The Assassin's Wife

by Blakey, Moonyeen

  “Oh aye, she’s got some juicy court gossip.” Lionel winked at the handsome figure in the purple mantle and ornate linen head covering. “And as usual she’s making the most of it.”

  “Elizabeth Lucy’s given the king a son.” A coarse-looking woman offered us this nugget of information. At the same moment, the crowd roared with laughter.

  “I thought you said the king had tired of her.” I threw Lionel a teasing look. The coarse woman sniggered with her neighbour and other bystanders shouted bawdy remarks.

  “Well, I daresay they were very close for a while—” Lionel raised his eyebrows to a rakish angle. “But only last week in the Black Bull they were saying he’d found himself a more pleasing mistress—”

  “Were any names mentioned?”

  “None that we’d know.” Lionel cast me a pertinent glance.

  “Well, I must hurry. I want to drop by St John’s to see if my old priest’s there.”

  But I didn’t find Brother Brian, so I visited the Mercers instead.

  Their cheerful welcome enveloped me like a fine woollen cloak. I felt as if I’d returned home after long absence and lingered as long as I could in the hope of seeing Harry.

  “He’s gone to talk business with a wealthy patron.” Big Hal squinted at me through the heat haze in the bake-house. “He’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

  Twilight fell as I turned into Silver Street. After the noise and bustle of the bakery the place lay strangely silent, the houses crouched like watchful beasts eager for prey. A pale sickle of a moon sailed the sky. Glancing at the upper storey of our dwelling I glimpsed a white, boyish face pressed against the window.

  Joan waited at the kitchen door, plainly ill at ease, twisting the strings of her apron and fiddling with her hair. “You’re very late.”

  “I’m sorry.” I unpacked my purchases clumsily. “Brother Brian’s left St John’s. I went to the bakery.”

  “Lionel said he’d seen you in the Chepe where the Attemore wench was spouting the latest court gossip.” The old anxiety lurked in Joan’s eyes.

  “Maud’s famous for her stories but they need taking with a pinch of salt.”

  “So it’s not true about the king fathering a child by that Lucy woman?”

  “Oh, that’s true enough. She’s been the king’s mistress for some time. The boy’s to be called Arthur like the story-tale hero.”

  “I wonder what my lady’ll say when she hears that? She’s mighty taken with the king herself.” Joan gave me a hard look.

  “It’s no use telling Dame Eleanor anything unsavoury about the king. She’s besotted with his charms.”

  Alison and Jack sniggered but Joan’s frown deepened. “I wish the rogue would grant her petition and have done with visiting. How long can it take to consider a petition anyway? I’ve a bad feeling about all this—”

  Again I wished I could share my own concerns with Joan. The brooding sensation of a gathering storm still troubled me. I’d experienced such premonitions before and my father’s sudden death returned as a reminder. I fretted then over Eleanor’s shared secret, certain her love-sick folly would drag us with her into ignominy.

  “What’s that?” Jack pointed to the large, still-warm pie I set on the trestle.

  “Mistress Mercer sent us it to share. Her pies are famous.”

  The succulent smell of meat pervaded the kitchen. Little Jack and Alison swarmed round the trestle, smiling at one another and licking their lips.

  “No doubt you told her we keep a poor table here.” Joan tapped her feet and eyed the crisp, golden crust with grudging admiration.

  “Not at all. But Mistress Mercer thought to save you time and labour by this gift.”

  Little Jack sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm—It smells heavenly.”

  “Finish your chores or you’ll not have a crumb of it.” Joan placed the pie on a platter as if it were a crown. Then she whisked Alison back to scouring dishes and set to peeling parsnips.

  Taking a bowl from the dresser I began slicing a pile of leeks into it. “Jack— were you upstairs when I came in?”

  Three pairs of eyes goggled at me.

  “Me?” Jack shuddered and pulled a face. “I wouldn’t go up there. Alison says it’s haunted—”

  “That’s enough,” snapped Joan. She turned to me with an anxious frown.

  “I thought I saw a boy at the window,” I said, returning her stare.

  “One boy’s enough in this house.” Joan swerved away to concentrate on the parsnips and an uncomfortable silence flooded the kitchen.

  “Nan, can you help me fetch some water?” Something in Alison’s plain, pock-marked face alerted me. Recognizing this pretext for private speech, I glanced at Joan preoccupied in preparing supper, and put a finger to my lips. Signalling a curious Jack to keep silent, we slipped outside.

  “Did you really see a boy at the window?”

  “I did. And it’s not the first time I’ve seen spectres in this house.” We struggled with the pails. “You know something of its history—”

  Alison shivered. “Joan’s forbidden me to talk about it for fear of frightening Jack but he knows anyway.”

  “You’ve been together a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Since his mother died.” She set down her pail as if she’d made her mind up about something, fumbling with the fraying edge of her threadbare, blue sleeve. “His mother wasn’t from round here. She was a pretty girl—no older than you are now. Mistress Proctor said she’d have to go when she found out about the expected babe. Kezzy—Jack’s mother—said his father was noble-born, but Mistress Proctor always swore he was just some tinker passing through the city. I don’t know. I was only about five or six. My mother persuaded Mistress Proctor to let Kezzy stay till she had her babe. She wasn’t a bad mistress. Anyway, they stayed until Jack was about three and then Kezzy got sick and died. She took the pox. My mother and sister and I took it too. I was the only one who survived.” The girl’s eyes gleamed moist, but the smile that twisted her lips wrenched my heart. “Mistress Proctor said I’d never find a husband with a face like this. Then she turned me and Jack out the house. My aunt promised she’d look after us but she took us to a church one morning and never came back. We’ve stayed together ever since and we’ve worked in lots of places, but this house—” She glanced at the upper storey with a shudder. “Dame Eleanor shouldn’t stay here. There’s no luck in this place—” She stared into my eyes. “You know that.”

  “Will you go with her to Sudeley?” I asked. The girl’s intuition chilled me.

  “If she’ll have us.” She picked up her pail. The weary acceptance in Alison’s shadowed face filled me with an aching pity, but how could I share my secrets with her?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  One mellow April afternoon, the king cantered over to Silver Street accompanied by Lord Herbert and two men-servants. Something furtive and hasty in his manner spoke of danger. With barely a brusque acknowledgement, he stormed past us to Dame Eleanor’s chamber.

  “You’d better take some wine.” Joan looked alarmed by the manner of this sudden intrusion. “That Flemish trollop has gone to Paternoster Row for some book or other my lady wanted. I wonder what’s brought the king here in such a temper?”

  She drove me out of the kitchen and sent Jack to wait on Lord Herbert who lingered outside in the gardens.

  Raised voices issued from my lady’s apartment.

  “You treat me no better than a harlot.” Eleanor’s unaccustomed anger surprised me.

  Though I couldn’t decipher the king’s murmured response, I suspected he was soothing her with his usual practised charm.

  “Welcome! Welcome!” He greeted my hesitant entrance with honeyed laughter, no sign of displeasure spoiling his handsome features.

  Rosy-faced Eleanor, eyes fever-bright, leapt from his side, but the king sprawled on the settle. Indolently, he watched me pour the wine, but beyond this feigned repose, I sensed how he waited, lithe as a cat poise
d to spring.

  When I made to depart he rose swiftly. Seizing my arm, he drew me so close, I noted the golden hairs on his chin the barber had missed, and smelled the scent of wine on his breath. His hazel eyes glinted. I wondered if he was already drunk.

  “Stay a moment.”

  My face burned with embarrassment. Turning to Eleanor with a wide sweep of his saffron-coloured sleeve, he pretended astonishment. “Your waiting woman trembles in awe of me. What dreadful tales have you been telling her, Nell?” He drained a cup of wine at a single draught. “I’m sure she’s some inkling of the reason for my visits. Eh, wench?”

  Eleanor squirmed while the king’s brows knitted together. I wanted to laugh, knowing he liked his play-acting to be applauded. Peevishly, he poured more wine. Swallowing this with a flourish, he retrieved his heavy, miniver-lined cloak from the settle, flinging it round his shoulders like an actor in a pageant.

  “I fear I must bid you farewell.” He performed a courteous bow.

  For the first time, I noted the flinty look, the cruel line of his mouth. Behind the façade of cordiality lurked a dangerous enmity. Something I must remember.

  “But you promised—” Eleanor stammered, bewildered by this sudden change.

  “And will make that promise good.” In two strides he took her in his arms. “Do you doubt me? Before your waiting woman, I swear my pledge of true devotion—I will marry you!”

  Time stopped.

  Pressed against the panelled wall by the door, I tried to steady my quickening heart-beat—

  “No word of this to anyone.” The king thrust his face close to mine, his mouth grim. “This must be a secret. Understand?”

  I fled at once and for a moment I halted in the passageway, stunned by what I’d just witnessed. Had I really heard the king offer Eleanor marriage?

  In a daze I wandered out into the orchard and discovered Lord Herbert.

  “Is the king ready to depart?” Rising from his seat beneath the almond tree, this elegant gentleman brushed dust and insects from his hose with a fastidious hand. I dithered while he called the slumbering attendants.

  “Summon the grooms to bring the horses, girl.” I jumped at this command, flushing under the accusing stare of mingled impatience and exasperation. I ran at once to the stables and found the king already there with Lionel, sharing some jest.

  “No need for ceremony,” he said, laughing at my clumsy curtsey. His lips quirked with amusement. “I’m sure your mistress needs your assistance more than I do.” He stared deep into my eyes. Draping an arm about Lionel’s shoulders, he said, “Let’s take the horses to Lord Herbert, my friend.”

  “Oh Nan!” Eleanor flew at me like a swallow as soon as I returned to her chamber. “Is it true? Did you witness the king promise me marriage?

  “Yes, Madam.” Breathless with running I struggled to speak. “But—”

  A restless excitement bordering on hysteria set her pacing up and down, nervous fingers clasping and unclasping the delicate fabric of her gown. The ecstatic light in her eyes unnerved me.

  “We must keep it secret, Madam,” I reminded her.

  “Oh Nan, I must be dreaming. How could the king choose me above all others?”

  How indeed? What about Lady Lucy and the rest? I knew King Edward possessed no sense of fidelity.

  “Surely, a king must yield to the wishes of his council when it comes to choosing a wife?”

  She stopped suddenly, fixing me with a wide-eyed stare. “But you were witness to our contract. A betrothal’s binding, isn’t it? Fetch Brother Thomas. I must tell him at once.”

  “Brother Thomas? But we’re sworn to secrecy.”

  “There are no secrets before God,” she answered.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  May came in hot and sunny that year. Tensions ran high in Silver Street. All of us watched Eleanor. Giddy as a maid with her first sweetheart, she talked of nothing but the king’s next visit. She dispatched Gerta to purchase costly fabrics, ornaments and jewellery. When she commissioned sewing women to make new, fashionable gowns, I warned Joan about the mounting debts.

  “How will she ever pay for all this?” Joan gestured to the heap of fabrics delivered that morning.

  “She wants me to fetch the shoemaker this afternoon,” I said, fuming at this foolish extravagance.

  Overwrought and skittish, Eleanor ran us all ragged with her errands.

  “It’s like living in a tinder-box,” I said at the end of a frantic week. “What will she do next?”

  “Anything to impress the king.” Joan stared at me, hands on hips, as if she knew my secret.

  “And he delights in making mischief.”

  I thought back to the king’s impassioned promise. Would he stand by it? I knew a betrothal couldn’t be broken but Edward of York flouted rules. Everyone talked of his headstrong nature and the way he charmed his courtiers into doing what he wanted. Even his arrogant cousin, Warwick, couldn’t curb him, although Lionel said he tried hard enough.

  “The young king’s like a wayward horse.” Lionel grinned at us and shrugged his shoulders. “He’s a will that can’t be broken.”

  But would he break his oath? I wondered.

  In the quiet hours before sleep, I slipped outside into the drowsy summer garden. Daylight was fading, but the sultry heat grew heavy on me like a coverlet. Trees loomed soft-edged and indistinct; dainty, spindle-legged flies danced upon the air; doves throbbed and cooed in hidden leafy bowers; a hazy quietude hung over everything like an enchantment.

  “I don’t like what’s happening in this house, Nan.” Joan’s voice startled me. She was sitting so still on the stone steps, I hadn’t noticed her. “It needs no scholar to fathom the secret matters here, but I’m shamed to think our good name will be draggled in the mire.” She sighed, plucking bay leaves from a flourishing shrub in the nearby urn. “Dame Eleanor’s enamoured of the king, that much is certain, and that he’s robbed her of her virtue, I don’t doubt. Oh it’s an old tale oft sung and the chorus of it is tears.”

  “But things won’t go on like this for ever.” I thought her words remarkably apt. “When Dame Eleanor complained of the heat today I suggested we might go to Sudeley so the king could enjoy the hunting there.”

  “I hope she listened to you.”

  I’d expected Joan to show enthusiasm but her plump face remained grave. Her gaze travelled over the garden.

  “This place has such an unquiet air. Alison tells me its history isn’t a happy one, and amongst the neighbours there are some odd tales—but there, I’m beginning to sound like young Jack with his nonsense about ghosts.”

  “Have you ever thought of marriage, Joan?” I was always eager to avoid the subject of restless spirits.

  She laughed. “Who would wed me now? What was considered homely at fourteen is surely past distinction at four and twenty.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that.” I gave her a playful pinch. “A certain gentleman with a talent for telling tall tales is mighty fond of you! I know you’ll wear a wedding band on your finger yet.”

  I thought to amuse her, knowing she harboured soft feelings for Lionel, but her smiles faded.

  “You should be careful of your prophecies.” Her brown eyes grew serious. “There are those who’ve been hanged for less. Maud Attemore tells some strange tales about you. She told Lionel some lass named Philippa had a hand in banishing you from Mercer’s pie-shop.”

  “Philippa?” I adopted a careless manner. “Has she accused me of sorcery? I shared a room with her and disturbed her once with a nightmare. Ever since, she’s been embellishing the tale.”

  “Be careful, Nan.” Joan placed a warning hand upon my arm. “Even a jest about such matters can be dangerous. I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

  A tardy blackbird began to sing.

  “Tell me about Sudeley,” I said to distract her.

  Joan turned her head to search for the late songster among the tracery of the trees. “We we
re happy there,” she began. “And if you speak of sorcery, why then, that place wove its spell upon me, for I never saw anywhere so lovely.”

  * * * * *

  Towards the end of the month the king’s visits ceased quite suddenly.

  “I told you, young Ned’s a lad for the ladies.” Lionel cocked his head and winked, a wide smirk curving his mouth. “He’s probably found a more willing wench than our prim little widow.”

  I wasn’t so sure Eleanor was prim, but the king’s absence certainly troubled her. She grew melancholy, slept poorly and ate so sparingly her slender form grew wasted. Hour after hour she sat idle in the garden, forlorn face pinched, eyes distant, slender hands resting on the pages of an unread book. It drove me to distraction.

  “The king must be busy with affairs of state,” I said, although I knew full well he spent his days hunting. “You should remind him you’re desperate to get away from this gloomy old place.” I leaned over the bench, forcing her to give me her attention. “We could be at Sudeley now. I thought the king had your welfare at heart?”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears but I refused to be diverted. I swung under the lowest branch of the cherry tree, shaking off the heavy blossom in fragrant clouds. “Joan says there’s no better place in the whole countryside and Lionel’s always boasting of the fine entertainments and the charming neighbours. It sounds so exciting I wish I could see it for myself. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all go this summer?” I glanced at her through a lattice of pale blooms. “Why don’t you go to Westminster?” I feigned a teasing tone. “I’m sure the king would be pleased. It must be tedious to be burdened with state business instead of sitting among friends. If you like, I could accompany you?” I added the last part with a wistful look as if expressing a girlish longing to visit such a place, but she merely shook her head and averted her eyes.