Royal Mistress (46 page)

“Naught but what Jack Howard tells us,” Kate had replied. “But ’tis true, even though he is Richard’s supporter, Jack has been irked by the unfair parceling of grants that Richard has made to Buckingham. But Jane, understand this, Richard has been acting independently in the north for so long, he must feel isolated from the lords at Westminster. Do not judge him harshly. Harry is his cousin, and he must feel he can trust someone down here.”

Jane pondered Kate’s information, and as she arrived at her destination, she resolved to tell Will of her findings. She hoped the news might ease his resentment of Richard’s rewards to Buckingham.

The Vandersands’ house was now one of the grander in the lane, and Jane was pleased with the improvements. The extra money she had provided seemed to have lessened Jehan’s bouts of melancholy and impatience, allowing Sophie to blossom as a mother and settle into a happier middle age. She hesitated at the door, wondering if she had the right to ask her friends to help Tom, but she knew no one else as far removed from Tom Grey and the politics at court. Besides there was nobody she trusted more than Sophie and her now-indebted husband. She lifted the iron ring and knocked, determined to keep her promise to Tom.

J
ane loved living by the river. She liked nothing better than to linger on the wharves on a summer’s day and watch the myriad of craft that plied their never-ending journeys up and down the wide waterway while exotic cargos from the larger boats were unloaded by swarthy foreign seamen. Barrels of wine from Gascony, silks from Venice, spices from warmer climes, jewels from the Baltic, and luxuries from the Levant were all brought to London to be traded for England’s chief export, wool. She had often imagined dressing as a boy and boarding a vessel so that she might see these exotic places for herself.

Today she joined other passengers on a wherry at Paul’s Wharf, right behind Will’s town house, and, seated in the stern, she stared up at the forbidding walls of Baynard’s Castle, the London residence of the York family. Jane wondered if there were a meeting at the castle that day. During a brief stop at her house earlier, Will had relayed that the council had been split into groups to meet at different locations. He found it puzzling, he had told her, because one group did not know what another was discussing. However, Richard felt more could be accomplished in a shorter time this way, and, as usual, Buckingham had agreed with him.

The tide was up, concealing the detritus visible at low tide on the riverbed. It was always possible to see a body, bloated and rotting, washed up on the quagmire and caught among the reeds. And Londoners were not supposed to throw their rubbish into the Thames, but many did, making laundresses hold their noses as they attempted to wash their linens in the murky water. But the river sparkled in the sunlight, the gardens in full bloom running down to its banks, kingfishers, herons, and coots among the reeds, and Jane was reminded that June was her favorite time of year.

The wharf at Westminster was crowded when the boatmen skillfully steered their craft to the pier, handed her out, and accepted her fare. She was alone and disguised as a yeoman’s wife, having
donned a plain worsted gown that Ankarette had found her and concealing her famous yellow hair under a tightly wound white cloth. Knowing the reputation for cutpurses at Westminster, she clutched the thong of the small leather bag tied to her belt and carried a basket of bread in another to offer guards, in case she were challenged at the abbey. She wended her way up the street, past Master Caxton’s sign of the Red Pale printing shop, vendors hawking pies and custards with the ubiquitous pack of curs roaming nearby hungry for any leavings. At the abbey, she made a note of how many guards were posted at all the doors, standing to attention, their pikes at the ready. How would Tom ever escape from here?

To her surprise, her smile gained her access into the cloister where visitors might see those in sanctuary, and she sat in the sunshine on a stone bench while a monk went to fetch Tom. She prayed the queen would not choose this hour to walk in the garden, as Jane had no desire to meet the haughty Elizabeth again.

“Jane, my dearest,” Tom said when she rose to greet him, “you do me great honor to come.” He stood apart from her and did not take her hand; none must know she was not really a yeoman goodwife taking bread to the kitchen. Once certain they were alone, he asked, “Do you have news for me?”

She longed for him to reach out and touch her, but she told herself she could wait until he was free, although how she would conduct an affair while living with Will, she was not about to contemplate yet. One day at a time, she thought, as Tom walked her into a shaded corner.

“I have found a place for you, Tom. I shall not implicate my friend, but you are expected at the Pope’s Head off Cornhill any day in the next week. Ask for Master Godfrey. I have paid for a sennight for you.”

“You paid?” Tom was alarmed. “You did not ask Will Hastings for money, I trust?”

“Do you think I would do such a thing, my lord?” Jane shot
back, slighted. “Then you do not know me very well. I have the means, but I expect you to pay me back.” She did not tell him she had taken Edward’s final gift to a lombard, who had been suspicious at first of its origins. Master Isaacs had eventually agreed when she had revealed her identity, but Jane had had to take a sum far below the large jewel’s worth in exchange for the usurer’s silence. After giving Jehan money for Tom’s room, she had hidden the rest in a box under a discarded gown at the bottom of her clothes chest.

“Forgive me, Jane. I misspoke,” Tom apologized. “I have much to be grateful for.” His eyes merry, he added, “I will show you how much, once I am away from here.”

Jane dared to touch his arm then. “Have a care, Tom. There are a dozen guards at the front of the abbey and several at the entrance to this cloister.”

At that moment, an orderly group of chanting monks filed through the cloister and into the abbey and Tom concealed Jane in his shadow. He laughed. “Expect to see me with a tonsure soon. I have already procured a habit for my escape. It will not be long, I promise. Now go, I beg of you, before my lady mother chooses to take the air. She is touchy enough already, and I fear a glimpse of you might undo her,” he said, grinning apologetically.

Jane hurried away, found her escort, and exited by the garden gate. As she turned the corner to walk down the hill and past the great hall of the palace to the wharf, she did not see a man loitering across the street from the garden entry.

William Catesby noticed her, however, and puzzled, he decided Richard of Gloucester needed to know this tidbit of information. Why would Mistress Shore visit the queen in sanctuary when it was known Elizabeth Woodville despised her husband’s beloved mistress?

“L
ord Hastings, have you turned Jane Shore out of the king’s house yet and had her goods returned to the Crown?” Richard
wiped his fingers on a spotless napkin and pushed his pewter platter away. He had invited Will to dine with him and his closest advisors, Buckingham, Sir Francis Lovell, and Sir Richard Ratcliffe, at Crosby Place following another of the splintered council meetings that day. Hastings had noted idly that his group had been those lords temporal and spiritual who had been most favored by the dead king: Stanley, archbishop Rotherham of York, Bishop Morton of Ely, and himself.

Will detected no rancor in the duke’s tone, only a directness Will had come to expect. He decided now was the time to admit to his friend Richard of Gloucester that Jane had become his mistress. The man might be a prude, but surely he could not forbid such a liaison. To placate Richard, he had decided to procure a different house for Jane, but what he did there was his affair alone.

“My lord duke, we have all been about council business so much these days, I have not had a moment to tell you that Mistress Shore and I”—he smiled—“well, she is now . . . let us say, under my protection.” He did not much relish admitting this and especially not with Buckingham obviously enjoying his discomfort, but he believed the truth was necessary.

Richard fingered his gold signet ring and gave no sign of his annoyance. He simply said, “You disappoint me, Lord Hastings. I had hoped you had reformed. I gave you a chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of your fellow councilors, and to show me compliance. I see I was mistaken in you.”

Will wanted to reach across the table and punch the amused Buckingham in the eye, but Richard had not finished. “Is this all the thanks I get for rewarding you with the mint, with the captaincy of Calais?” Now he leveled his intense gray eyes at Will. “The truth is, I need to know I can trust you, my lord.”

Will held Richard’s gaze. “Aye, you may, your grace. I was steadfast in my loyalty to your late brother and am now to his son, our king. I shall obey you in all things regarding the king’s welfare. As
for Mistress Shore, I have arranged for her to leave your brother’s house and live under my protection. She deserves nothing less,” he insisted. “Even though you disapprove of my private life, you will find none so loyal as I. You have my word on it.” He shot a look at Buckingham. “Who says otherwise is a liar.”

“I believe you were loyal to my brother, Hastings,” Richard answered, “but as yet your loyalty to me is unproven. And how do we know who Mistress Shore consorts with when you are not with her? Can you trust a whore?”

“With my life,” Will avowed, angrily. He could not believe Jane a threat to anyone, and Richard’s insinuations were puzzling. He was, of course, unaware that Catesby had informed on Jane’s visit to Westminster Abbey and that he was being watched for any sign of complicity. “What has Mistress Shore done to you that you villify her? She is no schemer like the Woodville woman, and she has never demanded anything of me nor of your brother.” He hoped by mentioning the queen, the discussion might return to the problem of Elizabeth in sanctuary.

Jack Howard’s eyebrows shot up. If Hastings had sent Jane as a go-between with the queen, then why had he brought up Elizabeth now? Perhaps Will was innocent after all, but as Richard was motioning for the meeting to adjourn, Jack decided it was not worth pointing out.

The evening light was failing and candles were lit as Richard’s councilors filed out to make their way home before curfew.

As he exited the courtyard, Will was surprised to see a litter arrive at Crosby Place, and even in the twilight he recognized the insignia of the bishopric of Bath and Wells upon the servants’ livery.

Stillington, he said to himself, at this hour? I wonder what he wants?

Will chose to ride the length of Bishopsgate almost to the river, watching idly as citizens finished their daily tasks, or packed up their wares, or pushed their carts to safety for the night. He
wished a carter good night as he skirted round the heavy vehicle laden with firewood that had just crossed over the Thames from the forests of Kent. London Bridge was directly in front of him and was silhouetted dark against an orange sky as the sun set. To his left he could just see the spire of St. Paul’s over the higgledy-piggledy jumble of the city roofs stretching west, and he smiled at the sight. London must surely be the most beautiful city in the world, he thought to himself, before he returned to his dilemma and the odd conversation that night. Turning into Thames Street and clopping slowly along the long winding lane, he decided he would rehouse Jane after the full council meeting on the morrow.