"He will not want to do that. If you fling me one of your ropes, could I not come on your ship?"
There was some laughter and consultation at this and then one of the young seamen swung across onto the deck right in front of Margery to instruct her. Alys had appeared at this point bearing Margery's possessions. Her plumpness caused suggestions that the longboat might be better. Finally after being taught how to hold the rope correctly, Margery sprang across. It took the youth a brace of journeys to bring her coffer and possessions on board before he coaxed Alys into following her mistress. Her maid nearly landed in the Channel but bore the guffaws and cheers of the onlookers bravely. Her relief at being once more with folk who spoke the same tongue was reward enough.
It was a relief to see Warwick's proud flagship at anchor with several other large vessels with Flemish names.
"He's pirated all of those, my lord has," explained Will Garland as he grabbed hold of the ladder and steadied the longboat next to the flagship. "By Our Lady, we saw some fine action and I swear I have not enjoyed m'self so much for years. So what's to do, young Margery? We thought you might ha' made off with some young stripling."
"You are near the truth, Master Garland. Jesu, I am thankful you survived, believe me. Those poor wretches at Southampton…"
"Is it Butcher Worcester you're speaking of now? Is it true that the King had every jack of our men hanged?"
"It was worse than that. I—it pains me to speak of it, truly. A game beast… a noble stag is treated with more dignity. They were staked out, pieces of—"
"Margery, enough!"
She knew that voice so well.
She grinned up the ship's side into the freckled face of the Kingmaker. "My lord." It was after all important to sound cheerful.
"On board!" he snapped. He helped her onto the deck himself and watched her spread her salt-sprayed skirts in a deep obeisance at his feet. Snapping his fingers behind his back, he regarded her with a deep frown, but as she glanced up, she recognized in the quirk of his mouth the tangle of irritation and indulgence with which he always confronted her, save when they had brought her to him warm from the King's arms.
There was a harder set about his eyes but he looked leaner and healthier now and judging by the number of stolen ships tethered along the quay, he was enjoying the challenge of adversity.
"If you please, my lord, I can explain my absence without your leave." Most of the seamen had halted in their deck chores and were eyeing her with open appreciation.
He ran a hand through his sandy hair, untidied by the offshore wind. "You always can, child, but I cannot always believe you. Here is neither the time nor the place and yet my curiosity refuses to go unsated. What are you doing here?"
"They told me in Calais that the fishing is good." Her eyes met his intelligently. He drew breath and then thought better of it. "My lord," she repeated meaningfully. He took the hint.
"Garland, find a man to take my ward's maidservant to the village and you, young woman, had best not fill my ears to no purpose. Come!" He strode ahead of her onto the plank that bridged the gap between his ship and the wooden pier. The board shook so with his weight that she waited until he was across. When she had caught up with him, he turned seaward with her, away from the mending of the nets and the boy scraping off the scales of his catch, striding to the end where their only audience was a semicircle of hopeful gulls.
"You had better not be wasting my time," he warned her.
Margery wrapped her cloak about her against the breeze. It seemed necessary to be concise. "My lord, the bones of the matter are that I was abducted by a man called Richard Stone who once served you or leastways I remember seeing him at Warwick. He is now a receiver for the King and sent to take possession of your manors. Anyway, he took me to the King who gave me a letter to bear to you because he thought you were in Calais, and then when I reached Calais, you were not there so Lord Wenlock lent me a ship to bring me here."
The Earl's blue eyes frowned down at her. "Child, it is not the bones of your story that worry me, it is the flesh. You expect me to believe all this? I have never heard of any Richard Stone."
"B-but he certainly exists. He recognized me when we stopped to break our fast. Her grace had just asked me to find out where we were and he sent me a false message asking about my lady the Duchess, which I thought was from his grace of Clarence. Then he took me to your manor at Sutton Gaveston because he had already seized it in the King's name and there he kept me under lock and key until he knew where the King was. The people there, Mistress Agnes Guppy and her family, beg to be remembered to you because they helped me escape and wanted you to know that, but Master Stone caught me again."
"Margery, this so-called abductor of yours, did he abuse you?"
"No, my lord, he made no assault on my person but he was not kind. When I ran away from him in the middle of the night, he roped me and dragged me after his horse until I consented to ride with him. He was most insulting about my virtue and he knew all about my being in a nunnery because of N—the King."
"And where was Ned?" asked the Earl, his tone sharp. "You did say this man took you to him, did you not?"
"Yes, he was leaving Exeter when we arrived but he told Master Stone to follow him to Southampton and there… I saw…" She chewed her lips, hesitating before she blurted out, "I saw what Butcher Worcester did to our men he had captured." She watched the Earl's scowl grow heavier. "I told the King what I thought of him for permitting that. He was not pleased but I could not let the matter rest—"
"By St. Anne, wench!" Warwick cut in, squeezing his eyes tight. He shook his head at her, turning his face away, staring at the ocean. She watched him swallow, as if he could not dredge any words up. It was for his quarrel that his soldiers had died so terribly.
It seemed diplomatic, Margery decided, to display an uncommon interest in the toes of her shoes until her guardian had recovered his composure, but the spectator seagulls distracted her as they drove off a pair of newcomers, with raucous squawks and thrusting heads.
"But he wrote to me, the King, you say. Where is the letter?"
She looked up at the Earl. "I have it safe here."
"Give it me. No, use your wits, girl. Turn your back to the town. The Duke of Burgundy has agents watching me."
Margery moved close and pulled out the letter from the bosom of her gown. "He wished to be reconciled, my lord, and my lord of Gloucester told me to tell you he desires it of all things."
Her guardian made no answer as he checked the seal before stowing the letter swiftly in the purse on his belt. He stared out again across the waves to where England lay, his lips in a tight hard line, before he finally looked back at her. "You make a mighty uncommon messenger."
"Maybe for that reason, my lord, or since the quarrel between you and Ned is partly of my making. Mayhap he thought it would give me a chance to make amends and play the peacemaker." The Earl snorted with disbelief. "Well, no doubt you are right, my lord. Perchance it was merely convenient. Believe me, I do not understand how I was brought into this any more than you do." She lapsed into silence and then asked with her old spirit, "Are you going to invade England, my lord? Is the French King going to allow you to stay here?"
Warwick frowned at her frank questions but he paid her the respect of answering nevertheless. "King Louis would certainly be better pleased if we withdrew to the Channel Islands, but I am loath to put to sea again and be at the mercy of the Burgundians or Lord Howard's ships. Did you see any of them out there?"
"I am certain there is a Burgundian vessel out there now keeping watch but it let us alone."
"That would be the Bruges. I shall send out several of my ships and see if we can take it before the week is out." He examined her face gravely. "So what am I to do with you, child? The ladies have gone for safety at King Louis's expense to the logis royal in Valognes. You shall have to join them there and make your excuses. Whether my lady Countess will believe you remains to be seen. If she does
not, then you may have to beg lodging at a religious house in Cherbourg until I can decide what to do with you."
"My lord, I swear to you I was abducted."
It was like stepping back into that terrible evening at Warwick castle when she had faced the Earl's disbelief. This time she had to make him believe her: being sent back to a nunnery was more than she could stomach. She slid back the cuffs of each hand. "See where they tied the ropes too tight. I have marks on my ankles too."
The Earl swiftly took her wrists, swearing beneath his breath as he ran his thumb across the marks. "Why abduct you, Margery?"
"My lord, I repeat I do not know. Admittedly, Master Stone was concerned when he saw how tight they had bound me although he was extremely rude in other ways, but as to his purpose, he is Ned's servant and I assume he was obeying his orders."
"You are sure it was the King and not young Dickon who stirred this pot? He has an eye to half my lands and young Anne as well." The Kingmaker seemed to have conveniently forgotten his attempt to lure the young duke to rebellion with just such a bait. "Could it have been Anne they were after?"
Margery shook her head. "Master Stone is one of Ned's receivers."
"Aye, so maybe not, but I would never underestimate Dickon. Now if it had been him I had made king instead of the philanderer who seduced you, then the realm might have been better governed and you and I, my girl, would have been home where we belong. But I have better things to do than idle the afternoon away with it's and buts." He put a hand on her shoulder to turn her back to the vessel.
Margery held her ground. "My lord, I do fear that my lady Warwick will not be pleased to believe me. If you could give me a letter to carry to her saying that you wish her to—"
"Margery!" But her pleading face moved him as it always had when she was a tiny scrap of a child. "Aye, you shall have your letter and I shall inquire into this Master Stone, you may be sure. Come, I shall dictate it presently."
Hands clasped behind his back, he began a brisk step, forcing her to gather up her skirts and hurry after him.
"My lord, how fare the Duchess and the baby?"
He halted and swung around, frowning. "By St. Anne, I had forgotten that you do not know."
"Know? Lord Wenlock told me that he would not let her grace on land but surely…" A storehouse of sorrow was in his eyes. "Oh, no, my lord, what passed?"
He began walking again as if movement could stanch the pain. "Stillborn, Margery. It would have been a boy, a future king even."
Margery crossed herself. "I am so very sorry." It was his fault, she decided, inflicting that journey on his poor daughter when she could have been safe in some abbey sanctuary and given birth in peace like any woman deserved. "Her grace is recovering?"
"Slowly, it was a heavy blow to both her and the Duke, to all of us. She would have been glad of your presence. She loves you well. Both my daughters do." He raised his head, his blue eyes glazed, then pulled himself together as they drew level with his ship.
"And the Duke of Clarence, is he here with you?"
"At present he is in Valognes."
This time he offered his hand to assist her up the wooden plank onto the ship. The sea breeze was growing stronger and she needed a hand free to keep her skirts down. The crew watched her efforts with amusement.
The Earl sent a boy to fetch his amanuensis and Margery leaned against the ship's rail, wrapping her veil around her throat before the next gust took her cap from her, relieved that she would have a letter to give the Countess.
The scribe came hurrying with an inkpot, quill, and parchment fastened to a wooden board. He squatted down on a coil of rope and took down his lord's words without even glancing at Margery until it was done, and then he noticed her and stared his fill.
The Kingmaker followed the man's glance, examining her fiercely for a moment before he signed the letter, dismissed everyone within earshot, and strode across to her. "I have a question, Margery, and think carefully before you answer me. Why did you not stay with Ned this time? You are pretty fodder. Did he not tempt you?"
"He is not the man I remember," Margery said softly, glancing down to momentarily hide her face. "Besides"— she slowly raised her eyes honestly to his—"I do not want to be a wealthy whore in some little house in Chelsea, frightened lest the Woodvilles decide not to tolerate me, afraid lest I lose my looks. To be honest, I hate being a woman, having to be all compliance. If I were a man, my lord, I would be earning my bread with my wits, using the mind God gave me. If I were a man, I could be out there with a sword in my hand capturing ships for you instead of trapped here by my sex." She glanced up at the clean, white gulls, mewling above the mast, soaring in the wind, with a sigh.
A twist of compassion curled his lips. "I do believe you mean it." Surprisingly he wrapped an avuncular arm about her shoulders. "More's the pity you are not a man, but since the Almighty has made you a woman, Margery, you must make the best of it. If He has determined you should be a wife and mother, then you must make the best of that too." She peeped sideways at him with a wry smile only to have her blood run cold. He was appraising her body.
"My lord?" She stepped away. His eyes, thankfully devoid of any wickedness, rose pensively to peruse her face. A sense of relief surged through her and her shoulders lost their tenseness. Then another alarming thought frightened her like a warning bell. Heaven forbid that he was going to suggest she climb the ecclesiastical ladder and become an abbess! Then enlightenment came. Jesu, he was behaving just like a guardian and thinking of husbands. Well, that thought had to be nipped off at bud size instantly. A refusal to take matters seriously was definitely necessary.
"My lord, do not wish me on any man if that is what you are planning. He would not thank you for it. Believe me, I am quite happy to serve your daughters. Can I not earn my keep just as your male retainers do? I have done so right willingly in the past."
The Earl flicked her cheek. "So you are now a mind-reader, little witch. Well, deny it all you may, but it's high time you had a household of your own to run. A bunch of keys at your waist is what you need, my dear, to keep you busy and your wits occupied. There will be no time then to wish yourself a pirate. Yes, I shall give it some thought!"
"Not until you have England beneath your heel again, my lord, then I shall accept no less than a newly minted duke."
He threw back his head and laughed. "Margery, my dear, you can have your King back again with a golden halter about his neck or mayhap Master Stone shackled and bound."
"Now that," exclaimed Margery, "would suit me very well!"
CHAPTER 7
Margery was happily restored to the Neville household within two days of hard riding along roads ribboned near the shabby villages by overgenerous hedges. It was raining hard when they reached Valognes. The gray town bestraddled the meeting of the roads from Brittany, the port of Cherbourg and Bayeux. Charred chalk ruins frayed its edge, a reminder of how bitterly the English and French had ravaged Normandy. Sodden peasants eyed them resentfully behind the soaked panniers and dripping stalls of the marketplace as if their small party had brought the foul weather. They found the logis royal to the east, protected by a meager river, with workshops huddling close to its walls. Inside, fires had been lit in the solar and the smoky air stung Margery's eyes bringing tears that would have come anyway as Isabella, pale and bitter from her loss, threw herself into her arms. No longer glowing with the imminent babe, she looked gaunt beside her full-bosomed mother.
If the Countess had any intention of rejecting Margery after reading her lord's letter, she must have put the thought aside for some later occasion. It was probably because the Duchess, after howling over her loss to a new audience, had brightened. Margery had always been able to spur Isabella to laughter and she had done so now, sympathetically listening and then summoning Alys to bring in the puppy she had purchased for her in Calais. Isabella instantly named it "Tristan" and fell in love with the mischievous creature. The Countess, with a loud sigh of resig
nation, withdrew and Margery, her prayers answered, foolishly thought that her problems were all resolved.
It was a time for confidences, for some burdens shared. When the other women joined them, Margery took even more care with the reasons for her absence, knowing that dear Ankarette Twynhoe was absorbing every word like a desiccated sponge.
Later, a hidden scrap of paper in Gloucester's tidy script that de Commynes had failed to discover was hooked from its cunning hiding place and delivered quietly to fifteen-year-old Anne, bringing a bright blush to her milky complexion.
Presenting the Duke of Clarence with his letters was no easy matter. It seemed that Isabella had driven him away with her tears and he spent the next three days out hunting. Besides, it was near impossible to talk to him unobserved, but Margery eventually managed to snatch a few private words with him. It had required a great deal of effort. She had managed to persuade the Countess that Isabella needed music to cheer her. The musicians she eventually sent for from Carentan were more suited to a Norman farmers' Twelfth Night dance than playing for sophisticated noble ladies, but the lusty rhythm had everyone tapping their feet and even the self-conscious Duke could not bear to sit while the others danced.
She liked him the least of the three Yorkist brothers. Whereas charm was a natural spring in Ned, George of Clarence pumped it up in a gush only when it pleased him. Since the day he had first arrived for training in the Earl of Warwick's household, it had been clear to her that here was a child who had already learned how to manipulate people with tantrums and sulks. Now, witty and willful at twenty-one, he always served his own selfish ends. They tolerated each other.
"I hear you have compromised yourself again, Meg. Two weeks unchaperoned with a troop of brigands thieving my manors." He grinned at her, showing the sort of teeth that distinguished Englishmen throughout Christendom. When Ned smiled, the sun shone; when George of Clarence smiled, you noticed his teeth.
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