I allowed Jane to lead me to a trestle. What she called ‘a welcome feast in your honour’ was set there and I took my place at the board with her beside me. In the shelter of the cloth her hand strayed to my knee. ‘Davy is going to serve us,’ she said sedately, beckoning the boy. ‘He wants to train for knighthood.’ The fingers of her other hand continued to pursue their own agenda. If her aim was to reassure me that her ardour had not dimmed it was certainly succeeding. ‘How long can you stay?’ she asked softly.
‘Well I am certainly here for one night at least,’ I replied, avoiding her gaze in order to keep my face straight. ‘I need to get to know these children, do I not, Elin?’
I had turned to catch her eye and she blushed, remembering her quip as she had greeted me. ‘Yes, my lord father,’ she said. ‘But one night is not enough.’
I let my gaze swivel to Jane and my thighs closed tightly on her hand. ‘She is right,’ I said. ‘It is not.’
Meanwhile the two girls and Evan sat down together at the other side of the board and while Davy practised his serving skills, I engaged Elin and Joan in conversation. I discovered the distinct difference between them that Jane had described. It reminded me vividly of my own relationship with Edmund, where the older child assumes superiority, which forces the younger to adapt to it even though he or she does not accept it. Intuitively I detected that the meekness with which Sian deferred to Elin’s more forceful personality disguised her own inner determination and I wondered how she might blossom if the influence of the elder was removed. Sian enjoyed her dinner quietly, while Elin chattered for them both, addressing me but flashing frequent smiles at Evan. She was a flirt, my little Elin, and her bright hair and dancing blue eyes were enchanting.
Later, when the candles were lit and we settled around the hearth, I related the tale of Warwick’s triumphant humiliation at Queen Marguerite’s feet. Sian sat sedately in the background while Elin pulled a cushion to the foot of my chair and gazed up at me with her huge blue eyes. She was definitely a Tudor, this flame-haired daughter of mine.
‘We shall have to keep a sharp eye on Elin,’ I remarked to Jane as we lay in bed that night, satiated by the first urgent slaking of our long-neglected passion. If the truth were known she had probably found my hasty eagerness for her rather less than satisfying and I had every intention of rectifying this after a suitable period of recovery.
‘What do you suggest?’ Jane asked. ‘We cannot lock her away until her body catches up with her feelings.’
‘No I would not suggest that. But I have a plan that may have the welcome side effect of keeping Elin out of trouble. I will tell you tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Not tonight …’
The day dawned bright. Jane and I sat on the window seats. ‘Here is the matter, then,’ I began. ‘Everything depends on whether Edward stays and fights or takes flight. All I know so far is that Warwick has secured London for Lancaster and released King Henry from the Tower. I have men ready to support him, should Edward show signs of preparing for a battle; otherwise I will send them to garrison castles around the Welsh March that are presently held by Yorkists. But my prime objective is to go to Weobley, collect Harri and take him to his mother. Margaret deserves to get her son back and I consider it my duty to see it happen. She has been a crucial supporter of our cause and I am greatly in her debt.’
As I spoke I noticed Jane’s expression change from open interest to narrow-eyed antipathy. I had forgotten how quick she could be to react when it came to the mention of Margaret. ‘So you will leave us, the family you have not seen for years, to go and dance attendance on your honoured lady! Can you not spare us even one more day of your exalted company, my lord?’
‘Oh Jane – that hot temper of yours!’ I reached up to stroke her cheek but she brushed my hand away and averted her eyes. ‘I do not intend to leave you behind but hope you will all come with me. Lady Margaret will be in London. We will go there from Weobley and deliver Harri to her. It is summer and the weather is fine; would Elin and Sian not enjoy the journey and a visit to London?’
She frowned, still avoiding my gaze. ‘Perhaps they would but not to stay as unwelcome guests of Lady Margaret’s.’
‘That will not be necessary. I have a house in Stepney Green, which has been lived in by one of my former councillors, the Yorkist Thomas Vaughan. But he has fled London now and I have written to Geoffrey Pole to ask him to repossess it and hire some servants to prepare it for us. You will not even have to meet Margaret if you do not wish to.’ I reached for her chin and this time she let me turn her face to mine. ‘I love you, Jane, you must know that, but we are in the midst of restoring my brother’s throne. I must keep my army on alert, I must fetch Harri, I must go to my brother in London and I must liaise with Warwick. This is the only way I can devise for us to be together and for me to fulfil my obligations at the same time. Say you will come to London.’
She blinked tears away. ‘It is so good to have you back, my lord Jasper. Of course I will come to London.’
42
Jasper
Coldharbour Inn, London, Le Garlek, Stepney Green, & The Bishop’s Palace by St Paul’s
LADY MARGARET, COUNTESS OF Richmond and her husband Sir Henry Stafford were adept at playing the allegiance game. So successfully had they convinced Edward of York of their loyal support for his reign that not only had Margaret been appointed a lady in waiting to his queen but he had also granted the couple the use of Woking Palace in Surrey and Coldharbour Inn in the City of London. The inn had previously been the property of the Duke of Exeter, the man who had abandoned and defrauded his mercenaries at Harlech Castle and been thrown out of Queen Marguerite’s court-in-exile. Exeter remained what might be termed a faithful liability to the Lancastrian cause, attainted and deprived of all his properties in the same Yorkist Parliament as myself. There was little doubt that when King Henry’s new Parliament reversed this Act of Attainder, he would claim Coldharbour Inn back, just as I would claim Pembroke Castle from the Herberts, but in the meantime Margaret still had the use of it and so it was there that I took Harri to be reunited with his mother.
He had been ten when Margaret had last seen him at Raglan Castle. Now approaching fourteen, he was no longer a little boy but a serious youth with a friendly charm, which disguised a keen intelligence. Not having seen him myself since he was taken from my wardship as a small child, I had been impressed during some long conversations on the ride from Weobley by both his physical and intellectual advancement. He had been particularly anxious about earning his mother’s good opinion and more than once I had had to assure him that his mother would be as proud of him as I was.
Once we reached London I took rooms at the Kings Head in Cheapside, where Harri and I made ourselves presentable and set off for Coldharbour Lane, while Jane elected to stay behind with the girls. ‘Harri needs to spend time alone with Lady Margaret,’ Jane reminded me. ‘You should not stay too long.’
Coldharbour Inn was the largest and most imposing building in the parade of impressive houses that ran west along the north bank of the Thames above London Bridge. To protect the house from floods it had an extensive walled garden, which led down to a private pier and water gate. We left our horses and Harri’s baggage with grooms in the courtyard and were shown to a long high-beamed hall at the centre of the mansion.
Coming into the presence of Lady Margaret always seemed like a special event. She exuded an aura of dainty but dignified grandeur and walked forward to greet us on soft, slippered feet like a swan gliding over a calm lake. Arrayed in a gown of lustrous dark brown silk and brocade and amply adorned with jewellery of gold and costly gems, she greeted Harri with exclamations of such joy and delight that he appeared overwhelmed. Then she led us to seats of carved and polished oak set beside walls hung with bright-coloured tapestries showing scenes of royalty hunting in verdant landscapes. Harri sat quietly lacing and unlacing his fingers while she plied him with refreshments and information, telling him that she would be taking h
im to court very soon.
‘We do not know exactly when. King Henry is staying at the Bishop of London’s palace and says he wants to wait until Queen Marguerite comes from France before setting up court at Westminster. But I know he listens to you, Lord Jasper, and you really must try and persuade him otherwise, for now that the Yorkist regime has left there are many loyal Lancastrians returning to London and they all want to pay homage to their king and renew their allegiance. The Bishop’s Palace is simply not large enough.’
I gave her a doubtful look. ‘I will do my best when I visit him tomorrow but it is six years since I saw him and I do not know his state of mind. He has never liked London, Westminster in particular.’
Margaret nodded glumly. ‘I know and it will not help that Elizabeth Woodville has claimed sanctuary at Westminster Abbey with her daughters. Now that Edward has fled to Flanders, Heaven knows if or when she will ever emerge.’ She crossed herself and fingered the gold collar she wore at her neck, which had a crystal crucifix hanging from it. Margaret displayed a puzzling meld of wealth and piety. ‘Elizabeth is heavy with child so it will likely be born in the abbey precinct. How ironic if it should be a boy. The heir she has long prayed for and which now will have no throne.’
Harri found his voice at this stage. ‘What is she like, the commoner queen? The Herberts always said she was beautiful.’
Margaret smiled at her son. ‘Yes, she has two of the attributes most needed in a queen, Henry, beauty and fertility. And she has some noble breeding – but only on her mother’s side. Unfortunately she also has a trait that made her unpopular with many at court – greed. Every time an estate or a marriage or a lucrative office became available she demanded it for herself or her family and Edward gave it to her. And she is implacable. She will never forgive Warwick for executing her father and brother and for accusing her mother of witchcraft. There is much bad blood between those two. She will not leave sanctuary while he wields any power in the land.’
‘So what will happen to her and her family?’ Harri sounded genuinely troubled.
Margaret smiled at her son. ‘Your concern for the lady does you credit, Henry, but you should not worry on her behalf. Your uncle is a kind and compassionate king and he will not allow any action to be taken against a woman, especially one so close to giving birth. His quarrel is with her husband and entirely justified.’ She folded her hands gracefully in her lap and sat back more comfortably in her chair. ‘Now let us forget Elizabeth Woodville and talk about you.’
I decided this was my cue to depart and stood up. ‘You both have a great deal to catch up on so I will leave you to do so.’ Lady Margaret nodded agreement and held out her hand for me to kiss, which I duly did, adding, ‘I will leave details of my place of residence and would be grateful if you would keep me informed of events here, my lady. If you or Henry have need of me, I will come directly.’
‘I certainly will have need of you. I am relying on you to escort us to court when the day comes. Meanwhile I would be grateful for any news you may have to impart about the king’s health. It is of such vital importance to us all.’
Harri rose to bid me farewell, bowing punctiliously before returning my embrace with barely concealed regret. ‘I will be back very soon,’ I assured him. ‘Enjoy some precious time with your mother.’
* * *
‘Will we be safe, living outside the city walls? There are so many armed men about.’
Jane was keen to go to our residence in Stepney Green but her question was a fair one. The thoroughfares of London had been relatively free of soldiers, due to the Mayor’s restrictive order on the number of retainers incoming nobles were permitted to bring through the gates. But when we exited the city we found large noisy groups of men-at-arms gathered around the taverns at Whitechapel, and there were a number of encampments visible on the wasteland beyond. Jane and little Sian were clearly made nervous by this, being used to living within the relative safety of castle walls or a gated town like Tenby but I noticed that Elin appeared enamoured of the busy road with its procession of traders’ carts returning from the London markets to their farms and villages in the flatlands alongside the Thames estuary. She gaily returned the wave aimed at her by a grinning youth in a white hood who was driving one of them, only to be sharply reprimanded by her anxious mother and told to keep her eyes focussed between the ears of her horse, a feat she managed for less than the length of an Ave.
I tried to reassure Jane. ‘The house is solidly built and set in a large garden surrounded by high walls. And there are no taverns on the green to attract rogues or vagrants – only market stalls and one very fashionable inn, catering for wealthy travellers. Some of the surrounding houses belong to captains of the ships you can see moored in the docks over there.’ I pointed to a forest of masts visible on the river as we traversed the open ground beyond the Mile End crossroads. ‘Others are inhabited by rich merchants, who ship their goods in and out on those very ships. These are good, hard-working families who have made their money buying and selling in the Baltic and Flanders. Our closest neighbours are a mercer’s family called Gardiner. They trade in luxury fabrics and trimmings.’
Jane gave me a doubtful smile. ‘Well, I will be glad to get there anyway. It has been a long journey.’
The house was called Le Garlek, a fanciful notion of the master grocer who had been its first occupant. Geoffrey Pole had arranged the exchange of deeds from Thomas Vaughan, a lawyer with whom I had previously shared the property and who had served on my Pembroke council until I had been attainted; then he had chosen to serve William Herbert and swear allegiance to Edward of York. In the present circumstances he and his family had made a shrewd exit from the London area and taken refuge in one of his properties in the Welsh March, where he doubtless hoped to evade Lancastrian retribution.
Our little procession turned off the main thoroughfare and entered the long tree-lined double row of houses that formed the enclave of Stepney Green. In the shortening October days tall trees were turning russet and yellow above the high garden walls and elders and hawthorns made red and copper splashes around the green. Fallen leaves swirled around our horses’ feet causing them to prance and shy. Le Garlek’s studded wooden gates were set in a sturdy stone arch and Davy trotted forward, keen to pull the handle he saw in a niche in the wall. A bell rang somewhere inside and a face appeared at the grille set in one of the gates. Almost immediately they began to open.
‘Well, you said it was secure,’ observed Jane, her smile wider and more confident. ‘At least you were recognized.’
‘And Master Pole’s arrangements appear to be working since the servants are expecting us.’ I felt a surge of relief as we all rode under the archway. ‘You will be safe and happy here, I promise.’
Early the following day I left Jane in her element, organizing servants, arranging furniture and unpacking the chests, which had come direct from Tenby and arrived before us. We had all slept well in clean linen and she had declared her intention of inspecting the cellars for supplies of ale and wine and walking out to the local market on the green for fresh bread, meat and fish. I smiled as I imagined her loading Elin’s basket down with purchases in order to stop her wandering off to explore on her own and looked forward to returning in the evening to a fine dinner. For my own part I dressed in court apparel and took Evan and Davy with me back to the city to mind the horses while I paid my first visit to the newly restored King Henry VI of England.
It did me good just to hear my brother’s title spoken aloud once more in his own realm as I stated my request for an audience to his Chamberlain. Sir Richard Tunstall was a Lancastrian knight well known to me, since we had been dubbed at the same time and served the Lancastrian cause together in battle and siege. Yet Sir Richard, being gentry rather than nobility, had somehow negotiated the dangerous shores of Yorkism, served at King Edward’s court and, at Warwick’s behest had pledged allegiance once more to his true king. He was a skilled and adaptable courtier.
&nb
sp; He conducted me to the Bishop of London’s private chapel where I found King Henry exactly where I expected him to be, on his knees before the image of Christ on the Cross. He rose at the mention of my name and turned towards me and I was profoundly shocked by the sight that met my eyes. Henry had never been robust but now nearing fifty his life of fear and imprisonment had told heavily on him and he looked like a man in his dotage. His hair, straggly and grey, still hung down to his shoulders from under his soft-brimmed hat as it had always done, but his eyes were sunk in their sockets, their colour almost indiscernible, and his shrunken body had so little flesh on it that his long robe hung like sacking from a farmer’s scarecrow. The skin on the hands he extended to me in greeting was almost transparent, revealing the intricate dark tracery of his veins, and I had to swallow the lump in my throat as I knelt to kiss them.
‘Jasper, my beloved brother!’ he said, his voice cracking, his peering eyes doubtful beneath a frown. ‘Is it truly you? I feared I might never see you again. Rise, rise, brother, and let me see your face.’
I blinked back tears as I rose to my feet and impulsively drew him into an embrace. ‘Henry, your grace, my liege,’ I stuttered, hastily drawing back at feeling him stiffen in shock, as if even the grip of a brotherly embrace was too painful for him to bear. ‘I crave your pardon. I was overcome to see you again. I bring you my loyal greeting and heartfelt joy at your restoration. England has her rightful king once more.’
‘Thanks to you and Lord Warwick and the King of France! I am still trying to come to terms with the situation. To tell you the truth I may never do so; I have become so used to begging the Almighty to grant me acceptance of my lot that I find it hard to remember to thank Him for reversing it.’
First of the Tudors Page 35