Alicia rose, and stood before the portrait as if enchanted by the painted visage. Thomas watched her with one eyebrow raised. She reached out as if to touch it, but held her hand in midair.
“I have never seen what he looked like,” she murmured with a faint tremor in her voice.
“Then gaze your fill, for I will have to return the portrait to its hiding place.” Leaning closer, he asked, “What of it?”
Her eyes shimmered. Isabel could not understand what had touched the girl’s emotions. The portrait’s face was handsome, but not enough to bring tears to the observer.
Alicia pointed to the cap on the king’s head. “Mark the brooch that he wears,” she said. Then she fumbled inside her sleeve for something. She drew out a small blue velvet bag, and laid it on the desk where Thomas’s dagger still impaled the oaken top. Untying the strings, she took something out. Then she stepped back to allow him a closer inspection.
Rising on her tiptoes, Isabel tried to spy the thing that had struck the young earl completely dumb. Whatever it was, it winked in the light coming from the library’s single lancet window.
“God save me!” Thomas breathed in wonder.
Alicia grinned. “Pick it up,” she invited him. “‘Twill not bite.”
Isabel’s curiosity nearly burst as Thomas gingerly held the mysterious item to the sun. A splash of bloodred light danced on the whitewashed wall next to the fireplace. Isabel’s mouth dropped open. The ruby must be the size of a pigeon’s egg. She moistened her lips with her tongue. She had nothing in her own jewel box to compare with such a gem. The pearl drop that dangled from the gold setting would be perfect to wear on a black velvet ribbon around her neck. A wave of greed engulfed her. She must have that royal bauble, come rack or ruin.
“Do you recognize it?” Alicia asked Thomas.
The dull-witted simpleton acted stunned as he turned the jewel this way and that. Even at her distance, Isabel recognized it as the same brooch that graced the cap of the great king.
“Aye,” he answered at last.
“‘Twas my father’s,” Alicia replied as she caressed the portrait with her gaze.
“‘Twas the king’s,” Thomas muttered low in his throat while he compared the painted brooch with its original.
“They are one and the same.” Her voice faded away to a reverent stillness.
He stared at her as if she was some angelic creature that had just materialized before him. In the hall, Isabel’s breath caught in her throat. Then she turned away from the door, lest her muffled laughter be heard inside. What a stupid girl! Alicia had condemned herself out of her own mouth. By nightfall, she would be locked within York’s grim gaol. Once again, Isabel would be the undisputed mistress of Wolf Hall. ‘Twas too rich a jest by half.
“Explain, I pray you,” Thomas commanded Alicia in an odd but gentle tone.
She drew herself away from the painting, then resumed her seat. She folded her hands in her lap. “You are correct, Sir Thomas, my guardian was not a goldsmith, though he became quite skilled in that craft. Edward assumed that disguise for safety’s sake after the battle of Bosworth Field. You see, King Richard had entrusted him with the care of the Plantagenet children.”
“What children?” He gave her a sidelong glance of utter disbelief. “Richard’s only son was Edward, and the child died the year before his father.”
Alicia nodded. “You speak the truth, but there were four other Plantagenets. John and Katherine were Richard’s natural children, begotten when he was a young man before he was married.”
“I have heard of them,” Thomas agreed. “Methinks they are grown now.”
She sighed. “Aye, grown—and gone away. The third was young Richard, the former Duke of York.”
He furrowed his brow with bewilderment. “He died in the Tower as a boy.”
“Nay.” She gave him a smile of triumph. “His elder brother, little King Edward V, is the one who died of a fever. King Richard feared for his other nephew’s life. I was told that there were many rumors of murderous plots flying about London at the time.”
“Humm,” muttered Thomas. He fingered the beautiful brooch in a distracted manner.
Alicia continued with her outlandish tale. “King Richard spirited Dickon out of the Tower under the silence of night, and sent him north to Middleham Castle where good Queen Anne reared him with his cousins, Katherine, John and poor little Prince Edward. Then, there was me—I was only a babe.” She paused before she continued in a quieter tone. “I wish I could remember that time, but I cannot.”
Gripping the fabulous jewel, Thomas touched the cruciform of the dagger. “On your most solemn oath, Mistress Alicia Broom. Tell me again. Who was your father?”
Isabel leaned closer to the door’s crack in order not to miss Alicia’s next words. Under her tight bodice, her heart beat with a wild cadence.
“Your father?” he repeated with desperate firmness.
Alicia pulled back her shoulders, and lifted her chin a notch. She stared directly into his eyes. “I have the honor to be the youngest child of his most gracious majesty, King Edward IV—and may God have mercy upon his soul.”
There was not a sound in the small room. Isabel pressed her forehead against the cool plaster wall by the doorjamb. The wench is lying! The thought pounded in her brain like a desperate prayer.
Closing his eyes, Thomas rubbed his temples. Alicia did not alter her position. An expression of pride and wonderment lighted her face.
“And your mother?” he finally asked.
Her lips parted in stiff smile. “Edward told me she was named Jane Shore, one of the king’s favorite mistresses. I know very little about her.”
Isabel shook her head with disbelief. How could Thomas possibly think of marrying the daughter of a whore, even if she was a by-blow of a king?
He returned to the narrow window, and stared out of it while he stroked the quivering greyhound with an absentminded air. “What happened after Bosworth Field?”
“Edward and Katherine established our little home above the goldsmith shop in York. I lived happily with them and Dickon. Everything changed ten years ago when the Tudor king’s claim to his throne was challenged by a young pretender named Lambert Simnel.”
Thomas rubbed his forehead. “I have heard of him. He was eventually caught, and was sent to the royal kitchens as a turnspit boy. My father remarked that Henry Tudor must have been seized by a fit of mercy to act so generously to the lad. Simnel could have been hung, drawn and quartered for treason despite his tender years.”
Alicia cast him a quick look. “Aye, the boy kept his life—but not John Plantagenet. Did you know he was executed?”
Thomas said nothing, though his face mirrored his disbelief.
“Both he and his legitimate cousin John, Earl of Lincoln, suffered death for their parts in the Simnel deception.”
“Why did they dirty their hands with this lie?” he croaked.
Alicia snorted. “Edward said ‘twas to test which way the wind blew with the new king. Henry Tudor feared that his throne was threatened by a son of Edward IV. He reacted against the pretender’s party with swift violence. Meanwhile the real Richard of York was safe.”
Thomas frowned. “But only a few men died.”
She curled her lips. “True, but the king tightened his net around the other members of the Plantagenet family. For instance, my gentle cousin Katherine was wed to an illiterate farmer by the king’s express order. The Tudor himself picked out the man. I heard that Katherine’s husband beat her almost daily, and made her life a hell on earth.”
Thomas closed his eyes. “Mother of God,” he whispered.
“Edward could not protect his two older wards for they had come of age by then,” she continued. “He grew most anxious for the safety of the true heir—and me. One night my guardian took Dickon away. Several days later he returned without him. Edward told me that he had sent the boy overseas to his aunt in Burgundy. At the time, I did not guess the true reason why. All
I knew was that I had lost my dearly loved older brother. I have never seen him again.” She released an audible sigh.
Isabel darted another glance along the corridor in case someone happened by. Do not stop now, Mistress Broom. Tell all. She chewed her lower lip.
Thomas perched on the edge of the desk. “Ten years ago we were betrothed. Was that part of your guardian’s plan?”
Alicia nodded. “Edward knew your father’s loyalty to the Yorks. He told my true parentage to Sir Giles, and swore him to secrecy. My guardian thought that the strength and respect of the house of Cavendish would give me the protection that I needed.”
“How old are you now, Alicia?” he asked, his voice smooth but insistent.
With a slight smile of defiance, she replied, “Seventeen this past March, but my guardian said I was mature for my years.”
“Ah.” Thomas stared at the ceiling. “Methought you were not to wed until you turned eighteen.”
She clenched her jaw. Her eyes flashed blue fire. “I am old enough. May I remind you that your own brother was married at sixteen?”
He nodded. “Aye, because he needed the steadying influence of a wife in a hurry. William had already sired several bastards in the village.”
Isabel swallowed down a sob of frustration. All those years of vigorous bedding for nothing? William had children by peasant girls, but never one by his wife. No wonder the old earl had grown impatient with her. Hot tears of mortification and self-pity ran down her cheeks. She wondered how long she had been the laughingstock of the kitchen and stables.
Alicia had the decency to blush. “Oh! I see.” She cleared her throat. “My brother, Dickon, returned to England several years ago, using the name Perkin Warbeck. He was able to rally a number of supporters to recognize him as Richard Plantagenet, and to fight for his claim to the throne.”
Thomas blinked. “Warbeck is the true heir?”
“Aye,” she whispered. “Two weeks ago, Dickon was captured, and imprisoned once again in that dreadful Tower of London. We heard that he was lodged with his first cousin, the young Earl of Warwick, son of Dickon’s ill-fated uncle George, Duke of Clarence. My guardian feared that his own arrest was imminent, since he had generously financed Perkin Warbeck’s bid for the crown. The Bramptons made immediate plans to escape to Flanders, but they needed to settle my future. ‘Tis why we arrived at Wolf Hall without prior warning.”
Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he sought to block a sneeze or a pain. Alicia studied his face.
“Now I understand why my father’s death must have been a severe shock to your guardian,” he remarked. “Of course, I knew nothing of this.”
“Aye, but there is more,” she replied. “‘Tis your right to know the danger you face.”
He raised one golden eyebrow. “How now?”
“King Henry has a vast network of spies throughout the kingdom. I am sure he knows of my existence by now. As I told you, the Tudor hounds anyone with a drop of Plantagenet blood.” A tear rolled down her pale cheek. “Thomas, you could lose all of your estates if you marry me. Mayhap even your own life. Henry will purge England of Plantagenets to make his crown safe for his children to inherit Your wedding gift to me is the noble title of Thornbury. My gift to you will be a life of constant fear and deception. Do you understand? Dangerous blood flows in my veins. Ponder this, Thomas—if we wed, you could be sleeping with your executioner.”
Her words fell like February icicles against cobblestones.
Isabel leaned back against the wall, and hugged herself with joy. Her fortune lay within her grasp. No need to pine to be the Countess of Thornbury, and live the rest of her life with a pack of flea-bitten dogs, when she could find richer pickings in the court of King Henry VII. She imagined how grateful the Tudor sovereign would be when she handed him, not only another Plantagenet sprig, but the certain knowledge that the young man imprisoned under the name of Perkin Warbeck was in fact the living heir of Edward IV. Perchance Henry would reward her with marriage to a duke.
This heady prospect made her feel quite giddy. Fie on Thomas Cavendish and his revolting curs! Let them all rot here in the wilds of Northumberland. The fabled city of London beckoned Isabel with visions of all its wealth and glitter.
Lifting the hems of her skirts, she raced through the hall, and up the stairs to her chamber with the lightest heart she had ever felt inside the walls of Wolf Hall. A plan had already formed itself in her mind. She found Meg slowly folding her clothes, and putting them into her trunks.
Isabel clapped her hands, which started the maid out of her daydreaming. “Make haste, you slug! I want to quit this gloomy tomb before next Christmas.” She began to pitch her shoes willy-nilly into an open coffer.
Meg gaped at her. “Yer pardon, me lady?”
Isabel danced a little jig on the hearth. “Aye, Meg, mark what I tell you. We are off to bustle our own way into this wide, wonderful world.”
Meg shook her head to herself. “Horn-mad, she is,” she muttered in an undertone.
Chapter Eleven
Alicia crossed her fingers for luck under the folds of her skirt. She felt much better now that she had revealed her dangerous secret to Thomas. She prayed that he would not send her away, or put her into a nunnery. She did not think he would turn her over to King Henry’s minions. At least, she could trust the unswerving loyalty of the Cavendishes to her family.
It was a strange experience to name aloud her true father and mother. She herself scarcely had time to assimilate all that the Bramptons had told her before their hasty departure from their shop in Micklegate. She still could not quite believe that she had come from such an ancient, highborn line. She held her silence, and wondered what Thomas would do.
When she finished her story, he stared at her, while his eyes turned bluer by the second. Then, massaging his temples, he paced the floor before the fireplace. In such a small chamber, he crossed the width in four of his long strides.
As the silence lengthened, Alicia steeled herself for his repudiation. What man, newly come into his title and estate, would gamble everything, including his own life, for a tall, willowy girl whom he barely knew? Considering her situation from Thomas’s point of view, she concluded that her hopes for lifelong protection hung by a very slender thread. That she had grown fond of him during her brief time at Wolf Hall was beside the point.
Thomas halted, pried the dagger out of the desktop, then studied the weapon with deep concentration.
Watching him, an icy fear twisted around Alicia’s heart. Sweet Jesu, he is going to kill me! That dreadful solution had never occurred to her before now. She pressed herself against the back of the chair. An unfamiliar panic welled up in her throat He could dispatch her as easily as paring an apple, then toss her remains into the river that flowed past the castle’s walls. If anyone should find her body downstream, no one would know who she was, or who had killed her. Considering how plainly she was dressed, no one would even care.
He stood before her, balancing the knife in his hand. The rays of the afternoon sun glinted along its sharp blade. His massive shoulders stretched the black velvet doublet he wore until the seams looked as if they would burst. The expression in his eyes was unfathomable. His steady gaze impaled her. She clutched the chair’s arms until her knuckles stood out white under her skin. She wanted to ask him to at least give her a decent Christian burial, but her words solidified in her throat. In this final moment of her life, she marveled how handsome her murderer looked.
Without a flicker of an eyelash to give her warning, Thomas dropped to one knee before her. Alicia froze, benumbed in body and soul. Bowing his head, he lifted her dusty hem to his lips, and kissed it with a deep reverence. She lowered her gaze, totally bewildered by his startling behavior. The beating of her heart throbbed in her ears.
Then he raised his eyes to her. His expression was as soft as a caress. “I am a man of few words, sweet lady.” His deep melodious voice trembled with barely checked passion
. “When we quit this chamber, neither of us will ever speak of what happened here so long as we live.”
“Thomas, I—” she began, but he shook his head.
“Prithee, allow me to continue while the words are still fresh on my tongue.” He cleared his throat. “In this private place and for this moment only, I will call you princess, for you are royal indeed.”
Alicia refused to accept the significance of his words. She glanced at the hard calluses of her work-worn hands. “Oh, no, Thomas, not that. I am only a…a bastard.” She flinched inwardly as she said the degrading term.
His free hand cupped her face, and held it gently, while the beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. His touch was almost unbearable in its tenderness. Her skin tingled.
“You are indeed your royal father’s daughter, and well named.”
She blinked in surprise. “How so?”
He grinned. “Broom. ‘Tis the name of a little yellow field flower.”
She shrugged. “Aye, common enough.”
“Nay, not common at all. The French call it plantagenet. In truth, you have always borne your father’s name,” he told her in a tone of respect. “And you are like him. You need only to look into the glass to see the resemblance.”
Alicia’s mouth went dry. She found herself extremely aware of Thomas’s virile appeal. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I never saw my reflection until I came to Wolf Hall. I am still not used to the experience.”
With infinite tenderness, his finger traced the line of her cheekbone and jaw. “Then let me be your mirror, my princess.” A strange, faintly eager look flashed in his eyes. “Your hair is the same red-gold color as the king’s, and your eyes are the Plantagenet blue. You are tall and graceful, as I have been told your father was. You know that the Plantagenets are known for their height.”
“Aye,” she whispered. She quivered under his gentle stroking.
“You have his cheekbones, his nose…” Thomas hesitated, then placed his finger to her lips. “Your mouth is the image of the king’s. ‘Twas made for laughter and merriment.”
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