said sorrowfully. “You knew she married Goldsmith Allen?” Seeing Jane nod, she continued: “She gave birth to a puling babe a few days ago—her third—and she is very weak and we fear for her life. She has asked for you, and I could not in good conscience refuse, if that is her wish.”
“Me?” Jane said incredulously. “Why? She has not tried to see me nor has she answered any of my notes since . . . since . . .” She broke off. They both remembered the last time they all had sat together. “I should like to know my nieces,” Jane said sadly. “And now she calls for me?”
Amy nodded, her conscience pricking. “You are her sister, and like me, she still loves you. We know all about the good you have done for people. Please believe that I am proud when I hear the stories.” Her tone turned anxious. “But you must understand your sister and I were denied communication with you by your father. You know what he is like, Jane. We dared not gainsay him. In fact, he would beat me if he knew I had come here today. He has disowned you, as certes you know.” She stared at her hands, worrying a broken fingernail, and Jane felt sorry for her. How relieved she was that she had not tolerated a similar life of servitude married to William.
“Is Bella’s life truly in danger?” Jane whispered. “Shall I come with you now, Mother?”
Amy nodded, a tear running down her face. She wiped it away and tried to smile. “Ah, Jane, ’tis good to see you looking so well and not like a . . .” She bit her tongue. How could she say that she had expected Jane would resemble the well-worn whores that roamed the streets of Southwark. In truth, to Amy her wayward daughter looked lovelier than ever.
Jane came to her rescue. “I understand, Mother. Let us talk no more about it. Now take me to Bella.”
She did not tell Amy that after she had heard about Bella’s marriage, she had twice walked past the Allens’ large establishment in Friday Street, with its polished leaded windows displaying the goldsmith’s workmanship, hoping to encounter her sister, but she had failed.
“Ankarette!” Jane called through the open door. “We are going out. Pray fetch our cloaks.”
Like old times, mother and daughter walked arm in arm along Thames Street, past Will Hastings’s impressive town house, up onto Lambert Hill, skirting St. Paul’s to get to the Chepe, and arriving at the Allens’ house on Friday Street in the space of ten minutes. Gerald Allen was busy with a customer when Amy preceded Jane and Ankarette into the shop, but he nodded to Amy and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs; having never seen Jane up close, he did not recognize her and assumed she was an acquaintance of his wife’s.
Once in the Allens’ spacious bedchamber, the canopied tester bed a massive presence in the room, Jane wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell, Mother?”
Amy put her finger to her lips. “Brace yourself, my dear. ’Tis the childbed fever. ’Twas the same when my sister passed away. The doctor told me; ’tis unmistakable.”
Jane covered her mouth to stifle a gasp of revulsion and hurried to the bed. Her sister lay like a frozen stick under the snowy sheet, her skin reminding Jane of the pale gray of dawn on an inclement morning. On the other side of the bed, a doctor was readying a fleem to bleed Bella, but when he saw Amy, he bowed and, shaking his head in helplessness, retired.
Jane gently lowered herself onto the bed and took Bella’s hot, dry hand. She was surprised how warm the sick woman felt, considering her pallor. “Can you hear me, sister?” she asked. “ ’Tis I, Jane, come to make you well again.”
The eyes on the patient fluttered open then, and the semblance of a smile flitted across her face. Bella reached out for Jane. “Lillibet, my babe is dead. They told me. ’Tis God’s will.”
“May she rest in peace,” Jane prayed. “I am so sorry, Bella.”
Bella began to whimper. “Oh, Lillibet, is it really you? I did not dare to hope you would come.” An urgency seemed to overcome her. “I am so sorry I forsook you all these years. Can you ever forgive me?”
Jane patted her hand. “Nay, Bella, ’tis I who must ask forgiveness. I cannot pretend I was sad to leave my life on Coleman Street, and I certainly was not sorry to leave Father, but I have always missed you, little sister. I should have tried harder to see you and your children.” She stroked the gaunt cheek and wiped away Bella’s tears. “Do not cry, my dear. You will soon be well, and I promise I will come every day until you are strong.”
Bella’s smile widened, and she tried to lift herself from her pillow. “You will? What if Father finds out?”
Jane eased her back down, shushing her gently. “Listen to me, sweeting. You are Master Allen’s wife now and out of Father’s hands. He cannot hurt either of us anymore.”
“Oh, Lillibet, how I have missed you. ’Tis only that . . .”
“I know, my dear,” Jane said, stroking her cheek. “I know what people think, but I am still the same person you knew when we were girls, and I love you still.”
Overwhelmed by her sister’s kindness, more tears filled Bella’s eyes. Easily tired, the ailing young woman soon slept. Jane gentled her hand from her sister’s grasp and quietly left the room.
It would be the first of three more visits to Friday Street, where Jane sat with Bella and reminisced about their childhood together. Some of Jane’s retellings briefly cheered the invalid, but all could see the young woman was failing and would not survive.
“Tell me about the king, Lillibet,” she rasped on the third day. Why was her throat so sore? She had also broken out in a rash, and the doctor had told the family that it would not be long now. “Is he kind to you?”
And so Jane shared with her dying sister the secrets of her new life and ho
w King Edward of England had shown her the joys of love between a man and a woman. “I cannot deny I have enjoyed being treated like a queen, but you must not think it comes without hardship. I fear God may have forsaken me—as well as my family.” She leaned forward then, not wanting to sound maudlin. “But, I have another secret, Bella,” she continued eagerly, not knowing if Isabel could hear her or not, “and I need to tell someone . . .” There was no response from the still figure in the bed, and so Jane held her peace.
Then Isabel’s eyelids fluttered and she smiled when she recognized Jane was still there. “God be with you, Lillibet. I know you now for a good woman.” Then she began to look wildly about her. “My children! Where are my children?”
Gerald Allen was by his wife’s side in two strides. “My dear, you know they are with your mother. Now you must rest.” He looked at Jane gratefully. “Your sister will come again tomorrow.”
Jane kissed Bella’s clammy forehead and prayed that tomorrow would not be too late. Her secret would have to wait. Quietly slipping out onto the street, she came face-to-face with her father, on his way to pay his last respects to his favorite daughter.
“You!” he cried, his fists balling. “What are you doing here? Who told you Isabel was ailing?”
“ ’Tis pleasant to see you, too, Father,” Jane said without flinching. “ ’Tis common knowledge that the wife of such a distinguished goldsmith as Master Allen is on her deathbed.” She would not betray her mother, she determined. “I came to reconcile with Bella and, with her husband’s blessing, this is my fourth visit. Good day, sir.” And she hurried past him.
“Wanton!” John Lambert called after her. “Harlot!”
But Jane walked on.
Bella died three days later, and when the news reached Thames Street Jane took to her bed, seeing no one except for Ankarette. How Jane now bitterly regretted the estrangement from her sister. Bella represented the carefree times in Jane’s life on Hosier Lane. The girl had never asked to be her father’s favorite, Jane realized now too late; she had simply been a more placid and biddable child who rarely caused her father to raise his voice. And Bella had worshipped her beautiful sister, Jane remembered guiltily. Ah, Jane, how bittersweet, she thought; your reunion came too late.
The only person who understood this part of Jane’s life was Sophie, and it was to the Vandersands’ greatly improved house that Jane eventually found her way. The motherly Sophie held her friend for many minutes as Jane cried and then described Bella’s bravery.
“I could not have taken my fate so calmly,” Jane admitted, sadly. “I would have fought to get out of bed and defy death. Certes, I am glad ’twas not I suffering so, but I found myself begging God that I could take her place so she could live to see her children grow up. I have no children, and, indeed, I have no one I can call my own, so why was I not taken instead?” And her tears began again.
“Hush, lieveling,” Sophie soothed. “It was God’s vill. He needed Bella for some reason, but you are brave, Jane. You fought your way out of a life you hated, and look at you. You live like a lady and you are generous beyond vords with your new fortune. Aye, Bella was a good mother, but you are good, too. All of London knows Jane Shore; only a few know of Isabel Allen.”
Jane stood and paced the new wooden floor that her money had provided. “Aye,” she scoffed. “They know me for a harlot!”
Sophie jumped up and shook Jane. “Some, ja, but most know you for your good heart. The doctor you sent to tend the butcher’s children with the pox; the mercer you saved from prison; the beggar you gave a cloak to. Londoners know these tales, Jane. And you will never be alone as long as Jehan and I are alive.” She smiled. “Did I tell you that Janneke vants to be a king’s mistress, just like you? She adores you.”
That made Jane smile, too, and she kissed her friend’s rosy cheek. “My thanks, Sophie. I feel a little better. Now, where is Janneke? I have brought her something for her beautiful hair.” She drew a length of velvet ribbon from the pouch at her waist. “She must be attracting attention by now.”
Sophie dimpled. “There is a cordwainer’s son who manages to pass by the house no matter what direction he is supposed to go. He is a nice boy, but Jehan has been talking to a fellow flamand about his oldest boy for Janneke.”
“Oh, Sophie, take warning from me. If Janneke and this boy love each other, do not force her on the flamand.”
This was spoken with such heartrending sincerity that Sophie frowned. “Vat is it you are not telling me, lieveling? Are you not happy now?”
Jane hesitated but then blurted out the secret she had wanted to tell Bella. “I am still in love with Tom Grey, and I will not be happy until we are together. There, I said it!”
Sophie clicked her tongue. “It is my opinion you set too much importance on love, Jane. Men are not vat brings happiness to a woman.” She tousled Pieter’s blond curls, and he turned big blue eyes to his mother. “This is the love that is important, and I pray daily that you vill be blessed soon.”
Jane embraced her friend, and after an hour of pleasant conversation, took her leave. On the way home she found herself noticing every little boy and girl playing in their gardens or on the street. She would be thirty years old in a few months and had not yet conceived. How she still yearned for a child of her own.
TWELVE
WINDSOR AND WESTMINSTER, MARCH AND APRIL 1483
Will had been forgiven and was once again Edward’s trusty and well-beloved councilor. In fact the two men were celebrating Easter at Windsor in each other’s company and had taken Jane with them, leaving the queen and her daughters to be transported by boat to Greenwich for the holiest of feast days.
“Elizabeth has always preferred her Placentia Palace, but I am happiest at Windsor,” Edward had told Jane when they climbed aboard the royal barge, its pennants and standard lifting limply in an almost windless day. “The air is more bracing, and the hunting better.”
It took them two days to be conveyed between the banks bursting with early flowers: yellow primroses, pink butterbur, tiny white daisies in among the dandelions, and the purple faces of violets. Edward’s jester was silent for once but for his soft strumming on a mandora that seemed to echo the plangent rippling of the water from the oars. Jane thought she had never been happier as she nestled in the crook of Edward’s broad arm and listened to him discuss politics with Will opposite them.
Windsor welcomed its lord home with a hunt and a Good Friday feast featuring many dishes to tempt Edward, who hated fish. How glad he was, he said later, to have Lent finally over. A haunch of venison dominated his plate following the Easter mass. Later, he invited Jane and Will to inspect the new additions to St. George’s Chapel.
“So you wish to spend eternity with me here, my friend, instead of lying in your own new chapel at Ashby with your wife,” Edward asked as the trio stopped at the shrine of John Schorn at the southeast corner of St. George’s, each lighting a candle to the renowned healer. “Do you think I will need counseling in heaven?”
Will laughed. “Katherine has already commissioned her tomb at Ashby, and I was not to be a part of it, it seems. She may rest in peace there without my grousing at her forever,” he said. He turned to face Edward. “In all seriousness, sire, ’twould be a supreme honor to lie near you. We have experienced so much together, I cannot imagine enjoying all heaven has to offer without you.”
“Have you forgiven me for sending you to the Tower, Will?” Edward was quizzical. “Someone had to pay for Arras. Surely you knew your life was not in danger.”
Will swallowed. Should he pretend he knew all along, or should he tell the truth, that he had spent a week of sleepless nights wondering when his butt of malmsey might appear? “I hoped you still needed me, my lord. I had to be patient. It was just a matter of time.” He brought the subject back to the tomb. “Have you forgiven me enough to grant my wish, Ned?”
It was Edward’s turn to laugh. “Thy will be done, my lord,” he promised.
/> The burnished oak of the newly completed quire next drew their attention, and Jane exclaimed over the amusing misericords tucked under the seats and admired William Berkeley’s exquisite woodcarving in the paneled stalls above, upon which the knights of the garter crests and shields were fixed. Several large earthenware pots drew Jane’s attention, and Edward explained they would be placed under the floor of each stall to improve the acoustics.
When they reached the northeast corner, Edward paused and pointed at a winding stair to a chantry above them. “This is where my tomb will be one day, Will. Does that suit you?”
Jane suddenly felt cold, and she linked her arms through theirs. “My dear lords, let us go back out into the sunshine. All this talk of death and tombs is distressing.” She almost dragged them back to the door.
Will whispered to the surprised Edward that Jane must still be grieving her sister’s death, and Edward looked appropriately chastised.
Once away from the tombs, Jane’s natural gaiety returned, and looking from one man to the other, she said, “My lords, I want to take you across the river to Eton and show you my project. Did our sovereign tell you I persuaded him to spare some money to finish the school?”
Edward looked across at Will over Jane’s turbaned head and winked. “Mistress Shore thinks more of reading and writing than of saying her prayers. If heaven will not have her, at least she will be among the erudite in purgatory, do you not agree?”
A priest hurrying up the steps to the entrance was shocked to hear loud laughter from within the chapel’s sacred space.
The voyage back to Westminster was aided by the downstream current, and as the barge was approaching the palace quay, cheers erupted from the shore. As Edward waved back to his loyal subjects, all of a sudden the figures went out of focus and he could not move his face.
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