Royal Mistress (34 page)

Returning to her seat, she caught the envious looks cast her way by other ladies, scrutinizing her appearance from head to toe, hoping to find her wanting. But Jane felt secure in her outward appearance; it was her inner confidence that was failing her this night. She mulled over a conversation she had had with Margaret Howard about Alice Perrers, another royal mistress a long time ago. She had risen from poverty to be the third King Edward’s concubine. “She was a greedy woman, ’tis said,” Margaret had told Jane. “More than jewels, she wanted, and was given, property and power. In all, the king gave her fifty manors or more, and as he sank into his dotage, she seized the reins of government. But when Edward died, she lost everything, was tried for corruption, and banished.”

Jane looked at the inquisitive faces now and wondered if people were comparing her to this scheming Perrers woman?

“Why will you not ask for more reward for your loyalty to me?” Edward jogged her from her reverie. “You have the right, in truth. I have spent seven happy years knowing you.” Then he leaned in and kissed her full on the mouth before adding, “And loving you.”

Jane felt sufficiently mollified to lighten the mood. If he were tiring of her, would he be so affectionate in public? she reasoned. “Perhaps I am content enough with that knowledge, your grace. I love my house, and you keep me looking regal, even if I am not.” She saw a sparkle return to her lover’s eyes, and she guessed whatever had irked him earlier was receding. Watching Jester LeSage end an impressive juggling display and sit back down at Edward’s
feet, she suddenly clapped her hands. “How like you this silly ditty that has just occurred to me, your grace?” and she began to recite, slowly, as she sought the appropriate rhymes:

“Mistress Shore, the king’s whore,

Took great pride in the clothes she wore.

But once in bed

With her handsome Ned,

She cared not a fig for them anymore.”

Edward slapped his knee and gave a shout of laughter. The musicians faltered in their rhythm and the dancers briefly hesitated, but Edward waved them on, still laughing. Jane suddenly wished Bella could see her now. She had always enjoyed her verses, Jane recalled, again missing her sister.

“How do you do that so quickly, my little poet?” Edward was saying. “Put your mind at rest, sweetheart. I could never tire of you.” He patted her hand. “I think I should get my scribe to write your verses down. So much more interesting to read for posterity than dry doings at court.”

Jane pretended horror. “I would not want good Englishmen reading them down the centuries. What would they think of me?”

Edward was still wiping his eyes when Jane took this moment of good humor to return to his earlier question to her.

“I confess it has crossed my mind that you might tire of me, sire.” She put up her hand to muffle her next remark. “Never fear, Will Hastings has promised to look after me.”

“Has he, by God,” Edward replied. “ ’Twill have to be over my dead body, Mistress Shore.” And he winked at her.

They both laughed. The king was happy again, his subjects could see. Without the queen and with Jane Shore at Edward’s side, they felt at liberty to enjoy themselves freely. Couples began flirting and even kissing in corners, hands seeking forbidden flesh,
and laughter growing more raucous as the wine flowed like the Thames in flood.

“I fear my brother Richard would not approve,” Edward grumbled, pointing out a pretty woman occupying the lap of a young man whose hand had disappeared up her skirt. “He is as boringly prating as a priest. But loyal. ’Tis one thing you can say about Richard: he is loyal.”

Jane began to improvise again, a laugh in her voice.

“At Edward’s court,

We dine and sport,

All the livelong day.

But one dull duke

With scowl’d rebuke

Would take our sport away.”

The jester was not amused that Jane’s clever verse was upstaging his capering. She was too clever for words, although he had to admit she was always the first to compliment him on a witty turn of phrase or a jest. He was redoubling his efforts to entertain his king as Edward’s bevy of lovely daughters took their places on the dance floor for a carol. The musicians had just struck the first notes when there was a flurry of activity at the entrance to the hall.

“Make way for Lord Howard!” an usher shouted above the din.

The music died and a hush fell on the courtiers as Jack Howard, his stocky legs well hidden beneath the long gown he favored, marched confidently toward the dais and fell on one knee in front of his king, hat in hand. His gray-streaked hair was matted to his head, his leather riding boots sodden.

“Sire, God give you a good evening. I am come in haste from Calais. May I request a private audience.” The long ends of Howard’s gray mustache drooped dishearteningly; there was no good-humored
smile from the councilor tonight. Will Hastings joined his deputy, looking grim; he could almost guess Jack’s bad news.

Edward rose with surprising agility for his corpulence, and giving Jack Howard a nod, he motioned to the musicians to continue and for his chamberlain, his chancellor, and his steward to follow him.

“Wait for me in my chambers,” he told Jane. “I shall have need of you tonight.”

“Aye, your grace,” Jane answered him, dismayed by the tension that had again gripped Edward’s face. She, too, rose and curtseyed as Edward made his way into the same antechamber she had seen Will and Tom enter not an hour before. Without Edward, she knew her place at the festivities was awkward, and she had no wish to flaunt herself alone as royal concubine in front of Edward’s young daughters. She must go.

“Do you need an escort, mistress?” As though he had read her mind, John Norrys was at her elbow, his voice all kindness. “Would you like me to see you to his grace’s apartments?”

Her relieved smile gave him his answer, and he gave her his arm.

E
ven the music could not drown out the bellow from behind the heavy wooden door of the antechamber. Fifteen-year-old Elizabeth of York, recognizing her father’s fury, called her sisters to her and led them from the hall to the princesses’ private apartments. A sweet-natured girl, she hated hearing her beloved father shout.

In the stuffy antechamber, Edward’s face had turned a shade of murrey to match his velvet cote. His fist thundered down on the desk, making the quills and ink pots jump.

“That villainous boil-snouted barnacle!” he spluttered. “May he grow warts all over his member and may bats fly up his arse. A treaty you say, Jack? Signed in Arras these two weeks past? The spider king has tricked us again, by God’s nails. Louis has used our truce to sign with Maximilian. And I thought Burgundy was our ally. Shame on the archduke, and shame on my sister. Margaret must have known.”

He sat down hard, his oversize frame causing the chair to wobble dangerously, and he put his head in his hands. “Why am I the last to know?”

“I warned you, your grace. I warned you in the autumn when I came back from Calais,” Will Hastings gently reminded him. “If you remember, I advised you to send help to Burgundy, but your brother had our troops busy in Scotland.”

Edward raised his livid face to his chamberlain, and Will flinched at the king’s fierce ire. “Gloucester is the only one I can count on these days,” he said. “At least he has won Berwick back for us. What have you done, Hastings, except to worry me with rumors about the sale of Calais to the French and weak excuses about your innocence. You should have prevented this treaty.”

Will paled. He understood at once that he was to be the scapegoat. Edward needed to blame someone for the failure of his own foreign policy. He shivered and went on one knee. “Sire, I swear on the cross of St. George that those accusations against me were false,” he cried, determined to defend himself. “I am your true liegeman and all here will vouch for me. Jack? Rotherham? Stanley?” He looked at each in turn and all nodded their assurance. None could find fault with their comrade’s loyalty. “I have kept you informed at every turn, your grace, and when you called for me to return home, I left the ablest man as deputy. I would trust Jack Howard with my life, and certainly the defense of Calais. I swear I have done all I could do to preserve Calais and naught but your bidding, sire. My loyalty is yours till the grave.”

Edward studied his friend’s distraught face for a second before signaling Will to stand. “Aye, you are my loyal subject, my lord, I know that.” Then he turned back to Jack Howard, leaving Will bewildered. Had he been forgiven?

Edward asked Jack: “And the pledge to wed my daughter to the dauphin? Will Louis uphold that, do you suppose?”

Howard knew the answer would enrage Edward further, but he
was not a man to dissemble. “The dauphin is pledged to Maximilian’s daughter, and the girl is being readied to go to the French court despite being only three.”

Again the king’s fist thumped on the desk. “Young Margaret of Burgundy was contracted to Ned. She would be queen of England one day. And what do you have to say to that, Lord Hastings? Aye, you are loyal, but you have lost me my alliance. Where is a lawyer? Find me a lawyer! We shall soon see about breaking contracts.”

Grateful to escape, Will quit the room, and his eye fell on the enigmatic face of one of his own retainers, William Catesby, who was leaning alone on a pillar, watching the dancing in the main hall. “Catesby,” he called, beckoning to him. Simulating washing his white, womanly hands, Catesby eagerly hurried to his lord. “Come with me, William, the king has need of you.”

In his uneasiness, Will did not catch the gleam of ambition in the lawyer’s eye as he turned the door handle. Will had never before borne the brunt of Edward’s anger, and it had unnerved him.

I
t seemed to Jane that during that long cold January, Edward’s zest for life began to flag. He laughed rarely, and the humiliation that Louis of France had visited on the English king gripped Edward in a form of melancholy. He summoned a Parliament to discuss the Treaty of Arras and its implications for England, most importantly the broken marriage contracts.

Edward still called for Jane at Westminster, and for a few hours she was able to amuse him and make him feel loved. In between her trysts with the king, she and Will discussed the change in their lord and tried to ignore their fear for his health.

Then one day in early February, Will burst unannounced into her solar, with Ankarette complaining in his wake. He shut the door unceremoniously in her face.

“I am to go to the Tower!” he cried after Jane had leaped up to greet him. “Indefinitely.”

Aghast, Jane’s questions tumbled forth. “The Tower? Why, Will? You mean . . . you mean as a prisoner? Nay, you must be mistaken, my dear friend. Edward is sending you to prison? What have you done wrong?”

Will slumped into his favorite settle, and Jane’s new pup, a gift from Edward, tried unsuccessfully to scramble into his lap. Staring into the fire, Will absently fondled the dog’s ears, and the animal curled up at his feet.

“Is there aught I can do for you? Plead with Edward? When must you go, my lord?” Jane wondered why he had come to her. Looking out of the upstairs window, she could see the guards stationed below in the street; John Norrys was also waiting.

“I am on my way there, Jane,” Will replied, flatly. “I was given leave to stop by my house, alert my household, and gather a few necessaries. John Norrys, God bless him, allowed me to see you for a few minutes as well.”

Jane turned back, her hands nervously playing with her braided belt. “The king must have accused you of something, Will. What was it?”

“The king seems convinced that I had made plans to sell out Calais to the French. Lies, all lies,” he insisted, “spread by Rivers. God’s wounds, that man has much to answer for. ’Tis he who should be taken to the Tower, not I.” He shifted his weight. “But I know Edward after all these years. He needs someone to blame for not working harder to keep France and Burgundy apart, and I am to be that man. We all saw this treaty coming, and I warned him of it many times, but in his lassitude, Edward failed to act. Believe me, the Rivers feud is not the reason.” He ran his hands through his thinning hair and down over his face in a gesture of helplessness. “ ’Tis more than I can bear after having always been so loyal.”