Cicely's Second King

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  It would be so good to see Richard now, she thought wistfully, but he had not come to her since she left London. Perhaps it was now his turn to be left behind. She leaned her head back, and smiled as she felt her child move. Mary was present, and so speaking aloud to him was not possible, but she thought it. In a whisper. I love you, Richard Plantagenet, with all my heart and soul. The fire shifted, flames leapt for a moment, and sparks fled up the chimney towards the raw, snow-filled night above.

  There was a tap at the door that Mary hastened to answer. It was not Jon, as Cicely had fleetingly hoped, but the same manservant as before, bringing food and refreshment. Bread, cheese, a little ham, with a small jug of Rhenish wine.

  Mary prepared to pour the wine, but then paused and sniffed it.

  ‘Is something wrong, Mary?’

  ‘I . . . do not know, my lady. I believe I smell spearmint.’

  ‘In wine? Surely not.’

  The maid set the jug aside. ‘I may be wrong, my lady, indeed I hope I am, but pennyroyal smells of spearmint.’

  Cicely rose slowly, her hands immediately protecting her baby. ‘Pennyroyal? The herb that is taken to induce a miscarriage or abortion?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. The oil is very poisonous indeed.’

  Cicely gazed at the jug. ‘You must be wrong.’

  ‘I pray so, my lady. But the women in my family do know certain things. We are not witches,’ she hastened to add, ‘we merely know about herbs and such matters.’

  ‘But, who would want to—’ She broke off and looked at Mary. They were both thinking of the woman with flaxen hair. Cicely resumed her seat slowly, looking at the food, not daring to eat.

  ‘I will bring another drink for you, my lady.’ Mary poured the cup of suspect wine back into the jug and hurried away with both. It seemed an age before she returned, with some mead that she herself had drawn.

  ‘This is safe, my lady. And so is the food.’

  ‘You can be sure?’

  ‘Yes. I know someone in the kitchens, a cook who is from my home in Friskney. He told me you could safely drink this mead and eat. He himself prepared the food and knows it has not been tampered with because he alone has the key to the pantry. He also told me . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The woman at the foot of the steps is called Lucy Talby, my lady.’ Mary lowered her eyes, clearly uncertain of whether or not to say more, but then she met Cicely’s gaze again. ‘Lucy is the midwife here at Wyberton, and is said to have the eye. Her mother was hung for a witch-hag at Boston, and she has a younger sister who is definitely believed to practise the craft. No one dares to use any other midwife than Lucy, because if they do it is believed she will overlook mother and child.’

  ‘And she is to attend me?’ Cicely’s whole body was in the sudden clutch of dread. ‘Never! I will not have it! I will return to London rather than have her attend me! My lord would surely not force such a creature upon me.’

  Mary was upset for her. ‘There is more, my lady. Mistress Talby is also . . . Sir Jon’s mistress.’

  Cicely was stricken, her faith in her husband in sudden turmoil. She had not for a moment considered he might have a mistress. Few husbands admitted such things to their spouses, but this mistress would be attending his wife in childbed! The baby. What of Richard’s baby? Tears sprang to her eyes. What had she done by coming here? She would have been better off staying in London.

  But then, from nowhere, she remembered something Richard had said. You—we—will have a fine son, a healthy son. I do not know what the future holds for him, but he will have a future. No sickly childhood and early demise for him . . . The tears could suddenly be blinked away and overcome. She knew Richard had not really said it, that she had only been telling herself what she so very much wanted to believe, but now, in the grip of such agitation and anxiety, she convinced herself he had said it. Cicely would do bloody battle with ten witches to protect his child. And she would emerge the victor!

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cicely next saw Jon in the crowded great hall the following morning, where everyone broke their fast together, and where thin January sunlight fingered in through the narrow windows. She paused in the archway before entering, wondering where her husband had slept. And with whom. He had exacted a promise from her that she would be faithful, yet he intended to do as he pleased. And he had never even lain with the wife upon whom he imposed such a restriction!

  She knew that most men would do the same, but this was Jon Welles, who certainly was not ‘most men’, and she felt almost irrationally hurt and deceived. So overwhelmed was she by this sudden turn of events that she suddenly saw his abstinence in a very different light. It had nothing to do with her feelings for Richard but everything to do with his passion and devotion to his hag of a mistress!

  Cicely tried to bring herself up sharply. She did not know anything for certain, and the fact that Lucy Talby had been his mistress before marriage did not necessarily signify she still was. Did it? With a deep breath, she caught up her heavy lavender velvet skirt and entered the hall, where all the chatter and other noise was silenced immediately. Everyone watched the new Lady Welles. Or was it only the daughter of despised King Edward IV they saw?

  Jon rose and came down the hall to meet her. He was dressed for travelling, she noticed, in a long, dark-brown leather coat, fastened closely at the waist with a wide belt. There was fur at his collar, cuffs and hem. His head was bare. ‘You slept well, Cicely?’

  She gazed up into those dark blue eyes that until now had always reassured her, but which no longer did this morning. All she could think was that Lucy Talby would be in attendance at her travails, and that he had known it even as he decided to bring his wife here.

  ‘Is something wrong, Cicely?’ Jon took her hand. ‘Perhaps you did not sleep well?’

  ‘Did you, my lord? Sleep, I mean.’ No, you were probably too busy fucking your mistress. The obscenity leapt into her thoughts, and she did not wish it away.

  ‘Yes, I slept.’ His brows drew together in puzzlement. ‘You are clearly out of sorts with me.’

  ‘How could that possibly be so? Have you done something else that you know would make me angry?’

  ‘I wince, my lady. No doubt you will eventually explain, because I do not know what you mean. There is nothing else I should tell you, Cicely, except that I learned this morning I have to go urgently to Rockingham. I am Constable there, as you know.’

  ‘You do not wish me to accompany you?’

  ‘Cicely, the journey from London was almost too much for you, so if you imagine I would now subject you to another journey, all the way into Northamptonshire, you could not be more in error. ‘

  ‘And so, instead, you leave me in this place?’

  ‘You are safe here, Cicely. Please do not think otherwise.’

  But the only thing that came to her mind in that moment was Rhenish wine that smelled of spearmint. ‘Will you return soon?’ she asked.

  ‘I will endeavour to be here again when your time is due, if that is what you mean. You know I will not stay away any longer than necessary. But this is not the time for conversation, I fancy.’ He drew her palm to his lips, as he had the night before. ‘Come, I will present you to the hall, and then we will break our fast together.’

  He offered his arm, and she managed a wan little smile as she slipped her hand over his. But the smile was abolished as she suddenly saw Lucy Talby, seated close to the dais, with that same haughty expression, that same animosity, but now with an air of victory, it seemed. And clad in blatant scarlet.

  ‘I believe Mistress Talby is to attend me in childbed,’ she said, as Jon conducted her along the dais towards the vacant chair beside his own.

  He hesitated, but then walked on. ‘And who told you that?’

  ‘I believe it must be common knowledge. You may as well accept it now, sir. That woman will not touch me. Do you understand?’

  ‘I will not argue with you here, Cicely.’

&nb
sp; ‘There is nothing to argue about, Jon. She will not come near me.’ She smiled, for no one else could hear what she said and she did not wish Lucy Talby to know there was anything amiss between Sir Jon and Lady Welles.

  He looked at her again. ‘We will have to talk of this, Cicely, but for the moment I intend to present you. I trust you will not make a fool of me?’

  ‘You have already made that of me, Jon.’ Again she smiled.

  He turned to face the silent hall, and led her a step forward, raising their clasped hands. ‘I present my dear wife, the Lady Cicely Plantagenet, now Lady Welles.’

  Her identity, which must have been already known to everyone, nevertheless caused disquiet. Lucy’s face became angry at the word ‘dearest’. It became still angrier at what he said next.

  Jon looked around at all faces. ‘My lady is beloved to me, and must be treated with all due respect and honour. She must be welcomed to Wyberton, and to all my other manors. If I hear of any discourtesy or ill intent, I will not be merciful. You have all been duly warned. My lady is my wife and will soon present me with a child. Remember it.’

  He made Cicely take another step forward, and then addressed the hall again. ‘Show respect,’ he commanded, and as one the entire hall stood to either bow or curtsey.

  Lucy Talby complied, but may as well have not, because respect was absent.

  As Jon assisted Cicely to sit, he leaned closer. ‘We will speak in the solar directly after this meal.’

  ‘Do we need to?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Cicely, we do.’

  Cicely faced her husband before the large fireplace in the solar. Here the light was brilliant, falling through the coloured glass of a large triple window, to lie in spangles across the floor. It had snowed heavily overnight, and the land beyond the window was white, an endless flat expanse that stretched away to the horizon in all directions.

  He now had his brown leather hat, and slapped it against his thigh. ‘What, exactly, is this about, Cicely?’

  ‘That you have a jealous mistress who is reputed to be a witch and who is intended to attend me while I give birth.’

  ‘Well, that is direct enough, I suppose.’

  ‘It was meant to be.’

  ‘Firstly, Lucy Talby is not my mistress, secondly she is not a witch, and thirdly she is the very best midwife hereabouts and therefore well able to attend you.’

  ‘Oh, well, my fears are vanquished,’ she answered acidly, sweeping her hands to encompass the room.

  ‘Do not do this, Cicely, for there is no need.’

  ‘No need? Jesu, you do not understand at all, do you? You made so much of making me promise never to take a lover, and yet here you are, back in the arms of your mistress, but denying it all, of course!’

  ‘I am trying to make allowances for your condition, Cicely.’

  ‘How good of you. How considerate and kind. How untruthful! I saw that woman’s face this morning, Jon. She was the cat that spent the night licking your cream. And I saw her last night. She did not say anything but she challenged me for you. You, Jon, it had nothing to do with Losecoat Field. You spent last night with her, did you not?’

  ‘Were you there?’

  ‘You know I was not.’

  ‘Then how do you know so much?’

  She looked at him. ‘Have you ever lain with her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many times?’

  ‘I do not know, Cicely, for I was not counting.’

  ‘So, there were many times?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She turned away, fighting back tears. ‘This was what you knew you still had to tell me yesterday, was not it?’

  He did not answer.

  ‘You knew people here believe she has the eye, and you had every intention of letting her attend at my birthing. You knew, Jon, and you did nothing to prevent it. Why did you not leave me in London? I would rather endure Henry than this.’

  ‘You do not have to endure anything here, Cicely.’ He put his hat on the table and came to turn her to him again. ‘I did not spend last night with Lucy Talby. She was my mistress, but is no more. Whether you believe that or not is entirely up to you. I certainly have not brought you here to endanger you. Why in God’s own blessed name would I do that? I have offered you my protection and my name, and you shall have both. I did not offer you love, nor did you offer it to me. But know this. If I ever decide to break my vows by taking another woman to my bed, I will do so. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her chin came up. ‘I can break vows too.’

  ‘Break them with Richard as wantonly and often as you please, but not with a physical lover! You will not put horns on me! Do you hear? There will not be another bastard that I am expected to claim!’ He drew a very long breath to quell his growing anger, and then spoke more gently. ‘Cicely, I do not wish it to be like this between us. I do understand that you are tired, upset and probably frightened to be here. But there is no danger, I swear it.’

  ‘So there was not a smell of spearmint in my wine last night?’

  He looked blankly at her. ‘Spearmint?’

  ‘Pennyroyal, Jon. It is used to end a pregnancy.’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘Someone tried to poison me, Jon. At least, that is my firm belief. And if Lucy Talby is a midwife—and a witch—she will know all about pennyroyal. All about it.’

  He ran his hand through his hair. ‘I do not believe I am hearing this.’

  ‘And I do not believe I am forced to say it.’

  ‘You have proof of anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So it is all fancy?’

  She lowered her eyes. No, it was not fancy, but she could not verify anything.

  ‘I imagine you have been told that Lucy’s unfortunate mother was hung as a witch?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He met her eyes. ‘Three children were murdered in this area, and people recalled that Lucy’s mother and her two daughters were skilled with potions, herbs and all such things. Lucy’s mother was caught gathering—’ He broke off.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Pennyroyal,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘Cicely, it is used for a great many things, as you well know. There are numerous plants that can be both beneficial and fatal, it all depends upon the dose and form in which it is given. I concede that pennyroyal oil is very poisonous, but having the plant in one’s garden does not make one a murderous witch! Lucy Talby does not have the eye, or indeed any other supernatural ability, but if it will ease your anxiety, I will see that a midwife is brought from Boston. And I will leave instructions that if you begin your travails in my absence, Lucy is not to attend you. Will that reassure you?’

  ‘A little. But I do not want anyone from Boston, I wish for my maid’s aunt to come from Friskney. Her name is Katherine Kymbe, and she is skilled in birthing.’ Mistress Kymbe was the deaf lady who could read lips.

  ‘I know her. So have her, if you wish. Tell your maid to instruct her accordingly. I will attend to all expenses.’ He took Cicely gently by the upper arms. ‘Please do not mistrust me, for as God is my witness I am not untrue to you.’

  ‘I want to believe you, Jon.’

  ‘Then do so.’

  ‘Send Lucy Talby away.’

  ‘I cannot do that.’

  She pulled from his grasp. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I owe it to her late father to take care of her and her younger sister, Judith.’ He released her and turned away.

  ‘Why?’ she asked again.

  ‘Because he begged me as he lay dying.’

  ‘Why did he beg such a thing?’

  ‘Jesu, Cicely, you can be plaguey difficult.’

  ‘Because you are plaguey evasive. Why, exactly, do you feel obliged to keep Lucy Talby in your household? Or is her sister here too? Do you have them both together? À trois?’

  ‘I have neither of them in my bed, Cicely, although I have admitted that Lucy certainly occupied it for a while
.’ He turned to her again. ‘I have been providing for them both because when William Talby saved me from death at your father’s hand, he forfeited his own life. Because I was at Losecoat Field, Cicely.’

  She was taken aback. ‘You were. . . ? But why did you not say yesterday?’

  ‘Because I did not want to admit to you that I went there specifically to try to kill your father.’

  Numb, she could only look at him.

  ‘Has your mind changed, Cicely? Am I no longer your honourable husband, but rather dishonourable after all?’

  ‘No, I think. To both questions.’ She sounded like Henry!

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She nodded. ‘I want to trust you, Jon. After all you have done for me, I really do want to trust you. So tell me everything this time. Everything.’

  ‘I was seen at Losecoat, but not recognized by the Yorkists, and William Talby not only saved me but aided my escape. In so doing he was fatally injured by an arrow in the neck. He lived long enough to beg me to care for his daughters. I owe him a great debt of honour, and so I do as he wished.’

  ‘And made Lucy your mistress? That was dishonourable!’

  ‘An unworthy retort, Cicely. I did not make her my mistress, she eventually did that herself. I merely let it happen. Now she has a post in the kitchens. It is her choice. Her sister still lives in the villages and has never been in my bed. And none of this is actually your business. I am not yet an unfaithful husband, although I fancy in your mind you have been a very unfaithful wife. So what right have you to criticize me?’

  She did not meet his eyes. ‘None at all, except that my unfaithfulness is only imagined.’ So far, Cicely, only so far . . .

  ‘I doubt the exact nature of it is any different.’

  ‘Probably not, but the act itself is. Any living man, is what you said, and in that I have not failed you.’ Yet, Cicely. Yet.

  He fell silent.

  She composed herself again. ‘Jon, I do wish to have Katherine Kymbe. That at least you must understand. How can I possibly be attended at such a vital time by a woman who has shared your bed?’