Stifled anger stirred within Cicely, because she knew the queen was speaking of her first husband, not her second.
Bess pressed the queen’s hand to her lips and then to her forehead. Her shoulders shook and she found it hard not to sob aloud.
A little later, Richard reignited the whispers by leading Bess out to dance. It was not anything to him other than a formal dance with his niece. A convention. Not to have done so would have caused more comment than to do it anyway. In due course he would dance with Cicely as well. That was all it was. But the air seemed to stand still as the entire court watched the elegant shimmering Bess dance with her slender, beguiling uncle. Cicely watched, for her sister was ethereal, conducting herself perfectly, carefully avoiding Richard’s eyes, and doing nothing whatsoever that should have warranted comment. But there was comment anyway; how could there not be?
As the dance came to an end, Richard conducted Bess from the floor again, returned her to her mother and then went back to sit with Anne, making it plain that his eldest niece was already forgotten. Bess did not gaze after him as once she would, but sat beside her mother. He had not even spoken to her, either during the dance or after. Before tonight he would have paused a while with her, maybe only for seconds, but nevertheless he would have done it. Now he was reserved.
If it had been an attempt to stem the flow of rumour and innuendo, it failed.
Cicely and John left the great hall in search of seclusion in the crowded palace. They chose a small chamber close to the apartment she shared with Bess. It was where her favourite tapestry had been hung on being brought from the abbey. There was no fireplace, nor even a brazier, and their breath was visible as John brought a torch from the passageway to light the candle on the table in the centre of the room.
Cicely gazed at the tapestry, its colours seeming to move in the undulating light that now filled the little room. Arthur, King of Camelot, riding his white horse down from the distant castle, followed by the Knights of the Round Table.
She smiled at John as he returned from putting the torch back in its place in the passageway. He stood behind her, his arms slipping around her waist. ‘Cicely, there is something we have to talk of. I had not entirely believed all the rumours, but tonight I could tell that Bess really does love my father.’
Cicely lowered her eyes unhappily. ‘But I love him too, John, and so do you.’
‘The difference is that she is in love with him.’
‘She did not do anything tonight,’ Cicely reminded him.
‘He did. He made his indifference to her very clear indeed. He may be fond of her as his brother’s child, but it goes no further.’ He turned her to face him. ‘I would have liked it if you had told me, Cicely. Did you stay silent because you do not trust me? Did you think I would go straight to my father as I did about Ralph Scrope?’
‘No! Oh, no.’ Her fingers enclosed his. ‘I did not want to put you in such a position. All this does harm to his good name, I know that, but she is my sister and no matter what she has done, I cannot stop loving her. I do all I can with her, truly.’
‘You are often with the queen. Does she. . . ?’
‘Know? Yes. And so does he,’ she added unwillingly. Was she betraying Richard? No, not in this, for John was his son. And as loyal as Richard had always been himself.
John stared at her. ‘He knows?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
He continued to gaze at her. ‘You told him?’
She described what had happened. ‘I had to do it, John, because he knew there was something important I was not telling him. Lying to him is impossible for me, because he can always tell. Either way I was damned to be untrue to one of them, and in this he is more important than Bess.’
‘Oh, dear God . . .’ He removed his soft hat and put it on the table to run his hand through his hair. The candle flame shivered, the shadows danced, and his likeness to Richard became more pronounced. ‘A pretty mess, is it not,’ he said, as a statement, not a question.
‘What I have confided should not have been confided, John. I beg you not to say anything.’
He gave her a reproachful look. ‘You do not have to seek my word, Cicely.’
‘I know. Oh, I feel so guilty about everything.’
‘Do not. I know how close to my father you are, and that you would do anything for him. Well, perhaps not anything. At least I trust not.’ John smiled.
She hardly noticed what he had said. ‘He is always alone, John, and I did not want him to be alone in this as well.’
John looked at her. ‘Alone? Are you sure of that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, I do not know. Sometimes I feel . . .’
‘What?’ She looked at him curiously.
‘I feel that there is someone else he thinks of. A woman.’
‘If he has another love, he hides it well.’ So well that Cicely did not believe it was a fact at all.
‘I may be wrong.’ John smiled. ‘I am hardly so much a man of the world that I know everything about such things, least of all where my own father is concerned.’ He pulled her closer. ‘My poor Cicely, how tormented you are, having to listen to everyone’s whines. Now then, enough of my father, your sister, and anyone else who would petition you for advice. We came here to be alone together, and time is being wasted. This Christmas is for us, for our happiness, and nothing shall mar it.’
Chapter Seventeen
Cicely and Bess were in their mother’s apartment, waiting for her to return from a visit to their little sisters at Sheen. Bess was at her embroidery, but Cicely stood at the window, looking out over the chill grey of the Thames. It was February 1485, and she had only just come from the queen’s apartments. Anne was very unwell, and her physicians had sent all her ladies from the apartment, including Cicely, whom Anne wished to have close by most of all. Something was very wrong. The queen needed her.
As she looked at the river, a rich barge was being poled downstream towards the landing. ‘Mother has returned,’ she said, watching as the craft nudged the stone steps and was made fast. The sole passenger, well wrapped against the cold, was helped ashore and then assisted to walk into the palace. Winter did no favours to Dame Grey’s health.
Bess glanced at her sister. ‘You had best join me with your embroidery. We must look dutiful and industrious. She is not of even temper in the cold.’
When Elizabeth entered the warm room, she was so anxious to be close to the fire that she hardly noticed her daughters. Two of her ladies took her cloak away, and after she pulled her gloves from her frozen fingers, she held her hands to the log fire that crackled and flickered so welcomingly in the hearth.
‘The winter is at its most inhospitable,’ she declared, ‘but at least Sheen is comfortable. However, you will be glad, nay happy, to know that your sisters are in sound health.’ She looked at Bess. ‘Or are you still so wrapped up in Richard that you no longer care about your siblings?’
It was a little unkind, and Bess blushed. She had been trying to tread the correct path where her improper love was concerned, and it hurt to be reminded of it. Richard’s rather public rejection at Christmas had left her heartbroken because now she no longer had even the crumbs. He made certain he was never in an awkward situation with her, and if he spoke at all, it was merely to be civil as convention demanded. She had lost what little she had of him, but her love still burned brightly.
Elizabeth’s attention returned to the fire. ‘How long ago did you leave the queen, Cicely?’
‘Two hours, I think. Since all the ladies were told to leave her apartments. I know she is more ill than before, but—’
‘Yes, her condition has worsened considerably this last hour. I have just learned that for fear of contagion, her physicians have now forbidden Richard to go to her. The end is imminent, I fear.’
Cicely leapt to her feet. ‘I must go to her!’
‘No, Cicely. I was accosted by Sir Francis Lovell when I entered the palace.
Richard has commanded that you are not to risk the contagion. It is his command.’ Elizabeth was caustic. ‘It would seem he knows you well enough to anticipate your reaction.’
‘Do you mind?’ Cicely prepared for a confrontation.
‘What point would there be? You are his creature—you are both his creatures—and nothing I say will make any difference. But in this matter of Anne, he is the one who decides, and his decision is that you stay away. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
Elizabeth turned to Bess. ‘The queen’s imminent demise must not encourage you, Bess. If he takes another queen, it will not be you. Bite upon the strap, girl, for one inappropriate squeak at this of all times, and I will strangle you. In person, not by the hand of an agent.’
Ten days passed, and Anne continued to linger near death. John stayed close to his father, and Cicely had seen little of either of them. Looking from the window again, she saw John arrive at the landing stage and ran to intercept him before he went to his father’s apartments. Her feet flew as she ran through the palace to the head of the main staircase, but there she halted, for he was not alone in the hallway below: Sir Francis was there too.
The viscount was agitated, and gesticulated as he addressed John in an urgent whisper that did not reach Cicely. John listened intently, his expression disturbed as he stared at a carved shield boss high on the wall.
They began to approach the foot of the stairs, and Cicely shrank back into an alcove as their conversation became audible.
Francis’s barely suppressed anger was more apparent at this close quarter. ‘I tell you, John, if the king allows these latest rumours to continue, his character and reputation will be gravely sullied, perhaps irreparably. He obstinately refuses to believe the urgency of the situation. The Council’s advice floats unheeded past him. Even William Catesby, his closest adviser, has been unable to move him. I have this past hour been pleading with Richard, but he merely looks at me as if I rant about the price of meat! I know he is distraught about the queen, and that this particular topic is the very last thing he wishes to think of, but he must! I beg you to speak to him, to make him see his folly.’
John’s voice was quieter. ‘I have your meaning, Sir Francis, and will do what I can, but if no one else can bring him to reason, it is unlikely I will.’
‘If you fail, perhaps the Lady Cicely. . . ?’
John halted. ‘No. That would be to ask too much of her.’
‘But he listens to her, we all know that. She is dear to him and he trusts her.’
‘To ask her would be to put her in an impossible position, surely you see that? I love her, Sir Francis, and cannot allow such a thing. My father would not wish it either. If he thought for a moment that she had been sent on such an errand, he would never forgive any of us, including me.’
Francis grunted and shuffled, knowing John was right. ‘I concede the point, John, but there is not a moment to be lost. Go to the king now, do all you can, and maybe the worst of the situation can be averted.’
‘Very well.’
Cicely heard Francis stride away, his sharp steps echoing as he descended the staircase. She peeped out of the alcove, and John sprang back in alarm. ‘Jesu! You risk a great deal by creeping around like this.’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her on the lips. His mouth was still cold from the outside air. Then he drew back to look into her eyes. ‘You have eavesdropped, I take it?’
‘I had no choice. I was coming to meet you. What is it about, John?’
‘There are fresh, more disgusting rumours about my father and your sister. It is now being spread around that he beds her already and fully intends to make her his queen when Anne is dead. It is also said that he is poisoning Anne, to help her into eternity.’
Cicely was horrified. ‘But who would stoop to say such things?’ Lady Stanley, she thought, answering her own question.
John leaned back against the wall. ‘Sir Francis believes he knows where the rumour began, but he can do nothing for lack of proof and lack of belief on the part of my father. It appears that on the day he was finally forbidden to go to the queen, my father was closeted with the Lancastrian Archbishop of York on some matter or other. During the course of their conversation something arose concerning my father’s obligation to remarry, and the question of a suitable bride. I know not the exact content, but the gist was plain and it was too much for my father to bear on that of all days. He was angry and in his rage he cried, “What would you have me do, marry my niece? I think her lineage should suffice for the purpose!” He meant nothing more than a heavy sarcasm, of that you may be sure, but since that day these rumours have been growing and spreading. The coincidence is too great! The archbishop is the source. God’s blood and bones, if I had that conniving prelate here I would slit his sanctimonious gizzard and throw the pickings to the rats!’
Cicely touched his arm, a little frightened by his violence and hatred. ‘It may be that the rumour began elsewhere.’
John snorted. ‘There is little doubt in my mind. The archbishop is known to be thick with the Stanleys, and is thus a friend to Henry Tudor.’ John gave her a quick smile. ‘The irony of it all is that my father will not listen, he chooses to ignore the furore as being less than the dust on the ground. Sweet God, I cannot credit his actions sometimes. No, his inactions. Now I must do as Sir Francis begs, but I do not think I will be listened to any more than anyone else. Not in this.’
‘Should I try?’ she offered, although it was not something she relished.
‘What would you say? Can you imagine how to broach such a subject? You would have to tell him that he is accused of incest.’
She drew back. ‘I know.’ She had told Richard of Bess’s love, but how could she possibly tell him he was now accused of returning it physically? How could anyone tell him that?
‘He needs to be told, Cicely, but not by you. I will do it, although how he will receive it I do not know.’ He took her hand and drew it to his cheek. ‘He is the one who matters in this, not Bess, but her name will have to be drawn into any outcome. You do understand?’
She nodded, for there was no choice. It had all gone too far, and Richard had to do something to stop it.
He kissed her knuckles one by one, and then her lips. ‘Oh, Cicely Plantagenet, if only you know how much I long to lie with you . . . My dreams would surely shock you.’
‘No more than mine would shock you,’ she whispered.
He stepped away. ‘I would tarry here all day but cannot delay the unpleasant task I have undertaken. Every moment counts.’
Accompanied by Bess and Cicely, Dame Elizabeth Grey approached the carved door of the king’s rooms. A page announced them and they were led before Richard.
He stood alone and when the page had gone, the three women waited. His hands were clasped behind his back and from where Cicely stood, she saw how they fidgeted. She noticed his right hand, with the shortened little finger and the ruby on the thumb. Then he gestured towards some chairs, his rings catching the firelight. ‘Ladies, I pray you be seated for I have something of great import to say, something that it grieves me beyond measure to have to raise at all.’ He met Cicely’s eyes, and she knew he was forced to speak of the rumours concerning Bess.
He paused as they took their places, his face serious and more than a little embarrassed. ‘Dame Grey, I must tell you that there have arisen certain contemptible rumours concerning my intentions towards Bess.’ He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and when he continued there was hesitance in his voice. ‘It is being suggested that I mean to marry her as soon as I am able to so do. I will not embarrass you with what else is being said. There is, of course, no truth whatsoever in any of this.’ He looked directly at Bess.
Her face drained of colour and she swayed a little in her chair, but Elizabeth steadied her, gripping her elbow tightly and warningly.
Richard took a deep breath. ‘Dame Grey, I had hoped to be able to ignore this infamy but there
seems to be no glimmer of abatement in the story and so my only course must be to make a public denial of it. Please believe me when I say that I have no wish to involve Bess, but there are some aspects of this tale that must be silenced. If I allow the rumours to continue unquestioned then it may be assumed that there is indeed some truth in the allegation. I do what I am forced to do by unquiet tongues. For her sake as well as my own. Do you understand?’
Elizabeth stood. ‘Your Grace, provided my daughter’s name is not maligned, I will accept whatever decision you make. I, no more than you, wish this calumny to persist. Richard Plantagenet, I would have you know how I despise the perpetrators of such a story, for I know well how it must pain you at this very sad time.’ There was genuine compassion in the words, but then she took a few steps closer, and extended a hand for him to kiss. It was a proud gesture that completely spoiled her expression of sympathy.
If Richard disapproved of her hauteur he gave no intimation, but drew her fingers towards his lips. His hair clung momentarily to her velvet sleeve. Cicely watched it, strand by strand, and how it tried to stay as he released her mother’s hand. She watched his hair. Him.
They took their leave then, Bess distressed and fit to faint as she hurried after her mother. Cicely hesitated before following, as so often she did, unable to leave him without speaking. He had moved to the fireplace, where he stood with his head bowed.
Her heart went out to him again, and she put her hand on his arm.
‘Cicely?’
She gazed into his eyes. ‘I am so sorry for all this, Uncle.’
‘Why? Is it your fault?’ he asked with a glimmer of his old humour.
‘No, but neither is it yours.’
He put his hand to her cheek. ‘Ah, Cicely, my joy and comfort.’
‘If I could take some of your grief away, I would. I cannot bear to think of how you must be feeling.’
His hand fell away. ‘You would not wish to know how I am feeling, Cicely. I pray it is something you will never experience.’ He hesitated, and then kissed her cheek. ‘Go now, before my sorrows are indeed transferred to you.’
Cicely's King Richard Page 17
