The Sunne in Splendour by Sharon Kay Penman
She nodded slowly.
Pressing her hand to his mouth, he kissed her palm and each fingertip in turn, frowning over the raw unhealed welt that blistered her skin from thumb to wrist. “How did you?…”
“Cooking grease. Richard, where are we to go? To Baynard’s Castle?”
“No. As soon as Véronique told me you were here, I sent word to St Martin’s that a sanctuary house should be made ready for your use. I also gave orders to bring from Baynard’s Castle all you’re most likely to need.”
She smiled, reached up to caress his cheek, touched in no small measure that he’d thus thought to keep her safe from slander.
“It won’t be for long, Anne…. Just until I may truly take you home. Home to Middleham.”
“Home to Middleham,” she echoed. “If you only knew how I did yearn to hear you say that, and how I despaired that it could ever be!”
11
Westminster
November 1471
Richard was observing his brother with amused admiration. Edward had privately confided to him several hours ago that he’d had wine enough the night before to burst a man’s bladder and to benumb even the liveliest tongue. Now his head felt like to split and he doubted his stomach could take anything heavier than air, he confessed, and then grimaced at the thunderous racket that erupted at his feet, where one of his dogs was thumping its tail against the table leg.
Richard could sympathize; he’d suffered through the morning-after doldrums a time or two himself. What did impress him was the fact that none but he was aware of Edward’s discomfort. He’d been watching Edward grant audiences for two hours, composedly communicating only a civil interest in the petitions being brought before him.
At sight of the man being ushered in, Richard’s brows drew together in an involuntary contraction of dislike. He didn’t trust John Morton, not in the least. The Lancastrian priest had been included in the general pardon Edward had proclaimed less than a month ago, and he now made a rather eloquent avowal of the loyalties he’d so newly engrafted onto the House of York. It was a polished performance, and Richard didn’t like Morton any the better for it. He said as much as soon as they were alone, and his brother nodded agreement, before pointing out, “He be no favorite of mine, either, Dickon, but the man has ability. His was probably the best brain of those advising Marguerite d’Anjou, and I see no reason not to avail myself of it. I was giving thought to naming him as Master of the Rolls…. I gather that would not meet with your approval, then?”
“No. Oh, he’s clever enough, I daresay. But I’d as soon have men around me whom I could trust.”
“The art of governing, Dickon, is that of making use of talent wherever you do find it. Trust is too rare an attribute to make it your prime prerequisite for holding office. If I relied only upon those I truly do trust, we’d have a council of empty chairs!”
Allowing the mask to slip then, Edward slumped down in his chair, rubbed his fingers gingerly against his temples. “I haven’t felt like this since we were caught in that bitch of a gale crossing the Channel last March. I can’t complain about getting greensick in the midst of a raging squall, but after a night of pleasure? Another such morning-after as this and I might give some serious thought to the merits of self-denial!”
“I can see you now,” Richard said, and grinned, “praying nightly to St Augustine, ‘Give me chastity and continency, but do not give it yet!’ ”
Edward grinned, too. “I must say your company has improved considerably now that you’re no longer so lovelorn! Speaking of which, how be your lass?”
“Much better; her cough be all but gone. Little wonder she took sick. Anne’s not strong and life was far from easy at that inn.”
“Anne Neville at an Aldgate inn…. Damn me if else, but I can still scarcely credit it.” Edward shook his head in bemusement. “How did the innkeeper and his family react, being told of a sudden that it was Warwick’s Anne who’d been mending their sheets and helping out at the mashing vat? Dumbfounded, I daresay?”
Richard nodded. “First shock and then fear. From what Anne tells me, the Brownells be Lancastrian, and I’d wager they spoke freely before her and Véronique, freely enough to send one or more of them to the Tower on a charge of treason.” Anne would have been distressed by this admission, fearing for the Brownells, but Richard knew his brother better than she, knew Edward might be ruthless when the need arose, but vindictive he was not.
“Well, I’m sure you were able to set their minds at ease, Dickon. And from what I hear, they seem to be doing right well these days. I understand they’ve been contracting with carpenters to put up a new roof come spring, and there be a cistern in the inn kitchen now, not to mention a fine pair of matched greys out in their stables.”
“How do you know that?” Richard demanded, marveling, as always, at his brother’s store of unexpected knowledge.
“I know, too, that a certain church in Aldgate is suddenly the richer by two stained-glass windows,” Edward said, and smiled. “I think it be just as well I’m giving you those manors forfeited by Oxford, Little Brother. If you be set upon acting as the patron saint for all of Aldgate, you’ll be needing the extra income!”
Richard shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “Whatever I’ve done for the Brownells, Ned, is as nothing compared to what they did for me. When I think what might have befallen Anne….”
“I know. But she’s come through it unscathed, thank Christ. What of her feelings for George? Be she very bitter?”
“How could you expect her to be otherwise? Of course she’s bitter!”
“I was not suggesting she did not have cause, Dickon. You need not be so touchy. But it is as I told you; it’s a damnably awkward choice I’m faced with. I have no doubts whatsoever that Anne spoke the truth, that George did have some lunatic abduction scheme in mind. But we have no proof of that. He does deny it all, ad nauseam. And even if there were a chance Isabel would confirm what she told Anne, what then? Do you and Anne want all that brought out into the open? Made public knowledge? Knowing the humiliation that would give Ma Mère and Isabel?
“We might as well face it, Dickon. I cannot very well bring him to trial on a would-be abduction charge. Still less can I merely confine him to the Tower; I’d not do that to Ma Mère. I cannot expect you to forget what did happen. But I would ask this of you, that you make an effort to look upon it as being done and beyond recall.” Unable to resist a sardonic reminder that this was, for them, an ironic reversal of roles, Edward added, “ ‘Not even God can change the past.’ You once said that when you were urging me to forgive George his treason, remember? It still holds true, Dickon.”
Richard was quiet for a time. “I’ve a confession of sorts to make, Ned. When I told you that I’d begun to wonder if George was mad, I’m not sure how serious I was. I think I was groping for answers more than anything else. But I’m more and more inclined to believe it’s true. Rational men do not do the things he has done. And, if so, then he cannot be held to account for his actions.”
“I rather agree with you, Dickon. Any other man would thank God fasting for Anne’s safe return, for I did threaten to send him to the block if any harm came to her. But George…. Damned if he doesn’t see himself as vindicated, claims we do owe him an apology for doubting his word! I tell you, Dickon, he does defy belief!”
Richard looked up at that; his eyes were very dark. “Oh, I believe it,” he said bitterly. “And that is precisely the reason why I don’t want to see him, Ned. I may be able to say to you that he’s not to blame for what he has done, but to come face to face with him…I don’t trust myself enough for that.”
Edward nodded. “The same feeling does come upon me from time to time! You do know he’s adamant in his refusal to consent to your marriage? Claims he has the right of wardship over Anne because of her age and kinship to Isabel. That does cast a shadow on the title of the lands, to say the least! I expect I’ll be able to bring him around if I do lean on him hard enough
“How patient?”
Edward hesitated. “Well, I cannot say for sure,” he said, somewhat evasively, “but I think you’d best not post the banns till after the New Year.”
“I’ve no intention of accommodating George,” Richard said tersely.
“Not George, Dickon…me. I cannot have the two of you at sword’s point. That you’re in the right and he’s in the wrong doesn’t change that. Now you’ve already told me that Anne is very loathe to see George lay claim to her family’s lands. Well, I need time to make George see reason. Ah, damnation, Dickon, that’s not so much to ask. You couldn’t expect to wed right away, in any event, will have to petition the Holy See for a dispensation to wed since you be cousins.” He paused, then added, “Moreover, a delay could serve your interests in yet another way, by giving you time to mend the damage done by Lancaster.”
Richard’s head jerked up. His first impulse was to tell his brother not to meddle where he wasn’t wanted, but the words died on his lips. Embracing Anne that Saturday afternoon in an Aldgate inn bedchamber, he was sure he’d prevailed over the shadows of her past. A fortnight later, he knew it wasn’t so, wasn’t to be that simple. After a thoughtful pause, he said cautiously, “I’ll not deny that Anne has some ugly memories. But why should you think she’s still bothered by them?”
Edward had twisted around in his chair, away from the window; he raised his hand now to shield his eyes against the morning light. “Because she’s not had time to forget. Scars upon the mind do heal far more slowly than those of the body…especially when we speak of women and hurts inflicted in bed.”
Richard had no chance to respond, for it was then that Edward’s daughters burst into the chamber, shepherded by several harried nursemaids. Bess and Mary at once began to squabble over who got to sit in Edward’s lap, while little Cecily clung to the back of his chair and tugged at his arm.
Richard watched with amusement. They were beautiful children, his brother’s little girls, seemed to have emerged untouched from the ordeal of seven months’ sanctuary. Richard knew his mother thought Ned indulged them too much, and he conceded now that neither he nor any of his brothers and sisters would ever have dared to greet their father the way Ned’s daughters were clambering on top of him. But he knew, too, that none of the Duke of York’s children had loved him as these little girls loved Ned.
“Softly, Bess, softly! You must confine yourself to squeals…no shrieks…for my head does ache right fearfully!”
They subsided slightly, giggling. Having lost out to Bess, Mary came over and gave Richard a hug and a wet ill-aimed kiss. In appearance, Mary was the most like her mother, but the pale-green eyes were alight with a warmth he’d never gotten from Elizabeth Woodville. He hugged her back, made room for her beside him in the window seat.
Edward had waved the nurses away. Richard knew he generally found time for his children on even the busiest days. Just as years before, he’d somehow always had time for an admiring little brother.
The memory made Richard smile. Coming to his feet, he helped Cecily up onto the seat beside her sister and then reached over to give Bess’s blonde braids a playful tug. She grinned, showed a gap between her front teeth that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her; her father’s blue eyes laughed into his. He wondered suddenly what his and Anne’s children would look like; both Kathryn and Johnny were dark.
“Are you off, Dickon? St Martin’s, I’ll wager…. At least I always know where to find you these days!”
They both laughed, and Bess was glad. She liked to hear her father laugh, knew that meant he’d not be as likely to send her away with a hasty kiss and talk about being busy. But she found nothing in their conversation to hold her interest and chose now to call their attention back to herself.
“I saw Uncle George outside. I think he wanted to see you, Papa, but when he heard Uncle Dickon was with you, he went away.” She glanced up, saw how swiftly all amusement had fled their faces.
“I don’t like him much,” she said flatly.
She felt her father’s hand move caressingly on her hair. “Why not, sweetheart?”
“Because you don’t, Papa.”
Edward opened his mouth to make the conventional denial. He didn’t, though, said instead, “You be right, Bess. I don’t.”
12
St Martin Legrand London
February 1472
Winter dusk was fast falling. Since midafternoon, snow clouds had been drifting in from the east, now encircled all of Greater London. Glancing up at the patch of sky visible from the bed, Anne frowned; Richard left at dawn the next day for Shene, and it looked as if he’d have foul weather for travel. She leaned over, touched her lips first to his temple pulse and then to the hair slanting across his forehead. The corner of his mouth curved in acknowledgment of her caress, but he didn’t open his eyes. She leaned over still farther, gave him a rather awkward upside-down kiss, the best she could do at the moment, for he had his head pillowed in her lap.
“I should be off, ma belle. Yet another envoy did arrive this week from Brittany and I do have to see him ere I join Ned at Shene. What with war looming so likely between Brittany and France, Duke Francis is becoming more and more importunate in his entreaties for English aid.”
Richard made no move to get up, however, seemed content to lie there and let Anne stroke his hair. She unbuttoned his shirt, slipped her hands inside.
“If you’ll turn over, love, I’ll rub your back,” she coaxed. “You’re so tense; your muscles be tied in knots.”
She concentrated her efforts on his right shoulder, broken and improperly set more than nine years ago in a fall at the quintain. She recalled the mishap very vividly, could still see the way he’d looked as he’d been carried up into the keep, his face grimy with the dust of the tiltyard and contorted with pain. Massaging his shoulders now, she could feel the disparity not visible through his clothes, although she remembered him mentioning once that he had the right shoulder-pauldron on his armor adjusted to accommodate the mended break. It pleased her to have such intimate knowledge of his body; it seemed somehow to make him all the more irrevocably hers.
She brushed his hair aside, found the thin silver chain of his pilgrim cross, and tracked it with soft kisses until he rolled over, drew her down beside him.
“You be so fair to look upon, Anne. I marvel that I should be so lucky, knowing that your face shall be my first sight upon awakening and my last before sleep.”
“Have a care,” she whispered. “When you do say things like that, I am sorely tempted to keep you with me, even knowing it might mean serious affront to the lords of Brittany!”
She’d spoken lightly but truthfully; she was tempted. Her reasons for restraint were no longer as persuasive as they once seemed. Yes, it would be a sin, but she could not make herself believe it was a sin to bring upon them eternal damnation, no matter what the Church did say. After all, she reasoned, surely a sin so widely practiced must be judged less harshly by the Almighty, else most all of mankind were doomed!
Regrettably, she’d not found it as easy to allay her other concern, her fear that Richard might get her with child. It wasn’t so much that she feared branding her child with the stigma of illegitimacy. If it came to that, they could always wed without waiting for the papal dispensation. But her pride cringed at the thought; it appalled her to think of people smirking and counting upon their fingers when the babe was born.
Richard had reluctantly concurred, unwilling to subject her to the scurrilous gossip that had so grieved both Kate and Nan. But his good intentions notwithstanding, there were times when he urged Anne most persuasively to reconsider, and she was more and more inclined to let herself be persuaded.
It was true that she had yet to experience again the intensity of feeling that had assailed her so unexpectedly and overwhelmingly that afternoon in the inn, during those first moments when emotion
She watched Richard now as he sat up, reached across the bed to rescue his doublet from the ravaging jaws of the spaniel puppy he’d given her as her New Year’s gift. But when he pulled it on over his shirt, she sat up abruptly to protest.
“Richard, you aren’t leaving? Oh, not yet, love!”
“Anne, I must.”
Moving to the window, Richard gazed out at the gathering snow. The flakes were drifting down languidly, brushing in midair and settling like powdery-white moths upon the stripped branches and shriveled vines of the barren winter-ravaged landscape below. By the morrow, the roads would be fit for sledding and little else.
He wished Ned hadn’t summoned him to Shene. It would serve for naught; George wasn’t going to see reason unless forced to it. And so far, Ned—He jettisoned the thought, half formed, and pressed his fist against the glass; it was clouded with moisture drawn through the inevitable chinks and cracks that veined the window embrasure. He didn’t trust himself to confront George again. Ever since Richard had seen Anne safely into sanctuary here at St Martin’s, George had taken conspicuous care to keep out of his way. But there’d been an unexpected encounter on Epiphany Eve, and with George’s first defensive sarcasm, Richard’s pent-up rage had broken through, spilling over onto them both in a scalding surge of accusation and invective. What followed was a savage shouting match that came perilously close to violence. Richard unclenched his fist, spread his hand flat against the pane. And it was likely to happen again, all too likely.