The Silver Bride

by Isolde Martyn

  ‘I am afraid so.’ He tugged emphatically at the front and back edges of his doublet and risked a wicked smile. ‘I beg your pardon.’

  These last few weeks she had taken every care not to encourage him lest he think himself seduced. Now she was left with little choice but to be gracious still, as if he had been the only one out of control.

  ‘If word of this should spread …’ Yea, like ripples until it splashed her father.

  His smile was rueful yet wondrously shameful. ‘I know, we are undone. Cheer up! I will wager that the cleric will not gossip. We shall merely be part of next week’s sermon against worldliness and sinful lust.’

  ‘It was lust, wasn’t it?’ It was more a statement, but it should have been a greater question, and Heloise, confused by herself and him, was not sure what answer she wanted.

  ‘Yes, but technically not sinful.’

  Her glance rose, embarrassed, to discover the man she was handbound to studying her face, and still in surprisingly good humour, but it was necessary to be pragmatic. She had imagined her father still at Bramley, but he must be back at their Northamptonshire home.

  ‘My father—’

  ‘—will expect a reckoning. A sale or the merchandise returned unopened.’ His gaze fell admiringly upon her neckline but she was determined on being serious.

  ‘Returned? God forbid! Oh, Heavens, what if he is here to make mischief for you!’ She stared up unhappily at the jut of oaken joist above their heads. ‘H-he will order me to … to be examined.’

  Miles cursed. Her delicate body probed by a midwife’s grimy fingers behind a curtain while some lewd cleric eavesdropped to see if he, Miles Rushden, had used her and, yes, he almost had – until God intervened.

  Anguished eyes beseeched him; fingers twisted, tormented, against her embossed leather belt. ‘I vowed I would never let him bully and beat me ever again.’ Irresistible tears sparkled on iridescent lashes. ‘Could you speak to Buckingham for me, tell him the truth and ask if he will permit me to remain as Ned’s governess? Please.’

  ‘You dream, changeling.’ Miles tucked a wild wisp of hair behind her ear and wondered how long they dared delay. Two housewives passed, twitching their frieze-skirts and glaring as though he and Heloise were ribalds. Was there nowhere they could speak without the world’s condemnation? ‘And I doubt that Harry would give your father audience. He knows about the feud over Bramley.’

  ‘Father may speak to Gloucester though, and my lord duke has already offered to find me another husband,’ she muttered. ‘Sir Richard Huddleston told me so just now.’

  ‘Huddleston! Christ, Heloise, did you confide in him?’ His fingers bit into her shoulders. ‘And, Godsakes, what plaguey concern is it to Gloucester?’

  ‘Because I was in his household, you see.’

  Miles let her go and furiously slapped the wall. ‘Christ Almighty, woman, why on earth did you not tell me this before?’

  She hung her head. ‘It was not your business.’ The euphoria of the churchyard had evaporated. Y Cysgod was back in command of himself.

  ‘Everything about you has become my business. There is only one thing for it,’ he muttered, straightening his hat, his expression resolute. ‘I need to see Gloucester, God willing, before your father does.’

  ‘What will you say?’ She hurried after him, setting an anxious hand upon his sleeve, but he would not tarry.

  ‘I do not know. I am hoping for divine inspiration. Go back to your inn, and bar yourself in your bedchamber lest your father come for you. Plead indisposition or whatever womanly excuse you can until you hear from me.’

  ‘But I should come with you, sir,’ she gasped.

  ‘No. This is better dealt with without any women’s interference.’

  ‘Oh, come, how dare you say so! It is my life and liberty.’

  ‘And mine!’ he muttered. ‘Go to your inn!’

  Heloise, almost tripping, swore. Men were a curse. Damnation to the lot of them! ‘I hope the Devil reserves a row of toasting forks especially for you.’

  ‘I have felt the prongs already, Heloise,’ he tossed back grimly. ‘Trust me.’

  *

  ‘Sir Miles!’ He was almost within a stone’s throw of Gloucester’s inn when Ralph Bannastre, sweaty with exertion, halted him, gasping. ‘Oh, sir, his grace of Buckingham is asking for you.’

  ‘I cannot come now.’ Miles scowled, anxiously scanning the throng of petitioners outside Gloucester’s lodging to see if Sir Dudley was among them. ‘Make some excuse, man, tell him you could not find me. Ralph,’ he set the servant aside, ‘get out of my way!’

  ‘But, sir,’ Ralph hurried after him, ‘he’s in a right pother.’

  ‘So am I! What is so poxy important?’

  ‘Something to do with the prisoner Haute, sir.’

  ‘Oh Christ!’ That brought him up short. Which damned duke should he deal with first? And now, that cursed meddler, Huddleston, was striding purposefully his way with two pikemen in White Boar surcoats at his heels. A pox on it! The last thing he needed was to be rounded up like a missing bull and led into the sale yard.

  ‘Get out of here, Ralph! You could not find me!’ He crossed the street towards the hunting party.

  ‘Sir Miles.’ Gloucester’s velvet-voiced trouble-solver blocked his way.

  ‘Sir Richard,’ he echoed the dry courtesy.

  ‘What a much-sought man you are.’ An embroidered unicorn stitched in silver thread glinted upon Huddleston’s glove as he gestured to the guards to fall in behind Miles. ‘You can guess what this is about.’

  ‘Kissing among the graves?’ Miles retorted flippantly, striding alongside Huddleston. Some score of faces were already gawking. He was not going to march in behind like a traitor brought for questioning. ‘Can we dispense with the pikemen?’

  ‘But they like to feel useful.’ The crowd parted. ‘I heard it was fornication on a grave.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Miles grabbed his pouched shoulder before they reached the doorway. ‘Are you telling me this is about this afternoon?’

  His escort’s smile was cryptic as he languidly pushed aside Miles’s hand. ‘I think it is about a lifetime.’ Letting that sink in, he cleared the way through the cordon of Gloucester’s bodyguards. ‘I would be circumspect, if I were you. Your lady does not lack for friends.’

  Circumspect! Miles could do with two curtain walls and a twelve-foot moat to protect him, for Sir Dudley Ballaster was sitting at the trestle on Gloucester’s right hand, with a tankard at his elbow and a smirk a mile wide.

  ‘Be thankful they are both sitting down.’ Huddleston murmured cryptically and with a soft laugh turned to latch the door.

  ‘Rushden.’ Gloucester leaned back, rubbing jewelled fingers across his chin, his expression sea calm.

  ‘My lord.’ Miles removed his hat, wondering if a two-knee genuflection might be interpreted as guilt. He was beginning to sweat beneath his leather doublet.

  ‘Is this the man, Father?’ Sir John Dokett, the duke’s chaplain, led forward the priest of St Catherine’s.

  ‘Indeed, it is. See, his hose is grass-stained.’ They all stared pointedly at Miles’s calves and Gloucester, sucking in his cheeks, gestured for the witness to be removed.

  ‘You have been busy, Rushden.’ The duke’s fingers found a quill to play with. At his side, Ballaster set a hand upon his belt and leaned back like a man who already owned half England. It was not a pleasing sight; neither was the church-court smile glued to the chaplain’s visage.

  Miles waited. He knew the timings and the twists of interrogations, the deliberate control, the sudden smash of anger.

  ‘I am hearing complaints about you from all sides,’ Gloucester declared. ‘They boil away to one matter. Whether you are betrothed to a Welsh heiress or married to an English one. What do you say?’

  Fixing his attention on Gloucester like a mariner on the Pole star, Miles shook his head. ‘Your grace, until I hear from his Holiness in Rome my hands ar
e tied.’

  The Ballaster fist unwound at the edge of Miles’s vision and its owner perused his fingernails. ‘But other parts of you are not, man.’ Sir Dudley’s crudity was calculated. ‘Same old story, eh, boy?’

  ‘I find myself between Scylla and Charybdis, your grace. My lord of Buckingham—’

  ‘Scylla? Charybdis?’ Ballaster sneered. ‘Forget the learning. Which of ’em do you want?’

  ‘My lord of Buckingham,’ repeated Miles doggedly, ‘has been at pains to negotiate an alliance with Rhys ap Thomas over the last year.’ Good, the brief flicker of Gloucester’s eyelids implied interest, and my Lord Protector needed Harry’s good will at the moment. Harry still had the numbers in Northampton; if he suddenly changed allegiance and let loose the Woodvilles on his terms, Gloucester would be on his knees.

  ‘Upping the stakes, are we?’ Ballaster missed little.

  Gloucester cleared his throat and tossed aside the quill. ‘It is important that we reach a satisfactory solution for all parties, especially Mistress Ballaster. If an annulment is granted, I will undertake to find her a husband who will cherish her particular virtues.’ He knew. Gloucester plaguey well knew about her premonitions.

  ‘May I speak, your grace?’ asked the chaplain. ‘In my humble judgment, this is hardly a civil dispute. Seeing as the alleged marriage took place within the diocese of Bath and Wells, it is a matter for Bishop Stillington and it would be good to have his counsel, but unfortunately his lordship, God keep him, is not in his right mind, so—’

  ‘No, he’s not and I’m not waiting for the slimy Italians to interfere either,’ ground out Ballaster.

  ‘—perhaps we should send to Lampeter for Bishop Langton,’ persisted Dokett, adding swiftly, ‘There is also the question of heresy.’

  ‘Heresy!’ Both of Ballaster’s fists hit the table.

  ‘Or something more sinister,’ the churchman added. ‘I am trying to keep a lid upon this pot.’

  ‘Confound you, Dokett, whose side are you on?’ Aggrieved, Ballaster looked to the duke.

  The churchman had his teeth into the bone: ‘Let me finish, Sir Dudley. Both your daughters are immodest mischief-makers and your eldest—’

  ‘May I say something, your grace,’ demanded Miles, ‘before this digresses into utter ridicule?’ He had a sense that Gloucester was listening with godlike amusement. ‘Yes, sir priest, Heloise is different, but there is much virtue in her. God’s truth, your grace, if I had not been forced at sword point to marry her, I would—’ Words failed him. ‘It is just that …’ he faltered, ‘that there is no enmity between us. We just wish to be severed, that is all. And Heloise is as I first found her, Sir Dudley – unviolated.’

  ‘Ha!’

  ‘Your grace, this matter is but little compared to the troubles confronting the realm. I pray you, adjourn this matter until we hear from Rome.’ Why did Gloucester not answer?

  It was Ballaster who dealt the coup de grâce: ‘I am willing to loan my Lord Protector here a considerable sum if you take my Heloise.’

  You cunning whoreson! So that was it! Coercion of a subtler kind. Because the Woodvilles had stolen the treasury, Gloucester would need coin in hand to keep London licking his toecaps like a friendly cur. No wonder the duke was silent.

  Miles leaned forward, grasping the board. ‘Ballaster, you can offer me Jerusalem and all of Christendom, but I will not be bought.’ Nor his allegiance either! ‘My family have been barons since the time of Edward Longshanks and the blood of de Burgh and de Clare flows in our veins.’

  But Heloise’s father had brought thumbscrews too: ‘I think you are missing the point. Aren’t you a bloody Lancastrian, Rushden? This could be misconstrued.’

  Miles could have hit him. ‘My loyalty is to Buckingham and his to you, your grace,’ he exclaimed to Gloucester but the duke’s head was bowed.

  ‘And do you imagine Buckingham will thank you, Rushden?’ Saliva flew from Ballaster’s lips. ‘My God, he can have a loan as well! God’s Truth, man, do you people want England or don’t you?’

  ‘I …’ Miles took a step back, glancing towards the chaplain for support.

  ‘And another thing,’ Ballaster left the bench and advanced towards him. ‘You want some other man to tup Heloise, eh? Like her, don’t you?’

  ‘I am … betrothed to Myfannwy.’ The humiliation endured at Bramley came flooding back.

  ‘But is it what you really want?’ Loathsome red-veined eyes bored into him.

  ‘I … I am marrying Myfannwy and …’ Miles retreated. Oh God, he did not want to lose Heloise, but he could not stomach her bully of a father. ‘I will not be bought!’ he shouted and shoving Huddleston aside, he wrenched the door open and stormed out to find himself face-to-face with Rhys ap Thomas.

  ‘You bloody liar!’ roared the Welshman. A mighty fist drove at him. Miles ducked and heard the thwack of bone on bone and a sickening echo. Sweet Jesu!

  Turning, he found Duke Richard’s horror reflected his. Between them, slowly sliding down the blooded doorjamb, was Dudley Ballaster.

  Chapter 16

  Would Rushden acknowledge her? Heloise paced impatiently. There had been such a wondrous alchemy at work this morning – desire, yes, but affection too. She wanted this marriage more than anything in her whole life. Oh, a curse on the priest for his intervention! Please, she begged the faeries, please.

  The rattle of armoured heels and rough knocking on the door cruelly jolted her. ‘Mistress Ballaster? Open up! The Lord Protector’s orders.’

  She never expected what awaited her: her father’s corpse beneath the fine scarlet cloak he took such pride in. What use were his riches or his blustering now? And the inn was full of faces floating in and out of her vision like wraiths: Rushden’s pale as ivory and the Welshman, ap Thomas’s, drained and bloodless. Stunned, she had no voice as Sir Richard Huddleston, with a brotherly arm about her, led her past them through a doorway, and his grace of Gloucester came round the table of the inner room and drew her to a settle by the fire.

  ‘You will forgive me if I come to the point,’ he was saying. ‘Heloise?’ His voice was soft with kindness. ‘You must listen, my dear.’

  ‘Your grace.’ Guilty of wishing her sire dead an hour before, she forced herself to pay attention, looking up into Gloucester’s concerned face.

  ‘I have sent a messenger to your stepmother and arranged for you to leave straightway. You should be with your family by nightfall.’

  ‘Your grace, you are very kind,’ she sighed. ‘At least I do not have to take him as far as Bramley.’

  ‘No, there’s that,’ he agreed and turned to the hearth. ‘I deeply regret your father’s death for many reasons, Heloise. He was a good friend to the House of York, and the blow that killed him was … was not intentional. We all of us pray to die in a state of grace in our beds with our families about us, and I am sorry that this was denied him.’ He paused and glanced around at her pensively, twisting the ring on his little finger. ‘You must not be concerned about your future. In short, I have decided that you and your sisters are to become my wards.’ Wondrous news. ‘I see you are pleased. I am glad.’ Clasping his broad furred collar in advocate fashion, he continued, brisker now: ‘As to this business of your marriage, Heloise. I have yet to hear your feelings in this matter.’

  ‘Your grace.’

  ‘I suggest two things, however, lass. Will you hear me?’

  ‘Of c-course,’ she stammered.

  ‘Good.’ He straightened, pleased. ‘Firstly, if your marriage has not been consummated, I suggest you permit me to find you another husband, but before you give me a decision, give yourself time to consider. A month at the least. Is that good sense?’ He waited for her nod. ‘I am glad you think so, because I have to tell you that Sir Miles stated this afternoon that he has every intention of fulfilling his betrothal vow to Rhys ap Thomas’s ward.’

  ‘But he – Jesu!’ Dazedly she stared at him as her dreams disintegrated; the pearl brooch
on his black brim shimmered in an unsubstantial world. ‘If my father had not interfered …’ The words, wrenched out, held no healing, for her heart was bitter.

  ‘Oh, little lass,’ Richard of Gloucester stooped before her and clasped her hands, ‘never say you have grown fond of the fellow. Holy Paul, I can find you a fine Yorkist with a bloodline back to the Conqueror, or a handsome, prosperous London merchant if it pleases you better. In the meantime, I should like you to remain with your family until I send for you. Perhaps when my lady duchess comes south, you may return to us, little cockatrice, hmm?’ He tilted her chin up.

  ‘Yes … if you please, my lord. Thank you for your care.’ He smiled and withdrew his hand. ‘But …’ her voice trembled, ‘it … it is hard when someone whom you believe is a f-friend betrays you.’

  He drew breath to answer and then thought better of it. ‘There is someone who desires to see you before you leave.’ Heloise’s heart leapt, hoping it was Rushden. She deserved that at least but it was Ned who hurtled in.

  ‘My lady.’ Little arms flung themselves about her, pinioning her with butterfly gentleness against the settleback. ‘Please do not leave me.’

  De la Bere stood behind him. ‘I have brought him to say farewell.’

  *

  ‘Sir!’

  Miles, sitting on a bench alone in the inner courtyard of his inn, raised his unhappy head from his hands at the sudden shaking on his shoulder. Seeing Ned at his elbow, impish eyes red-rimmed, he bit back a terse dismissal. Behind the child at a distance, de la Bere coughed and seated himself with his back turned.

  ‘I have just come from saying f-farewell to Lady Haute,’ the boy gulped, swallowing back his tears. ‘M-my lord father says I am to go back to Brecknock without her and I am not to gainsay him, but I’ve not been wicked.’ The small lower lip quivered rebelliously. ‘B-but it has to be my fault. She looked so unhappy and she was crying.’ He searched Miles’s face uncertainly for help.

  ‘It was not your fault, little lord,’ Miles answered wearily, trying to hide his own misery. ‘Lady Haute’s father has just been killed.’ He kindly drew Ned before him and took the little hands in his.