Tears stung Cicely’s eyes. ‘Please, Jon, it is not like that,’ she whispered. But it was. She had not thought twice about going to Jack again. Jon’s silent acquiescence had been something she … took for granted. His reaction dismayed her, but she deserved it. ‘Forgive me,’ she whispered.
‘Why should I? Can you tell me that you do not love this man to the exclusion of all others? That he is the new Richard?’
She gazed at him, and then lowered her eyes.
‘Then that is the end of it. I always knew you would be a troublesome wife, but all I asked for was your faithfulness. I believed you had to lie with Henry, but why I stooped to overlooking your love for Jack de la Pole as well, I do not know. But my tolerance is at an end.’
‘I am sorry, Jon, but—’
‘But you would do it again!’ he interrupted.
‘I do wish to remain your wife. Please, do not go away from me.’
‘I will not share your favours with Henry and Jack de la Pole. And … who knows who else?’
Jack intervened. ‘Enough, Jon. You know there is no one else. This now is my fault. She believed I was dead, and so did you, but I chose to send word to her. I wanted her embrace again, wanted the sweet comfort that she always is. And you know that she is so honest about her feelings. Please, for pity’s sake, do not punish her for responding to my message. I wish you could forgive me, but know that I would feel the same in your place.’
‘How gracious of you to concede the point.’
‘But I do not concede that you have the God-granted right to be so sanctimonious and condemnatory now, Jon Welles, for your record is not exactly free of adultery. Cicely had no choice with Henry, and she did it to save you as well as me. Never forget that! But I accept that no one forced her to come to me. I am the only other man in her life. Please do not imagine for a moment that she has been deceiving you with all and sundry.’
‘How can you be sure you are the only one?’ Jon replied scathingly. ‘I no longer care if she lies with half the men in London. Do you think I do not know she goes willingly enough to Henry? She is eager for him, and eager for you! She even pretends to be eager for me. Jesu, man, the woman is insatiable.’
‘Damn you, Jon!’ Jack cried angrily.
‘No, damn you, Jack. And damn her.’
‘I do not believe you mean any of this in your heart. If you have loved her, you could never abjure her!’
‘You suggest my love has been inferior?’ Jon’s vivid eyes were ablaze with resentment.
‘Yes, I rather think I have to,’ Jack replied simply, not raising his voice at all. ‘Please see sense, Jon. Keep Cicely close, because you will be bereft without her. I should know.’
‘Well, you will not be bereft any longer, de la Pole, because she has made her choice, and so have I.’ Jon addressed her. ‘I no longer want you, Cicely, but we will have to talk. In private. When I am ready, not when you are. And you may be sure I am not ready yet!’
She nodded, unwilling to meet his eyes. She did love him, but perhaps he had never understood her, and perhaps she had always expected too much of him. Now she knew a little of how Henry had felt at Huntingdon. Jon could rescue everything now, with one small word, smile, or extended hand … but there was nothing.
He turned away again to look from the window. ‘There is nothing more to be said for the time being. I prefer to concentrate on the matter in hand.’
Neither of them responded, but Jack moved closer to her and deliberately took her hand. They had been justifiably branded, and he saw little point in pretending it was a misunderstanding. If Jon observed, he gave no intimation.
Master Pasmer’s business with Henry did not take long, for the sables were more than acceptable. The skinner emerged into the courtyard, where he was soon joined by Tal. They stood in convivial conversation.
Jon nodded at Jack. ‘When you are safe again, and that damned fool Tal has taken his arse back to Calais, if I hear one word that connects you with Cicely, I will see her humiliated at court. And that will mean Henry discovering that she has a preferred lover to him. Bear that in mind if you think to play at mice behind the Tudor cat’s back. You have both been warned.’
‘I hear you clearly enough,’ Jack replied coolly. ‘I love your wife, Jon, but if you are prepared to overlook all this, I will withdraw from her life.’
But Cicely’s decision was made too. ‘No, Jack, for I will not let you go. Jon is right to feel as he does, and I acknowledge it, but you are the one I choose.’ She looked sadly at Jon. ‘You have left me no option but to choose, Jon, and I so wish you had not. My love for you is strong. I have not pretended to enjoy your kisses, and if you were honest, you would admit it.’
Jon’s face remained stony.
She addressed him again. ‘But think on this. If you betray Jack and me to Henry, his wrath will not only descend upon us, but upon you as well, because he will know you have been deceiving him these past two years. He already suspects you of disloyalty, so please, think carefully. In your rage to punish Jack and me, you may harm yourself irreparably. Please, Jon, because no matter what you think, or how you hate me, I do love you. Very much.’
He did not respond.
Her spirit rebelled. ‘Then know this, sir. I will continue to behave as Viscountess Welles, continue to live at Pasmer’s Place and continue as if there is nothing wrong in our marriage. You will have to do all the work where that is concerned. And I will always—always—be prepared for a reconciliation. We are well matched, and until now have been happy together. Well, generally, because you too have taken lovers.’
‘And you regard my sins as being equal to yours?’
‘I could, should I wish, make your indiscretions seem equal to, or maybe even more than, mine. After all, you installed your witch at Pasmer’s Place, and she tried to curse Leo and me to our deaths. As her sister had before her. Or do you deny that now? Your well-being has never been in any danger from anything I have done. Until now. Here. And for that I still crave your forgiveness.’ She turned away.
Jack addressed him. ‘After today, Tal and I will owe our lives to you, and to Cicely, and we will consider ourselves to be in debt to you both. If you ever need to call in that debt, you have only to send word.’
But Jon grabbed his cloak, swung it around his shoulders, and left. Jack dropped another kiss on Cicely’s lips, seized his own cloak and hood, and then followed, pausing for a second in the doorway. ‘You will hear from me, sweetheart.’
‘I know. Godspeed, Jack.’
They gazed at each other, and then he had gone.
Cicely felt utterly empty as she watched from the window. The snow was now an almost impenetrable veil, but she could see enough as the two emerged from the entrance to join Master Pasmer and Tal. Then all four stood in casual but friendly conversation, sometimes even laughing. It was quite brazen. No one who saw them could possibly have guessed the truth, that Henry’s assailant and the Earl of Lincoln were about to stroll out with Viscount Welles.
Curtains of snow swirled and closed over a scene that, to Cicely, was a nightmare that she knew would not go away, because she was awake already.
Quite when Jon would be ready to speak to Cicely was to remain unknown, because within a day he had sought—and received—Henry’s permission to leave for his duties as Constable of Rockingham, Bolingbroke and elsewhere. He departed from Esher, taking Roland de Vielleville with him, and rode away without a word to Lady Welles. She had not even seen him since Jack and Tal escaped.
Yet, in spite of everything, before leaving he still honoured his promise to arrange the renting of one of John Pasmer’s properties for the Kymbes. A suitable house was chosen in Hallows Lane, a narrow street close to the Church of St Andrew-by-the-Wardrobe, and therefore close to Flemyng Court as well. She doubted very much that Jon had known of the close proximity of Tal’s residence. If he had, she was sure he would not have chosen Hallows Lane.
She was sad, but at least she had Leo to lo
ok forward to. And Jack, from whom nothing and no one would keep her. He sent a note, telling that a much-chastened Tal had taken swift passage back to Calais, and he, Jack, had returned to Flemyng Court. He would send Edgar to bring her to him. And this time, Tal’s bed or not, she would lie with him again.
Edgar came to escort her to Flemyng Court, and they rode side by side along Thames Street, this time without any sign of Edmund de la Pole. It was late afternoon, and the January day was beginning to fade. There was a raw wind, but she did not feel it any more than she felt the snowflakes touching her cheeks. The light-brown fur of her hood fluttered around her face, and her gloves were tight as she gripped the reins. When she arrived, she would remove the gloves in order to wear one of her precious mementos, Jack’s amethyst ring, which tonight she would make him put on again, in order to replace it on her finger, warm from him.
Later, as she lay in Jack’s arms, snuggling deep in Tal’s astonishingly comfortable bed, Cicely wondered if it was coincidence that when she looked through the crack in the curtains at the great bay window, the clouds had cleared and the moon shone in a starlit sky.
She felt as if those new heavens were mirrored within her. How many times had they made love tonight? Oh, what did it matter? They might have been two lost halves, brought together again.
Now he slept, his lashes dark upon his cheeks, his hair more tousled and wild than ever. He was on his side, facing her, and his good arm was beneath her, keeping her close. Lying there now, if she thought of those moments of utter desolation, when Jon had told her of this man’s death, they seemed a lingering memory from another, emptier life. She raised her hand to her lips, and kissed the amethyst, which was not only warm from his finger, but from having been pressed against much more intimate and exciting parts of his body.
His eyes opened. ‘How deep in thought you are,’ he said softly.
‘I was thinking of where this ring has been tonight.’
He drew her closer, and dwelt upon kissing her. A slow, rich kiss that breathed through her, and made her mouth seem it might dissolve. Her fingers twisted adoringly in his hair, and there was no restraint in the way she pressed to him. Oh, how she savoured and enjoyed him. His breath tasted of thyme, and her heart quickened as his caresses became more and more urgent.
‘Please … please,’ she whispered, ‘I want you, Jack.’
He moved on top of her, and their lovemaking was hot and needful, as if it was the first time they had lain together. She felt weightless, adrift in carnal pleasures that brought her original love close again. He was inside her now, long, strong strokes that were also gentle and loving, and when he came, she did too. There was an unworldly beauty in their long climax. They held each other tightly, weak with emotion, their hearts beating swiftly … their bodies warm and sated.
And it was during these precious moments of aftermath that an alien sound was heard.
It came from somewhere downstairs, and was … a single, choked cry? Silence returned in an instant, but Jack almost leapt from the bed to haul his clothes on. He moved like lightning, and she went to help with his thigh boots, which went on with astonishing ease, considering the desperate danger that seemed imminent. Then his dagger was in his palm, and his gaze steady and fixed upon the door as they both listened.
They almost relaxed, until the stairs creaked. Just once. Cicely caught Jack’s arm. ‘Climb out of the window and go!’
‘And leave you?’
‘I can take care of myself. I am a king’s daughter, remember? You must survive, to go to Burgundy and raise an army.’ She kissed him fiercely, and then opened the casement. There were horses down in the court, with a single guard. She drew back. ‘One man with horses. Make as little sound as you can.’
There was another sound, on the landing this time, and Jack did not wait a moment more, but climbed lithely from the window, and began the precarious descent to the ground three floors below. In spite of his shoulder, he was still fit and agile enough to lower himself very quietly.
The bells of London suddenly rang out the hour, and he dropped the final yards right onto the unwary guard, who was knocked senseless in a second, and then the Earl of Lincoln had gone, mounting one of the horses and taking the reins of the others to lead them out of the court. The clatter of hooves was lost amid the racket of the bells.
Cicely had already closed the window, and then the shutters as well, before climbing swiftly back into the bed, still naked. She lay under the coverlets as if asleep, praying she would indeed be equal to whatever was about to happen. Henry’s name was topmost in her mind. Had he discovered everything after all? Were his spies just on the other side of the door?
The latch made the faintest of clicks as it was raised gently, so as not to warn anyone in the room, but then the door was thrust open with such force that it splintered back on its hinges. Hooded, masked figures rushed into the room, one of them brandishing a lighted torch, the others carrying daggers that they intended to thrust into whoever lay in the bed.
Genuinely terrified, she sat up, hauling the coverlets up to her chin.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ she cried in her most regal, Plantagenet tone, observing that the men were actually youths of around seventeen.
They gathered around the bed, clearly confused to find a woman alone. Moreover, to find that the woman was clearly not a lowborn servant girl. They did not know what to do as they exchanged confused glances.
An authoritative but still-young male voice was heard on the landing, belonging to someone who had followed them up the staircase, and then he pushed into the room. He was as youthful and hooded as the others, but not masked, for she glimpsed the paleness of his face.
‘It is done?’ he demanded, and when they did not answer, he turned to look at the bed. By the light of the torch she recognized Edmund de la Pole!
He was startled, but then his brown eyes sharpened. He knew he’d seen her somewhere.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘Why should I answer a mere boy?’
She felt rather than saw his flush of anger. ‘Your name, madam!’
‘What if I were to say I am Lady Talbot, wife of Sir Humphrey Talbot, Marshal of Calais, whose residence this is? You, sir, have not been invited here, least of all to the bedchamber, so I now demand who you are!’
‘Where is Sir Humphrey?’
‘Calais.’
His glance moved to the amethyst. ‘And where is Lord Lincoln?’
Her brows drew together. ‘Are you mad? He died last summer at Stoke.’
‘You wear his ring, and have not been sleeping alone.’ He indicated the crumpled bedding.
‘The ring was a gift, and my sleeping arrangements are none of your business.’
He hesitated, and then one of the others leaned close and whispered to him. His face changed. Had he been advised of her true identity? Yes, she thought. She had been recognized.
Edmund came to the bedside, a sly twist on his beautiful lips. ‘Have you heard the saying that there is more than one way to skin a cat, my lady? So, you had better forget you have ever seen me. Do you understand?’
‘Forget you? Oh, with pleasure,’ she replied coldly, but inside she was hot with fear. He knew who she was, but was still confident and arrogant enough to threaten her! She dared not imagine his character on reaching manhood.
He left, his companions following. Edmund de la Pole would clearly have killed his own brother here tonight. But how did he know Jack was not only still alive, but hiding here? Edmund had recognized the ring, and was capable of seeing to it that Henry knew Lady Welles was wearing it. He might not know she was the king’s lover, but he certainly knew she was the queen’s sister and married to Henry’s uncle. She had not heard the last of Edmund de la Pole, because she was the cat he intended to skin.
She heard Edmund and his friends’ fury in the court on discovering their guard unconscious and the horses gone. Their voices awakened the whole household, as well as othe
rs nearby, so the youths took to their heels.
Rising from the bed again, and dressing with difficulty, she was glad to have a cloak to hide the untidy lacing at the back of her gown. She went down to find the house in some confusion, although her appearance brought some measure of calm. The cry that had alerted Jack had come from the unfortunate man on duty at the door, but he would recover. She wrote a hasty note to be taken urgently to Tal, to inform him that Jack had escaped safely from an attempted assassination, and making a veiled reference to Edmund as ‘he who would be Cain’. Tal would know who was being referred to.
Edgar escorted her safely back to Pasmer’s Place, and then rode on to deliver her note to John Pasmer, with instructions that it was to be delivered to Calais with all speed.
The following morning a message arrived from Jack. He was in hiding, but unharmed. He did not say where he was, so she had no way of warning him about Edmund. It was to be the beginning of February before she heard from him again, and by then she would have discovered just how malignant his younger brother really was.
From Jon Welles she would not hear at all.
Chapter Sixteen
The attack at Esher appeared to have affected Henry more than seemed at the time. He was a changed man on returning to Westminster at the end of January, and did not celebrate his thirty-first birthday on the twenty-eighth. Nor had he sent for Cicely since Esher.
His temper was foul, and he was best not approached except for something essential. He looked increasingly haggard, Cicely thought, and often coughed. That he occasionally had cramps in his belly was clear in the way he sometimes put his hand to his abdomen. For this he took copious draughts of boiled spikenard root and bilberries steeped in honey, but if either gave any relief, there was no outward sign of it. He was much closeted with Margaret’s fourth husband, Thomas Stanley, Earl of Derby, and also with his full-blood uncle, Jasper Tudor. Archbishop Morton appeared to be in full favour again, and his other advisors were always around him like ants.
Strain showed on his face. It might have been due to events at Esher, or anxiety about his health. Or something else entirely. Perhaps Roland de Vielleville? But if he did not send for Lady Welles, she could not help him. Nor did she wish to be sent for. As always, being away from him lessened his fascination.
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