Anne was staring transfixed at Richard. ‘Lady Anne, the King has sent for you to – to see you’re safe and – and cared for. I regret the treatment you have had, and so will the King.’ Fury made his eyes blaze like sapphires. ‘Please, won’t you come inside? Look, here’s Martin, and Rob, and Francis.’ He held out his arm as if they were at Court.
Inside, Anne’s composure crumbled and she burst into tears. Out came four handkerchiefs and we clustered round her, patting and petting her like children. Well, three of us did – Richard held back looking noble, glowering; I think he dared not let himself touch her.
‘Lovey, hinny,’ crooned Rob, and I suppose they were the first loving words Anne had heard in days – months – for she sank her head on his shoulder and frankly bawled. ‘Don’t cry, pet, it’s all right, you’re safe. There now, there hinny.’
‘Yes – sorry – stupid of me – ’ Anne gave her nose a good honking blow and mopped her eyes. ‘I’m better now. Thank you.’ She offered Rob his kerchief back; he declined it. ‘M-must I see the King?’ Anne asked.
‘Blossom, yes, but he only wants to greet you and know you are safe, nothing to be afraid of. Er – you’ll want to wash and tidy up... There are few women here but I can find a maid – ’
‘Take her to our room,’ I said. ‘With all of us there it’ll be quite proper. Besides,’ I remembered, ‘I’m married, I can chaperone her.’
‘Married?’ Anne blinked. ‘Martin, when? I didn’t know.’
‘Recently.’ To say: ‘In Burgundy,’ would have been too sharp a reminder. ‘Come along, lovey, let’s get you tidied up.’
Fairly incompetent lady’s-maids, we beat the dust from her gown and offered combs. More practically, Richard got pages to bring fresh water and towels. I don’t know how women do it, but with a quick wash and her hair pinned up anew the pathetic, grubby girl had gone and Anne looked fit to meet every monarch in Europe. She shot me a glance, and with married propriety I got rid of the others and showed her to the garderobe, discreetly asking if she had any other needs (she still looked so pale it might have been her female time). No she hadn’t, but, emerging and rinsing her hands she said, ‘Is the King – will he be – I know everything is different now. I am a traitor’s daughter and a traitor’s wife. So the King – Martin, I’ve always been afraid of him.’
‘Don’t be. He bears you no ill will. None of this is your fault. Edward only wants to look after you.’
‘Oh. Good. How kind of him.’ But she didn’t look convinced.
Richard had brushed his hair and finished dressing. Again he offered Anne his arm, and we conducted her to the King’s room.
I don’t know what had passed between him and Margaret of Anjou, but Edward looked both haunted and as if he had been through another battle. Clad in one of his elaborate long gowns he sat with his hands on his knees, staring at Anne – his mind elsewhere, I think he hardly recognised her.
‘Lady Anne.’
‘Your Grace.’ Knees trembling she swept him a perfect Court curtsy. His face softened.
‘Cheer up, cousin, I know you’re tired and heart-sore, but it is over now. Here, sit down. I’m sure one of your escort here can find some wine; hop to it, Francis. Lady Anne, do you know Martin is Sir Martin now? And a married man?’
‘I didn’t know he was knighted, Sire. Martin, I’m glad, my congratulations.’
The wine came. We all drank. ‘Do you know your mother is still in Beaulieu, Lady Anne?’
The cup in her hand began to shake. ‘No. That is, I supposed so. Is she safe?’
‘Quite safe, and well so far as I know. You did not think of staying with her?’
‘Your Grace, I had no choice. I was in Margaret of Anjou’s household, I had to go where she did.’
‘You don’t mean,’ Edward said incredulously, ‘that that demented bitch dragged you across England with her army? Through that ghastly day’s march?’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘Well of all the... Were you close to the battle?’ Anne nodded. ‘I’m sorry, sweeting; no sight for ladies. Er – you know your – the prince is dead?’
‘Yes.’ One cold little word.
‘I see. And what happened after the battle? To you, I mean.’
‘Sire, Margaret saw what happened. She knew her son was dead and I think her mind broke. She would have run to him... Doctor Morton, I think it was, got her and found a boat to take us across the river, he got us – Margaret and me and some of her ladies – to that nunnery. Then,’ she spread her hands, ‘we didn’t know what to do. So we waited.’
‘Edward,’ said Richard, ‘Sir William Stanley and his men treated Anne badly, they insulted her and spoke foully. See to it, will you?’ Anne shot him a wondering look; it was new to her that he had the right to order the King so casually.
‘I will – though that’s the Stanleys for you, coarse brutes the lot of them. I’m sorry, cousin. Now, we leave for London in a day or two, I thought you’d like to go to your sister?’
‘I suppose so.’ Anne stared down into her wine. ‘I mean, yes of course I want to be with Isabel, I haven’t seen her for so long. Yes please, if it suits Your Grace.’
‘Good. Good. And I hope your lady mother will soon join you. George is somewhere about, I’ll put you in his charge. If ever you – er – need anything, I am at your command.’
It was a dismissal. Anne curtsied again, and we rose to take her away. ‘Richard,’ the King said pleasantly, ‘stay behind if you will. There’s business to discuss, more news from London. I’ll see you later, Lady Anne.’
By no coincidence, the King’s business kept Richard busy most of the day. Late in the afternoon, when she had had time to rest, I went to ask Anne if she would care for a walk. ‘Or a ride? Whatever you’d like?’ She hesitated, but George, coming in behind me, seconded me.
‘Do, dear, it will be good for you. And I know! – Richard’s finished his important business with the King, I think he’s looking for you, I saw him go into that end room just now. Rout him out and take him with you, that’s the thing!’
I should have known. Clarence never had an altruistic impulse in his life.
In that end room Richard was embracing a pretty red-haired lady who wept on his shoulder. On his knee sat a bright-eyed little boy whose paternity was all too obvious. When they saw us, it would be a brave man who said they didn’t look guilty.
‘Martin!’ cried Jenny.
‘Anne!’ cried Richard.
‘Jenny!’ I cried.
‘Lady Anne!’ cried Jenny.
‘Ang!’ cried little John, eager to help.
I caught up with Anne in the corridor. She absolutely, definitely was not crying, no not she. ‘Anne, hinny, don’t! It’s nothing, it’s not – ’
‘Quite right. His Grace of Gloucester’s private affairs’ (she made it sound like necromancy) ‘are nothing to me. I was merely embarrassed at intruding upon him with his whore.’
‘Oh, Anne. She’s no whore. Innogen is my wife.’
Furious colour surged up her face. ‘Martin, forgive me. But – that baby is – ’
‘Ah yes, now he is Richard’s. His name’s John.’
‘But – Oh. Ah. Um – ’
‘Say it.’
‘If she’d been his mistress and borne his child, how could you marry her?’
I leaned against the window embrasure. ‘I love Innogen; she loves me. About a hundred years ago when we were all young, yes she was briefly Richard’s lover. The child – well, these things happen. And where’s the difference from marrying a widow? After all, I came to her with many women in my past.’
I could see the question, ‘How many?’ trembling on Anne’s lips, but she was an adult now, she had learnt discretion. Warwick had reared his daughters strictly, protecting them from the dirt and muddle of ordinary people doing their best, and perhaps it was time she faced some new realities.
‘My dear, you can torture yourself with jealousy, or you can tell yours
elf the past is the past and you are the one in possession. I think Richard loves you, and I think you love him.’ She looked away, her eyes veiled. ‘Well, that’s between the two of you – but did you think he’s inexperienced? Would you want him to be? He was jealous of Prince Edward.’ She blushed again, this time with that deprecating little female smirk. ‘I don’t know what you and Richard plan, or want, but I do know you would be the last woman in his life, and that’s better than the first. But there have been others; accept that. And there is John, and there’s a daughter too, about the same age.’
‘Two children!’
‘There was not much to do in the spring of ’69.’
‘So it seems.’ Suddenly we were giggling together, good friends again. I said, ‘If I were you, lovey, I’d go back in there and talk to him.’
I daresay Innogen and Richard had been flapping their ears behind the door, for Innogen came out at that moment. ‘Lady Anne, have you finished with my husband?’ she asked cheerfully.
‘Yes,’ Anne said in the same tone, ‘and now I shall go and talk with Richard.’
Shutting the door behind her Innogen said, ‘I like that girl.’
‘So do I, but I like you better. I love you so much. Come here and kiss me, and tell me how you come to be here.’
Her arms around my neck Innogen said, ‘Sweetheart, they told me you were wounded, that’s why I was sobbing all over Richard, he was the first person I met and he told me you were safe, and the relief... ’
‘And you disobeyed me, I told you to stay in Burgundy until I sent for you.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I was an obedient wife and waited there, in fact Duchess Margaret had me stay with her, and together we read the letters, we heard of the battle of Barnet, and then, well, I could wait no longer, I couldn’t bear to be on the other side of the Channel from you.’ Looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth she said, ‘Duchess Margaret bade me come, and you would not have me disobey a royal command?’ Not for the first time I thought what a clever woman I had married. And a beautiful one. Why were we standing here in this corridor when there was a bed not far away? ‘Oh dear, I left John’s nursemaid somewhere back on the road, some inn, I don’t even know where, she couldn’t stand the pace I set. Perhaps it sounds silly but I brought John because if you were – if there was bad news, it would be some comfort to have him... But darling, are you hurt?’ For I’d flinched when she ran her hands through my hair.
‘Only bruises. Perfectly fit to take you to bed, my darling.’
‘Yes – ’
And we were locked in a knee-trembling, head-spinning embrace when the King’s voice behind us said, ‘Whatever is – oh, it’s you, Martin. Dame Robsart, how came you here?’ We explained, and because no detail escaped him, Edward said, ‘There was a Martin Roberts badly wounded; someone muddled the lists. I’m sorry for your worry, my dear. And you are welcome. Well, I won’t keep you when – what’s that sound? A baby?’
Before we could stop him he pushed open the door and strode into that room. We followed, awash with fright. But whatever Richard and Anne had been up to – and her hair was ruffled, his shirt band awry – now they were placidly chatting from far sides of the room, Anne in the chair, Richard by the window. With what even I in my inexperience could tell was temper, John grizzled at Richard’s feet.
‘Ah,’ said the King. ‘Richard, Anne. Who is this little boy?’
‘My son.’ Innogen picked him up.
So rarely at a loss, Edward put his big foot right in it. ‘Yours, madam? But he looks like Richard!’
‘There’s a reason for that.’
‘Then I have completely misread this situation. Richard, I thought it was a daughter you had?’
‘I have. As well.’
Demurely inspecting her fingernails Anne said, ‘There was little to do in the spring of ’69,’ and I had the satisfaction of seeing Edward look as if he’d missed the last stair. Then he roared with laughter.
‘That would explain much. Well, come here, my young lad.’ Confidently he swung John up in the air. ‘You’re a fine little fellow, aren’t you! Hello, pet, I’m your uncle.’ John grinned. ‘Well, well. Is your daughter as pretty, Richard?’
‘Of course!’ Innogen glared. ‘– not.’
‘Well, he’s a fine boy. How old is he? Fifteen months, excellent! Name? John. Very good. And very wet. Go to your mother, pet. Well, Richard, I had hoped we could get on with that business, if Lady Anne will excuse you now?’
Anne rose and curtsied, but Richard said, ‘Edward, I want your permission to marry Anne.’
‘Then want must be your master.’
‘Edward!’
‘Now look, Richard. It is not Anne herself, of course not, it’s who she is. Warwick’s daughter, the prince’s widow. It won’t do. No, Richard.’
‘You married for love and it was no more suitable.’ A flush of temper mantled Edward’s face. ‘Or is it ‘do as I say, not do as I do’?’
Scarlet now, the King said, ‘I take that talk from no one, Gloucester.’
‘Well, you’re taking it from me.’ Richard might have been telling him the time. ‘Your Grace, I have followed you and served you for love. You have given me much and I have never asked you for anything. Now I am asking you for this. Let me marry Anne, and give me Middleham.’
Narrow-eyed Edward said, ‘Middleham belonged to Warwick. His estates revert to the crown under attainder. Who gets what, if any, of his lands is up to me.’
‘I know. Unlike George.’
‘Your meaning?’
‘He expects to receive all Warwick’s estate. He says it’s his by right.’
‘Does he just.’ Cold anger vibrated in Edward’s voice. Innogen had her arm around Anne, frowning. ‘Well, if you want that godforsaken patch of Yorkshire I daresay you can have it. But you can forget Anne.’
Possibly I was the only one who realised quite how angry Richard was. Edward still didn’t know his brother; and I wondered if he really knew how much he owed him. Icily Richard said, ‘And if I don’t?’
‘You will.’ Silence. Almost pleadingly Edward said, ‘Richard, see it. Not her. Anyone but her. I need your marriage for international alliance.’
‘You have children for that.’
Incredulously Edward stared. He swung around on Anne. ‘You were the prince’s true wife?’
‘Y-yes, Sire.’
‘When did you last lie with him?’
Poor Anne had never been asked so intrusive, so personal, a question in her life. She was lucky Edward hadn’t been a good deal blunter. Almost soundlessly she answered, ‘The – the night before Tewskesbury battle.’
Richard made a sound in his throat as if she had hit him, and gloatingly Edward said, ‘How can you want to marry her if you’re squeamish as a girl about the facts? Perhaps you should ask Martin to instruct you!’
Innogen, Anne and I did nothing more useful than gasp with outrage. In a voice that would have etched glass, Richard said, ‘That, Edward, is going very much too far. Apologise to my friends.’
Edward had the decency to look ashamed, and he said very gracefully, ‘Martin, Dame Robsart, yes, that was unforgivable. I apologise. But Richard, see it – what if Anne is pregnant?’
There was no answer to that. Sheet-white, Anne looked piteously at Richard. Innogen said, ‘Then best marry them at once, Your Grace, and pass the child off as Richard’s.’ Which was hard political good sense.
Anne said, ‘No!’ in a whisper.
‘No!’ said Edward. He was no longer the man who had laughed at Anne’s joke and played with the baby. This was the King, a cold, hardheaded, calculating monarch to whom no personal loyalty mattered. ‘I will have no more Lancastrian uprisings. Lancaster is dead.’
‘I will marry Anne on those terms,’ Richard said.
‘Very noble. I forbid it. Any child born to Lady Anne within the next nine months will be said to be Lancaster’s and used as a focus for rebellion. Or murde
red. I would prefer not to see my brother’s child treated so.’
Throwing up her hands Innogen cried, ‘Then wait! Sire, let me take Lady Anne down to Kent with me. Or abroad. She can live in seclusion until we know. If there is a child it can be fostered out, the whole thing can be kept a secret.’
‘No.’
‘Edward,’ said Richard, more placatingly now, ‘if there is no child, will you think again?’
I saw the King’s lips framing the word no, and said, because someone had to, ‘Your Grace, you knighted me and let me marry Innogen for much less than Richard has done for you. And he has never once wavered. Very well, he’s your brother – but while you dole out titles and lands and rewards to others, will you refuse him the one thing he has ever asked for?’
I could see myself begging my bread around Europe, a death warrant on my head. Or writing poetry in the Tower of London. Very long poetry. But Edward let out a gusty sigh and said, ‘I will go thus far: I won’t forbid the marriage yet. Wait until we know whether there is a child. If not, we’ll see. I promise nothing, and you are to do nothing. Is that understood? All of you?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’
‘Good. Anyway, Richard, you will be too busy for a while to think of marriage. The Scots are boiling up on the border, I want you up there as soon as that arse Fauconberg’s dealt with. Anne can go to her sister. The Warwick estates are in my gift and no one has a right to one inch of them or a single groat except at my will.’
‘Tell George, not me.’
‘Oh, I will. And be advised, say nothing to him about marrying Anne. And now good-day to you all.’
I once stood too close to a cannon being fired. It was much the same feeling. Anne was in tears, sobbing that it was hopeless, that she’d take the veil...
Richard strolled over and kissed the top of her head. ‘Cheer up. That was more or less a yes.’
‘It was?’
‘You’ll see.’
Eight
1471
I have nearly finished this part of my story. But for Clarence, it would be finished, I could deal in two lines with Richard and Anne marrying, and then a happy ending.
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