The Woodville Connection

by K. E. Martin

  “Who are you?” she whispered hoarsely.

  “I have not misled you as to my name,” I told her, “but in most other respects I have. My master is Richard, Duke of Gloucester and my home is Middleham Castle. I have travelled here at the express wish of my lord to uncover the facts pertaining to a grievous murder charge laid against an old acquaintance of his.”

  Understanding dawned in those extraordinary violet eyes.

  “Will,” she breathed slowly. “He sent you to find out about Will’s role in Geoffrey’s death.”

  “To prove his innocence,” I corrected her sharply.

  At this she began to dissemble but I interrupted her.

  “Before you lie to me again,” I hissed with a savageness born of impatience with the whole sorry affair, “remember that your betrothed is likely at this very moment devising new excuses for delaying your nuptials. He may have pledged to wed you but he strikes me as a slippery fellow and now that you have so obligingly rid him of his nephew he may think he need not hold true to his word.

  “I’d say your position here is precarious, nay I’d go even further and suggest your very existence is in jeopardy. Lord Rivers is fond of you, aye, but he will be gone from Plaincourt soon enough and then what good will his fondness avail you? He will be hundreds of leagues away and then all that will stand between you and Sir Stephen’s desire to be rid of you will be his villagers. Are you well-loved by them, Blanche? Will any one of them come to your aid when some misadventure befalls you? When you find yourself drowning in the moat, perchance, or suffering a fall from the staircase?

  “Do not trouble to answer for we both know well enough that there are none here that would risk their skin to save you. I believe it inevitable that in due course you will meet with some feigned accident. Sir Stephen will relay news of your demise to the Earl as another tragic death at Plaincourt Manor. He will suspect the truth, of course, and will be saddened by your fate but he will take no action against Plaincourt because as you yourself have said, the ties that bind them are too strong to be broken. And it is your own actions that have made those bonds unbreakable.

  “Understand this - your only chance of salvation in this world, aye, and mayhap the next also, is to tell me every detail large and small about Geoffrey’s murder. I have guessed a great part of it but I must hear it from your own lips. You must tell me how you came to be recruited as the pitiful boy’s executioner, and by whom; how you managed the dreadful business and how, for the love of Christ, Blanche, you must tell me how you regret with all your heart your wicked, wicked actions.”

  When I had finished speaking Blanche’s hands flew to her mouth and she began to weep. As she did so I could not help but notice that the crude, crested ring she wore looked all the uglier for its proximity to her pretty red lips. Her sobs continued for a few heartbeats but I was untouched by them and made no move to comfort her. After a while, perhaps realising that her tears were to no avail, she managed to compose herself enough to speak the words I had been willing her to utter.

  Chapter 12

  She Would Not Cavil

  “Very well, Francis, I will do as you demand and tell you everything,” she began in a small voice throbbing with contrition. What then unfolded was a story of everyday avarice and mendacity partnered with a cruelty so casual and pitiless as to render it truly monstrous.

  Much of what Blanche told me I had already fathomed but even so there were some details that took me by surprise. She started by saying that her first awareness of Plaincourt Manor had come about when she had been summoned to Jacquetta of Bedford’s bedchamber a month or so before that lady’s death.

  Expecting a private audience with her mistress, she had been astonished to find Lord Rivers sitting at his mother’s bedside, the more so as she had not been aware that he was visiting. This, he had told her, was precisely his intention; he had entered the house in secret in order to discuss with Blanche a very private matter and he wished few to know he was there. At once Blanche suspected that he had come to seek her help in arranging some intimate assignation and she was only a little surprised that he had chosen to involve his mother in the matter.

  She was swiftly disabused of that notion, however, when Jacquetta herself spoke up. Taking Blanche’s hand in her own emaciated grasp, the regal old woman spoke with many ostentatious sighs of her regret that she had never succeeded in finding for her young protégé a wealthy husband who would overlook her material disadvantages. Yet now, finally, she believed she may be able to set right this regrettable state of affairs thanks to her son who had come to her with some welcome tidings. There existed a very handsome and cultured knight who was ready to enter into a betrothal with Blanche on Anthony’s recommendation. He would, moreover, be fully content with the small dowry the Dowager Duchess was willing to bestow on her.

  Though these were words Blanche had long desired to hear, she was no fool and understood full well that there would be a price to pay for this seemingly miraculous reversal of fortune. Sure enough, Lord Rivers then took over from his mother, explaining in meticulous detail what Blanche must do to secure her husband. All the while as he spoke, his cozening words tumbling from his mouth like honeyed wine from a polished carafe, one elegant, finely-boned finger tenderly stroked her face in a circular movement from cheek to chin. Blanche was sure the dreamy repetition of the motion was intended to lull her senses yet every time the thin, tapering finger passed under her chin its gentle caress across her throat felt as threatening as a blade. At least, that is what she told me.

  Careful at first to mention no names, Rivers had told Blanche that the knight in question was already in possession of a modest manor and would inherit a much finer one on the death of his nephew, a sickly boy who clung to life with tiresome tenacity. The lad was feeble and unlikely to survive far into adulthood but his obstinate refusal to die sooner rather than later was occasioning his uncle no little inconvenience. Yet desirous as he was that the boy’s demise should be hastened, the knight scrupled to sully his own hands with the matter. In any case, in order to avoid arousing the suspicion of some interfering relatives, the affair needed to be arranged in such a way that any blame for his nephew’s death fell elsewhere.

  Whether she spoke true about this I cannot say but Blanche alleged to me that she had felt sickened at the cold talk of snuffing out a boy’s life. She claimed she had voiced her disquiet on this score but Lord Rivers had soothed her conscience with smooth words. The poor lad’s suffering was so great, the Earl maintained, that he would undoubtedly regard death as a blessing. I failed to comprehend how these words could be reconciled with his earlier sneer about the boy’s obstinate refusal to die but Blanche allowed herself to be persuaded that the Earl spoke truly.

  Her next question had shown a far greater regard for her own skin than for the fate of the young lad. Understanding that she was being asked to use her skills to end his life, she asked how she herself would avoid falling under suspicion were she to do as they desired. Realising that he had Blanche hooked, Rivers proceeded to divulge the rest of the scheme, at the same time clarifying his own interest in the affair.

  The knight, he told Blanche, was a friend of his who had come to him with an intriguing tale. Some while ago he had hired a grotesque ruffian to serve as his nephew’s body servant, anticipating that the unsavoury character would chase the boy to his grave through fear, careless handling or downright ill treatment, he cared not which. Unluckily, in this the knight’s hopes had been disappointed and he had been on the verge of dismissing the man when a chance recollection stayed his hand. At their first meeting, in his eagerness to convince him of his fitness to tend his nephew, the fellow had boasted of a close association with the King’s beloved brother, Richard of Gloucester. At the time the knight had paid little heed to the story since he was more closely interested in the man’s brutish appearance and manners than in details of his former service. Nevertheless, he now remembered the tale and though it seemed unlikely enough, yet
it struck the knight that the man had spoken true. Wondering if perchance there might be some advantage to be worked from this nugget of information, he had relayed it to his noble friend and awaited his counsel.

  It was no secret that the Woodville kin most heartily detested the King’s youngest brother, largely because of the immense trust reposed in him by Edward. As the King’s lieutenant in the north the young Duke wielded enormous influence, influence which the power-hungry Woodvilles coveted for themselves. In their view, therefore, any lessening of confidence between the brothers could only be to their advantage. Thus they were ever ready to seize on the slightest chance to damage Gloucester in his royal brother’s eyes although until now they had signally failed to make any headway. That was why Rivers had paid close attention when he was brought word of the disreputable old soldier who spoke of a friendship with the young Duke.

  Yet whatever else he was Rivers was a cautious man and so, before committing himself to any action, he set about ascertaining if this character, one Will Yorke, spoke the truth about his association with Gloucester. At first his discreet enquiries at Court yielded nothing for none he spoke to recognised the man’s name. He had all but abandoned the notion when George of Clarence arrived at Court, full of swagger and bristling with barely concealed resentment at Dickon’s favoured position with the King. Though a state of frigid enmity usually existed between Clarence and Rivers, the pragmatic Earl realised that George’s timely arrival presented an opportunity for one final probe.

  Putting aside his usual contempt for the hot-headed Duke, he took pains to greet him warmly and even went so far as to invite him to join him in a cup of malmsey which he knew to be George’s favourite wine. As cup followed cup, he lent a sympathetic ear to Clarence’s increasingly drunken allegations of injustice suffered at the hands of his brothers. By the time several flagons had been drained, Rivers had obtained the information he desired. The man known as Will Yorke could be none other than Will Fielding, a Yorkist soldier Clarence had thought long dead. Far gone in his cups, the Duke had furnished Rivers with the fascinating intelligence that the fellow had saved both his life and Gloucester’s when they were boys. He had never cared greatly for the hulking brute, he said, but his brother Dickon had been much attached to him and their lady mother had sought to reward him until she received the news – false as it now turned out – of the fellow’s death.

  Now Rivers had been able to see how he and his friend could use this information to their mutual benefit. They would have the sickly nephew put to death, making it look as though Gloucester’s disreputable old associate had killed the boy. He would be accused of the murder but then allowed to escape, aided by someone he trusted. It would be the task of this same person to advise Fielding to seek succour from the one influential friend he had, the noble Duke of Gloucester.

  In due course the justices would be advised to search for the fugitive at Middleham. They would apprehend him there and Gloucester would incur the censure of his royal brother for harbouring a man guilty of such a filthy murder. Most likely the incident would be insufficient to sunder entirely the King’s trust in his youngest brother but it would at the very least lead to a disagreement. And when the story was put about, as Rivers would make certain it was, Gloucester’s good name would stand discredited and for the Earl that would be sweet indeed. As for the knight himself, his reward would be the lush manor he would inherit on the death of his nephew.

  To make all this happen, however, Rivers told Blanche that the knight needed a willing accomplice, one clever enough to win the ruffian’s trust and skilful enough to engineer the boy’s death so that suspicion fell in the right place.

  “I am to be that person,” Blanche had stated, “and my prize will be marriage to this knight.”

  The Dowager Duchess had nodded contentedly.

  “I told you she would not cavil,” she told her son. “She has been well schooled, she understands that in life one must grasp whatever opportunities appear.”

  “But can you do it, sweet girl?” Rivers had asked Blanche, and I could easily imagine him searching her violet eyes with his own intense green gaze.

  “When the time comes, will you have the stomach to end the lad’s life? And more to the point, mayhap, will you have the stomach to win the odious body servant’s trust by whatever means possible?”

  Blanche understood what he implied. She had always kept herself pure, she told me, because while she could bring little else to a future husband she could at least bring her virginity. Now that gift was to be taken from her but since it would be taken in pursuit of her most cherished dream, as the Dowager Duchess had predicted, she would not cavil.

  Having assured Rivers that she would gladly do all that was necessary to execute the plan, and sworn a solemn oath to reveal it to no one, Blanche was finally told the identity of her future husband. His name meant nothing to her but her excitement grew as the Earl described in rich detail the wonderful manor of Plaincourt and Sir Stephen’s connection with the inordinately wealthy Lambert family, of whom Blanche had indeed heard. Behind her excitement, however, she claimed to feel a tremor of anxiety for she now knew that there could be no going back. Should she develop a conscious and refuse to carry out her allotted role her life would be extinguished as swiftly and effortlessly as a candle, for though the Earl had always trusted her, in a matter as grave as this he could afford to take no chances. Only when her own hands were tainted with the boy’s blood would he and Plaincourt know they could truly depend on her silence.

  The rest occurred much as Fielding had originally described to my lord of Gloucester and I. Blanche had arrived at Plaincourt and immediately set about winning Will’s trust. She took to visiting Geoffrey’s chamber, bringing him sweetmeats and sitting by his bed for hours at a time, telling him nonsensical stories and singing to him the comical songs of her childhood. Small wonder the affection-starved child lost his heart to her, and small wonder Will Fielding did also.

  She confessed that she had unexpectedly enjoyed spending time with Will and Geoffrey but otherwise her life at Plaincourt Manor had been far grimmer than she had anticipated. While Sir Stephen had treated her with sufficient civility there was no warmth in his manner, yet even this coolness was preferable to the open hostility she received from the manor servants.

  “The clods mistrusted me from the first,” she admitted. “That wretched girl Cuckoo is wont to cross herself every time she sets eyes upon me and the others are little better. When I first set up my remedies in the still room they looked askance and grumbled loudly about unnatural practices. For all that my healing skills are valued by some of the greatest in the land, not a one of those superstitious dolts would suffer me to physic them when they fell sick. And when Flood cut his hand on his great gutting knife the ingrate dared to spit at me when I ventured to bind the wound.

  “I know not why but they have always found fault with my presence here. He would not dare it now but before my betrothal to Stephen was made public, that tedious fool Rolf ranted that there was no rightful place for an unwed girl such as me about the manor. He refused to listen when I said I was skilled in healing and had come simply to help in the care of the young master. I was snarled at whenever I ventured into the kitchen, why even the washerwoman looked at me as if I was dirt beneath her lumpen great feet. Fanciful as it sounds, oft-times it struck me that they could look into my heart and see the true reason I was at Plaincourt.

  “With such hatred all about me, I took to spending more and more time with Geoffrey and Will and soon I knew that both loved me right well. Alas for me, I found that I had not after all been sufficiently well schooled by the Woodvilles for I returned Geoffrey’s affection in full measure. At first sight he was an unpromising scrap but the better I grew to know him, the easier I found it to love him. He was often fractious but with good cause, for he suffered greatly with a disease of the lungs which I believe was also responsible for his crippled state. He could not walk, nor stand unassisted,
but he had such a capacity for joy which amply rewarded all the care Will and I lavished on him.

  “As for Will, aye, his ruined face was repulsive to look upon but I liked him for the love he showed Geoffrey. The sad truth is that I could have been happy at Plaincourt had circumstances been different.”

  She stopped abruptly, startled into silence by a sound that seemed to issue from just outside the still room. Placing a warning finger to my lips, I flung open the door and glanced about the passageway. The only creature to be seen was a fat pigeon which had stunned itself by colliding with the closed door as it flew in from the courtyard. Now it stood stock still, alive yet seemingly unable to move. I had seen this before and knew the bird’s movement would be restored soon enough if it was allowed some respite. I also knew that if Jem Flood were to happen upon it in this state it would likely end up in a pie. I have no great affection for pigeons but Flood I liked even less so I picked the creature up and brought it inside the still room that it might recover in safety.

  With the door closed firmly once more, Blanche continued with her confession. When she had been at Plaincourt some seven months Stephen came to her and said it was time she fulfilled her promise to end the boy’s life. Since she had been so successful in winning Fielding’s trust, he said, they could progress with the next stage of their plan. She was to use her special talents to ensure Geoffrey was dead before Christmas and in return their marriage would take place in the new year. To strengthen her resolve he went with her to St. Oswald’s church and swore before the altar his intention to make her Lady of Plaincourt.

  As she reached this part of her tale Blanche began to weep once more. It was only now, she insisted through her tears, that she had fully comprehended the awful reality of what she had agreed to do. She acknowledged that her conscience might not have troubled her overmuch had she not learned to care so much for the boy but since she had, she now found it impossible to contemplate making away with him.