But when Richard had mentioned someone would have to interrogate the concubine Jane Shore in the matter of the marquess of Dorset’s treason, Thomas had stepped forward and volunteered. Catesby had sniggered. “Fancy the whore, do you, Lyneham?” he had hissed out of Richard’s earshot. “Well, why should you not help yourself? Everyone else has.”
Thomas grimaced at the insult now as he paced back and forth. He was hoping to dispel the unsettling feelings Jane still evoked in him. Perhaps Catesby was right, perhaps he did desire her. He told himself she was a common whore, but he knew after their first meeting that this was not true. She was well born of a respected and reputable mercer and former alderman. Her mother’s family were also guild members, and one of her brothers was a parish priest. And she was bright and witty; nay, this was no common strumpet.
Coming to a standstill and gazing down at her beauty, he knew she was now at his mercy, and he was uncomfortably aware of his power over her.
His task in this day’s interrogation was to discern whether she had intelligence of the queen’s or Dorset’s plans; he had made up his mind that if Jane gave him any information, he would ask Richard to dismiss the harlotry charge. He just hoped he would not have to resort to torture. The newfangled rack was being touted as the most efficient way to extract confessions from suspects, but Thomas thought his master would balk at torturing a woman, so he prayed it would not come to that.
While she waited, Jane studied Thomas just as frankly. His pacing was methodical, and his choice of plain yet well-cut garments, his immaculately groomed head and hands, and quiet dignity told her he was a modest man with no desire to be noticed except as the king’s loyal servant and competent solicitor. She decided she liked him; she was not exactly afraid, but she was wary. He had her fate in his hands, albeit ultimately to be decided by his sovereign.
“Firstly, did the warden inflict that bruise on your face?” he asked. Seeing assent in her downcast eyes, he clucked his tongue. “I shall take action only when this is over. I would not want him to take revenge.”
“I am grateful, sir,” Jane responded, lifting her head.
“I must ask you,” the lawyer continued, as if it pained him to ask, “if it is true you have been living in sin with Thomas, marquess of Dorset.”
Jane did not flinch. She did not want to lie to this man, and so she answered simply, “I would correct your tense, Master Lyneham. I was living with him, but not since September.” Tom’s face floated into her mind, and she was surprised at the vehemence with which she added under her breath: “And I swear I never shall again.”
Thomas pretended he had not heard, but he was relieved to know Jane might be finished with the marquess. “Has he corresponded with you since you parted? Do you know where he went and with whom?”
Jane looked down at the wooden floor and flushed slightly. Being ignorant of the latest events in the insurgency, she had no idea where Tom was or what he was planning, but she did have one piece of intelligence that might or might not be significant: he had gone to join his uncle, the bishop of Salisbury. Part of her wanted to protect her former lover, but, like a worm eating away at a corpse, the pain he had inflicted still gnawed at her. She looked back up at Lyneham and was astonished to detect compassion in his eyes. Why should he care about her? she wondered.
“Mistress Shore, I understand your reluctance to speak, but I must remind you that you are in the king’s custody, and I would strongly advise you not to lie. This is treasonous business, and you should look to your own well-being now. If you insist on concealing something, I am bound by my position as king’s solicitor to turn you over to someone who will help you remember. Do I make myself clear?”
Jane paled. “You mean torture, Master Lyneham?” Was what little she knew about Tom worth being stretched upon the rack for? She hesitated and then decided she must protect herself now. Reaching into her bodice, she brought out the ragged piece of vellum on which Tom had written his farewell. “This was the last I heard of him, I swear. I found it on the table of our hiding place in Bosse Alley when he left me without a word, and”—she paused, fury choking her—“he stole every penny I had.” Brushing away an angry tear, she handed the paper to the lawyer. “Now you know as much as I do, sir, I swear.”
Scanning the few lines of untidy script, he was relieved and glad, not merely as a lawyer, that she had kept this piece of evidence. “I am grateful for this, madam, for not only does this prove your story, but it should also ease your conscience about betraying the man.”
Jane stared glumly at the floor. “No more than he betrayed me, Master Lyneham. I kept it to protect myself, ’tis all.”
Thomas nodded. “Very astute, if I may say, but you need not have worried, for it seems we know much more than you, mistress. The marquess escaped the king’s army and has fled, like the traitor he is, into exile in Brittany.” He was satisfied from her look of surprise that she was no longer in contact with Grey. He folded the paper carefully, and tucking it into his doublet, he found himself remarking: “If I may say, he was not worthy of you,” and he walked toward the door.
His kind words reluctantly undid Jane’s resolve, and she hid her face in her hands. “You must think me a milksop. I do not often cry in front of strangers. Forgive me . . .”
Dismayed, Thomas was beside her before she could finish, and gentling her hands away from her face, he assured her, “I do not think you are foolish or a milksop, Jane. I think you are a fine woman who has had an unlucky turn upon the wheel of fortune.” He gave her his spotless kerchief to wipe away her tears. Patting the note in his jacket, he told her, “I will see what I can do to mollify the king. He has been merciful to the rebel traitors so far; I think I have influence enough to persuade him to extend that mercy to you. Have no fear; I shall postpone the hearing and do my best so that you may be released soon.”
How could he promise all this? he asked himself. And, more important, why had he promised it? He had never let his heart interfere in his work before. But there was something about Jane Shore that made him want to protect her, and God help him, he thought he might be falling in love with her. Having had no particular opinion of the marquess of Dorset, he now felt like strangling the arrogant young coward.
Jane blew her nose and then looked guiltily at the soiled kerchief and up at its owner. “You will not want it back now,” she said with a watery smile.
“Keep it as a memento, Jane,” Lyneham said, kindly. “I hope it will convince you that not all men are varlets. Now, take heart. I will come again as soon as the king returns to London and I have news for you.”
His gentle manner and promise of help moved Jane to reach out and touch his arm. “I shall not forget you, Master Lyneham, with or without the kerchief.”
He could not help smiling, but then he wondered: was she playing him? He dismissed the unkind thought, admiring how she walked out of the room with quiet dignity and submitted to the waiting warden’s custody without a word. He reminded himself she had probably not even noticed him as a man at all.
But Jane never missed the signs of her evident effect on men. She did not mind climbing the stairs and returning to the cold, dank cell, feeling delivered from the filth and her fear of the place.
Anne sidled up and said: “Odd’s bodkins, Jane, what happened down there? You look like the cat who ate the cream.”
“I know not why, Anne, but I think the king’s solicitor is taken with me.”
Jane’s intuition had not let her down. Thomas gathered up his papers when Jane had left the room, unable to get her out of his mind. Had she bewitched him? He drew in a sharp breath, and for a second he thought about the first charge Richard had laid against the woman: witchery. But he immediately dismissed the notion. There was nothing mystical or secretive about her; she had not even as much as invoked a saint’s name in his presence, let alone any minion of the devil. Her charms were earthbound, rooted in her very human sensuality, her keen intelligence, and her lively sense of hum
or.
But was she purposely drawing him in? Did she hope he would ask her to be his leman when her ordeal in gaol was over? Was that her aim? Nay, he had sensed nothing but candor from her in their two meetings, and he speculated it was what he found so attractive.
As he mounted his horse and prepared to return to Westminster, he had to admit he had therefore been disappointed to learn of her illicit liaison with Dorset, and so soon after her penance. But perhaps, he defended her, she had had no other choice. For nine years she had been kept by one nobleman or another, and had Edward grown tired of her and not died when he had, Jane, like her predecessors, might have been sent away and quietly given another husband, or been wedded to the church. It had often crossed his mind that women were always dependent upon the men in their lives, and he had long ago decided he was glad to have been born a man.
He had learned of Jane’s unusual annulment through the grumpy old cleric at the Court of Arches. Poor Jane! To be saddled with an impotent husband must have been difficult, especially for one whose very being spoke of a passionate nature. She must have wanted to run home to her father’s loving arms, he thought sadly. He then discovered that soon after the divorce from William Shore, King Edward had set his sights on her. From all he had heard about Edward, Thomas imagined Jane would not have been able to resist, and whether by consent or no, Jane would have been foolish to refuse the king. He understood that. More difficult to understand was her immediate yielding to Lord Hastings’s advances, and then to the marquess of Dorset. Where did he fit in? And where had she found the time? He had abused her kindness, Thomas thought angrily.
He brought himself up sharply and tugged a little too roughly on the reins, making his horse toss her head. What was he thinking? Was he really contemplating offering Jane Shore his protection? Did he really want to join the ranks of her lovers? He laughed out loud as he imagined the king’s face when he learned his solicitor was sinning with Jane Shore. What a fool he was. He risked losing everything he had worked for all these years. And besides, what made him think she would agree? But if she did, and if he risked everything, could loving Jane Shore fulfill him more than his work?
If he believed his feisty older sister, Elizabeth, it could. Many years ago, when he had comforted her on the death of her husband, she had taken his arm as they walked by the lake and confided: “I am one of the fortunate women in this hard world. I found true love with my Rob. Happily he was eligible, and Father let me wed him. Trust me, Tommy, there is naught so fulfilling as the reciprocal love of husband and wife. It is that loss I am grieving, and because of my children, I must find a husband to care for us, but I despair of ever knowing true love again. Never wed without love, Tommy, or you will miss the greatest of God’s gifts.”
Thomas had not thought on that conversation in years, yet now it resonated like an oft-recited prayer. He frowned. His heart urged him to woo Jane, but his head deplored the idea. What fools love makes of us, he thought ruefully. Returning to the meeting with Jane of a few minutes before, he recalled her sea green eyes, first sparkling with humor and then with tears, her graceful carriage, and her dainty figure. And he could recall every word she had spoken and describe every gesture. He realized then without equivocation that he desired her. However, in that moment he knew it was as his wife and not as his mistress that he wanted her.
Giving himself a confident nod, he kicked his mare’s flanks and cantered back to Westminster. He had made up his mind. He would wed Jane Shore, if she would have him.
The very next day, Thomas was back at Ludgate, much to the warden’s surprise, and he asked the warden for a chair.
“You need to see Mistress Shore again, master lawyer? She will be honored, I’m sure,” he said snidely, affecting his version of a gentleman’s nasal drawl. “And shall I fetch the whore at once?”
It was all Thomas could do to stop punching the man in his good eye. “Until she is proven one, you will refer to the prisoner as Mistress Shore, do you understand? And you will respect her,” he threatened. “I know of what you are capable. Now go.”
A few minutes later, the sullen warden entered with Jane, who had begged Anne that morning to braid her hair and arrange it on the top of her head. She had forsaken her soiled hood, and having no headcovering made her, even at thirty-one, look like a girl again. The perfection of her head and neck thus revealed left Thomas in no doubt she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen. To cover his open admiration, he bowed over her hand, dismissing the warden with a wave.
“Sit here, Jane, if you please. I am happy to see your cheek is almost healed,” Thomas began, standing behind her chair as if they were at table. Performing little tasks would help calm him, he decided. He had asked for ale and poured her a cup. “You seem surprised to see me so soon.”
Jane had indeed been surprised to be summoned. The lawyer seemed nervous, she noticed, and her stomach lurched. He must have ill tidings for her, she imagined. Sweet Virgin Mary, what was to become of her now? That night she had dreamed of Will, that he had come into the cell and taken her in his arms when all of a sudden his familiar, lined face had dissolved into Master Lyneham’s more youthful one. She had awakened puzzled, but perhaps it had merely presaged his visit this morning and nothing more. Believing the lawyer had bad news, Jane decided to try humor.
“Master Lyneham, it cannot be that you missed your kerchief so greatly.” She hoped he saw amusement and not the wariness in her eyes, but she continued nervously in the same bantering tone, trying to calm herself. “I can assure you, I am keeping it safe. Or did you forget to say something yesterday?” She looked for any sign to verify her intuition, but as he was pacing in his usual measured way, she could not read him. “Am I to be punished, sir?” she finally found the courage to ask, her fear getting the better of her. “I beg of you tell me quickly.”
Thomas stopped and swiveled back to her, and Jane saw only boyish embarrassment.
“I hope you will look on me as your champion, Jane,” Thomas began softly, toying with a ring on his index finger. “And you have guessed correctly. I did forget to say something yesterday.”
Jane stiffened. “Do you have another question? I assure you, I know no more about . . .”
“Nay, I am not here for that, today.”
“No?”
“No.” How was he to come to his point? She might laugh at him or be insulted he was not busy working for her release. He jammed the ring back on his finger and swung round to face the window. Had he lost his mind? Richard would never sanction him wedding the sinful Mistress Shore. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising to meet his ears, and exhaled slowly.
“The reason is more personal.” He saw her stiffen and hurried on. “My work requires me to thoroughly research all of my cases, and thus I know you are now alone, without means of support. I have come to propose a solution, a way out of your dilemma. I was wondering if you would consider—”
“Becoming your mistress?” Jane cried, standing, her eyes blazing and her fists clenched. “Why, you hypocrite! You have led me to believe you and your king are determined to punish me for harlotry, when you have been planning to drag me back into it as soon as I am released. ’Tis monstrous! Aye, I was a concubine, but I have my pride. Do you think I cannot survive without any of you? You are wrong. I can and I will.”
Thomas was horrified. He held up his hand and tried to interject. “Nay, nay, you are mistaken, Jane. Hush, I beg of you,” he said, gently urging her to sit and hear him out. God’s bones, he realized, certes she would think first of that. It was what she had come to expect of life—and of men. Seeing her so distressed doubled his resolve to end her dependence on the kind of man who had selfishly used her until now.
“You are wrong, Mistress Shore. I had no intention of asking you to be my leman. But I do wish to ask you to be my wife.” He was down on one knee, his face shining with his honest, earnest offer of an equality that Jane had never known with a man. “From the first day we met, I have not
stopped thinking of you. I want you to share my life, become my partner, through the good times and the bad, and be together when God calls one of us to his side.”
Jane was speechless. His declaration had taken her breath away, and all she could do was stare at him in disbelief. Why would this upstanding, successful man be willing to wed a fallen woman? How could he be sure of his mind and heart so soon? His proposal was so dizzying, she wondered if she had dreamed it. “Tell me I am dreaming,” she finally stammered.
Thomas took her hand and kissed it. “ ’Tis no dream, Jane. Can you not feel the touch of my lips? In truth, I love you. The strength of my feelings took me by surprise, too,” he said, smiling wryly, “but please believe me, it has been growing in my heart unawares since we met in June. Only yesterday, when I saw you again, did I know it for what it was.”
Jane looked down at the hand holding hers and pondered this remarkable declaration of love. “First let me thank you for your generous proposal, Master Lyneham—”
“Thomas, my name is Thomas,” he interrupted. “Call me Thomas.”
“Thomas,” she echoed. “You must give me time to digest this extraordinary offer. I do believe you mean your words sincerely, but to take me to wife would surely sully your name and reputation. I do not know if I can bear such responsibility. You are too generous. Let me say, I have no doubt you would make a fine husband, but not for the likes of me. Not for the infamous Mistress Shore.”
“You think I have not considered everything, Jane? I have. As for your past reputation, it is simply that—the past—and I am talking about the future. I love you. I want to put the smile back in your eyes, the joy back in your step. I am serious when I say that I was smitten the first time I saw you. I do not understand it, but ’tis true. And me, a confirmed bachelor.” He held her hand in both of his. “I will work every day to prove my love is true, and I dare to hope that you will grow to love me, too, because I will defend and care for you for the rest of this life.”