Tom, never failing to be impressed by his shrewd parent, grinned. “That’s the spirit, Mother. To the devil with Richard of Gloucester.”
FOURTEEN
LONDON AND WESTMINSTER, JUNE 1483
A light drizzle shrouded the spire of St. Paul’s from Jane’s view when she started out with Ankarette on a morning in early June to see Sophie. Will had already left for Westminster to arrange yet another council meeting, and Jane knew he would be gone until late in the day. It was her chance to fulfill her promise to Tom, although she walked along Thames Street with an uncomfortable guilt gnawing at her. She ought not to be on Tom’s business while under Will’s protection.
Her hood sheltering her from the weather, she chose the long way to St. Sithe’s Lane not only to prolong the walk but also to make use of the Chepe’s paved thoroughfare and avoid the mud along Watling Street. Somehow the rain would always make the usual stench of the city gutters smell worse, and she kept her tussie-mussie close to her nose as she picked her way on her high wooden pattens through the leavings of the gong farmer’s cart, rubbish, and rotting vegetables. She crossed over to the north side of the wide street to avoid passing in front of her father’s shop and walked by the Maid on the Hoop brew-house and the entrance to Mercers’ Hall, housed in the hospital of St. Thomas of Acre. She held her thumbs, hoping there was no meeting of the guild there today, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she recognized no one in her path. She was in no mood for an awkward confrontation.
Ducking behind the conduit, she was about to cross back across the Chepe into Bucklersbury Lane when she was distracted by the sound of trumpets and many horses’ hoofs clopping along the pavement behind her. She and Ankarette eased themselves between two women filling buckets from the conduit and stopped to watch. Ah, Jane recalled Will’s words before he had left that morning, ’twas the protector’s duchess and her entourage arriving from her northern castle of Middleham. She assumed from Hastings’s information that it was Richard’s closest friend, Sir Francis Lovell, escorting her through the streets.
With her midnight blue cloak spread over the back of her horse, Anne Neville shyly observed the citizens of London who had stopped to gawp. She lifted her hand occasionally, and when she did, people cheered. “ ’Tis the Kingmaker’s daughter,” someone cried, and more cheers followed. Richard Neville, earl of Warwick had been a popular figure in the city, and even though he had turned traitor and betrayed King Edward, the older folk with long memories were recalling his generosity to them in a happier time. The duchess of Gloucester had rarely set foot in the city since her marriage to Richard in the early 1470s, and so Londoners were curious to catch a glimpse of her. A sweet enough expression, Jane determined, but she was not striking like her second cousins, young Elizabeth, Cecily, and Catherine of York.
As the cavalcade rode by on its way to Crosby Place, an impressive town house where the duke resided in Bishopsgate, Jane noticed a youth on a small palfrey with a striking resemblance to Richard of Gloucester.
“I wonder who that is,” she remarked to Ankarette. “He is too old to be Gloucester’s son. Edward of Middleham is only eight.”
“He is John Plantagenet, mistress, Richard of Gloucester’s bastard,” stated a woman standing behind her, the pride in her voice unmistakable.
Jane turned her head and looked into the most remarkable pair of amber eyes she had ever seen. “How would you know, mistress?” she asked, noting a truant tendril of chestnut hair escaping from the widow’s wimple and clinging to her damp cheek. Even with the unbecoming head covering, she was beautiful.
“Because he is my son, mistress,” the widow said, smiling at Jane and admiring in her turn the delicate beauty of her fellow spectator. “I am not ashamed to admit it.”
Jane’s mouth gaped in delighted astonishment. “Then you must be Kate Haute, if I am not mistaken. I have heard much of you, mistress, and all of it good.”
Kate’s low laugh made Jane smile, too. “And who knows of me, mistress, that they can say good or ill about me?”
Jane held those golden eyes in merriment for a second before confessing, “ ’Twas my lord of Gloucester’s brother, King Edward himself. You see, you and I are much alike. I am Jane Shore. Perhaps you have heard my name before, too?”
Now it was Kate’s turn to gape before she burst out laughing. “ ’Tis fate placed us side by side today, Mistress Shore,” she said, and she cast her eyes heavenward. “God works in mysterious ways, does he not. ’Tis a pleasure to meet you. Do you have time for ale?” And she nodded across the street to the Maid on the Hoop tavern adjacent to Mercers’ Hall.
Tom’s request could wait a few more minutes, Jane decided. This was too wonderful an opportunity to miss. “Certes, I do, my dear Widow Haute. We have much to talk about, and if I know my fellow citizens, in their turn, they may well talk about us,” she said, tucking Kate’s arm in hers. “Come, Ankarette, do not dawdle, we mistresses have much to discuss.”
Ankarette looked from one lovely, laughing face to another and clicked her tongue. What could be so amusing, she thought, hurrying to keep up. Once inside the tavern, Jane and Kate found a corner of a long table in the area reserved for gentry, while Ankarette settled herself on a bench with other servants and contented herself with a flagon of ale. Recognizing Jane, the landlord brought the two women a flask of wine and begged a word with Jane.
“My son still sings your praises, Mistress Shore. Your intervention with the king’s victualler saved him from disgrace. He has learned his lesson and his business has increased thanks to you.”
Jane smiled an acknowledgment. “ ’Twas nothing, Master Troughton, although I am no longer in a position to help, more’s the pity.” Understanding, the innkeeper nodded sympathetically and left.
Kate watched Jane’s expression change to gentle concern for the man and smiled. “I now know why word of your kind heart has spread far and wide.”
Jane was astonished. How would Kate Haute have heard of the small favors she had been glad to afford some of her former neighbors? She found herself blushing and hurried to deflect attention from herself.
“I would hear more of your liaison with Richard, Kate. I can see from the light in your eye that as yet you harbor some affection for him. Has he your heart still?”
Kate grinned. “As clear as a sky after rain, am I not? Aye, there is none other in my heart now or ever, unless you count my children,” she admitted. “The day I had to accept we would never more be lovers was the hardest of my life, except perhaps the day I had to give up John into Richard’s keeping.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “Richard made you give up your son? How unkind must he be.”
Kate patted Jane’s hand. “It was promised from the day he knew I carried his first child that he would provide for them. It was for the best, although I could not see for tears at the time. Both Katherine and John were raised in royal households, Jane. Katherine is now lady-in-waiting to Duchess Anne, and John is squire to Sir Francis Lovell. Richard loves them as much as he loves his heir, I promise you, and I see them from time to time.” Would she entrust Jane with her greatest secret? Nay, she would keep her third son, named for his father, to herself. Only Margaret and Jack Howard knew the truth: that he had been raised by Kate’s brother and wife in Kent as their own child. Best leave well enough alone, Kate decided; she had no idea whether she could yet trust this Mistress Shore with a secret.
“May I be frank and ask why Richard did not keep you as his mistress? Edward had no qualms about keeping me despite his married state.”
Kate’s face clouded at the painful memory when Richard had told her he was to marry Anne Neville and must end their affair. “My dear Jane,” Kate told her new friend, “the most important ideals in life to Richard are duty and loyalty. He could never have been unfaithful to his marriage vows, and even though I know he loved me truly, he put duty to his family and his rank before any love for me. Duty led him to wed Anne, and he has been loyal to her ever since. Do I make sense?�
�� Kate saw Jane nod slowly. “To Richard, disloyalty is the ultimate sin. That is why I have stayed away from him, why I have kept my promise to him that we should never again live in sin. All I hope is that his memory of me remains sweet.”
Jane found herself blinking back tears at this heartfelt confession. She took Kate’s hand. “You do me great honor to entrust these truths to me, Kate, and certes, I must admire Richard for his fortitude. I loved Edward dearly, but I now see that his younger brother may be the more honorable man.”
“I promise you he is, and Jack Howard believes his overzealousness since his brother’s death has all to do with this unexpected new duty being thrust upon him,” Kate mused, a smile curling her generous mouth, “but I know that earnestness well. ’Tis naught but his way of understanding his new situation and establishing control. Underneath, he is still my beloved Richard.”
From Will’s description of events lately, Jane was not so sure that Kate would recognize her lover now.
The rain had stopped by the time Jane and Kate bade each other farewell and went their separate ways. Jane mulled over all she had gleaned from Kate as she hurried toward the Vandersands’ house. She came to the conclusion her situation had been easier than Kate’s, although how she envied Kate her children. If only she had borne Edward a child.
She turned into St. Pancras Lane and almost bumped into a priest exiting Benet Sherehog church. He issued a reprimand, but Jane was too engrossed in her thoughts to notice. Before she and Kate had parted, she had asked what Kate might know of Buckingham, who appeared to have so much influence on the protector.
“Naught but what Jack Howard tells us,” Kate had replied. “But ’tis true, even though he is Richard’s supporter, Jack has been irked by the unfair parceling of grants that Richard has made to Buckingham. But Jane, understand this, Richard has been acting independently in the north for so long, he must feel isolated from the lords at Westminster. Do not judge him harshly. Harry is his cousin, and he must feel he can trust someone down here.”
Jane pondered Kate’s information, and as she arrived at her destination, she resolved to tell Will of her findings. She hoped the news might ease his resentment of Richard’s rewards to Buckingham.
The Vandersands’ house was now one of the grander in the lane, and Jane was pleased with the improvements. The extra money she had provided seemed to have lessened Jehan’s bouts of melancholy and impatience, allowing Sophie to blossom as a mother and settle into a happier middle age. She hesitated at the door, wondering if she had the right to ask her friends to help Tom, but she knew no one else as far removed from Tom Grey and the politics at court. Besides there was nobody she trusted more than Sophie and her now-indebted husband. She lifted the iron ring and knocked, determined to keep her promise to Tom.
Jane loved living by the river. She liked nothing better than to linger on the wharves on a summer’s day and watch the myriad of craft that plied their never-ending journeys up and down the wide waterway while exotic cargos from the larger boats were unloaded by swarthy foreign seamen. Barrels of wine from Gascony, silks from Venice, spices from warmer climes, jewels from the Baltic, and luxuries from the Levant were all brought to London to be traded for England’s chief export, wool. She had often imagined dressing as a boy and boarding a vessel so that she might see these exotic places for herself.
Today she joined other passengers on a wherry at Paul’s Wharf, right behind Will’s town house, and, seated in the stern, she stared up at the forbidding walls of Baynard’s Castle, the London residence of the York family. Jane wondered if there were a meeting at the castle that day. During a brief stop at her house earlier, Will had relayed that the council had been split into groups to meet at different locations. He found it puzzling, he had told her, because one group did not know what another was discussing. However, Richard felt more could be accomplished in a shorter time this way, and, as usual, Buckingham had agreed with him.
The tide was up, concealing the detritus visible at low tide on the riverbed. It was always possible to see a body, bloated and rotting, washed up on the quagmire and caught among the reeds. And Londoners were not supposed to throw their rubbish into the Thames, but many did, making laundresses hold their noses as they attempted to wash their linens in the murky water. But the river sparkled in the sunlight, the gardens in full bloom running down to its banks, kingfishers, herons, and coots among the reeds, and Jane was reminded that June was her favorite time of year.
The wharf at Westminster was crowded when the boatmen skillfully steered their craft to the pier, handed her out, and accepted her fare. She was alone and disguised as a yeoman’s wife, having donned a plain worsted gown that Ankarette had found her and concealing her famous yellow hair under a tightly wound white cloth. Knowing the reputation for cutpurses at Westminster, she clutched the thong of the small leather bag tied to her belt and carried a basket of bread in another to offer guards, in case she were challenged at the abbey. She wended her way up the street, past Master Caxton’s sign of the Red Pale printing shop, vendors hawking pies and custards with the ubiquitous pack of curs roaming nearby hungry for any leavings. At the abbey, she made a note of how many guards were posted at all the doors, standing to attention, their pikes at the ready. How would Tom ever escape from here?
To her surprise, her smile gained her access into the cloister where visitors might see those in sanctuary, and she sat in the sunshine on a stone bench while a monk went to fetch Tom. She prayed the queen would not choose this hour to walk in the garden, as Jane had no desire to meet the haughty Elizabeth again.
“Jane, my dearest,” Tom said when she rose to greet him, “you do me great honor to come.” He stood apart from her and did not take her hand; none must know she was not really a yeoman goodwife taking bread to the kitchen. Once certain they were alone, he asked, “Do you have news for me?”
She longed for him to reach out and touch her, but she told herself she could wait until he was free, although how she would conduct an affair while living with Will, she was not about to contemplate yet. One day at a time, she thought, as Tom walked her into a shaded corner.
“I have found a place for you, Tom. I shall not implicate my friend, but you are expected at the Pope’s Head off Cornhill any day in the next week. Ask for Master Godfrey. I have paid for a sennight for you.”
“You paid?” Tom was alarmed. “You did not ask Will Hastings for money, I trust?”
“Do you think I would do such a thing, my lord?” Jane shot back, slighted. “Then you do not know me very well. I have the means, but I expect you to pay me back.” She did not tell him she had taken Edward’s final gift to a lombard, who had been suspicious at first of its origins. Master Isaacs had eventually agreed when she had revealed her identity, but Jane had had to take a sum far below the large jewel’s worth in exchange for the usurer’s silence. After giving Jehan money for Tom’s room, she had hidden the rest in a box under a discarded gown at the bottom of her clothes chest.
“Forgive me, Jane. I misspoke,” Tom apologized. “I have much to be grateful for.” His eyes merry, he added, “I will show you how much, once I am away from here.”
Jane dared to touch his arm then. “Have a care, Tom. There are a dozen guards at the front of the abbey and several at the entrance to this cloister.”
At that moment, an orderly group of chanting monks filed through the cloister and into the abbey and Tom concealed Jane in his shadow. He laughed. “Expect to see me with a tonsure soon. I have already procured a habit for my escape. It will not be long, I promise. Now go, I beg of you, before my lady mother chooses to take the air. She is touchy enough already, and I fear a glimpse of you might undo her,” he said, grinning apologetically.
Jane hurried away, found her escort, and exited by the garden gate. As she turned the corner to walk down the hill and past the great hall of the palace to the wharf, she did not see a man loitering across the street from the garden entry.
William Catesby notic
ed her, however, and puzzled, he decided Richard of Gloucester needed to know this tidbit of information. Why would Mistress Shore visit the queen in sanctuary when it was known Elizabeth Woodville despised her husband’s beloved mistress?
“Lord Hastings, have you turned Jane Shore out of the king’s house yet and had her goods returned to the Crown?” Richard wiped his fingers on a spotless napkin and pushed his pewter platter away. He had invited Will to dine with him and his closest advisors, Buckingham, Sir Francis Lovell, and Sir Richard Ratcliffe, at Crosby Place following another of the splintered council meetings that day. Hastings had noted idly that his group had been those lords temporal and spiritual who had been most favored by the dead king: Stanley, archbishop Rotherham of York, Bishop Morton of Ely, and himself.
Will detected no rancor in the duke’s tone, only a directness Will had come to expect. He decided now was the time to admit to his friend Richard of Gloucester that Jane had become his mistress. The man might be a prude, but surely he could not forbid such a liaison. To placate Richard, he had decided to procure a different house for Jane, but what he did there was his affair alone.
“My lord duke, we have all been about council business so much these days, I have not had a moment to tell you that Mistress Shore and I”—he smiled—“well, she is now . . . let us say, under my protection.” He did not much relish admitting this and especially not with Buckingham obviously enjoying his discomfort, but he believed the truth was necessary.
Richard fingered his gold signet ring and gave no sign of his annoyance. He simply said, “You disappoint me, Lord Hastings. I had hoped you had reformed. I gave you a chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of your fellow councilors, and to show me compliance. I see I was mistaken in you.”
Will wanted to reach across the table and punch the amused Buckingham in the eye, but Richard had not finished. “Is this all the thanks I get for rewarding you with the mint, with the captaincy of Calais?” Now he leveled his intense gray eyes at Will. “The truth is, I need to know I can trust you, my lord.”
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