Will held Richard’s gaze. “Aye, you may, your grace. I was steadfast in my loyalty to your late brother and am now to his son, our king. I shall obey you in all things regarding the king’s welfare. As for Mistress Shore, I have arranged for her to leave your brother’s house and live under my protection. She deserves nothing less,” he insisted. “Even though you disapprove of my private life, you will find none so loyal as I. You have my word on it.” He shot a look at Buckingham. “Who says otherwise is a liar.”
“I believe you were loyal to my brother, Hastings,” Richard answered, “but as yet your loyalty to me is unproven. And how do we know who Mistress Shore consorts with when you are not with her? Can you trust a whore?”
“With my life,” Will avowed, angrily. He could not believe Jane a threat to anyone, and Richard’s insinuations were puzzling. He was, of course, unaware that Catesby had informed on Jane’s visit to Westminster Abbey and that he was being watched for any sign of complicity. “What has Mistress Shore done to you that you villify her? She is no schemer like the Woodville woman, and she has never demanded anything of me nor of your brother.” He hoped by mentioning the queen, the discussion might return to the problem of Elizabeth in sanctuary.
Jack Howard’s eyebrows shot up. If Hastings had sent Jane as a go-between with the queen, then why had he brought up Elizabeth now? Perhaps Will was innocent after all, but as Richard was motioning for the meeting to adjourn, Jack decided it was not worth pointing out.
The evening light was failing and candles were lit as Richard’s councilors filed out to make their way home before curfew.
As he exited the courtyard, Will was surprised to see a litter arrive at Crosby Place, and even in the twilight he recognized the insignia of the bishopric of Bath and Wells upon the servants’ livery.
Stillington, he said to himself, at this hour? I wonder what he wants?
Will chose to ride the length of Bishopsgate almost to the river, watching idly as citizens finished their daily tasks, or packed up their wares, or pushed their carts to safety for the night. He wished a carter good night as he skirted round the heavy vehicle laden with firewood that had just crossed over the Thames from the forests of Kent. London Bridge was directly in front of him and was silhouetted dark against an orange sky as the sun set. To his left he could just see the spire of St. Paul’s over the higgledy-piggledy jumble of the city roofs stretching west, and he smiled at the sight. London must surely be the most beautiful city in the world, he thought to himself, before he returned to his dilemma and the odd conversation that night. Turning into Thames Street and clopping slowly along the long winding lane, he decided he would rehouse Jane after the full council meeting on the morrow.
At the same time, clad from head to toe in dark red velvet, a heavy silver cross around his neck the only outward sign of his profession, the small bent figure was helped from the litter at the steps of Crosby Place. He mounted the staircase to the great hall on the second floor of the imposing town house and was immediately led to the duke of Gloucester’s private apartment.
“Come in, my dear bishop,” Richard said, extending his arm to welcome the prelate. “To what do I owe this late visit?” Bowing to the protector, Robert Stillington, bishop of Bath and Wells put out his hand, and Richard dutifully kissed the ruby ring.
The bishop requested a private audience as he eyed the other two men present. He recognized Harry Stafford, duke of Buckingham, but he had not seen the thin, sharp-featured young man next to Buckingham before. “I have an important matter to discuss with you.”
Richard smiled and indicated the carved high-back chair. “I pray you, my lord bishop, sit. You may speak freely here. I have no secrets from my closest advisors, and I do not intend to begin my protectorate with concealments. What brings you?”
Richard thought briefly of sending Lawyer Catesby out; he had not known the man long enough to be assured of his loyalty, but then he decided whatever this old cleric Stillington had to impart could not be of such great importance and would itself be a good test of Catesby’s trustworthiness. Richard had been pleased that the intelligent young man had agreed to serve as legal counsel, although Richard might have been dismayed that Catesby had gone behind Hastings’s back to claim the post. For now Catesby was playing the trustworthy servant on both sides. Encouraged by the protector’s appreciation of news about Jane Shore’s visit to the queen, Catesby had also managed to plant seeds of distrust about Hastings, all in an effort to secure his own seat on Richard’s council.
Had my lord of Gloucester not been so intent on discovering why Mistress Shore might join a conspiracy with the queen and deciphering if and why William Hastings might be involved, he might have questioned why Catesby had declined to sup with the group earlier that evening. The lawyer had no intention of allowing Hastings to see him at Crosby Hall and had returned to the room only after the other councilors’ departure.
Now in the chilly chamber, Stillington was obviously flustered, refusing the chair, and chafing his hands. He drew a deep breath. “After our meeting today regarding the young king’s coronation, I could no longer maintain silence. My conscience will not allow it. This matter concerns the late king, your brother, and one Eleanor Butler, who is also dead.”
Richard slowly set down his cup of wine and stared at the bishop. “Edward and Eleanor Butler. You mean, the former Eleanor Talbot, the Talbot daughter who took the veil?”
Stillington nodded. “The very one, my lord. She is dead long since.”
Richard groused, “Another of Edward’s whores, I presume?”
Buckingham laughed. Stillington nodded again, then continued. “But she was more than that, my lord.” He was aware of every pair of eyes riveted on him as he said clearly, “I witnessed a plight-troth in secret between them one evening at Greenwich in March of ’63.”
“A plight-troth? In ’63?” Richard repeated incredulously as the implication became clear: a plight-troth or precontract was as good as a ring in the eyes of an upstanding gentleman and the law. “Why, that was a year before Edward married Elizabeth Woodville.”
A collective gasp came from the other two men as they registered the information.
“Aye, my lord duke,” Stillington agreed, watching Richard’s face blanch. “I had to pledge an oath of silence to his grace. I have remained true to it until now,” the frightened old priest lied convincingly—Clarence was long dead, he mused. “Thus his grace the king was in an unlawful marriage with the queen all these years, making their children—”
“Bastards!” Richard cried, sitting down heavily on the table edge and tipping over an empty cup. Then he looked accusingly at the bishop. “I hope you are not lying, Stillington, or I will have your head. Your lie would dishonor my brother and his family. You do realize how serious this claim is.”
It was Stillington’s turn to pale. “I swear on this sacred cross,” he asserted, holding it up. “I witnessed the plight-troth and gave them my blessing, God help me. Why would I lie, my lord? What would I gain?”
“Sweet Jesu, what will this mean?” Richard said, his head in his hand. “The crown cannot go to a bastard.”
Buckingham went down on one knee. “It means, cousin, that you are the legitimate heir to Edward and should be king.”
“Preposterous! Get up, I say, get up!” Richard cried. “ ’Tis not the time for that. We need time to reflect on this information. Do not forget I have sworn an oath to my nephew to uphold his kingship. I am protector, nothing more. Up, up!” He raised Buckingham bodily and began to pace the room.
“Who else knows of this, my lord bishop?”
“It is my understanding that Lord Hastings was also in the king’s confidence,” Stillington replied softly, remembering the scene at Edward’s deathbed when he had learned of Hastings’s knowledge. It had been a relief to know he was not the only one harboring the king’s deception, although neither man had spoken of it to the other since Edward’s death.
“Hastings kn
ows?” Buckingham cried. “That two-faced varlet! Why did he not tell us?”
Catesby took a tiny step forward. “Perhaps he is in league with the queen, your grace.” His silky insinuation made Richard look up. “Perhaps he sees his power dwindling among us . . . I mean, your good councilors. Perhaps there is a plot to take the young king from your grace’s protection and use him for Woodville ends. Perhaps that is why Hastings prefers to be with others of the late king’s circle—Morton, Stanley, and Rotherham. Perhaps, I would suggest, that is why Mistress Shore visited the queen in sanctuary. It all points to a conspiracy—if I may be so bold as to suggest.”
A nod of agreement from Buckingham followed this little speech, but still Richard said nothing. It was true that Hastings preferred the company of Edward’s former advisors, but Richard had not considered a conspiracy until Catesby had suggested it. Richard stared at the floor and fiddled with his ring, his mind racing.
Buckingham could not stand the silence. “Hastings’s inaction is tantamount to treason, is it not, Richard? He has threatened the rightful royal line by remaining silent. He has put your brother’s guilty secret before his duty to the Crown. He should be punished.”
Stillington trembled. He had hoped for some reward if Richard of Gloucester should become king. He sidled toward the door and bowed. “If you do not require me further, your grace, I should like to return to my lodging before curfew.”
Richard looked up then. “You will lodge here tonight, my lord bishop. Master Catesby, I pray you take his lordship to my privy chamber and record all the details of the precontract. Leave nothing out.” He waved them away. “I thank you, Bishop Stillington. God give you a good night. I trust you will keep your peace on this,” he said. Stillington nodded, kissing his cross.
As soon as they left, Richard beckoned Buckingham to the table.
“Harry, I pray I can count on your silence.” Seeing Buckingham nod, he continued: “And now, I have no choice. As much as I despise the position my brother has put me in, I must in good conscience do what is right for the realm. Here is what I propose.”
After the meeting, Richard called for his secretary and dictated a letter to the mayor, aldermen, and council of the city of York. He was convinced there was a conspiracy to depose him as protector and even to do away with him. The only people he trusted were his northerners; he saw shadows in every corner of the halls and chambers of these London palaces, and he knew not who was friend or foe.
“Right trusty and well beloved,” he began, remembering a letter he had written not ten days earlier to the council in a far less urgent tone, promising to repay a debt to York on behalf of the young king. For a month he had pondered why the queen refused to leave sanctuary, and now he knew for certain. The queen must have known about the precontract and was conspiring with Edward’s associates to rid themselves of him, his heir in Middleham, Buckingham, and anyone else who might contest the throne. They were planning on crowning a bastard, and Richard would have none of it. But he could not set it right alone; he needed help. He thought carefully and continued.
“As you do love the weal of us, and the weal and safety of your own selves, we heartily pray you to come unto us to London in all the diligence possible after reading this, and with as many men as you can muster to aid and assist us against the queen, her blood adherents and her affinity, which have intended, and daily do intent, to murder and utterly destroy us and our cousin of Buckingham and the old royal blood of this realm . . .”
He paused, wondering if his language was too dramatic, but then he felt his anger rise as he thought of the conspirators meeting in secret, plotting his downfall and death, and he continued,
“. . . and it is openly known by their damnable ways that they are plotting to destroy and disherit you and all other landowners in the north as well as all men of honor.”I
John Kendall looked up as soon as he had caught up with Richard’s tirade. “My lord, you think this conspiracy is aimed at northerners?” he asked, thinking that perhaps his master might be overreacting to what was, as far as John was concerned, only a possibility of a plot.
“Aye, John, I do,” Richard snapped. “As I am Lord of the North and am the largest landowner, all who dwell upon those lands will be subject to the queen’s displeasure. Now please finish in my usual way and let me sign it.”
As Catesby was busy with Stillington, Richard sent for Sir Richard Ratcliffe to hand deliver the message to the mayor of York. Then he went to his own chamber to find Anne. Although he had decided not to tell her yet about the precontract, he needed her love and comfort on this night of betrayals.
Will passed by his own town house on his way from the meeting, the gates lit by torches now that dusk had settled over the city, and squinted up at the second floor. He must speak to Katherine about her extravagant use of candles, he thought, but then he began to anticipate his evening with Jane. He fingered the package in a pouch at his belt and smiled. She would be pleased with his gift, he decided.
Ankarette let him into the solar, curtseyed, and disappeared. Jane was playing her psaltery and stood when he entered. “ ’Tis late, my lord. I thought not to see you tonight, but I am glad you are come.”
Will went to her and held her at arm’s length admiring yet again her willowy figure complemented by full breasts and a face to inspire the poets. “You are just what I need tonight, my dearest girl,” he said, before gently removing her jeweled headcovering and helping her hair tumble around her shoulders. “I would stay the night with you, if you will have me.”
Jane reached up and kissed him, charmed that the man to whom she owed her comfortable position now would ask permission to stay. “With all my heart I will have you, Will. How was your supper with Duke Richard? What was so important that he kept you late?”
Her innocent question sent an unexpected frisson through Will. Aye, what had been on Richard’s mind? The man wanted to rid Will of Jane and claimed it was a matter of loyalty. An experienced politician, Will recognized rhetoric couched in metaphor, and that Richard meant to purify Edward’s court was as clear as a mountain stream, but he could not reconcile Richard’s insufferable self-righteous piety when the duke himself had not eschewed a liaison for several years with a married woman of low birth that had resulted in two bastards. In his experience, Will concluded that when confronted with sudden change and its discomfort, a man often turned to piety and self-discipline in order to cope. Perhaps setting to right Will’s sinful life with Jane Shore might afford Richard a sense of achievement as he struggled to accept his new responsibilities. Whatever the reason for Richard’s dislike of Jane, Will believed it stemmed from what she represented and not from the lady herself. He chose, therefore, to evade Jane’s question.
“Oh, we talked of this and that,” he said, airily, pouring himself some wine. “Certes, his cronies were in attendance, too, so ’twas not a private supper. Nothing but the usual manly talk of horses, politics and . . .”
“Women,” Jane finished, laughing. “Come and join me on the cushions, my lord, and let me remove that jacket. You look spent.”
Will knew he ought to talk to her about moving her to a new house, but he hated to spoil the romantic moment. Instead he drew a gift wrapped in blue velvet from his bag and presented it to her. “I hope you will think of me every time you look on it,” he said, humbly. “I had it created especially for you.”
Jane unwrapped the gift and stared in wonder at the leather-bound book, her name embossed in gold on the cover. “Jane Shore’s Book of Hours,” she read and opened it to the frontispiece.
For those hours when I am not with you. Remember me in your prayers as I always do you, he had written in his bold hand. Jane gentled open the pages and gasped in astonishment at the magnificent illuminations painted among the prayers. “It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she declared, and putting it down carefully on the table, she wrapped her arms about him and thanked him.
For the next hour, they sat
side by side on the cushions, drinking in the sweet smell of lavender, hyssop, and marjoram sprinkled in among the fresh rushes on the tiled floor, and turning the pages of the exquisite book. “Master Caxton recommended the work of his associate Wynken de Worde, and thus the illuminations have that Flemish look,” Will explained. “I thought you would like it more than another jewel. Edward showered you with them, and I wanted to do something different. I am so happy you like it.”
“Like it?” Jane cried, not reminding him of Edward’s book. “It is more beautiful than any jewel I have ever owned, and I am humbled by the gift. I suppose I should reciprocate with a token, should I not?”
Will brazenly reached inside her bodice and touched her breast. “This is all I ask, Jane,” he said huskily. “That you love and pleasure me until the day I am too old to care.”
“Then my token is easily given, my lord,” and she stood, slowly undressing herself for him until her scarlet chemise fell about her feet and she was completely naked.
“Dance for me, Jane,” Will requested, his arousal trapped in his codpiece. “Let me see you move like the sea nymph you are.”
Jane laughed and began swaying sensually to and fro, using her arms above her head as though she were indeed in the sea. She, too, was aroused by the experience and soon her nipples hardened, standing up like tiny pink shells on the satiny skin of her breasts. Will tore off the rest of his clothes and began to sway with her, his hands caressing every undulating curve until he could wait no longer. Picking her up he carried her to the bed and, laying her on the rich coverlet, proceeded to kiss every inch of her compliant body.
“Come to me, Will, my Poseidon,” Jane begged him, smiling seductively. “Tonight I think my need is greater than yours.”