‘Have you had a doctor to her?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Who? What did he say?’
‘A man who has attended Isabel. And really it’s none of your business, little brother. Anne is my ward; her well-being is up to me. And perhaps you might stop to think she doesn’t want to see you.’
‘Then she can tell me so. In person or in writing.’
‘She’s too ill to be bothered. And she is no concern of yours, or are you too conceited to understand that? She said you pestered her at Coventry when she was tired and low and hadn’t the spirit to say she wasn’t interested – so if you are counting on anything she said then, you’d better think again!’
‘Indeed,’ said Richard, eyeing his brother. ‘But perhaps I know her better than you do, for I find that hard to believe.’
‘You know,’ said George, steepling his fingers, ‘you’re becoming as bad as Edward – can’t believe any woman can resist you.’
Riding home I said, ‘None of that’s true – I was at Coventry, remember. And I too know Anne. She’s honest and straight-forward.’
‘Yes... she said she loved me, you know. I told her I loved her and I asked her to marry me, and she agreed. If she has changed her mind she’d tell me. So what is George up to?’
‘Telling Anne that you have lost interest? Not telling her you’ve tried to see her?’
‘Yes, that sounds like George. I think the time has come to see the King.’
But he got cold comfort. Perhaps Anne had changed her mind – perhaps she really wasn’t well – take the advice of an older man and let the matter drop for the time being.
‘By which he means he’s falling over himself to keep George sweet,’ snarled Richard. ‘George is after that entire Warwick inheritance. Anne can’t fight for what is hers, not without me – or any husband – so by keeping her and me apart George thinks to scoop the lot. He’ll say it is Isabel’s in right, then even if I do marry Anne it will be too late, George would never part with any of it.’
‘Why not let him have it all?’ Innogen suggested. ‘You don’t need it.’
‘I want Middleham.’
‘Very well, but the King’s already said you can have it – make that your sole demand and tell George and the King so.’
Richard thought about it. ‘But the King wants me to keep the North for him, and it’s what I want too. I want to live there. Imagine what it would be like if George owned most of it? I’d always be looking over my shoulder, he’d be complaining about everything I did, if I set foot on his lands – ’
‘Point that out to the King.’
‘I have. Anyway, why should Anne lose? I’m not asking this for myself. But I admit I don’t want George to have it all. Any claim he makes for himself, in his own right or Isabel’s, I’m making too. If he’ll give up all claim, forever, so will I. Whether Anne would agree to that is up to her; but I will not see her cheated. What Isabel gets, she gets. What George gets, I get. But yes, Innogen, I’ll repeat my offer to withdraw my claim, providing George does the same.’
The King took this well. George did not. I believe he had genuinely convinced himself he had a right to the entire Warwick inheritance, and he wasn’t going to part with any of it. Morally it was Isabel and Anne and their mother who had sole right; legally, no one had but at the King’s discretion. But the more George asserted his non-existent claim, the more Richard dug his toes in, and the angrier the King became. The three of them were as stubborn as each other.
‘This has gone far enough,’ the Duchess finally said. ‘I am not interested in claims to the lands, but I am interested in Anne’s welfare – and yours, darling. So I will go again to the Erber and I won’t leave until I have seen Anne.’
‘Tell her – ’
With a look that sent Richard right back to the nursery she said, ‘I will tell her that you love her and wish to marry her and want only half her father’s lands in her right. And I will ask her what her wishes are in the matter.’
She came back from the Erber in a rare old temper. I’d not have liked to be in George’s shoes, for it seemed he had given her a mouthful of cheek and told her to mind her own business.
‘But did you see Anne?’
‘No. And he was very odd about it, and Isabel looked like her own ghost. I will speak to the King. And you will not accompany me, Richard.’
But a lady cannot go unescorted about London; I went with her, and somehow I insinuated myself into the King’s audience chamber. I felt quite sorry for Edward – he could fight both his brothers, but not his mother. In the end he commanded George to bring Anne forthwith to him, for the whole matter to be settled there and then.
And George looked the King coolly in the eye and said he could not fetch Anne because she had left his house. ‘You have said I have no guardian’s rights over her; I have washed my hands of her. She chose to leave my house and my care. I have no idea where she is. If Richard wants her so badly, let him find her.’
And from that there was no budging him. Nothing the King threatened produced any different answer. George neither knew nor cared where Anne was. She had chosen to leave his house and that was the end of the matter.
But where had Anne gone? She could not have had much money. She would have no idea where to hire a horse. Nevertheless we asked at every livery stable, we asked every Thames boatman. Richard sent to Lady Warwick down at Beaulieu, to Warwick Castle, to Middleham, to Calais where Anne had lived as a small child, even to Margaret in Burgundy. He sent to the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, less because Elizabeth of Suffolk was his sister than because the Duke had recently bought Francis Lovell’s wardship from the King, and Francis was living, reluctantly, with the Suffolks at Wingfield. He sent to every port. But for the need for discretion we could have had Anne cried in every town in England and at every Cross in London; as it was we could only speak carefully to the Mayor and Watch. And speaking of care, Rob Percy and I went secretly to every inn and brothel, where many a girl has ended up through her innocence. George had been made Lieutenant of Ireland, so enquiries were sent even there.
October became November. November passed. No trace of Anne.
There was plague in the city.
~~~
Then except as Anne’s friend I lost all but a remote interest in the matter, for on the second day of December Innogen went into labour. Of course men have no part in child-birth, nor did I want to have, for I suspected battle was one thing but seeing one’s wife going through the torture of labour quite another. I had no idea how long a birth took; Innogen had said of John’s that it was the usual thing, and when I dared ask if it hurt she’d said only, Yes. I had heard ghastly stories of women labouring for days only to produce a dead child or to die themselves.
‘Nonsense!’ said the Duchess when she came down-stairs after the first few hours. ‘We have all heard these stories, but Innogen is doing very well.’ She kissed me as if I were her own child. ‘I had twelve, my dear, and I’ve helped at many births, including yours, so believe me when I say there is nothing to fear. Richard, make yourself useful and give Martin a drink – several; your father always did.’
Richard gave me a drink. It didn’t help much. It was ten hours since Innogen had been sure she was starting. Eleven hours. Then I heard a baby’s cry, and the Duchess swept into the hall, beaming all over her face.
‘All is well. It’s a girl, the loveliest big healthy girl you ever saw! You may come in, very briefly, to see them.’
The room had the metallic smell of blood. It was stifling hot, for cold air is dangerous to a labouring woman or a newborn. I had expected Innogen to be unconscious, but she was sitting back against her pillows, grinning from ear to ear as she gazed down at the baby in her arms. They say men always want sons, but I wouldn’t have swapped a million sons for that little daughter of mine. She had thick black hair, and she looked like me, and she clutched my finger when I touched her. She was beautiful. I loved her.
‘Shall we call her what w
e planned?’
‘Yes,’ said Innogen. ‘Cecily. If you will permit it, Madam? For my own mother could not have been kinder. And would you honour us by being her godmother?’
‘My dear children, of course! The honour is mine. Now you must go away, Martin. Leave them to me.’
I was allowed to kiss my wife and daughter, then out I was firmly put.
~~~
I was in such a daze of happiness that when Francis Lovell was announced next day I thought he had come to congratulate me. Well, he did congratulate me, and he listened sweetly to a recital of my daughter’s charms, but as soon as he could decently change the subject he said, ‘Richard, I’ve heard something rather odd. Don’t get your hopes up, but – ’
‘About Anne?’
‘Well, that I don’t know. Look, I’m on my way to spend Christmas with my wife’s family. Anna charged me with various errands and visits, so I called yesterday on a cousin of her father’s; a Lancastrian family, you understand.’ Richard made a get-on-with-it gesture. ‘Please don’t put too much importance on it, but this fellow said something about the Duke of Clarence sending a girl to his household a few months ago. He, well, he assumed the girl had been Clarence’s mistress, an embarrassment to be got rid of; it was the sort of winking men-together talk you hear in taverns. But this cousin of Anna’s fought for Warwick, and he is one of Clarence’s tenants. He talked as if this girl was a maidservant, but I couldn’t help wondering?’
‘About two months ago? And a young girl?’
‘Yes.’
‘It sounds likely,’ Richard frowned. ‘A Lancastrian household... Let’s go and see.’
We took a couple dozen men at arms, and silently surrounded the house. It was a decent place, the house of a man of some money and standing. The Fitzhugh cousin was a respectable sort, and he blenched when Francis introduced the Duke of Gloucester – thinking, no doubt, that old sins had caught him up and Richard came from the King.
‘I have had a report,’ Richard said, ‘that a young lady was sent here recently by the Duke of Clarence?’
‘What? Oh no, sir.’ There was something wrong with the staunch response. Slowly Richard said,
‘Perhaps you would not think of her as a lady. Has any female been sent here recently?’
‘Well, there was the kitchen maid. From His Grace of Clarence’s household, yes; she couldn’t stay there any more, if you see what I mean?’ His voice leered.
‘Bring her here. Now.’ Richard’s tone was more effective than any threat. ‘No, wait, we’ll come with you.’ He dropped his hand to his sword-hilt as he spoke.
The man led us through the house, and at the kitchen door said, ‘You’ll see, Your Grace, she’s not the sort you would be interested in, she’s just a cook-maid.’
But Richard was walking dazedly towards the girl chopping onions at the far side of the room. She was a pallid, grubby little thing, bone thin in a too-big apron, her face smeared. And she was Anne.
A kitchen is a noisy place with supper preparations underway. She hadn’t heard us. She looked up as Richard stood beside her, and her eyes widened in desperate relief.
‘Richard! Oh, Richard!’
‘Anne. O God be thanked, you’re safe. My darling, I’ve found you.’
The master of the house was slumped against the door-jamb, his face ashen. My dagger at his throat, I said, ‘Did this lady never try to tell you who she was?’
‘No! What – I don’t understand – I swear – I have never even spoken to her!’
‘But you said the Duke of Clarence sent her to you?’
‘And so he did but I don’t talk to the kitchen maids! The Duke’s men brought her, she went straight to the kitchen. I don’t talk to the slaveys!’
Well, he had a point. Except as a child on our small manor, I had never spoken to a kitchen maid in my life. It was an effective way of hiding someone: servants would never in a thousand years credit that someone brought to slave in a kitchen could be anything but a servant. None of them would have passed on to the master or mistress any wild claims a kitchen maid might make, they would think her crazy and forget it. Or worse.
Every servant in that steamy, busy kitchen had stopped work, staring horrified at the little maid being passionately embraced by a man of Richard’s clothes, jewels and bearing. The cook looked about to faint.
‘Wh-who is she?’ stammered my victim.
‘Did Clarence never say?’
‘No! His men said, a cook-maid, her name’s Nan... Who is she, sir?’
‘She is the Lady Anne Neville. The King’s cousin. The Duke of Gloucester’s betrothed wife.’
Shock made him slump so that my blade nearly took his head off. ‘Never! No! I didn’t know! Please believe me, sir! I did not know!’
‘Anne?’ Richard asked. ‘Did he?’
Through her tears she said, ‘I daresay not. I was brought here and put straight to work – kitchen maids don’t wait on the people of the house – I’ve never been out of the kitchen and the attic bedrooms, no one would listen to me, I’ve never seen that man or the mistress of the house.’
‘Did anyone here mistreat you?’
‘N-no.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes.’ I saw looks of relief and wild gratitude, and surmised that there had been the odd slap or curse. Probably she hadn’t been a very good servant.
‘Very well. Come along now, my love.’
‘Wh-where to?’
‘Sanctuary, I think. I doubt even my mother’s house is safe for you. Saint Martin-le-Grand is closest. Will that suit you?’
‘Yes! Oh Richard, yes!’
Richard wrapped his cloak around her. To the house-holder he said, ‘Say nothing of this to anyone. Do not report to the Duke of Clarence. The same goes for everyone in this house. This lady was never here. Or you will answer to the King.’
Richard put Anne up on his own horse for the short journey to St Martin-le-Grand. She rode in silence, seeming dazed; occasionally she looked down at Richard, and touched his hand on the bridle. Once he said, ‘You smell very oniony,’ and she laughed in the way that is very close to tears. Another time he said, ‘George has told a lot of lies, he tried to keep us apart. I’ve been searching for you for weeks now.’ She smiled vaguely, and touched his hand again.
At St Martin’s the Sanctuary brothers scurried about, showing Anne to the best guestrooms, ordering food and a bath. Anne simply sat there, smiling into space, I think hardly daring believe it was true. Looking at the bathtub she said, ‘But I’ve no clean clothes,’ as if it was a conundrum she’d never solve.
‘Anne,’ Richard knelt and took her hands, ‘listen, my darling. You’re safe now. Worry about nothing. I’ll deal with George. Soon we’ll be married and I’ll take you to Middleham.’
‘Yes... Middleham. With you.’
‘Yes. But for now, I’ll stay if you want me to, but I think I can be more use fetching you some clothes and whatever you need. Yes?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’ Then with visible effort she roused herself. ‘But you will come back? Soon?’
‘Before nightfall. I promise. Anne, have a bath, eat the food these good brothers are bringing, perhaps sleep for a while. Tonight I will see you again.’
‘Mmm-hmm. Tonight. I love you.’ Dreamily she touched his hair, then pulled him towards her and kissed his mouth. ‘I love you.’
‘And I love you, with all my heart.’ He put a kiss on the inside of her wrist. ‘Till tonight.’
But although we returned at evening with all the things the Duchess and Innogen thought Anne would need, it was the following day before Richard could talk to her. Simply, she fell asleep, the brothers told us, the moment she’d bathed and eaten, and from exhaustion she slept for eighteen hours. When she finally awoke and could see Richard, he shut the door in my well-meaning face, so I’ve no idea what passed between them. However, from the way Richard came home singing to himself and saying ‘Mmm-hmm,’ in answer to everything, I can guess.
~~~
Well, now the great to-do over those lands began. Taking a high hand, denying he had ever meant Anne any harm (and somehow getting away with it), George held out for the entire Warwick inheritance. Held out – he simply demanded. In fact he held the King to ransom. And Richard dug his heels in and demanded a fair division right down the middle, half for Isabel, half for Anne. George refused. The King temporised. The dispute dragged on. Playing with my new daughter, planning her glittering future, I cared less than nothing.
In the end George went from swearing he would ‘part no livelihood’ with Richard, to some understanding of reality. He held out for Warwick Castle, the earldoms of Warwick and Salisbury and the Great Chamberlainship – this last was Richard’s, by royal grant as a reward for loyalty. And he gave his gracious consent as Anne’s guardian – or so he claimed – for Richard to marry Anne, on the condition that no grants of lands made to him were ever to be cancelled by parliamentary act or other authority. Richard was given Middleham and some other Yorkshire estates that had belonged to Warwick. And then the King seized all the lands Lady Warwick held in her own right, and divided them up between his brothers. This was illegal; Warwick had died under attainder, so naturally his estates were forfeit, but a woman cannot be held guilty of her husband’s treason, and her own inheritance is in law inviolate. But that is what Edward did, and why Richard condoned the illegality I don’t know. Perhaps the King said take it or leave it. Perhaps he knew it was the only way to keep George in check.
That is the end of this part of my story. After Easter Richard and Anne were married, and they went to Middleham to live. Innogen and I went with them, as did Rob Percy and Francis Lovell and our other friends.
Nine
1475
It is little exaggeration to say that England is two countries, north and south, and that in many ways they are more alien to, or at least suspicious of, each other than, say, of France. The south has the gentle, fertile land yielding corn and wheat and barley, fruit and grass-fattened meat; it has the major ports and big cities, the trade, the money. The north has the grandeur, the sheep and the best horses, the wool, the coal, the hard men. Northerners consider the south populated by whores and effeminates, soft-living do-nothings who’ll cheat you as soon as look at you. Southerners consider the northerners wild, dangerous, close-fisted barbarians little better than the Scots. Neither can understand the speech of the other. Well, pretend they can’t. Unless it suits them.
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