by Candace Robb
Owen pulled her down on to his lap, buried his face in her neck. ‘I do not deserve you.’
‘It is Ned who might be undeserving, my love, not you.’
‘Poor Jehannes.’
‘You must go to him in the morning, try to explain.’
‘Aye. ’Tis much the worst part of this foolishness.’
Twenty
Alice’s Mistake
The sun had set by the time Thoresby rode out of the castle gates along crowded Bishop Street, shadowed down its length by the castle walls and jettied second storeys of the houses. He turned down New Street, where the houses stood farther apart; Alice Perrers’s was the last house on the street, overlooking the Thames. The torches set round her doorway illuminated a well-wrought structure of stone below, timber above. The windows were glazed, the area immediately before the door was set with cobbles – for the King’s visits, Thoresby presumed. He wondered how long she might keep this house if Don Paulus’s story was true?
Gilbert answered the door, showed Thoresby into a cosy parlour with a small fireplace, sturdy oak furniture, silver plate displayed in a floor-to-ceiling cupboard. Most surprising was the flaxen-haired lad who played in front of the fire, rolling about with a puppy intent on chewing his master’s little hand. This was Thoresby’s first glimpse of the King’s son by Alice since shortly after his birth.
‘Mistress Perrers asked that I make you comfortable, Your Grace,’ Gilbert said. He bowed Thoresby to a chair near the fire.
The lad’s nurse jumped up. ‘My Lord Chancellor,’ she bobbed a curtsey, then deftly scooped the puppy up with one arm and grabbed the boy’s hand with the other, lifting him to his feet. ‘Say “benedicte” to His Grace the Lord Chancellor of England, Master John,’ the young woman said.
The lad stuck a finger in his mouth, hid behind his nurse, then peered out cautiously to whisper something unintelligible that brought a proud smile to his nurse’s charming face.
‘Benedicte, Master John,’ Thoresby said. Now that he was a godfather he made an effort with children. Here was another risk Perrers had taken if the story were true: the King would never let her bring up his son if she had betrayed him. Surely she knew that. Would it mean nothing to her?
‘Take him up to the chamber, Katie.’ Alice Perrers spoke from the doorway, where she stood, beringed hands stretched to either side of the door frame, her deep green gown shimmering in the firelight. Even at home she took care to make an elegant entrance. Alice smiled down at her son, stood aside to let him pass, recoiling slightly from the curious puppy.
‘You are not fond of dogs, Mistress Perrers?’ Thoresby commented as she slid into a seat half facing his.
A private smile was almost hidden as she had her head down, checking the drape of her gown. Alice raised her head, met Thoresby’s eyes, wrinkled her nose. ‘Cats are so much cleaner, Your Grace. But puppies accept the brutality of children with more equanimity.’
Such a confusing mix of artificiality and bluntness. ‘Equanimity? The pup seemed to be gnawing on your son’s hand.’
‘I am sure John had done something far more horrible to the pup.’ Alice moved her smile from Thoresby to Gilbert. ‘Wine, Gilbert.’ She returned to Thoresby. ‘Thank you for coming, Your Grace. I know it must have seemed an odd request.’
‘Not at all. I assumed the nature of our discussion was private.’
The smile flickered. Thoresby wondered what ghostly emotion had almost been revealed. ‘In truth, you will judge me a dizzy woman when I confess the topic. It is not so much private as – painful.’ Beringed hand to bare, beautiful throat, eyes cast down. All staged with her usual care. Thoresby should be flattered. Alice Perrers considered him someone to treat with caution. And he was. He was.
‘It is a pleasure to retreat from court now and again,’ he said with his most charming voice and smile. He could be just as artificial. ‘Even if that was the sole reason for inviting me here, I should be happy to come.’ Oddly enough, he meant it. A pleasant house, interesting companion. Deadly, but interesting.
Alice was quiet as Gilbert poured the wine. They each sipped, sat back, relaxing into the occasion.
Thoresby looked round. ‘You have a pleasant house. It is close to the river, yet I feel the damp less than up at the castle.’
‘Thick stone walls hold in the damp once it penetrates,’ Alice said.
‘You have studied architecture?’
Alice made a face. ‘Not voluntarily.’ She nodded slightly to Gilbert, who immediately and noiselessly left the room. ‘Wykeham delights in telling the King about the wonders of his works. Modesty is not one of his innumerable virtues.’
‘You have trained your servant well.’
‘In my situation I must have a trustworthy household, above reproach.’ Alice set her cup down on a polished table beside her, flicked a mote from her skirt. An uncharacteristic gesture. Alice Perrers was nervous. ‘This painful topic …’ She took a deep breath. Her gown was not as low cut as usual; the scar which she usually brandished to remind him of his human frailty was covered. To put him at ease? ‘I wondered what your spy in York has told you about Ned Townley,’ she said. ‘Captain Archer is Ned’s friend, is he not?’
Though Thoresby had guessed this conversation would centre round Mary’s death, he had not expected this particular question. ‘His Grace the King has been fully informed, Mistress Perrers.’ He would not be accused of holding back information.
Alice glanced up, her cat eyes candidly surprised. ‘You think—’? Forgive me, Your Grace, I did not mean to imply … I am clumsy because—’ She pressed two fingers to her forehead, shook her head. ‘The King will tell me nothing. He will not speak of Ned.’ She did not meet Thoresby’s eyes, but focused on his chain of office.
Losing her hold on Edward, was she? There was a time, just yesterday, in fact, when that would have improved Thoresby’s mood more than the wine had, lovely as it was. But now it disturbed him. Could the friar’s story be true? ‘His Grace will say nothing?’ Thoresby knitted his brows, pretended to consider whether to speak, then shrugged. ‘I can think of no reason to keep it from you. You have heard that the King is sending men north to arrest Townley?’
The cat eyes lifted to meet his own. They were dark with emotion. Fear? Anger? That was the problem with all the artifice; when Alice had a true emotion, he could not decipher it. ‘Of what is he accused?’ she asked.
Surely she had heard? ‘The murder of Don Ambrose, the Austin friar who accompanied the party from Windsor.’
‘Sweet Jesu,’ Alice whispered, bowing her head and crossing herself.
‘Forgive me, but I cannot believe you did not know.’
‘It is what I heard, but I did not believe it.’
This was a waste of time. ‘Mistress Perrers—’
She lifted a hand to silence him. ‘Does it look bad for Ned?’
‘Is the letter Gilbert took to Walter of Coventry this afternoon an attempt to help Townley?’
Alice looked startled, but covered it quickly with a smile. ‘No. Walter will travel farther than York with my letter.’
Was this the right moment? When might be the right moment to confront Alice Perrers? ‘Ah. The letter goes north to the Marches? To your husband?’
‘My—’ Alice’s smile was unconvincing. ‘Is that meant as an insult?’
‘An insult to have a husband?’
‘Not to have one, and yet be a mother.’
‘My dear Mistress Perrers, were I to throw insults at every woman who bore a bastard and every man who sired one, I should find that a consuming occupation.’
Alice fussed with her gown. ‘To the Marches, you said?’
Thoresby put down his cup, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepled his hands. ‘Yes.’
The cat eyes lifted to him, blinked. ‘Who is up there?’
This cat and mouse game would quickly bore him. ‘Wyndesore, who, I am told, is your husband.’
Alice pressed a
hand to her left side, asked quietly, ‘Who told you Wyndesore was my husband?’
Thoresby ached to move this from banter to confession. ‘A fat friar. The one who wrote the letter to Don Ambrose that ended up in Townley’s possession. What was his name?’ He glanced up at the ceiling, down towards the fire, returned to her, shaking his head. ‘The indignities of ageing …’
She levelled her amber eyes at him. ‘Don Paulus.’
‘Ah! The very man. Don Paulus told me of your marriage.’
‘Where is this man?’
‘In a safe place. I should not care for another death along your path.’
Already naturally pale, Alice now looked chalk white. She dropped her head back, closed her eyes. ‘I curse the day I ever met William.’ Her voice was tense with emotion. ‘He is the Devil.’
‘Perhaps you would tell me what this is about.’
She lifted her head with a wide-eyed look of amazement. ‘Sweet Heaven, do you think me mad? To climb so far merely to go crashing down off such a treacherous limb?’ Alice stood, walked away from him.
Thoresby set down his cup and rose. ‘Then I shall be taking my leave.’
Alice did not call for Gilbert. Instead she knelt down by the toys scattered on the floor before the fire, lifted two wooden blocks, picked up a third, a fourth, then dropped them back on the ground. She rose, dusted off her dress, and resumed her seat. ‘Yet I sent for you.’ She pressed her palms to her pale cheeks, then dropped her hands. ‘I am a woman without friends, John,’ she clasped her hands in her lap, stared down at them.
‘Without friends? Come now, you have powerful friends. The King and Queen – their friendship is a pearl beyond price.’ If she expected to stay him with that silly complaint and the use of his Christian name, she had grossly misread him.
Alice shook her head, eyes still downcast. ‘The King is not my friend. Lovers are never friends. He uses me, and he shall discard me when he will.’
He would indeed. Thoresby had expected him to do so long ago. ‘But the Queen?’
A melodramatic sigh. To cover emotion? ‘Queen Phillippa is dying. There is no remedy. And then? The King is ageing. Soon he will follow the Queen. What is the position of a dead King’s mistress?’ Now the cat eyes met his. Did he see pain in them? Fear? ‘The King’s favour has turned the kingdom against me. They say I insult the Queen, who is loved by all her people. It is worse that my kin are unimportant. And that I am plain.’
What was her game? She echoed Thoresby’s oft repeated opinion of her with the precision of someone who had memorised the words for a purpose. Thoresby forced a laugh. ‘Plain, Mistress Perrers? Do you question the King’s taste?’
Alice made a face. ‘It is the King’s subjects who question it. They say I am plain. My hair is a common brown; my eyes are too like a cat’s eyes; I am too tall, too sharp-tongued.’ She smiled, her chin thrust up. ‘They cannot see why the King takes me to his bed, confides in me.’
Oh, God forgive him, Thoresby could. All that she said was true, but by a devilish alchemy this woman of plain parts was made beautiful by a sensuality from deep within. Alas, Thoresby felt her power all too strongly. But he would not be caught in the web Alice spun round him. He would not be distracted from his purpose this night. ‘I confess I am still confused, Mistress Perrers. Are you admitting to the marriage?’
Alice’s face was a blank. ‘Why else were Mary, Daniel and Don Ambrose murdered?’
Thoresby slowly resumed his seat, steepled his hands, pressing the forefingers against the bridge of his nose. If this was a joke, if she suddenly laughed, he wondered whether he would manage to restrain himself. ‘You knew all three were murdered and told no one?’
Alice shook her bejewelled head as if chiding a child for foolish talk. ‘I know little more than you do. I had suspicions. But you must see I had much to lose if I confided in the wrong person.’
‘Doubtless.’ Thoresby picked up his cup, sipped his wine, waiting.
The cat eyes held steady his gaze. ‘And now I see I must trust you. Very well. Mary witnessed my marriage vows. She and Daniel, Sir William’s page. My marriage to Lucifer himself.’ The eyes unexpectedly shone with tears. The jaw was clenched.
It was true. Deus juva me. ‘I find this incomprehensible. You have schemed to get into the King’s bed, and now you throw away your achievement with Wyndesore. A soldier.’
Alice took a deep breath. ‘My uncles schemed to place me in the Queen’s household, as you well know.’
‘But the King’s bedchamber was doubtless beyond their reach.’
Alice bowed her head slightly. ‘I have thrown nothing away but my peace of mind. The King has not put me aside.’
Thoresby chuckled. ‘And yet you called me here because he would tell you nothing of Townley? Come now.’
‘I believe William has requested silence on the matter.’
The woman was preposterous. ‘Do you claim the King is dancing to Wyndesore’s tune? My dear Mistress Perrers, he has merely delayed putting you aside, though his restraint surprises me.’ Thoresby lifted the cup to his lips, was disappointed to find it empty. ‘But why Wyndesore?’
Alice rose and retrieved the flagon Gilbert had left on the table, returning to fill Thoresby’s cup and her own. Wine in hand, she moved to the window, where she stood still a while, staring out into the dark. ‘William has made a lifelong study of devious paths towards wealth. He is cunning, ruthless. Of course you know how he used Clarence’s trouble to gain the King’s ear.’ Indeed. All the court knew. ‘And yet in Ireland William and the Duke were fellow thieves, keeping the moneys for themselves. The Duke was quite generous with his financial adviser.’ She smiled. ‘I even made some money in Ireland.’
Thoresby studied Alice Perrers’s profile. Sharp. Nothing soft and feminine about her face. ‘He bought you?’
Alice spun round with a tight smile, cold eyes. ‘A charming question. So like you. But no. The profit in Ireland was another matter.’
This was inexplicable. Thoresby was finding it difficult to absorb. Alice Perrers had wed William of Wyndesore. ‘I have heard it said that women find Wyndesore handsome.’
Alice still smiled. ‘I would never climb into a man’s bed with no thought of pleasure. William is handsome, strong, quite remarkable for his years …’ The smile faded. ‘The King was furious when he heard. He would not see me. He threatened to send William into exile. But William kept his wits about him, asked for an audience with the King. He fell to his knees, begged the King’s forgiveness, swore he had not realised the King still loved me.’
Thoresby had an unlovely vision of the household. Two consummate actors manipulating the world. ‘Wyndesore claimed you had lied about the King’s affections?’
Alice shrugged. ‘It was not William’s intent.’ She sat down. ‘He has a way of sounding a bumbling fool while weaving an intricate web round his victims. The eyes are innocent, the words are full of apologies, he stutters as he promises better behaviour.’ A nasty laugh. ‘By the time William left the King’s audience chamber he had made it seem as if by tripping over his own tongue he had revealed a way in which the marriage would be useful to Edward.’
Wyndesore was a man to watch. ‘And how is that?’
‘It is to be kept a secret. A secret to be revealed only if necessary.’
‘When might that be necessary?’
‘In the event the King gets me with child again. Then he can deny it is his, claim it to be the fruit of my marriage to Wyndesore.’ Alice threw back her head and drained her cup.
It was true the King had been bothered by the vicious gossip at court when Alice bore John. But to go to such an extreme, share his mistress with another man. That was not like Edward. ‘Is this why the King sent Wyndesore north? To be kept from you?’
Alice’s cat eyes chilled Thoresby. ‘It is not a banishment, if that is what you ask. Joint Warden of the West Marches towards Scotland is an important step in William’s ambitions. He is a good co
mmander, ruthless when need be. The King will not regret promoting William. All the regrets shall be housed in my bosom.’
‘You express little affection for him. Why did you marry him?’
‘I thought to ensure my future, to provide myself with a protector when the King died – or tired of me.’ Alice laughed. It was not a cheerful sound.
‘Why did you not wait?’
Alice tilted her head. ‘Until the King discards me? I pray you, tell me who would have had me then?’
Thoresby nodded. ‘You say Daniel and Mary died because they witnessed this secret marriage. Who carried out the sentence?’
Was it Thoresby’s imagination, a trick of the light, or did Alice’s pale face seem suddenly more drawn, her eyes more sunken in shadow? ‘Of course it is not the King. He thought to banish them from court, but I had convinced him Mary was loyal to me, and that I was about to bind her to me even more closely with a good marriage, one for which she would have me to thank.’
‘So it is your husband you suspect of plotting the murders?’ The eyes stared coldly. He took that for a yes. ‘Have you any proof ?’
Alice closed her eyes, brought the cup up to her forehead, as if to cool a fever. ‘My only proof is the obvious motivation and pattern. Our witnesses, the priest …’ she shrugged. ‘William is desperate that it should remain a secret, that he should not lose his advantage in the King’s favour by letting someone discover we married.’
‘Why should the King wish to keep it secret at all?’
Alice looked amused. ‘You believe the King would be glad to be rid of me.’ She shook her head slowly, tauntingly. ‘No. He still desires me. Yet he would not be a cuckold. And he teases that if I am known to be William’s wife I shall feel duty bound to act so.’
‘But already the news is spreading. How many besides Don Paulus and myself know, I wonder?’
‘And who knows that you know?’ A fleeting smile.
‘Surely it has occurred to the King that these deaths are connected?’
