Gradually, however, I witnessed a change in King Henry. His expression turned cheerful and gentle, and he smiled kindly at everyone who approached. As he became more the man he had been, he gave out an impression of great goodness. Although still a prisoner of the darkness of his mind and feeble in his will, he struck me as a compassionate figure. The queen, always so austere and proud with others, also changed in his presence, exuding a solicitous and maternal side, so that the king’s eyes, when they alighted on her, shone with affection and implicit trust. One night, in our chamber, I mentioned this to Ursula, with whom I’d come to share a deepening friendship.
“Aye, such trust,” Ursula whispered, glancing around our empty room before she spoke, “that he cheerfully allows himself to be pillaged into debt.”
“Hush!” I said fearfully. “’Tis treason what you speak, Ursula!”
“Then I’ve just put my life in your hands.”
Indeed, court seethed with turmoil and traps, and I was reminded of that fact when the queen sent for me one evening after supper. A fat cleric round as an egg was leaving as I approached, attended by two hooded monk manservants who followed after him, heads bowed. I did not see him at first, for he was cloaked in shadow as he glided noiselessly through the hall, and his sudden greeting, coming forth from darkness, jolted me. I recoiled with a cry.
“Ah, my child, forgive me for startling you. The queen is free now, and you may enter.” He gave a wave toward the queen’s apartments, scrutinizing me in a manner I found most unpleasant. Nor did his fish eyes soften his demeanor as he murmured, “Benedicite,” in dismissal. I curtseyed, gave my thanks, and hurried away greatly discomforted, for there was something sinister about the man.
The queen paced to and fro in her chamber, dictating to her scrivener, who was perched at a high desk near the window. With a wave, she indicated that I should take a seat and wait.
“—and cease your threats on the life of our bailiff of the lordship of Hertingfordbury and leave our other tenants in peace there, or you shall know our displeasure to your peril, Edmund Pyrcan, squire—” she continued, gesticulating with her hands in the French manner as she spoke. She paused and, exhaling sharply, picked up a sheaf of papers. Leafing through them, she selected one. “Ah, here it is—from the abbess of the convent of Stratford le Bow. Direct this letter to our masters of horse, aveners, purveyors, and other officers of our stable, and sign it from me, as usual. They are to be commanded not to take any belongings of this abbey, nor to lodge there, nor even to pass through the town, for we are granting the abbess our full protection, and they violate our order at their peril….” She put that down and picked up another letter. “Ah, here is a more pleasant matter—l’amour—” Her voice held a wistful note. “Affairs of the heart interest me, and I much enjoy the arranging of marriages,” she said, turning to me. “’Tis one of my happier duties….”
“To our well-loved John de Vere, Earl of Oxford,” she dictated. “As you well know, we have Elizabeth Clere in our service, and she has confided to us her affection and regard for a certain young man in your service, by the name of Thomas Denys, so we are writing to you to implore you earnestly to do what you can to persuade the young man to readily agree to this proposal. You may undertake to inform him that we shall be generous to them both, if he will agree to the match. We ask you to do your best in this matter, as we shall do for you in the future. May the Holy Trinity keep you—and so on.” She waved her hand at her clerk and turned to me. “Lady Ingoldesthorpe. Here, come and sit with me for a while, until my other ladies arrive.”
I curtseyed and settled myself on the low cushion she indicated, as close to the fire as I could get. The storm that had descended over London earlier that morning had intensified, and now the wind howled. The silk curtains draping the walls moved with the drafts that blew in through the spaces in the stone, and I shivered. The queen must have felt the cold draft too, for she went to warm her hands at the fire. She stood there for a time, her face turned to the window. Then she gave a soft sigh and took her seat. “How I miss the sun of Anjou. England is always so dreary. Naught but rain, and cold most miserable.”
“Maybe spring will come early,” I offered.
“You will find that London is as unpleasant in spring as it is in winter. For that, no doubt, we owe a debt to its citizens. They are an ungrateful lot. Mordi, grumbling and complaining are all we hear! They are never content, no matter what we do for them. I shall make sure we are not here in the spring.”
Just then the creak of a door and a rustle of silk drew my attention to the entry. There stood a young woman of surpassing beauty. She carried herself with a bearing more regal than the queen herself, and her loveliness lit up the room like a torch. Her complexion was ivory, and her shining hair, which streamed down her back, glimmered with a faint silver halo. If any feature could be criticized, it was perhaps her green eyes, which were small, not large, and held a sly expression. The girl, perhaps two or three years older than myself, drew to the queen’s side and whispered in her ear. I caught a few words of French, and the name Edward, and understood that the queen was anxious about her little prince. The three-year-old child nursed a cold, and she had sent the girl to check on him.
The queen nodded. “Bien…bien.” She turned to me. “Lady Isobel Ingoldesthorpe, have you met Elizabeth Woodville? She is also a newcomer to court. Her mother, the Duchess of Bedford, is French. From Luxemburg.”
I murmured the niceties and gave Elizabeth a smile. She responded with a feeble nod and looked away as soon as the queen had turned her attention back to me. I was struck by her rudeness. Even the girls at the nunnery hid their dislike of one another beneath a mask of civility. “Alors, Isabelle, are you happy with us here at court?” the queen inquired.
“Aye, my queen. Everyone has been most gracious.”
She laughed. “Indeed, you have attracted a fair amount of attention, just as we expected.”
“My lady?”
“Eh bien, you have had three suitors already for your hand in marriage, one for each month you have been here. Only Elizabeth can match that tally, but she is not my ward, and so it does me no good.” She threw a warm smile in Elizabeth’s direction, which Elizabeth returned with one of her own, as dazzling as sunlight.
Stunned at the news, I stared at the queen.
She patted my hand kindly. “Vraiment, perhaps you didn’t know? I thought everyone knew everything that happened at court before it happened, but not this time, I see. In any case, the suitors are of no import. You were not informed, because they offered too low a price.” She bent near and lowered her voice. “You will fetch a great sum for the royal treasury, my dear. For that you should be proud.”
I didn’t know how to respond to this, so I mumbled my thanks.
“It must sound quite banal to you, so fresh from the nunnery, this talk of money, but you should regard it as performing a great duty to the king. God knows, I myself was happy to bring him a treaty of peace. I was fifteen, you know, when I arrived on these shores, quite alone.”
Not a treaty, but a truce, I corrected mentally, promptly chastising myself for the disloyal thought. “Aye, my queen,” I murmured. Fifteen was too young to be married off to someone you had never seen, sent off to a foreign country, and torn from family, friends, and all that had been familiar and dear to the heart.
She threw me a glance. “Are you sure you have no French blood, like Elizabeth?”
I shook my head.
“D’accord, I suppose you need not be French to be beautiful…or lonely.”
My heart went out to her, for I had a sudden appreciation of her plight. She was a woman thwarted at every turn: an outsider who could never belong, a woman married but with no husband, and no love, and no true hope of happiness, except her child. The smile I gave her must have shown my sympathy, for she gave my hand a squeeze. “There is something about you très charmante. I think we shall be friends, Isabelle, don’t you agree, Elizabeth?”
At these words, Elizabeth turned her bright green eyes on me for the first time, and her full gaze held warning. I knew then that she regarded me an interloper and would protect at all costs what she viewed as her territory.
“I have made a decision!” Queen Marguerite announced suddenly. “You shall be my lady-in-waiting, Isabelle. Just like Elizabeth.”
“WE HAVE AN HOUR BEFORE SUPPER,” URSULA said kindly, placing a gentle arm around my shoulder. “Shall we seek out a wisewoman? Perhaps she can bring you comfort with good tidings.”
Gazing at her from my bed, where I had been playing my lyre and dwelling on thoughts of Sir John Neville, I shook my head sadly. “I have no faith in prophecy, Ursula. If my fortune is good, I shall hope too much and be fearful lest it proves wrong. If I get a bad fortune, I shall dread my future. ’Tis best to keep away from wisewomen.”
“Then what say you to a stroll along the river to see the sunset?”
Perhaps Ursula was right, and fresh air would banish my melancholy. In any case, I was to take up my duties as the queen’s lady-in-waiting when she returned from Kent, where she had gone to attend the trial of a group of rebels. Soon enough I would have little free time to spend as I wished.
We took the path down to the riverbank. The palace grounds were quiet, and we met few people along the way. The rains had ceased, and the late September wind swept through the gardens, rustling the autumn leaves that still clung to the trees and stirring the sweet, damp smell of evening. Turning a corner, we stepped through an arched stone gate. Abruptly the palace walls gave way to the sky, offering up a sunset without boundary. The Thames was dotted with gilded private barges, and its rippling currents caught the crimsons and golds of the sky, which soaked the water, dazzling my eyes.
“God has surely designed His seas and rivers as mirrors to catch and reflect His glory,” I whispered to Ursula as we stood arm in arm, the water lapping gently about the privy stairs. Ursula nodded and squeezed my hand.
A haughty voice interrupted our reverie. “My lady Isobel. What a pleasant surprise.”
I turned to find Henry Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, staring at me with a rakish expression. A warning spasm of alarm erupted within me. “My lord Somerset,” I said, suppressing my aversion and dropping into a curtsey. I had not forgiven Somerset for the way he had assessed me when we first met, and since then I’d learned much about him that I did not like. Here before me stood a degenerate young man from whom the world withheld nothing, breeding in him few scruples, little integrity, and a robust appetite for the sins of the flesh. No doubt he had vanquished many women in his career, for he had good looks and a certain charm that came from the power he wielded.
Somerset dismissed his entourage with a wave. Then, with a flourish of the hand, he indicated that we should stroll together. Ursula stepped aside.
“I am pleased to have such delightful company on an evening as fine as this. How do you find court, my lady Isobel?”
“Quite different from the abbey, my lord.”
He gave a loud laugh that sounded almost like a snort. “Indeed, indeed…That is an ambiguous reply worthy of a statesman, my lady. But what does it mean? Does it bode well or bode ill? That is the question.”
I threw him a smile. “It bodes whatever pleases you, Your Grace.”
“Aha! Another statesmanlike answer to confound me. You are a clever one.”
We strolled in silence for a while. Then he halted abruptly and turned to face me. “I should be gratified if you would sup with me in my private apartment tomorrow evening,” he said.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. Clearly accustomed to overly easy conquests, he was propositioning me like a common harlot! “I would have to first obtain the queen’s permission. As you may recall, I am her ward.”
It was his turn to color, but he recovered quickly. “Then perhaps you will join me for song and a cup of wine at the fountain instead?”
“My lord Somerset, you know that is not possible.”
“Anything is possible…if you will it.”
“My lord, that is indeed true for you, powerful as you are. But for me it must be by the queen’s will, not mine,” I said.
A silence fell. He took my hand into his own. “’Tis a harmless thing, to sing together. You do not need the queen’s permission for that. Will you not relent?”
I looked down at the hand that gripped mine. It was broad of palm and short in the fingers, and I found it crude and unattractive. “Only if the queen commands it, Your Grace.”
Something in my tone must have betrayed my inner feelings, for his eyes took on a dark glint. After an interval he said stiffly, “You are indeed unversed in the ways of court, or you would know not to trifle with me. I always have my way…in the end.” He turned his back and strode angrily toward his waiting retinue on the riverbank.
I was about to call out that, according to rumor, he certainly had his way with the queen. But I caught myself just in time. Unnerved by the challenge I had nearly uttered, I watched his receding back on an unsteady breath, my nurse’s words echoing in my head: She’s a wild thing, and reckless; she must be tamed for her own good. I had to do what I could to avoid Somerset in the future. He was a complex man, and a dangerous one. The power and rage I sensed in him made for a lethal mix, and I dared not trust myself to play the demure damsel.
A FEW DAYS AFTER MY MEETING WITH SOMERSET, great whisperings ebbed and flowed through the halls and passageways as giant waves sweep an ocean, but neither Ursula nor I could make any sense of the fragments we overheard. Then, with a leap of the heart, I caught the names of the Duke of York and the Earl of Salisbury. Realization struck me. Bursting with excitement, I seized Ursula from among a group of ladies in an alcove where a silk merchant was showing off his bolts of fabric, and rushed her off to our chamber, forcing myself not to run the distance. Ursula kept throwing me puzzled glances along the way, but I dared not whisper a word of my discovery until we were safe behind locked doors.
“The Duke of York and Sir John Neville’s father, Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury, are coming to court to attend the queen’s council meeting! Salisbury will be accompanied by his eldest son and namesake, Richard Neville, and—”
“The famous Earl of Warwick?” Ursula interrupted with wide eyes. “The handsomest, most valiant knight alive?”
“Aye,” I said impatiently. “And—”
“The Earl of Warwick was responsible for the Lancastrian defeat at the Battle of St. Albans! There’s talk that he killed Edmund, Duke of Somerset, himself! Did you know Somerset’s vowed revenge on the Yorkists—”
I grabbed Ursula by the shoulders. “With him comes his brother, Sir John Neville!”
Ursula gave up her starry thoughts of Warwick and stared at me. “Sir John Neville? Oh, my dear Isobel…my poor Isobel. It can’t do you any good to see him again!”
“Whether or not that’s true, I have to see him—I have to know—” I turned away in confusion. Know what? “I have to know if he’s forgotten me, Ursula.”
“And if he has, what then? There’s only grief in that.”
“There’s only grief now! Maybe knowing he doesn’t care will serve to cure me.”
Ursula threw me a look of pity.
Other information about the Nevilles—far more urgent than I could ever imagine—came to me from an unexpected source that same day.
“My lady Isobel!”
Strolling in the garden, all my thoughts on Sir John’s visit, I looked up, disoriented for a moment. William Norris was hurrying through the crowded palace walk to reach my side. “Greetings, my fair lady…”
I gave him a smile, and we walked together in genial conversation. I was glad of his company, for his talk of the weather and the upcoming tournament helped deter thoughts of Sir John, if only for a brief space. William was squire to Humphrey Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, brother-by-marriage to both the Duke of York and to the Lancastrian Earl of Northumberland. Though he stood related closely to
both York and Lancaster, Buckingham’s loyalty to Henry VI was so well-known that his men provided the royal bodyguard. Yet he had acquired the nickname “Peacemaker” for his continuing efforts to bring unity to the queen and the Duke of York. For this, I found myself as grateful to William personally as to good Duke Humphrey. The young man, who by sheer chance had become entangled in my memories of Tattershall Castle merely by being present at a critical moment in my life, now embodied my sole connection to Sir John Neville and even my hopes for peace between the Red Rose and the White. It seemed strange to me, but I felt close to Sir John in his presence, though I was also thankful that William would never know the reason why his company pleased me so well.
“—Sir John Neville?”
“Forgive me, what did you say?” I asked, jolted out of my reverie.
“Do you have an interest in Sir John Neville?” he repeated, watching me closely.
“That is a curious question,” I replied, stunned, stalling for an answer.
“You danced with him at Tattershall Castle, and you strolled with him in the garden. I need to know if you return his interest.”
I felt myself turn crimson. “You are being presumptuous—”
“Then you would not be upset if something happened to him?” He watched me carefully.
I steeled myself to remain calm and said as coldly as I could manage, “Sir John Neville is of the White Rose, and I am of the Red. Of course it is of no import to me what happens to him.” In spite of myself, the words burned my lips. I threw him a sidelong glance as we strolled again. “What do you know? You owe me an explanation for your impertinence.”
“I am glad you have no feelings for him, my lady. Though I am only a humble squire without hope of ever winning you, my wish is only for your happiness.” He drew a deep breath. “The queen has no intention of letting the Nevilles arrive in London safely. I thought you might care, and am heartened that you don’t.”
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