Secrets at Court

by Blythe Gifford

Her husband. Was that a slip of the tongue? ‘Did you tell them?’ Anne had trouble picturing Lady Joan arguing with the King and Queen.

  ‘Of course. You remember. You were there.’

  Anne searched her memory, but she had been only five, still too young to wonder what went on when the adults closed their doors. ‘But Holland ploughed on anyway.’ Anne felt a bite of jealousy. No matter what her sins, Lady Joan had had men mad with love for her. Anne still envied her that.

  ‘Until he had enough money to pursue the dissolution. That was when Salisbury locked me in the tower.’

  Anne remembered that, of course, for it was a few years later and she was near maiden age herself. Salisbury, a sensible man, probably thought that if he removed his wife from temptation, she, easily swayed, would come to her senses.

  And perhaps she would have, if Holland had stepped aside again. Or if Anne’s mother had not gone to visit the Pope...

  ‘So you see?’ Joan turned back, her calm tone carrying the finality of a conversation’s end. ‘There was no great secret. It is all as the world knows. I was married to Thomas. Your mother’s lies must not trouble you.’

  All the pieces could fit, when Lady Joan had explained them, except...

  ‘No. That could not be the way it happened.’ Nearly six years had passed between Thomas Holland’s return from Prussia and his petition to the Pope. Years in which he served both the elder and the younger Earls of Salisbury. ‘If Thomas Holland claimed to be your husband before God, why would Salisbury retain him as a steward? How could they fight beside each other against the French?’

  Nicholas was right. It could not be believed.

  ‘Thomas was a knight,’ Lady Joan began, with an edge of panic in her voice. ‘I was the granddaughter of a King, married to an Earl.’ Her voice rose as she rattled off all the reasons. All the excuses. ‘The King would not support his petition for me so Thomas knew he could not be successful in the English courts and he had no money to take the case to the Pope, not at first, not until he captured a Count in France and received a ransom.’

  Still not to be believed. ‘So Salisbury kept him as part of the household, even paid him money that he must have known would go toward taking you away from him?’

  ‘It was the only way we could be together.’

  Words, finally, with the ring of truth. A passionate few months in Flanders forgotten until Thomas returned. And with him, Lady Joan’s hunger.

  Her mother had been right.

  ‘But he wasn’t your husband, was he?’ Anne said in a whisper. ‘He was a strong soldier and you a young maiden and you knew him in Flanders, yes. Knew him carnally because he swept you off your feet and into his bed. And my mother found you together, just as she always said. That much was true.’

  Silence from her lady. No denials now. Only an expression of horror, as she saw her life dismembered before her eyes.

  ‘But there was no promise, was there? Not then. Not in Flanders. It was only later, when you saw him again, when he was in your household every day. Much older and stronger than your husband, who was still near a boy.’

  It felt freeing, to speak so. As if she were running on two good legs.

  ‘You know nothing. I loved him. And I gave up that love for what I was told was duty. You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘Ah, but I do.’ She smiled and, for a moment, they were equals, women who had done foolish things for love.

  Anne saw then, suddenly, that she had tried so hard not to let her lameness define her life. Fought against the physical limitations and the attitudes. But on the other hand, she had let it define her life totally. Had given herself over to Joan’s keeping because she had thought there was no other choice. And had been made to feel grateful when all the time it was Lady Joan who should have been grateful.

  She lifted her head. She was taking her life back now and she would return her lady’s life, as well. ‘The secret is mine no longer. I return it to you. The truth is your burden, not mine. But that means I am free. And so are you. You need not care for me any longer.’

  ‘Free?’ Joan’s face had screwed into an expression Anne had never seen, twisted like a gargoyle. ‘Without me, you will be free to beg with your bowl and your deformed foot.’

  Strangely, the thought did not frighten her. ‘All,’ she said, a slow smile taking her mouth, ‘all will be as it must.’

  Something in Joan’s face snapped. ‘Yes, it will. I gave you a choice. You should have taken it.’

  And it wasn’t until then that Anne realised they were alone and saw how far down it was to the bottom of the stairs.

  And how easy it would be to fall.

  * * *

  Nicholas came to the Tower stairs only after he had searched everywhere else. Both Lady Joan and Anne were missing, as he expected, conspiring together, perhaps, about what to do now that the secret had been shared.

  And there they were, on a landing partway down. But they were not standing with heads together. Anne was too near the edge of the step. Lady Joan reached out, but instead of pulling her to safety, she pushed...

  No. Not now. Not now that I know...

  First, Nicholas froze, heart, brain, legs, nothing moving as Anne slipped off the step and slid down the stairs.

  Then he plunged down the steps.

  Heedless of his own footing, he skipped stairs, trusting he would hit the next tread without looking down, looking only at Anne.

  She reached for a hold and when that failed, pulled her arms in, so that she was rolling on her side, over and over. Her crutch, no help now, clattered wildly behind her, racing her to the bottom.

  Hopeless, really, to think he could run faster than she could fall. The woman he could lightly lift on and off the horse seemed to hurtle toward the bottom, rolling over and over, with the speed of an arrow shot from a longbow.

  He caught up with her when she reached the landing, halfway down, and lay on her back, motionless. Afraid to move her, Nicholas shielded her with his body, willing her to be alive.

  Then he felt her breath against his cheek and sent up a prayer of thanks.

  And then he wondered. What if she had broken bones, a leg or an arm? Worse, her neck or her back? What if she could not move or walk or hold her crutch?

  He leaned away so he could see her. ‘Anne. Anne.’ He ran his hands quickly over her arms and legs. ‘Do you hurt? Are you all right?’

  She nodded. Her neck worked, then. ‘Nicholas?’ Then she glanced up and he followed her gaze. Lady Joan was running down the stairs, her face a mask of concern.

  She joined them, her skirt covering Nicholas’s arm, and crouched down, stroking a hair away from Anne’s white forehead. ‘Anne? Are you all right?’ Then she looked to Nicholas. ‘Thank goodness you were here. It’s so awkward for her, yet she insists. As if she will not let her leg hold her back.’ She turned back. ‘Anne?’

  ‘Yes.’ A soft and painful word. She closed her eyes again.

  The Princess took a breath. It did not seem to be one of relief. ‘Come. Bring her to my chambers. I don’t want her trying to walk. Not now.’

  ‘No!’ Anne’s voice had the steel in it he knew so well. ‘It is too much trouble.’

  The Prince’s wife rose and looked down on them with the imperial gaze of a woman now part of the royal family. ‘I insist. Bring her.’

  ‘Please. Let me rest here, just for a bit.’ Anne’s fingers dug into his arm, hidden where Joan could not see.

  Joan. Joan, who had pushed Anne when she thought they were alone. When Anne had returned unexpectedly from exile.

  Fool. He had misjudged the situation entirely.

  Suddenly, he wondered whether Anne was the only one in danger.

  And he wondered whether this time, he would be able to find a way out.

 
Chapter Twenty-Two

  Anne had thought him an angel at first. Thought she had woken in Purgatory, where she would pay for her sins.

  Yet she still lived, breathed, and lay near Nicholas again. One more memory to hold. The feel of his arms, strong around her one final time. It seemed, now, that she might not have years left to think back on it.

  If Lady Joan had her way, Anne might have hours.

  ‘The Prince was looking for you,’ Nicholas said, the words comforting above her.

  Her lady’s face changed. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I’m not certain. He was near the Hall when I left him.’

  She rose. ‘Take Anne to my quarters where she can be cared for. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Leave her stick here. She won’t need it.’

  Nicholas waited until Lady Joan had disappeared at the top of the stairs, then he retrieved her stick.

  She wondered why he was here. Ah, because the Prince had sent him to find her lady. That was her good fortune, these extra minutes. ‘May your journey be safe.’ Nonsense, but the shock of the fall and then the shock of seeing him had turned the world on edge. ‘Remember to look at the cathedrals as well as the battlefields.’

  He didn’t answer, but touched her methodically, searching for parts in pain, and when he opened his mouth, what came out was not what she expected. ‘Can you move at all?’

  She would be black and blue for weeks, but God had been merciful. Nothing seemed to be broken. She nodded and he helped her sit upright.

  ‘Are you dizzy?’

  She shook her head, grateful that she could.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  Free. I feel free. ‘Lady Joan...’ she could not tell him she was in danger. That would put him in danger, too ‘...worries overmuch.’

  Could she manage to escape Windsor before Lady Joan found her? She would not be so lucky the next time.

  ‘No more lies, Anne. She pushed you. I saw her.’

  She met his eyes. No, there was no reason to lie. He knew all the truths. ‘In all these years, she had never said anything. Never admitted anything. It was as if we both knew, but we never said a word. I wanted her to admit the truth.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘That my mother had lied to me, not to the Pope. I wonder what she will say when the Prince confronts her.’

  ‘I did not tell him.’

  She stared at him. ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, I tried. But he did not want to know. Or did not want to admit that he already knew. Your lady’s secret is safe.’

  She smiled and shook her head. All the years. All this time.

  Nicholas was not smiling. ‘You, however, are not. If you feel well enough to move, I’m taking you away from here before she kills you.’

  * * *

  Nicholas had no time to explain, no time to do anything beyond act to keep her safe. Fortunately, Anne did not argue. The habits of his life, planning, finding alternate routes, continuing to move, all those worked to get them out of Windsor and on the road.

  He left a message saying Anne had decided to return to the convent and pray for the remainder of her life. He only hoped Lady Joan would believe it. Or if she chose to search, that she would send the men north instead of east. He smuggled her out in a cart, which not only made it easier to hide her, but also allowed her to sleep for long stretches of the journey. She might not have broken anything, but, bruised and shaken, she needed time to heal.

  Anne had asked few questions, made no complaints, and Nicholas hadn’t wasted breath to discuss the future until they were days and miles away. By then, she could sit up in the cart and move without wincing and on the fifth day, when they had stopped to eat by the road side, he had found himself staring at her. Something had transformed her. No, her leg had not healed, but something that had dragged down her face for all those years had lifted when she walked away from Joan. Homeless and without protection, she looked radiant.

  After they ate, she pulled out her pilgrim’s badge, the one he had given her, and ran her fingers over the outline of Saint Thomas’ horse. ‘How far are we from Canterbury?’ she said.

  ‘Maybe five days.’

  ‘Will you take me there?’

  This part he had not planned. ‘Do you believe the Saint will cure you?’ When it did not happen immediately, many pilgrims stayed near, in faith that the cure would come in time. Sometimes it did. Sometimes, death came instead.

  ‘No. But I think it is a good choice. At least for now. I believe I now have a choice.’

  ‘I would offer you a different choice,’ he said.

  She looked puzzled. ‘What would that be? Not the convent.’

  He smiled. ‘Nothing like the convent. Come with me.’

  * * *

  Anne’s heart beat in her ears so loudly she thought she must have misheard. She looked at him, unable to hide the sliver of hope, but she would not be the burden that would hold him back. Never.

  ‘With you? Across the Channel? You have not made such a mockery of me before.’

  ‘I do not now. I want you to come with me.’

  She shook her head, wondering if the fall had clouded her hearing. ‘You want to go back to war and ride freely where it takes you.’ And how she envied him that.

  ‘I want you.’

  Had her fall ignited his pity? ‘There is no place for a crippled woman in that life.’

  ‘But there is room for you.’

  She looked at him, not speaking, but knowing all her love for him was in her eyes. ‘For me? To do what?’

  ‘I want you, I want us, to go to Compostela, to Rome, to Jerusalem if you like.’

  Us. ‘There will be no miracle cure from God. Did we not learn that already?’

  ‘Did God not just give us a miracle?’

  Her laugh escaped then, the laugh that had saved her from anger and despair so many times. The laugh that reminded her that God’s kindness could be cruel and inexplicable. And his cruelty full of mercy. She had taken a fall that could have, should have, killed or at least maimed her. And God had insisted she stay alive. ‘Not the one I expected, but, yes.’

  ‘Anne.’ He put his hands on her arms. ‘Look at me. Please.’

  She did, then, intending to take a last picture for her memories. Of his square face with the broad brow, deep-set eyes and lips she only knew were sensual after he had kissed her. ‘I’m looking at the man who had said he was leaving England and leaving her to burn in hell.’

  ‘Marry me.’

  Did she blink? Did her jaw drop open? Did she nearly fall, held up only by his arms? She licked her lips and swallowed, then started to argue. ‘I thought we were beyond pity.’ No hope. She mustn’t hope. ‘Is that what this is about? Do you feel sorry for the poor, helpless cripple?’

  ‘Helpless?’ He squeezed her upper arms and gave her a little shake. ‘You are the strongest woman—no, strongest person I’ve ever known. You put Edward’s knights to shame.’

  The words stopped her speech, this time with heat in her cheeks. ‘I thank you for that, but it changes nothing. You cannot have the life you want with me.’

  ‘I cannot have the life I want without you.’

  Hope, hope buzzed in her ear, persistent as a fly. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I love you. I don’t want a life without you. I want to take you to all the cathedrals in every city in the whole world. I want to see them, to see everything anew through your eyes. I want to sleep beside you every night and wake beside you every morning. I want to show you the things you need to show me.’

  She nearly laughed, then. ‘How fanciful you sound.’

  ‘I will help you walk. You can help me see.’ His voice, low, his words, intense. ‘If you love me, Anne. Please. Come.’

  And sudd
enly, it seemed as if God had indeed given her the miracle she asked for. ‘Yes. No matter what, yes.’

  * * *

  They reached Dover the next day. He had sent Eustace by a different way and now he was reunited with his armour and his destrier. Nicholas found a boat willing to brave a winter crossing. Staying longer in England would tempt fate and tempt Lady Joan, too. Eustace would come with them as far as the Continental port. The young man had a taste for war, not pilgrimage. He would go on to find the Great Company and earn his spurs.

  ‘The crossing may be difficult.’ Only madmen crossed the Channel in winter. They had braved frost on the road. The winds had picked up.

  Yet Anne looked up at him, smiling, happy. ‘I’ve crossed the Channel before. A rocking ship is a good match for my unsteady legs.’

  He smiled and put his arms around her, glancing behind to see that they were casting off.

  ‘Don’t look back,’ she said, looking steadfastly forwards toward Calais and the future.

  ‘It will take months, you know.’ Compostela first. A pilgrimage of penance, in case God had wanted them to tell the truth.

  ‘Months by your side to see the world. What else might I hope for?’

  ‘A child.’ He did not ask a question, but he watched her face, uncertain what she might say.

  The enormity of it was reflected there, followed by a moment of peace. ‘If it comes,’ she said, ‘I will make my way. With you by my side.’

  ‘As my wife.’ A word that sounded wonderful to his ear.

  A moment of distress passed across her face. ‘How are we to marry? We’ll be strangers to a French church. How can they read the banns? What priest would agree?’

  He smiled. ‘We need none of that.’ The boat had pushed off and already the chop was starting, the stiff breeze whipping their hair and cloaks behind them. ‘We know exactly what is needed if we are to be wed.’

  He reached out and took her hand. ‘I, Nicholas, take thee, Anne, to be my wedded wife.’

  Her smile became a laugh. ‘I, Anne, take thee, Nicholas...’

  And the gulls were their witnesses.

  * * * * *