Cicely's Sovereign Secret

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  ‘Why is the king at Esher?’ she asked without preamble.

  Cicely was startled, having imagined Margaret would be going there too. ‘You do not know?’

  ‘I would hardly ask if I did.’

  ‘You ask in vain, my lady, for he has not told me. Nor does the queen know.’

  Margaret was confounded. ‘Not a word? From Henry or Jon?’

  ‘The king did say he would send for me when he was there, which he has. I am to leave in the morning. Jon is already with him.’

  ‘Do you know anything of Knole instead?’

  ‘Only what I am sure you already know.’ Cicely repeated what she had said to Bess.

  Now Margaret was utterly frustrated. ‘I was convinced I could wheedle something out of you!’ she said frankly, but then smiled. ‘Clearly there are things my son does not whisper in your ear.’

  ‘A great many things, Lady Margaret.’ Cicely found herself returning the smile, for there were times—as with Henry—when Margaret could be winning.

  The other studied her closely. ‘But he tells you of himself, does he not? He tells you things he would never dream of telling me.’

  ‘I am sure he tells me things you would not wish to know, Lady Margaret.’

  ‘True. Oh, if only you had been the eldest, he would be so changed.’ The thin lips pursed thoughtfully. ‘There are two important men in my life, my son and my brother, and they both love you.’

  ‘Is the Earl of Derby not important to you?’ God rot all the Stanleys!

  Margaret glanced at her. ‘The only one of my four husbands I have ever loved and really wanted was Edmund Tudor, as I think I have said before. It is as true now as the day I took my vows with him when I was only twelve. No one will ever replace him. I think you understand my feelings only too well, my dear. He did not hurt me, and was never unkind. It was wrong to consummate the marriage when I was so small, but he had what he believed to be a pressing reason—involving my inheritance, of course—yet he did it in such a way that … Well, I felt he loved and cherished me.’

  Cicely did not quite believe Edmund Tudor to have been the noble-hearted prince that Margaret thought. An under-sized twelve-year-old bride should not, under any circumstances, have been bedded. His only redeeming quality had been his kindness and consideration as he did the deed.

  ‘Richard will always be impossible to supplant in your heart,’ Margaret observed. ‘And now you have lost Jack de la Pole as well. Oh, yes, Henry has told me that much. A terrible quandary for you, I think.’ Henry’s mother was not entirely without sympathy. ‘My dear, if the Earl of Lincoln had remained true to my son, he would still be alive. Instead, he was intent upon usurpation. It was such a waste of an accomplished young nobleman, who was, I admit, an adornment to the House of York, which has never lacked charming leaders.’

  There is only one usurper, Cicely thought, and that is Henry.

  Margaret touched her sleeve. ‘Pray for Lincoln in private, my dear. What you may think of me, I do not know, but I have become fond of you.’

  Cicely had to smile. ‘I am not a fool, Lady Margaret; you feel this way now because both the king and my husband are content to love me, but if either or both of them should cast me off, you will shun me again.’

  ‘I wish to put old tensions aside and regard each other as friends.’ Margaret smiled, and then changed the subject. ‘Is your younger sister to be at court now?’

  ‘I think she is being gradually introduced, my lady.’ Why was Margaret interested in Annie?

  ‘I saw her an hour or so since. She is a forward minx.’

  ‘Forward minx? What on earth has she done?’

  ‘She flirts unconscionably with young Howard, whom she expects to marry, of course, but she also flirts with that feculent little anus, Edmund de la Pole.’

  Cicely’s eyes widened to hear such words on such lips, and she was hugely dismayed to hear Annie linked to Edmund.

  ‘And on top of that, Mistress Ann—like a she-kitten on heat—now also noses around that odiously disdainful Breton newcomer, who has appeared suddenly at court and is to be whisked away to Esher to be in Henry’s entourage. No one knows anything about him, but there is something in his demeanour that I neither like nor want.’

  He is probably your grandson, Cicely thought, unsettled by Annie’s activities.

  ‘Even worse,’ Margaret went on, ‘I saw your sister lying in wait for the king when he was walking in the garden, dictating to that Maître Fryon fellow.’

  Cicely’s heart sank finally to the bottom.

  ‘It was just before he departed for Esher. She stepped in front of him, and was bold enough to make her presence known. Most reprehensible. She was all smiles and prettiness as she floated to her knees, like a slowly drifting apple blossom, her skirts billowing softly. What a fascinating little enchantress she was being as she pressed his hand to her forehead, before turning his palm uppermost and kissing that too. Lingeringly! It was an appalling display of wanton disregard for propriety.’

  Cicely was speechless. Annie had gone that far? Surely she did not imagine she could charm Henry as she did a boy like Thomas Howard?

  ‘I hope you and the queen will deal with her privately,’ Margaret continued. ‘Young girls of that age, no matter how highborn, are not to seek the king’s attention, for whatever reason. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I will attend to it.’

  ‘Waylaying the king indeed. I cannot imagine what she was thinking.’ Margaret almost bristled with indignation, but then became a little anxious. ‘I know what was said of Henry’s father, and I do not wish there to be whispers of Henry too. I trust you understand my fear?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘The young strumpet must reform, or so help me I will have her beaten!’

  But there was to be no opportunity to lecture Annie, or for her to be dealt with suitably, because another misdemeanour involving the deliberate ruining of another young lady’s blue satin gown had already resulted in her being despatched back to Sheen.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was about twenty miles overland from Pasmer’s Place to the late Bishop Waynflete’s palace at Esher, but the snow made rivers the best means of transport. The Thames was swollen, but not yet in flood, as it would be when the snow melted. Unfortunately, the meandering course doubled the length of the journey, which ended with five miles along the tributary River Mole to the stairs of the now-royal waterside palace.

  Sunlight flashed on the wavelets as the small gilded barge conveyed Cicely upstream out of London, the crew pulling rhythmically on the oars. She and Mary were alone on the sheltered seat, which was canopied with rich hangings. Their legs were warmed by several high-quality furs, and as Cicely ran her fingertips over them, she wondered if by any chance they had been supplied by John Pasmer. Why not? He certainly dealt in such superb furs and fells.

  Her thoughts turned to Jack again. Why was there no word from him?

  Mary sensed her anxiety, and knew its cause. ‘Lord Lincoln is well, my lady. I am sure of it.’

  ‘Just as I have him back … he seems to have gone again.’

  ‘You will hear. Soon.’ The maid smiled. ‘After all, I have to dress his shoulder, do I not? He will be careful of any infection, and will follow my instructions exactly. Men will either flout all such things, in the mistaken belief that they are strong enough to rise above such petty problems; or they are very careful. Lord Lincoln will be careful.’

  ‘Yes. Oh, yes. I know. I am worrying unnecessarily, but he means so much to me.’

  ‘As you do to him, my lady.’

  ‘Your man will come, Mary. Your “periwinkle”.’

  ‘I pray so, my lady, for I grow impatient.’

  The short winter afternoon was fading when the red-brick towers of the palace appeared ahead, including those of the impressive four-storey gatehouse built by the late bishop. Because of the River Mole and the confluence with the Thames, there had been a residence on the site
for hundreds of years. The water flowed right past a separate kitchen block and a large dovecote, before the barge reached the crowded main steps, where torches burned and servants in royal livery hurried to receive it. There were other barges, as well as numerous small skiffs and similar craft, because Henry’s royal business continued as normal.

  The gilded vessel bumped gently to the stairs, and a wide gangplank was put in place so that Cicely and her maid could be assisted ashore with ease. Torches fluttered and smoked, and there were courtiers mingling with boatmen and visitors of various stations. She heard trumpets from inside the palace, announcing Henry’s arrival at some gathering.

  Someone had sent word to Jon the moment her barge came into view, and he descended the steps to greet her. Smiling, she went quickly into his arms, her hood falling back as she raised her lips for a kiss, which he was more than happy to grant.

  ‘I have missed you, my lady,’ he said.

  She drew back to look at him. ‘And I you, my lord.’

  ‘Before you say anything else, I fear we have separate apartments, but I need no directions for finding my way into my wife’s bed.’ He kept his arm around her shoulder as he ushered the two women towards the tall brick gatehouse with its stone-dressed windows and entrance.

  When he spoke next, it was for only Cicely to hear. ‘Roland is here, as you probably know. The squires and equerries arrived not long after dawn. It seems that from now on Roland is to be addressed in the French fashion, as Roland de Vielleville. The surnames mean the same, I am told. He is seen openly and is Henry’s equerry, although prefers to be called an écuyer. He is no more pleasant than before. Henry has not paid him any particular attention, but a few discreet enquiries have elicited that no one yet knows why the boy is in the king’s household. He is addressed as Master Roland, and is acknowledged as a Breton noble with the right to bear arms. It would seem that Thomas Howard has been singled out to be his companion. What Howard thinks of the situation I do not know, although from what you have written to me of sweet little Annie, he is probably relieved to be away from her. Even the company of a supercilious Breton cuckoo must be preferable.’

  ‘Is … is Edmund de la Pole here too?’

  ‘No.’ Jon looked at her. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because Lady Margaret tells me that Annie is not only interested in Thomas, but in Roland and Edmund as well.’

  ‘Good God. She has her father’s appetites?’

  ‘Or her sister Cicely’s.’ Cicely smiled.

  ‘But not your natural discretion and common sense.’

  ‘Maybe. I will be interested to see Roland du—I mean, de Vielleville—for myself.’ She paused a moment, the reflection of a wall torch in her eyes. ‘Is he Henry’s by-blow? For certain?’

  ‘My nephew reveals nothing. He is a mask, as lacking in fatherly display as he is in husbandly warmth.’

  ‘That is not an answer to my question.’

  ‘I realize that.’ Jon began to guide his female charges on towards the wide, open courtyard beyond. Directly opposite were many buildings, including the superior apartments and the illuminated great hall, from where light and music issued into the fading day. Henry would be there, Cicely thought.

  Then Jon glanced around as the voices of two new arrivals approached from the river behind. He recognized one. ‘Greetings, Master Pasmer!’

  Cicely turned, surprised. Why would the skinner be here?

  The rotund, middle-aged merchant, clad in a mustard-coloured cloak, bowed low. ‘Greetings, my lord! How fortuitous.’ And to Cicely. ‘My lady.’

  ‘Sir.’ She wondered how much he knew about her from Tal, and maybe even Jack. Too much, she feared.

  The second man brushed past her awkwardly, muttering an apology. He was muffled against the cold, a tall, well-built, older man, she thought. But then she was sure she detected cinnamon. Tal? A pang of alarm cut through her. She had told him Henry would be at Esher! Had he come here intent upon something idiotic? For a few moments she could not collect her thoughts.

  Jon had not noticed, and addressed the skinner again. ‘You look well, sir. Being a member of the Calais Staple appears to suit you.’

  ‘Oh, indeed it does, my lord. I now have so many more contacts than before.’

  ‘I trust you have the furs with you?’

  ‘Certes, my lord. The finest, rarest white sable from the far mountains they call the Urals. I have never seen their like before. White sable! When they were offered—enough of them for a fine lining to a royal mantle—I could not help but think of His Majesty.’

  ‘He will be greatly pleased, I am sure.’

  Pasmer bowed again. ‘I cannot thank you enough for bringing them to his attention.’

  ‘I am more than willing to recommend you, Master Pasmer. Go to your lodgings now and await further word from me.’

  ‘You are truly magnanimous, my lord.’ The merchant bowed as low as his almost spherical body permitted, and then hurried on into the courtyard.

  Cicely was uneasy to find both Tal and John Pasmer, both secret Yorkists, here at Esher, and clearly together. At least, they had been until Jon saw them.

  Jon looked at her. ‘Is something wrong, sweetheart?’

  ‘I think it was Tal who was with Pasmer just now and then pushed past us.’

  ‘He may well be here legitimately, as Marshal of Calais.’

  ‘Then why did he not greet us?’

  ‘Not even Tal would be foolish enough to come here with ill intent. Knole may have been almost devoid of guards, but Esher brims with them. Just look around.’ Jon took her arm firmly. ‘Forget him, and let us get into the warmth. Come, Mary Kymbe.’

  There were narrow timber-built buildings to one side of the courtyard, mostly lodgings, to one of which John Pasmer had taken himself. She saw a brick keep that was much larger than the gatehouse, but of similar design, and behind a projecting wall to keep it separate, an impressive chapel, worthy of the devotions of a bishop. And of King Henry VII.

  Jon ushered her on. ‘We are to go to the hall as soon as you are ready after the journey. There is entertainment.’

  ‘Why is Henry so insistent that you and I are here, Jon?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘Well, it is to do with the boy Roland, of whom I believe I am to be placed in charge, but what you have to do with it I do not know. Ladies are not usually concerned with their husband’s squires and pages.’ He hesitated. ‘Cicely, there is something I have to tell you. I am soon to be sent to attend to my much-neglected duties in Lincolnshire and elsewhere, and I think Roland will accompany me. And no, you cannot come too. Henry will not allow it. And yes, I have tried to persuade him.’

  She said nothing. There were times when Henry’s control over her life was intolerable.

  ‘Smile again, sweetheart,’ Jon whispered, ‘Master Pasmer will be asked to find something suitable among his properties, a house with a small garden that will benefit a child, even at this time of the year.’ He turned to draw Mary close again, that she too would hear. ‘Then I will send word to Tom and inform him that I wish him to bring Leo to that address. With Mistress Kymbe too, of course, provided she is able.’

  Mary beamed, and Cicely caught his gloved hand. ‘Thank you, Jon.’

  As Lord Welles continued ushering his charges towards the lodgings, Cicely had to glance around again. The sky was ruddy to the west as the sun sank behind a bank of charcoal clouds, and numerous shadows thickened across the court. There were deep pools of darkness against the walls and between the many buildings, even though the snow lay thick. Torches did not reach into these places, and although she had not noticed where the man she believed to be Tal had gone, she felt he was there.

  Jon showed Cicely his own apartment first. It was very fine, worthy of the king’s half-uncle, and then he conducted the two women up an impressive brick newel staircase that spiralled to the equally richly furnished first floor. Before leaving Cicely at her door, he said he would return shortly to take her to
Henry in the great hall.

  But the moment he had gone and they entered the firelit apartment, a beloved voice spoke from the doorway of the small room that was to be Mary’s. ‘Sweetheart?’

  Cicely whirled about gladly, her eyes shining. ‘Jack!’ She ran to him and he held her tightly, obviously finding his shoulder suppler and less painful since Mary’s ministering.

  They kissed, and for a moment nothing else mattered, but then the stark danger of the situation overwhelmed her, and she seized his hands. ‘Are you mad to come here, right into Henry’s eyrie?’

  ‘I had to come.’

  ‘How did you even know I would be in these rooms?’

  ‘I heard maidservants discussing which fires they had to tend, and these windows were pointed out as yours. I came up here when you and Jon went to his rooms, and I slipped in behind the back of the maid as she worked on the fire. You can only just have missed her. But that is of no consequence, my darling, because I have come to warn you.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘That Tal has come here, intent upon murdering Henry in his bed.’

  Mary gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Cicely was shocked. ‘So it was him who pushed past me.’

  ‘Yes, but I was watching you and did not see where he went.’

  ‘But what if someone should recognize him? He is supposed to be in Calais!’

  ‘You would not know him. He is clean-shaven, has darkened his hair and combs it differently, and he wears frills and fancy brocades as well.’

  She found it hard to take it in. ‘Please, Jack, tell me he would not really attempt such an utterly mad thing as this.’

  ‘Sweetheart, when I last saw him he was agitated to the point of rashness. Perhaps if I tell you that today would have been his sister Eleanor’s birthday, you might understand more. He has drunk a lot, but not enough to render him incapable, and is intent upon vengeance. Nothing I said or did would stop him, and then he punched me and knocked me out.’

  By the firelight she saw there was a red graze on his cheek. ‘Tal did that?’