“My lady,” I answered, my tongue stiff in my mouth. “I’m afraid to use such tricks. A woman was arrested in Sheriff Hutton for telling fortunes last May.”
“Tricks? I never heard you call it that before. Indeed, I remember at Dowgate how the wenches dismissed the idea of chicanery because your prophecies proved so accurate.”
I fumed against such keen intelligence, noting how cleverly she’d chosen to ignore my mention of the woman arrested for sorcery. I hadn’t dared take the cards from their hiding-place since. Now, with Amy Sadler’s sly implications fresh in mind, the reality of discovery preyed upon me.
“Conjuring’s against the law. The church condemns those who practice it. How can I take such a foolish risk?”
Smiling, though her eyes gleamed murderous, she held up her hand so the little queen thrust right into my face. “I know you can do it,” she said. “And I’ve some authority myself. Don’t you trust my protection, Nan?” Her voice softened. “No one need know.” A sly gleam lit the feline features. “Besides you and I are old in secrets, are we not?”
In the hearth, dancing flames mocked me with their pointing fingers. The smell of burning made me sweat. I thought of the foreign woman in prison. Please let it not be Mara, I prayed.
“It’s dangerous to meddle with fortune-telling. Even noble ladies are subject to the church’s commands. No one’s safe from the fire.”
“Trust me.” Her whisper became a serpent’s hiss.
I bowed my head, wondering how I might extricate myself from this latest intrigue, Brother Brian’s troubled smile vivid in my mind.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Wild rumours about Clarence enlivened a dank, dismal November.
“He’s plotting with the French.” Genevieve murmured nonsense among the little huddle of maids in the bower-chamber. “They’re going to help King Henry’s old queen to invade England.”
“But why would Queen Margaret want to come back here?” Meg Huddleston flashed me an indiscreet glance, tossing back her head with exasperation. “Her husband and son are dead. I don’t know who told you—”
“Anyway Clarence is in the Tower,” interrupted Grace, eyes still on her book. “He can’t plan an invasion from there, can he?”
“But that little wench, Amy Sadler, said she heard Master Metcalf discussing it with our Duke.” Peevishly Genevieve threw down her sewing.
“Amy Sadler’s a mischievous inventor of spurious gossip,” said Meg. She turned to me. “Nan knows her of old, don’t you?” I smarted under her artful words. “Do you know what the servants are saying about Clarence, Nan? I’m sure you must have heard something on your frequent visits to the nursery.”
“Mistress Collins hates gossip,” I answered. My cheeks reddened with suppressed rage.
“Well, I’m sure Lady Anne will be glad her brother-in-law’s incarcerated after the way he –”
“Treated her so unkindly?” Lady Anne’s sudden arrival silenced us and left Meg flushing with discomfort. “I must send you to the nursery at once, Nan,” she said. “My son’s complaining of a headache. No one else has your healing touch.”
I rose under the deliberate approval of her smile.
“Now, Genevieve, what gossip have you to amuse us?” she asked pointedly, as I quit the chamber.
* * * * *
Dining in the great hall amidst choking smoke from the wayward fire, the evening’s conversation buzzed with news. Clarence had slandered Edward’s birth, criticised his government and made outrageous accusations against the queen.
Old Walt, pompous with too much ale, spoke up a touch too loud. “He’s allus been trouble. It’s time the king put an end to all traitors, brother or no brother. Leniency is weakness.” He raised a belligerent arm. “A king mun punish if he means to have respect.”
Gripped by this vitriolic outburst, the other diners froze.
“The queen’ll see Clarence punished.” Jane Collins shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her expression severe. “He’ll happen find no mercy in that wench.”
Old Walt threw her a scowl. “Aye, but it’s not for wenches to rule,” he said caustically. “It’s a man’s business. And the king’ll happen summon Parliament to put Clarence on trial in a week or two.” With a grim smirk of satisfaction, the curmudgeon surveyed his audience. “Then we’ll see justice done.”
Someone dropped a knife, breaking the tension.
“Not at Christmas.” Jane muttered just loud enough for all to hear.
“Nor before the royal wedding,” added Tom Metcalf, with quiet amusement. He quickly engaged the company. “The king won’t miss the opportunity to see his youngest son claim the Mowbray inheritance. He plans a huge affair to celebrate this event, and even Clarence won’t spoil his pleasure in it. I have this from our duke himself!”
More than willing to be distracted from Walt’s harangue I listened to Tom Metcalf’s garrulous wife chattering of this royal marriage set to take place in the new year.
“It’ll be a glorious occasion.” Plump Elizabeth Metcalf’s eyes sparkled. “I’d love to see it.”
“And so should I.” A plan began to form in my mind. “I went to Westminster once. The king keeps a magnificent court there.”
“Well I never! Is it true all the chambers are hung with cloth of gold?”
Even as I recounted the magnificence of the royal palace I resolved to write to Harry and arrange to meet him in London. Somehow I must persuade Lady Anne to take me with her to her nephew’s wedding.
* * * * *
Through the last week of the month the road to Jervaulx lay bleak with frost.
Though Miles advised against the journey I pleaded to see Brother Brian before winter marooned him across the moorland until the spring thaw.
How desolate and forbidding the abbey appeared against the iron-grey sky. Sheep huddled in the fields, the skirling cry of curlews filled the air with lamentation, and a biting wind whined amongst the granite hills. I wondered how the monks could bear such bitter solitude.
At the guest-house, the young novice monk with the pale hair awaited me.
“Brother Brian’s in the infirmary,” he said, flushing crimson. “I’m to take you there.”
Introducing himself as Edwin, he explained he was a native of the county sent by his family to further his education. Like Alan Palmer, he seemed a shy, sensitive youth.
“Come in, come in,” called Brother Brian. He stooped before the hearth, his face reddened by steam, ladling liquid into a bowl. “I’m after helping Brother Silas with his infusion for the winter cough. Several of the brothers have taken sick with it already. Bring Mistress Forrest a stool, Edwin, so she can sit by the fire.”
I settled close to the heat watching Brother Brian pour hot liquid into an earthen cup. Smiling at my hesitancy he handed it to me. “Taste this. It’ll warm you and chase away any ill-humours hanging about the place. Is it sweet enough?”
Sipping the brew I marvelled at its delicious honey flavour.
“Our own bees,” nodded the priest.
“And are there cloves in it, too?”
“And ginger and nutmeg. It’s one of Silas’ own recipes.”
“Did someone mention me?”
An elderly monk carrying a basket of russet apples appeared in the doorway. In spite of his advanced years, a wiry, sprightly quality hung about him and an impish expression lit his rheumy eyes.
“Brother Silas, this is Mistress Forrest.” Brother Brian turned to introduce me. “I mentioned her proposed visit if you remember. The guest-house’s a draughty old place at the best of times and Edwin tells me there’s no fire lit—”
“No matter—I’ve a guest myself as you see.”
A lithe figure I knew well slipped into the chamber.
“Master Green’s something of a scholar. He’s recently joined the Duke of Gloucester’s entourage and expressed a wish to see our library. He tells me he’s interested in the making of our herbal remedies. The Abbot’s grant
ed him permission to further his studies among us.”
Smiling broadly, Jack Green leaned nonchalantly against the fireplace, arms folded across his chest, a picture of calculated insolence.
“What an unexpected pleasure to meet you here, Mistress Forrest.” His glib words and over-confident posturing made me want to slap his face.
“I’d no idea you were such a scholar,” I answered. Both Brother Brian and Brother Silas flinched at my derisive tone but Jack laughed although his eyes remained wintry. “Jack and I are old companions,” I explained to the elderly monk with the basket. “He and I worked together in the kitchens of a fine house in London—”
“Indeed.” Brother Silas darted a meaningful glance at Brother Brian.
“I’m thinking Mistress Forrest and I might be better in the guest-house after all,” Brother Brian said, gathering up his cloak. “Edwin will make up the fire. And then you can show Master Green the workings of the infirmary without interruption.”
Edwin, observing all from a nook by the huge press, sprang to his feet. I noted how Jack Green’s lip curled as the delicate youth hurried to the door.
“Thank you, Brian.” Brother Silas turned his astute gaze upon me. “I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Mistress Forrest.”
I felt the weight of Jack Green’s ill-concealed animosity as we took our leave.
“That young man,” said Brother Brian, as we shivered before a meagre, smoking fire, “is the source of much unease, I fear.”
“He’s Stillington’s spy. Already he’s made threats against me, but I never thought to see him here at Jervaulx. Before he alerts his master of my whereabouts there’s something I must do—”
“Concerning the children in the Tower?”
Looking into the troubled depths of his blue eyes I seized his hands in mine. “I must warn their mother before it’s too late. And I’ve found a way at last. Pray for me.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“Hurry Nan!” Emma burst into the nursery and stood dancing from one foot to the other with impatience and cold. “We’ve been called to help the Duchess’s ladies with the packing.”
Jane Collins held out her arms to take Dickon from me. We watched the fluttering dance of the snowflakes as they drifted by the little lancet window.
December brought a whirl of winter storms and overnight the moors turned into a hostile wilderness. Already deep drifts blocked some roads. Brother Brian would be snow-bound at austere Jervaulx Abbey now.
“Ssh Emma!” Mistress Collins frowned. “Tha’ll wake the prince. He hardly slept a wink last night. Did tha get that milk? Wherever hast tha been all this time?”
The girl’s already frost-reddened cheeks darkened guiltily.
“Gossiping, I’ll wager.” An exasperated Jane Collins gently uncurled Dickon’s fingers from her hair and tried to restrain his struggles to escape from her lap. “What’s all this about packing?”
“On my way to the buttery I met Amy Sadler. She said the Gloucesters are going to spend Christmas in York, and—”
“Well that’s no surprise.” Jane chuckled at Dickon’s loud demands for “snow.”
“But straight after they’re going to London.” Emma looked as if she was about to burst with excitement. “King Edward’s invited them to Prince Richard’s wedding!”
“Ee, what a pother over a couple of bairns,” said the stout Yorkshire-woman. “Prince Richard’s still nobbut a babe. King Edward’s after that Mowbray lass’s inheritance before anyone else offers her marriage. Tom Metcalf knew as much.”
I couldn’t help laughing at her blunt reproof. The king’s avarice was legendary and little Anne Mowbray reputed the richest heiress in the country.
“When’s this grand occasion to be?” I followed Emma from the nursery.
“The fifteenth of January. Oh Nan, wouldn’t it be wonderful to be there? Amy said—”
“This way, this way!” A strident voice already issued commands. We climbed the stairs to the ducal apartments. Jostled by sweating servants doubled over with the weight of boxes and furnishings, we did our best to avoid the mischievous attentions of Master John, Lady Anne’s fool, who revelled in all the chaos. Crouching like a little ape, he thrust his bauble under the feet of the unwary— antics which earned cuffs and curses from the men-folk and outraged squeaks from women who tripped over their skirts.
“Watch out!” called Emma.
Master John reached out to pinch me. Laughing, I twisted away from the snatching fingers and leapt up two steps at a time.
“Oh, see how the little mice scamper when the cat’s invited them to a great feast!” The fool began capering on the steps until one of the bolder lads gave him a kick in the buttocks that sent him tumbling down. Even then he seemed unrepentant, curling up like a ball and bouncing and yowling until he reached the bottom where he scuttled about like a spider, endeavouring to creep beneath the skirts of an empty-headed scullery-wench. This trick provoked wild shrieks, especially from the matrons, but much bawdy laughter from the men.
When we reached Lady Anne’s chambers, we faced a storm of flung garments— velvet gowns trimmed with miniver, silken hose, hoods, kerchiefs, silver girdles, golden collars, fustian kirtles, lawn under-gowns and soft leather shoes. Staggering underneath a load of winter robes like a pack-horse, I found myself nudged into a line of similarly burdened bodies and bullied down the stairs.
“Do you think I’ll go to London?” A pile of mantles tucked under her nose muffled Emma’s speech.
“I doubt it.” I sneezed, spitting tufts of fur. “Only a few of the duchess’s noble ladies will be chosen. Be thankful for the Christmas festivities in York. That journey in the snow will be bad enough, but travelling to London will be particularly unpleasant in this raw season.”
“But Amy said you’re to be part of Lady Anne’s entourage.” Emma paused to stab me with a sharp look.
I hoisted my bundle of sliding furs higher inwardly cursing Amy Sadler’s clacking tongue. That wench seemed to know everything. “I’d rather huddle by the fire than shiver in an open litter in the driving sleet,” I answered, feigning reluctance. “I don’t relish the long journey, or the separation from Dickon.”
“But you’ll have new gowns.” She pouted with envy. “Alice Skelton’s telling Meg Huddleston the duchess has ordered splendid clothes for all her attendants. You’re so lucky, Nan.”
I laughed off her resentment, conscious that many of Middleham’s servants wondered how I’d managed to gain a place in the inner circle of favoured ladies. In spite of my lowly birth, the duchess’s intimates treated me respectfully. Several times, clever Elizabeth Parre asked my opinion of village wise women and I noted how intently the others listened to my answers.
“You’re quite the wise-woman yourself, Nan.” Meg Huddleston examined a flask of valerian root from the basket of herbals I brought into the bower-chamber to show them. “What’s this for?”
“It brings calm, refreshing sleep. And this one is thyme-vinegar which is good for headaches.”
“I’ll vouch for its efficacy.” Lady Anne made a wry face. “You should try it, Alice, for those headaches which have plagued you recently.”
“And I swear by Nan’s infusion of frumitory to fade freckles,” said Grace. Sheepishly she confessed her regular patronage for my remedies. “Haven’t you noticed how mine have almost disappeared? That little dairy-wench, Amy, recommended it. She knows a lot about Nan’s expertise. She said at Barnard—”
“I’ve others for blemishes and troublesome spots,” I said quickly, “and a wonderfully soothing skin lotion made from lovage and daisies—Here, smell it.”
They clustered around me, tasting, sniffing, touching—but also passing secret smiles as if daring one another to ask more. Did they know something about my fortune-telling skills? Whenever I heard someone mention Amy’s name I squirmed. The wench seemed to have inveigled herself into everyone’s confidence.
“Take me with you to London, my Lady.�
��
I lingered when the duchess dismissed the others and offered to let her try my newest skin lotion. She lay on the settle so I might massage it into her forehead, smoothing away anxious lines with gentle outward strokes. Tension seized her in its vice as soon as I made my request, but I maintained the sweeping rhythm of my fingers quite unperturbed.
“I’ve often heard you express concern about your family’s welfare, and I know you’re anxious for your son’s future. You told me there are several dangerous factions at court. Perhaps if I witness these at work I’ll better be equipped to advise you.”
She sat up suddenly. “You’re very determined, Mistress Nan.” Her restless hands toyed with the phials and bundles in my basket, her shoulders rigid. “I think you’ve something very particular in mind.”
“It’s always best to see one’s rivals face to face, Your Grace.” Mischievously, I added, “But you’re right, of course. I’m hopeless at pretending. I’d like to visit family in the city. So I beg a favour for a favour.”
She caught my eye and at once the tension ebbed away. “How can I refuse such a charming request?” She sniffed the flask of valerian with a sly smile. “Besides, my husband needs your husband’s services, so what could be more appropriate than you travel with us?”
Chapter Sixty
The magnificent Christmas Feast at York drew all the duke’s northern friends to his table. Wearing a fine blue damask gown made from fabric Miles brought from London, I sat down to dine in the great hall lit by the flames of a hundred flambeaux conscious of many admiring glances. Fleetingly I wondered what my mother and Fat Marion would have said if they’d seen me among such affluent company.
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