by Anne O'Brien
But in pursuing Richard, to whose side had John Holland, as Master Selby had so aptly put it, ultimately hopped?
I sat on the edge of my bed, hands clasped tightly in my lap, and thought through the mass of uncontrolled passion and dark threats I had just witnessed. So much anger. So much potential violence. And then, because it was not in my nature to sit, I prowled round the room. A royal plot to murder my father? How could I believe that? Yet there had been no hiss of disbelief, no intake of breath. Richard had denied so heinous a crime, but he would hardly admit to it in public.
And where was John Holland now?
He had followed Richard. If he had given his loyalty to his brother, what need for me to be here? Suddenly the death of the Carmelite friar was shadowed into insignificance, the events of the past hour stirring my thoughts into a new pattern, but one equally disquieting. The choice I had come to Sheen to make might not be mine to make after all. Richard’s perfidy might have driven a sword into the very heart of his family, creating new alliances, dividing irrevocably friend from foe.
If I was of a cynical mind, this was a ploy in the game John Holland had instigated, bringing me back to court, where his influence could once more hold sway. But this was no game. This was a royal challenge for power, Richard throwing down his gage. The whole affair stank of blood and betrayal.
‘Stop it!’ Philippa said at last after another track across the room.
‘I can’t.’
‘Is this the man you have a …’ she struggled for words—’… an affection for? For shame. Do you not see what sort of man he is?’
Affection? It was no light affection. I wanted him. I formed the words in my head. Then out loud. ‘I want him.’
‘Then that is the sin of lust!’
I pondered. No—I did not think it was. There was something deeper in the way this man encroached on my thoughts as well as my emotions. But my sister was right, I was in need of some answers.
‘If you want my advice,’ she chivvied, ‘go and return all those silly trinkets to him and make an end to it.’
I stopped mid prowl, my gaze finding hers.
‘Go and see him,’ she urged. ‘Whatever it is between you, end it. Tell him not to send any more. No good will come of it, and you’re a fool if you persist in a flirtation that will end in nothing but shame and scandal—for you if not for him.’
Of course she had noticed the gifts and deduced the giver, adding two and two to make enough white doves to fill a dovecote. How could I have thought that she would not? Philippa, leaving me in no doubt of her opinion, was rarely so acrimonious in her choice of words.
‘I doubt he is in the mood to send more gifts.’ I worried at the border of my flowing oversleeves, teasing the delicate stitching without mercy.
‘No one is. It seems to me that no man at court is in a mood to do anything other than drive a dagger between the shoulder blades of his nearest opponent.’
‘I doubt he is in the mood to see me,’ I continued, realising how trivial my own concerns were in comparison. And yet this was a matter of my own flesh and blood. And, for me, of the heart. ‘I don’t even know if he has turned his back on Lancaster and is even now bolstering cousin Richard in his plots to have us all murdered in our beds.’
‘You won’t know until you talk to him. Do you think he was involved in the plot against the Duke?’
‘How can I possibly know? My heart says no, but it seemed to be that every man in that room looked guilty of something!’ It took me the length of a breath to decide. ‘I’ll go.’
‘What will you do?’ she asked as my hand raised the latch.
I paused, looked back. ‘I don’t know yet.’
Nor did I. All I knew was that I must hear from his own mouth that he was innocent.
‘Just don’t forget that you are a married woman, Elizabeth. And he is a man who is not averse to taking advantage of you.’
‘How can I forget?’
While Philippa took her sharp eyes and even sharper tongue off to find the Queen, to discover the present situation between Anne and her husband, I organised one of my waiting women for appearance’s sake and, carrying my birdcage, marched the chilly journey to where the King’s brothers were housed in the rambling palace. I met no one, heard nothing but the occasional cheep from under the cover. I stopped outside the door, which opened as I raised my hand to knock, and Thomas Holland strode out, coming to a halt.
‘Elizabeth.’
‘Thomas.’
Neither was pleased to see the other.
‘Not a propitious time for one of your family to be here,’ he said, mildly given the circumstances, with the King fuelled with blood-lust. He eyed the birdcage. ‘At least Henry’s had the sense to make himself scarce.’
‘Is your brother in?’ I asked, ignoring the warning.
‘Yes. I’d come back later if I were you. Or not at all. We’ve enough to worry about without you adding to the mix.’
I stood my ground. There was too much I needed to know, to say.
When Thomas shrugged and marched off, I knocked and, giving no time for the occupant to refuse or procrastinate, entered into a chamber that was stark and tidy, everything in its place. It was the chamber of a soldier used to campaigning, rather than the flamboyance of one of Richard’s courtiers, but I had no time to dissect my quarry’s taste in decoration. John Holland was standing by the window, a cup of ale in his hand. Hearing the latch, he spun round.
‘What in God’s name do you want now?’ Fury was vivid in every line of his face. So strong was it that I had to resist taking a step back. Nor did it dissipate when he recognised me. ‘Go away, Elizabeth.’
I would not. Instead I smiled at my waiting woman as if there were nothing amiss. ‘Leave those. You may wait outside for me.’
A curtsy and the travelling chest was placed on a coffer, next to which I added the cage of singing finches, who instantly fell silent. The sneer on John’s face made me flinch.
‘Don’t tell me. You’re returning them all.’ He strode to the far side of the chamber as if he would put distance between himself and my female stupidity. ‘In God’s name, girl! I’ve no time for trifles.’
‘Is that what they are?’ The answer to my question was vitally important.
‘Of what importance is a handful of silly, worthless fairings compared with Richard’s stupidity and betrayal of Lancaster on one side, and the Duke’s intemperance on the other?’
‘None, of course.’ So that was all they were to him. ‘You followed Richard. Have you sworn your support to him? Have you abandoned service to Lancaster?’
‘I have not. I delivered my brother into the hands of the Queen and wished her well of him. I don’t hold out much hope. Only the Princess has the power to offset de Vere’s present influence over Richard. Do you know what my brother’s done? Only given the town and castle of Queen-borough to de Vere as a symbol of his affection. A royal possession, handed over like a piece of marchpane. And then Richard explodes with fury when Lancaster and others take him to task for poor government. But I don’t expect you to see what’s going on under your nose, any more than those damned birds.’
‘I do see.’ The finches were singing endlessly again in incongruous backdrop to the emotion in the room. My heart might have sunk to the soles of my feet under his crude animadversion on my frivolity, but indeed it leapt a little. ‘Do I understand that you have not withdrawn your allegiance from the Duke?’
He did not hear me, anger roiling through him so that the air all but shimmered. ‘The Duke had every justification in his attack, even if more forthright than usual—which is never good policy with Richard who is congenitally incapable of accepting criticism. De Vere and Mowbray are a bad influence and Richard hasn’t the sense of an earwig to see it. So here’s the King digging a hole at his feet, into which he’ll assuredly fall if he allows his passions to rule his wits. What is he thinking? Antagonising Lancaster. Plotting bloody murder. Has he no sense? God k
eep us from idiot kings. And there’s nothing we can do about it.’
Put so brutally, I realised anew the conflict that threatened to rend my kindred apart. Meanwhile, John drained the cup, looking as if he might toss it against the wall, but placed it carefully on the hearth at his feet. His temper might be up, but he still had it in hand as he took a breath and looked at me. Perhaps the fire in his eye had died a little. He sighed as if he realised the futility of trying to reason with Richard. Or indeed with me.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.
‘I came to see you.’
‘I thought you had rejected me as an ambitious upstart, intent on furthering my career at the expense of the Lancaster connection. Using you as a pawn in my own particularly nasty game, I think you said.’
‘That was before your gifts.’ I ran my finger along the bars of the cage, making the little birds chirrup even louder. ‘I came here to ask you if what I had heard was true. That you had been party to the torture and murder of the friar. Is it true?’
‘Yes. Does it trouble you?’
He was brutally frank. ‘I’m not sure. And my next question; are you a man of crooked loyalties?’
He grimaced. ‘Crooked loyalties?’ Then suddenly he smiled, a curve of his mouth that, unpleasantly, was almost a leer as he leaned his shoulder and elbow against the window surround, blatantly disrespectful of my presence. No, he was not in the best of moods. ‘So you don’t like the thought of a lover with blood on his hands.’
‘You are not my lover. But if you were—what woman would?’
‘Have sense! How can it disturb you to any degree, after what we have seen today, when it’s clear that Richard has no thought for your father’s safety? Of course I was involved. What do you do with a priest who claims to have evidence of so vile a plot at Lancaster’s hands that you know it cannot be true? You discover the source of the slander.’
‘I understand that.’
‘If you are asking if it was my hand that took his life, it was not. If I was cognisant of what went on and gave sanction, yes. It’s not important. Not after today’s episode.’
‘What if there were more evidence?’
‘There was no more.’ The quality of his voice was chilling in its lack of tolerance. ‘Or do you think we closed his mouth for good to stop him pointing an incriminating finger? And if you think that, where would that finger point, Madam Elizabeth? Would it perhaps point at me? Do you suspect me of plotting to rid England of Lancaster’s influence?’
The fury was truly alight again.
‘That’s not what I thought.’
But it had stepped into my mind. It was not impossible. For the guilty to destroy the one witness who claimed knowledge of the evidence, evidence that would drench them all in treason. How many at court would willingly destroy the Duke? But would John Holland put his hand to such a betrayal? It was exactly the dilemma that had kept me vicious company since the rumours began.
‘Would you think that of me?’ he demanded.
‘No.’
‘Thank God for that.’ The leer hardened into cynical, but in an instant he swooped, crossing the room to seize my hands in his before I could stop him. ‘I did it propter amorem ducis, Elizabeth, for love of the Duke. Just as I tried to remonstrate with Richard today. Since Richard is become unreliable and uncontrolled, the Duke needs friends at court. I am honoured to be called one of them. Does that set your mind at rest? Is the lesson in politics over?’
‘I needed to know that you were still a friend of the Duke, not his enemy.’
He released me as if my hands burned, and I realised that, by questioning his loyalties, I had hurt him. How much hurt was there in the palace of Sheen on this day. He prowled the room, much like a wolf before the hounds that would bring it down. Striding to where the chest and birdcage sat, he placed one on the floor and held the other out to me, then delved into the coffer beneath. From it he took a silver collar that glittered in the light as he held it up.
‘Do you recognise this?’
Yes.’ Of course I did. I had probably seen one such every day of my life.
He cast it over his own head so that it lay flat on his shoulders, the joined ‘S’ shapes neatly fitting together with serpentine splendour. A Lancaster livery collar, a symbol of loyalty and maintenance, much prized by those in service to the Duke.
‘This is mine, given to me by your father in recognition of my support in times of war and peace. As well as in gratitude for preserving the life of his son and daughter when the rebels would have shed their blood. I wear it with honour. I will continue to wear it with honour towards you and your family until the day of my death.’
It could not have been stated more succinctly, even though his voice was rough-edged as he came to stand before me.
‘Does that satisfy you?’
‘Yes.’
Lightly I ran my fingers over the gleaming links, but, still in the grip of emotion, he pulled away to stride to the empty hearth.
‘So. To return to your presence here. Are you returning those?’ he asked over his shoulder as he retrieved his cup and refilled it, then emptying it in one long swallow, wiping his mouth with his hand. ‘If so, you’ve done it, so go away and leave me in peace.’
And this time he tossed the empty cup on the hearth where it shattered, shards of the glazed pottery spread wide. It could all end here, all the tantalising dreams demolished. Is that what I wanted? Would that not be the best outcome after all?
Go. Go back to Hertford.
There was not one of my family that would advise me otherwise.
‘I was going to return the gifts,’ I stated carefully, still holding the infuriating birds. ‘I thought it was a complication I did not need in my life. But I need to know.’
‘What do you need to know, apart from whether I murdered the hapless friar?’
‘If you meant what you wrote with the worthless trifles.’
‘Yes. Why else would I write them?’
‘Were they worthless?’ Abandoning the finches, walking forward to stand in front of him again, I looked up into his face. Our eyes were not quite on a level. I had forgotten how tall he was, how effortlessly he could dominate a room, a conversation. But I did not want flippancy. I wanted honesty.
‘Were they worthless to you?’ John Holland looked at me, questioning me, the careless violence now in check, the anger gradually draining, so that I could see the tension in his body relax, the tempestuous passions gone at last. ‘What do you want from me, Elizabeth?
‘I am not entirely sure. But I thought I should put you right on one matter.’ He tilted his chin as I drew from my sleeve a bunch of rue that I tucked into the links of the livery chain. ‘You were wrong to send me rue with no inscription. Rue is not only an expression of regret and goodbye. It is powerful protection.’ I had used my time well amongst the ancient works in my father’s library at Hertford. ‘It claims a healing power against all manner of poison and the evil eye. I think you might need it, as matters stand at court.’
He laughed softly.
‘So you came to put me right, Madam Elizabeth.’
‘I thought I should.’
I was trembling at what I had done, at what I was hoping for.
‘You might not know your own mind, but I know what I want.’ His voice had become as gentle as the soft paw of a kitten. How silver-tongued he could be when he chose. ‘There is no ending, no regret between us. There is only what we choose to make of the future.’
‘I think I am afraid,’ I admitted.
‘What need? Our future is ours for the making.’ My hands were back in his, held firmly. ‘Get an annulment and let us join hands. Enough of wooing. Let me show you our future unwinding before us.’
Drawing me forward he bent his head and touched his lips to mine, a momentary brush of mouth against mouth, when I had expected something of an onslaught.
‘I have discovered a desire in me, a desire far too strong for my own go
od, I expect,’ he said. ‘I would sweep you up, but must remind myself of your inexperience.’
Never had I expected him to offer such a declaration. ‘Do you desire me?’ I asked, startled into so clumsy a question.
He kissed me again, lingeringly this time, invitingly, and I allowed it with warmth spreading down to my feet, until he raised his head, and waited.
‘You have to reply in kind,’ he advised when I remained mute, conscious only of the jolt of pure desire. ‘Have the troubadours taught you nothing?’
I struggled to explain, helplessly. ‘I think that I have … that I have a desire for you too.’
Which made him laugh. ‘Well, that will not move the earth as a declaration. Another kiss perhaps.’ Which he applied with some fervour. And another until all thoughts were driven from my head. Then: ‘What made you change your mind?’
‘I didn’t. I haven’t.’ How foolish such a denial when my lips were warm, my blood a drum-beat in my ears. ‘Even at the last moment, as I stood outside your door, I came to say it must stop.’
‘How you compromise the truth, Countess! I don’t believe you. Why not just kept the fairings without any commitment, or send your serving woman to deliver them and leave them outside my door?’
His smile was like a blessing, the return of his seductive tone a joy to me.
‘I always tell the truth.’ I smiled.
‘Then you are unlike any other woman I know.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you. The finches are a nuisance. I had to return them.’
‘You could have given them to Constanza rather than bring them all the way to Sheen.’ He kissed me again, tempting me to kiss him back, which I did. My education in the arts of love was being extended by the minute.
‘What made you change your mind, my wanton love?’ he asked, placing me a little distance away from him.
