Royal Mistress (25 page)

“M
ercer Etwelle, I pray you be at ease and take a seat.” Jane recognized her father’s former apprentice and waved him toward a carved wooden chair across the room from her. “What brings you to Thames Street on this wintery morning?”

The lanky, hawk-nosed Etwelle lowered himself onto the chair, his knobby knees safely hidden by his blue gown, the color of the mercer’s livery that year. He was clearly nervous, pulling at his thin beard every few seconds and clearing his throat. Jane waited for him to gather his thoughts and played with a small, but beautiful, square-cut emerald ring, Edward’s gift to her upon their six-months’ anniversary.

“Mistress Shore, I do not know where to begin,” her visitor faltered.

“At the beginning would be a good place, sir,” Jane said, smiling encouragement at him.

“I have been accused of a crime,” he blurted out, “and I am innocent.” Jane’s smile faded as she wondered what this mild-mannered
man could have done. Loading dice, forging documents, and public drunkenness were common, she knew, but none would have led him to her door.

She rose and poured the poor man a cup of ale, which he took gratefully. “As I said before, Master Etwelle, start at the beginning.”

A tale of miscalculation of several bolts of velvet purchased by the king’s tailor had resulted in John Etwelle’s being accused of cheating the king of a few nobles, and he was due in court within a sennight.

“ ’Twas a misunderstanding, mistress,” the mercer explained, sitting forward in his seat. “The man’s script was unclear, and I thought he had written six instead of four bolts of cloth.”

His sincerity touched Jane, and she believed him. “Forgive me, sir, but why are you telling me this? I know you to be an honest man; at least you were when you were apprenticed to my father. If you are wanting my advice”—but Jane could not imagine why he would—“I would say to you to tell the truth. ’Twas a simple mistake. My father will vouch for you.”

Etwelle flushed. “Aye, he has already done so, mistress, but to no avail. They say I could be imprisoned, and I have a family of four to feed.” Now the tugging at the beard was accompanied by an uncontrollable knee-bobbing.

“That is dreadful news,” Jane cried. “ ’Tis too harsh a sentence if you are telling the truth. I wish I could help, but I have no influence.”

“ ’Tis said in the Chepe that you have the king’s ear,” Etwelle whispered as though there were spies in Jane’s house. “You could speak for me, if you so choose. And I will repay you with money or as much cloth as you could want, Mistress Jane.”

The idea that she might use her position to influence the king in this manner had not occurred to her. She warmed his bed and made him laugh, but she was a mere commoner with no knowledge of politics. She stared at the anxious mercer for a few seconds
and felt sorry for him. “If you swear to me that your story is true, perhaps I would speak to the king about your case. I cannot say if it will help, but I can try.”

Etwelle was on his knees and kissing her hands, and although he was a man, he seemed to have wetted them with his tears. She gently pulled away and helped him to rise. “No need for such a show, Master Etwelle, and I am not Lady Jane but plain Mistress Shore. We are all equals, are we not, both proudly brought up in the mercers’ company, you a freeman and I a freewoman of London. Rise up, I pray you, sir, for I am no better than you.”

Etwelle was wringing his hands, a silly grin on his face. “Aye, both Londoners, mistress, and proud of it. I cannot thank you enough for receiving me,” he said, and for the first time he stared about him at the sumptuous surroundings.

Jane hoped he would tell her father how well she was situated, and she leaned forward to ask him about her family. She had not seen her mother or sister since that awkward meeting when first she moved to Thames Street. “Will you tell my sister Bella that I think of her often, Master Etwelle?” The mercer nodded, eager to oblige.

“And I beg of you to stop by my shop at the Mercery and take your pick of any cloth you like,” he said. “I am most grateful to you, mistress.”

Jane smiled. “I have not succeeded in my task yet, sir, and besides, I will not accept your bribe. For, in truth, that is what it is.” Seeing him demur, she held up her hand. “Nay, my reward will be knowing that justice has been served and your family is provided for. I will speak to the king on the morrow.”

“I
can see this means much to you, sweeting,” Edward said when she had timidly described Master Etwelle’s visit. “I confess I know nothing of it. In truth, it is a minor matter with which only my treasurer would concern himself.” He stood behind her and began to
unlace her bodice, impressed that she had not deferred her request until after she had pleasured him, when he might have been more inclined to grant this favor. He slid his hands around her body to cup her warm breasts, and she gave a little squeal of protest.

“My lord, I hope your heart is not as cold as your hands.” She laughed, already responding to his teasing fingers. “Shall you help Mercer Etwelle or must I have his detention on my conscience? I believe ’twas an honest mistake.”

Edward nuzzled her ear as she leaned back against him. “You are too kind, Jane. ’Tis one of the things I adore about you. Do not fret, I will excuse the man of his debt to me.”

Jane twisted in his arms and laid her head on his chest. He always made her feel so delicate when he embraced her like this, and she inhaled his favorite scent of orrisroot, believing she had never been happier. “Thank you, my lord,” she said sincerely. “You are a most generous king.”

“And you a most generous mistress,” he replied.

He carried her to the mauve and white bed, and for a while they shut out the dreary winter day, losing themselves in love.

Jane begged Edward to let her dress him, and so he told his squires to wait in the hall. He was glad of the opportunity to talk further about Jane’s visit from the freeman.

“I have to warn you, Jane, ’tis common for those close to the king to be asked for favors. Every day the queen, Will, Thomas Howard, Dorset, Stanley are petitioned by men and women alike to speak to me on their behalf. This Master Etwelle may be the first, but he certainly will not be the last. He is no fool. He knows you from your former life, and he knows your position now. I must caution you to pick your causes carefully. There are those who will use you for political gain, and ’twould be easy enough to put yourself in danger. A smile at court can hide a false friend who will betray you ere you can spit on the floor. You must learn whom to trust. Margaret Howard might be your guide in this. You do understand, my dear?”

“I do, your grace,” Jane replied, soberly. She hoped she was clever enough to know when she was being fooled, but she was learning that courtiers were more devious than her friends and acquaintances in the city. She shivered slightly, hoping she would not fall into a flatterer’s trap, and determined to ask Lady Howard for help. The kind-hearted Margaret was also a good friend to Kate Haute, so Jane knew the older woman must be unconcerned about consorting with concubines.

Edward checked his appearance in her polished silver mirror and settled his black velvet bonnet on his head.

“And now I have to call another great council to debate the matter of my brother-in-law of Burgundy’s demise and my sister’s preposterous suggestion that young Mary marry my widowed brother Clarence. Over my rotting corpse!”

“C
hrist’s bones, George!” Edward shouted. “How stupid do you suppose I am? Allow you to wed the Burgundy girl and you would soon chafe to assert her paltry claim to my throne. Nay, do not turn away from me. You have tried to wear my crown before, or are you too drunk to remember?”

George of Clarence’s bloodshot eyes were full of hatred. The queen sat quietly gloating over her brother-in-law’s discomfort. She would never forgive the man for turning against Edward in 1469. Moreover, now that her bitterest enemy, Warwick, was dead, she held Warwick’s puppet Clarence responsible for the executions of her beloved father and her brother John in the ensuing civil war. Banish the measle, she wanted to tell Edward; the man was a pus-laden boil under the royal family’s skin that should be lanced and drained, leaving naught but a withered scar to show he had been there.

George, in his cups, foolishly did not let the matter rest. “Meg thinks I should wed Mary, and I want to, too,” he retorted. “Why do you thwart me at every turn? Have I not proved loyal these
past five years? Can you not forget my youthful mistake? I swear I will not work against you if I become Burgundy’s duke.” George snatched up one of his gloves from the table and threw it back down as he cried, “I want to wed Mary. Why should I not?”

The room went silent as all eyes riveted on the glove. Then Edward raised his to George’s handsome face, anger boiling in him now.

“Hear this, and hear it well, little brother. I do not trust you, and I never shall. Our lord father told us once if he told us a hundred times, look to your family in the hard times for they will not let you down. I am happy he is not here to see how wrong he was. I shall keep you close, George. You will not run off to some foreign part and plot against me again. Now, go back to your claret and stay out of my sight!” Edward spat, turning his back and walking to the hearth, where the crackling logs competed with the angry discourse.

George snatched up his glove and nodded to his squire, who came forward to wrap a mantle around his lord. “You have not heard the last of this. I shall go and seek our lady mother’s advice. At least she will be fair.” He moved to Edward’s side, and when only his brother could hear, he hissed: “Have a care, Edward. I know things about which loyalty has kept me silent. Do not provoke me, brother.” As he turned to the door, he made a great show of twirling his fur-lined mantle behind him and left, somewhat unsteadily, in a blur of red velvet.

Edward stared into the fire contemplating his brother’s words. To what was George referring? he wondered briefly. Nay, it was George who had always been the offender, he decided and, exasperated, sloughed off the ominous remark.

E
dward was busy for the next few weeks after he called a great council at Westminster, leaving Jane to her own devices. While Edward was absent, he did not forget his mistress, and soon her
ornately gilded casket was overflowing with tokens of his devotion. As much as she loved all her new finery, Jane was not greedy. She had a particular fondness for the pearl necklace and her little emerald ring, but some of the larger items she found ostentatious and knew not when she might wear them in public. She was certain many of the trinkets had been chosen by one of the king’s squires, John Norrys perhaps, and so as she fingered a few of the less valuable pieces, she began to plan how to sell them.

After she had come to terms with her status as a royal mistress, Jane had bargained with St. Catherine that she would do what she could for others not as fortunate as she, if the saint would intercede for her with God when the day of judgment arrived. But there was another reason for being generous. She had been surprised at her joy when Edward had indeed pardoned Master Etwelle, and the mercer and his wife had visited her with their profuse thanks. She had vowed then she would not sit idle in her comfortable Thames Street house but would do what she could to ease others’ burdens. Certes, she had always looked to help her neighbors back on Hosier Lane and Cordwainer Street and never minded visiting a sick wife or a hurt child with small gifts of food, but the act of charity toward the Etwelles had been of a more serious nature with greater stakes. She began to understand her power, and it seemed even more satisfying because she was a woman. As she contemplated where to bestow a gift, she thought of the Vandersands’ leaky roof. Certes, she would begin with Sophie.