Royal Mistress

by Anne Easter Smith

  Jane thought her heart would burst. She had waited for so many years to hear Tom Grey express such love, and yet before her stood a stranger, a man risking ridicule and rejection for love of her. Dear St. Elizabeth, she addressed her namesake, this would be no marriage of convenience or business proposition, as she had had with William Shore. Could Master Lyneham really be offering a marriage of equal partners, and if he were willing, why should she not accept him?

  She placed her other hand on his and smiled at him. “You must give me time to absorb this, Thomas.” He nodded happily as she raised him up and stood before him. “While I await the king’s pleasure, perhaps we can find time to know each other better.” And she reached up and kissed his cheek.

  His lips were on hers before she could take another breath, and had she not been so caught by surprise at his passion, she might have pulled away. Instead she allowed herself the luxury of once more feeling desired.

  When he released her, she seized the moment. “I have one condition, however, Thomas.” She looked up earnestly at him and pleaded, “That you work to release me from this dreadful place as soon as you possibly can.”

  The unusual courtship of the moral lawyer and the captive concubine had begun. Jane had been allotted an hour each day to walk with Thomas around the courtyard of St. Paul’s when he was able to leave his work at Westminster to visit her. Even in the cold November drizzle, the couple kept to their schedule and would huddle in their cloaks close to the cathedral wall. For those precious minutes, Jane felt freed, and she counted the hours when she would breathe the fresh air and enjoy conversing with Thomas again. In those intense and condensed sixty-minute walks, she had learned to trust him, and she found herself revealing more and more of her fears and hopes to the sympathetic Thomas. For her part, Jane had discovered he liked poetry, and she would write little verses that enchanted him.

  One day, she told him her name was really Elizabeth, and he was delighted.

  “I have a sister of the same name,” he replied, explaining that she had lost her beloved husband early in their marriage. “She has two little boys, hellions to be honest, but she remarried and lives in York, and thus I do not have to overly suffer them,” he had told her, laughing. And then he admitted it was this sister’s advice he had heeded when he had come courting Jane.

  “Do you not like children, then?” Jane had asked tentatively. “It has been my cross to bear that I have none of my own, although Sophie’s four look upon me as a second mother.”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “Then I shall hope to have a daughter after witnessing what mayhem my nephews can cause.”

  Those close to Jane would have been astonished to see her blush at the insinuation he wanted children with her. A woman who had bedded a king, a marquess, and a lord chamberlain was surely beyond modesty, they would have said. But Jane was feeling as though she had been reborn with this man. He was not afraid to talk to her of love, and not since Will Hastings had she enjoyed this degree of friendship with a man.

  After the third walk together she had returned to her prison cell and admitted to Anne she might be able to love again.

  “You deserve a good man,” Anne had declared, “especially after that bum-bailey Tom Grey.” Jane had used worse words to describe him in her thoughts but did not wish to shock young Anne.

  One day Thomas told Jane he had to seek the king’s approval of the marriage. “He has honored me much, and I must do my duty by him. He should know my intention.” He admitted he was risking his position, and Jane cautioned him to think carefully about angering the king.

  “Look what happened to me,” she reminded him, gently. “He may be moral, but he is not always kind.”

  But Thomas thought he knew his master, and besides he was determined to win Jane.

  Richard could not resist a small smile as he dictated the letter addressed to his chancellor, the bishop of Lincoln. He wondered if Russell would see the irony but doubted the capable but insufferably dour man would be anything other than astonished.

  “Right Reverend Father in God,” he began as John Kendall’s goose quill scratched on the vellum.

  “Signifying unto you that it has been brought to our attention that our servant and solicitor, Thomas Lyneham, marvelously blinded and abused with the former wife of William Shore, now being in the Ludgate by our commandment, has made a contract of matrimony with her, as it is said, and intends, to our marvel, to proceed to effect the same.”

  John Kendall could not help remarking, “Your grace, I see now why you were smiling. Is Thomas in his right mind? I have not seen the lady, but she has quite a reputation for beauty and—” He broke off when he saw the king’s smile fade, and he bent his head to the parchment.

  Richard went on more seriously.

  “We, for many causes, would be sorry that he should be so disposed, and pray you therefore to send for him and that you will have the goodness to exhort and stir him to the contrary. And if you find him utterly set for to marry her and none otherwise would be advertised, then, if it may stand with the law of the church, we be content (the time of the marriage being deferred to our coming next to London) that upon sufficient assurance that her demeanor is good, you send for her keeper and discharge him of our commandment.”

  He paused, looking out of the window of the little manor house where he was temporarily lodged in Devon. “She needs to be housed somewhere suitable before her marriage—if Lyneham decides he must have her. Where should I send her, John? She has no residence, as far as I know.”

  “Her father was an alderman, your grace. John Lambert is an upstanding citizen and mercers’ guild member. Surely he would take her?”

  “Perfect,” Richard said, beaming at his secretary.

  “And in the meantime committing her to the rule and guiding of her father or any other suitable at your discretion.”I

  “My father?” Jane repeated, and Thomas was dismayed to see the look of horror cross his betrothed’s face upon his next visit to Ludgate. “Must I?”

  “But, my dear, it also means you are pardoned and free to go,” Thomas reiterated.

  He had been thoughtful after his meeting with Bishop Russell, who had given Lyneham Richard’s response. The bishop had construed Richard’s letter to mean that Thomas might lose the king’s favor—not to mention his position—if he chose Jane, but Thomas refused to be deterred. He had not worked for Richard all these years without recognizing the humor in his master’s words of caution and disapproval. And even if Russell were right and Richard did dismiss him, he was so enamored of Jane and had so embraced the idea of marriage with her that he was prepared to sacrifice his position.

  Not long after receiving Richard’s letter, when Thomas sensed the softening of Jane’s heart, he told her of it, and although he had hoped for Richard’s goodwill, the king’s answer was one he could abide by. In truth, it had been more generous than he had hoped.

  He knelt beside the pensive Jane, who was trying to imagine her father’s greeting. “What is wrong with returning to your home for a few weeks while we post the banns?” he asked. “It seems we do not have a choice, as there is no one else Richard would sanction.” His eyes were alight with humor. “Or I could arrange for you to stay here.”

  They both laughed.

  “Aye, you are right,” Jane acknowledged. “Hosier Lane is the only logical choice. Jehan Vandersand does not quite enjoy the same respectability as my father.” She had told him only the basic facts about her father and mother, that she had grown up as one of six children and that her sister had died giving birth. During one of their walks Thomas had suspected there was more to Jane’s offhand comment that she was a disappointment to her father, but he had chosen not to pry. After all, they had a lifetime together to reveal their histories, he thought, although he predicted his story would be somewhat less dramatic.

  “My father was furious when I left William Shore,” she explained, turning her new betrothal ring on her index finger. Thomas had cho
sen an oval stone of green-gray jasper set in silver, and told her the stone was an ancient talisman thought to ward off evil spirits. “I could not resist it, Jane, when I recognized in the stone the color of your eyes,” he told her, touching her deeply.

  Jane stared down at it, still not quite believing her good fortune. “My father disowned me when I became Edward’s concubine. I do not believe he has ever forgiven me, Thomas. That is why I dread going home,” she confessed.

  Thomas knew then what he must do.

  “What can I do for you, Master Lyneham?” John Lambert was unctuous. He could see the lawyer was a gentleman. “A new gown perhaps? Something for your wife?”

  Thomas smiled. “I thank you, but not today, Mercer Lambert. I wonder if we might speak privately? I have a personal matter of some importance to discuss with you.” He had done his research and was not surprised by the impressive stock in the Lamberts’ mercery. The man had several apprentices, he noted as he followed John up the stairs to a private room.

  “A personal matter, Master Lyneham?”

  Thomas decided he needed to win over Jane’s father as soon as possible, so he uncharacteristically resorted to bragging. “I am his grace, King Richard’s solicitor general,” he began and knew from the glint in Lambert’s eyes that he had chosen the right approach. “I have been put in charge of your daughter Jane’s case before the court—”

  “What again!” John interrupted. “The harlot is in prison again? On what charge this time, Lawyer Lyneham?” John stalked to the window and threw open the casement. How much more could a father take, he thought, anger gripping him. He could not pretend that Jane’s humiliating penance had hurt his business; it had not. People had come to commiserate and had often left with an ell or two of fabric. He looked down and was dismayed to see copious mouse droppings under the window and surreptitiously scraped them out of sight with his foot as he turned to face Thomas. “Tell my daughter I will not pay her fine, whatever it is.”

  Thomas calmed himself. For Jane’s sake, he must maintain a civil, if not pleasant, tone to his voice, but he understood now why Jane was afraid of her father. “She will be released very shortly, sir, and the charges will be dismissed. ’Twas a misunderstanding, and she has helped with our enquiries with regard to the recent rebellions.”

  “What a fool and an ingrate that Buckingham was,” John snapped. “He deserved what was coming to him.”

  “Certes he did, Mercer Lambert,” Thomas agreed. Now for the difficult part of the interview, he thought. Although usually implacable when defending a client or arguing a point on the king’s council, he found himself perspiring. “The main reason for my visit is to discuss what happens to Mistress Shore after she leaves the Ludgate.”

  “She will resort to whoring again, no doubt,” John interrupted with disgust. “She is good for nothing else.”

  Thomas had had enough. “I forbid you to use those terms when you are referring to the woman I intend to make my wife. I came here to beg your good favor in my suit, and that I shall be offering her a home and a future with me of which you should approve. I can see that I have perhaps wasted my time.”

  John dropped his jaw. “You would wed Jane? The king’s solicitor would wed the royal mistress? You must be jesting with me, sir,” he said scornfully, “or else my daughter has bewitched you.”

  “She is bewitching, Master Lambert, and I have the greatest admiration for her. She is a courageous, loyal woman and I will be honored to call her my wife. Now, do I have your good will?”

  John sat down heavily in his oversize armchair and stared at the lawyer. “Well, I . . . well, I never did,” he stammered. “The king’s solicitor. What will Amy say? My wife, you understand.” He took a deep breath and let out a low whistle, his mind grappling with this extraordinary development. “And Jane has accepted you, sir?” When he saw Lyneham’s nod, he continued, “Then I certainly have no objections. No objections at all. God go with both of you.” His mood lightened as he eased himself from the chair. “This is good news. Very good news,” he declared, and finally showing Thomas some respect, he grasped the lawyer’s arm and pumped it as if he were an old friend.

  Thomas allowed himself a smile, for Jane’s sake. “I am glad you will give us your blessing”—he paused for effect—“as has the king himself. In fact, his grace has commanded that before the marriage, Jane be placed under your roof, Master Lambert. I trust I may tell the king that Jane will be safe here.” He emphasized the word and let the remark hang between them.

  John was visibly flustered. “The king wishes this? You astonish me, sir. It seemed six months ago he wished for nothing but my daughter’s head. Now he cares for her well-being. He is a puzzling man.”

  Thomas had to agree. “You have the measure of his grace, sir. He despises disloyalty and he abhors immorality, but he respects the law and acts to uphold it. He is, also, often merciful.” He lowered his voice and confided, “But I would not go against his express command, Master Lambert. So will you receive Jane when she is released this week and treat her kindly?”

  John was impressed with the young man. He was bold without being patronizing, and he had won over the irascible mercer with reason and respect. Aye, he would make a fair and prosperous son-in-law, he decided, with relief. As long as Jane would now be respectable and somebody else’s responsibility, he could tolerate her presence again. “My wife and I will ready Jane’s old room, and she will be quite safe,” he promised.

  King Richard returned to London on the twenty-fifth of November accompanied by an impressive array of dignitaries, who had left London to meet the victorious king at Kennington Palace on the south bank of the Thames and escort him along the mile to Southwark and over London Bridge. Londoners cheered their mayor and aldermen, all clothed in scarlet, who headed the procession of five hundred guild members and other leading men of the city in their violet gowns.

  Once housed at the King’s Wardrobe on Carter Lane, Richard was as good as his word in his letter to Bishop Russell. After learning that his solicitor general was still determined to have his Mistress Shore, Richard swiftly pardoned Jane.

  And so, Jane went home to Hosier Lane at yuletide to a civil welcome from her father and a joyful one from her mother. Lying in her old tester bed, the familiar story of Mary Magdalene stitched into its rich tapestry curtain, and Ankarette snoring contentedly next to her, Jane thought back to the last night she had spent there. How different that wedding eve had been from the one she was looking forward to in the very near future. She hugged herself. She still could not believe her good fortune, nor could she believe that her heart, so badly trodden upon by Tom Grey, had miraculously healed and was opening to another man, who might turn out to be the best of them all. A smile curled her mouth as she remembered that familiar bursting sensation in her chest when she had first realized she was in love again.

  It had happened the day she was released when Thomas came to accompany her to Hosier Lane. Once out of sight of the prying eyes of the prisoners, Jane had no sooner taken the first intoxicating breath of freedom when Thomas had suddenly pulled her into a doorway and taken her in a fierce embrace. When his mouth crushed down on hers and his tongue moved to separate her lips, Jane’s body responded with its old fire. They stood locked thus for what seemed like minutes, and Jane could feel Thomas’s hardness against her for the first time. She knew then, she desired him as much as he did her.

  “You see,” she told herself, her youthful fancies flown, “the poets were wrong. There can be true love in wedlock. Love is not only real when ’tis done in secret, and when I marry Thomas Lyneham, I shall tell anyone who will listen.”

  * * *

  I. actual text

  NINETEEN

  LONDON, 1484

  Jane was touched by her mother’s pleasure at her return.

  “There was never a day when you were not in my thoughts,” Amy said as the two women sat cozily together plying their needles. “So many questions I have for you, and thr
ee short weeks to ask them.” She shooed her maidservant from the room and lowered her voice. “What was King Edward really like, Jane? Were you not afraid?”

  Jane’s eyes were merry at the memory. “Certes, I was afraid the first time I met him, but he was so charming and easy to talk to, I was soon emboldened to speak my mind. It seems he liked women of spirit: his mother and his queen are thus, and I can attest to the queen’s frankness, Mother,” she said, laughing at the memory. “Let me tell you of the time she lost her dog.” Jane’s ability to bring a scene to life and merrily make fun of herself had Amy laughing and regretting the years she had not had her quick-witted daughter for company.

  And thus they whiled away many a happy hour during the days before the wedding, Jane learning much about her brothers, and of nieces and nephews she had never known and looked forward to meeting. One day, her mother confided her unhappiness following Isabel’s death, and how, all alone in the house, she had had thoughts of taking her own life. “My children were everything to me once your father soured toward me early in our marriage. I had lost you and then Bella, and now Master Allen has another wife and the children a new mother. We see them rarely, as he is removed to Kent.”

  “But you did not commit that sin, Mother. You are still here and still lovely.”

  “Flatterer!” Amy retorted, but she was pleased. “Something happened when Bella left us,” she went on pensively, “and for you ’twill be hard to believe. Your father began to look at me with more than mere tolerance. He changed, Jane. He softened, and for the first time in our marriage, he began to show me respect—and more than that, he has shown that he loves me.”