Royal Mistress (36 page)

Edward laughed. “I have missed your candor, little brother. It may surprise you to know that Elizabeth thinks highly of you. And it may surprise you to know we still love each other. Whatever else she may be—ambitious, haughty, scheming—her loyalty to me has never wavered, despite my . . . my transgressions.”

Richard snickered. “A dainty word for so many mortal sins.” His tone became one of concern. “Are you well, Ned? You have an
unhealthy mien. You are not even forty years old, but you move more like a sixty-year-old. I watch you consume twice as much as anyone at the high table, drink three times as much, and then purge yourself so you can eat more. Have a care for your heir, brother. You need to live long enough to see him to manhood before he becomes king. How old is he now, twelve?”

Edward looked at his brother quizzically. “Why, Dickon, would you see me in my grave already? Do you, too, have an itch to wear the crown?
Je m’excuse,
” he apologized, seeing the shock on Richard’s face. “I am but jesting. Although, by Christ’s nails, you know how to drive the point home. Aye, I lack the same vigor I had when I became king, but with you fighting my battles for me in the north, and with England at peace, I have no more need for my soldiering skills. I am grateful for your concern, and I will try and curb my many appetites, but do not tell me to give up Jane. She is the joy of my life, and I believe she loves me, too.”

Richard thought Edward too selfish to know real love, but he nodded gravely and changed the subject. “Tell me about my nieces, Ned. They are among the most beautiful girls I have laid eyes on, after my own Katherine, certainly.” For the next hour, the two brothers conversed amicably about their children’s virtues, which led to tales of their own childhood, which had been at once warm and loving yet fraught with danger.

All was well on that cold February day, but not two weeks later, Richard spurred his horse north and home to Anne, taking with him his brother’s deepest gratitude for his handling of the Scottish campaign. Richard of Gloucester and his descendants were given permanent wardenship of the west marches, between Scotland and England, as well as of Carlisle and its castle and many other crown possessions in the north. As long as Edward remained king, Gloucester, as his loyal brother and Lord of the North, would keep the border safe. The monumental grant was no less than he richly deserved, Richard thought, when he had listened to Parliament
consent to Edward’s request. He would do better than Edward in ruling the unpredictable north country.

M
arch brought more cold days, and Londoners hurried from one place to another muffled in warm cloaks against the biting wind.

One plump figure in black velvet, her hood lined with squirrel fur, approached with hesitant steps the house on Thames Street. She tapped the knocker lightly and stepped back. She did not have long to wait, for the door swung open and a balding man with a cherubic face greeted her and, upon hearing her name, invited her in.

“Mistress Lambert,” the steward announced, ushering Amy into the warm solar, then disappearing with her cloak.

“Mother!” Jane jumped to her feet and ran to embrace her parent. “How glad I am to see you.”

Amy held her daughter’s hands, searching Jane’s face for any sign of falseness. Seeing none, Amy smiled, reassuring Jane that her mother was happy to see her, too.

“How I have missed you,” Jane cried, drawing Amy toward her own chair by the fire. Then she noticed the circles under her mother’s once-luminous eyes and the worry lines carved deep in her face, and she knew something was wrong.

“Is it Father? Is he dead?” she asked, surprised that the thought of her father’s demise gave her an unexpected stab of regret.

“Nay, Jane. He is as well and as stubborn as ever. ’Tis Bella,” she said sorrowfully. “You knew she married Goldsmith Allen?” Seeing Jane nod, she continued: “She gave birth to a puling babe a few days ago—her third—and she is very weak and we fear for her life. She has asked for you, and I could not in good conscience refuse, if that is her wish.”

“Me?” Jane said incredulously. “Why? She has not tried to see me nor has she answered any of my notes since . . . since . . .” She broke off. They both remembered the last time they all had sat
together. “I should like to know my nieces,” Jane said sadly. “And now she calls for me?”

Amy nodded, her conscience pricking. “You are her sister, and like me, she still loves you. We know all about the good you have done for people. Please believe that I am proud when I hear the stories.” Her tone turned anxious. “But you must understand your sister and I were denied communication with you by your father. You know what he is like, Jane. We dared not gainsay him. In fact, he would beat me if he knew I had come here today. He has disowned you, as certes you know.” She stared at her hands, worrying a broken fingernail, and Jane felt sorry for her. How relieved she was that she had not tolerated a similar life of servitude married to William.

“Is Bella’s life truly in danger?” Jane whispered. “Shall I come with you now, Mother?”

Amy nodded, a tear running down her face. She wiped it away and tried to smile. “Ah, Jane, ’tis good to see you looking so well and not like a . . .” She bit her tongue. How could she say that she had expected Jane would resemble the well-worn whores that roamed the streets of Southwark. In truth, to Amy her wayward daughter looked lovelier than ever.

Jane came to her rescue. “I understand, Mother. Let us talk no more about it. Now take me to Bella.”

She did not tell Amy that after she had heard about Bella’s marriage, she had twice walked past the Allens’ large establishment in Friday Street, with its polished leaded windows displaying the goldsmith’s workmanship, hoping to encounter her sister, but she had failed.

“Ankarette!” Jane called through the open door. “We are going out. Pray fetch our cloaks.”

Like old times, mother and daughter walked arm in arm along Thames Street, past Will Hastings’s impressive town house, up onto Lambert Hill, skirting St. Paul’s to get to the Chepe, and arriving
at the Allens’ house on Friday Street in the space of ten minutes. Gerald Allen was busy with a customer when Amy preceded Jane and Ankarette into the shop, but he nodded to Amy and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs; having never seen Jane up close, he did not recognize her and assumed she was an acquaintance of his wife’s.

Once in the Allens’ spacious bedchamber, the canopied tester bed a massive presence in the room, Jane wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell, Mother?”

Amy put her finger to her lips. “Brace yourself, my dear. ’Tis the childbed fever. ’Twas the same when my sister passed away. The doctor told me; ’tis unmistakable.”

Jane covered her mouth to stifle a gasp of revulsion and hurried to the bed. Her sister lay like a frozen stick under the snowy sheet, her skin reminding Jane of the pale gray of dawn on an inclement morning. On the other side of the bed, a doctor was readying a fleem to bleed Bella, but when he saw Amy, he bowed and, shaking his head in helplessness, retired.

Jane gently lowered herself onto the bed and took Bella’s hot, dry hand. She was surprised how warm the sick woman felt, considering her pallor. “Can you hear me, sister?” she asked. “ ’Tis I, Jane, come to make you well again.”

The eyes on the patient fluttered open then, and the semblance of a smile flitted across her face. Bella reached out for Jane. “Lillibet, my babe is dead. They told me. ’Tis God’s will.”

“May she rest in peace,” Jane prayed. “I am so sorry, Bella.”

Bella began to whimper. “Oh, Lillibet, is it really you? I did not dare to hope you would come.” An urgency seemed to overcome her. “I am so sorry I forsook you all these years. Can you ever forgive me?”

Jane patted her hand. “Nay, Bella, ’tis I who must ask forgiveness. I cannot pretend I was sad to leave my life on Coleman Street, and I certainly was not sorry to leave Father, but I have always
missed you, little sister. I should have tried harder to see you and your children.” She stroked the gaunt cheek and wiped away Bella’s tears. “Do not cry, my dear. You will soon be well, and I promise I will come every day until you are strong.”

Bella’s smile widened, and she tried to lift herself from her pillow. “You will? What if Father finds out?”

Jane eased her back down, shushing her gently. “Listen to me, sweeting. You are Master Allen’s wife now and out of Father’s hands. He cannot hurt either of us anymore.”

“Oh, Lillibet, how I have missed you. ’Tis only that . . .”

“I know, my dear,” Jane said, stroking her cheek. “I know what people think, but I am still the same person you knew when we were girls, and I love you still.”

Overwhelmed by her sister’s kindness, more tears filled Bella’s eyes. Easily tired, the ailing young woman soon slept. Jane gentled her hand from her sister’s grasp and quietly left the room.

It would be the first of three more visits to Friday Street, where Jane sat with Bella and reminisced about their childhood together. Some of Jane’s retellings briefly cheered the invalid, but all could see the young woman was failing and would not survive.

“Tell me about the king, Lillibet,” she rasped on the third day. Why was her throat so sore? She had also broken out in a rash, and the doctor had told the family that it would not be long now. “Is he kind to you?”

And so Jane shared with her dying sister the secrets of her new life and how King Edward of England had shown her the joys of love between a man and a woman. “I cannot deny I have enjoyed being treated like a queen, but you must not think it comes without hardship. I fear God may have forsaken me—as well as my family.” She leaned forward then, not wanting to sound maudlin. “But, I have another secret, Bella,” she continued eagerly, not knowing if Isabel could hear her or not, “and I need to tell someone . . .” There was no response from the still figure in the bed, and so Jane held her peace.

Then Isabel’s eyelids fluttered and she smiled when she recognized Jane was still there. “God be with you, Lillibet. I know you now for a good woman.” Then she began to look wildly about her. “My children! Where are my children?”

Gerald Allen was by his wife’s side in two strides. “My dear, you know they are with your mother. Now you must rest.” He looked at Jane gratefully. “Your sister will come again tomorrow.”

Jane kissed Bella’s clammy forehead and prayed that tomorrow would not be too late. Her secret would have to wait. Quietly slipping out onto the street, she came face-to-face with her father, on his way to pay his last respects to his favorite daughter.

“You!” he cried, his fists balling. “What are you doing here? Who told you Isabel was ailing?”

“ ’Tis pleasant to see you, too, Father,” Jane said without flinching. “ ’Tis common knowledge that the wife of such a distinguished goldsmith as Master Allen is on her deathbed.” She would not betray her mother, she determined. “I came to reconcile with Bella and, with her husband’s blessing, this is my fourth visit. Good day, sir.” And she hurried past him.

“Wanton!” John Lambert called after her. “Harlot!”

But Jane walked on.

B
ella died three days later, and when the news reached Thames Street Jane took to her bed, seeing no one except for Ankarette. How Jane now bitterly regretted the estrangement from her sister. Bella represented the carefree times in Jane’s life on Hosier Lane. The girl had never asked to be her father’s favorite, Jane realized now too late; she had simply been a more placid and biddable child who rarely caused her father to raise his voice. And Bella had worshipped her beautiful sister, Jane remembered guiltily. Ah, Jane, how bittersweet, she thought; your reunion came too late.

The only person who understood this part of Jane’s life was Sophie, and it was to the Vandersands’ greatly improved house that
Jane eventually found her way. The motherly Sophie held her friend for many minutes as Jane cried and then described Bella’s bravery.

“I could not have taken my fate so calmly,” Jane admitted, sadly. “I would have fought to get out of bed and defy death. Certes, I am glad ’twas not I suffering so, but I found myself begging God that I could take her place so she could live to see her children grow up. I have no children, and, indeed, I have no one I can call my own, so why was I not taken instead?” And her tears began again.