By Loyalty Bound: The Story of the Mistress of King Richard III (23 page)

“The king’s mother has also pleaded in vain for the life of her son,” he told them at the beginning of February. “But the Speaker of the Commons has come to the upper house and made a fresh request that the matter be brought to a conclusion. The king cannot put off the execution much longer, though he has agreed to their mother’s request that it should be done privately within the Tower.”

On the eighteenth day of February it was announced that George, Duke of Clarence was dead. Lord Stanley said he had been given drugged wine and then drowned in his bath, but the talk on the streets was that he had been drowned in a butt of malmsey. Anne prayed fervently for his soul, and for Richard.

“Gloucester is to return to Middleham immediately,” said Lord Stanley.

“Can we go back to Hornby now?” Anne asked her husband quietly.

“Yes,” he said. “As soon as there is any sign of a thaw we will leave.”

Hornby stood overlooking the Wenning as if nothing had changed and Anne was glad to be home after the journey along the snow covered roads. Her fingers had become numbed from holding the reins and the tingling in them as she had warmed them at the fire when they stopped for the night had been almost unbearable. When she reached Hornby and took off her gloves the ends of two fingers were stark white and she was alarmed until the blood seeped painfully back into them. She was still rubbing them together as she went up the steps to the blue chamber. She was weary and wanted to lie down and sleep for a while before suppertime.

But even now, whenever she closed her eyes all she could see was Anne Neville placing her hand on Richard’s arm and smiling at him.

Anne kept to her chamber for days after they arrived back at Hornby. She asked for her meals to be brought up to her. She couldn’t face anyone and was unable to control her tears. She even wept at the letter from Richard saying that he would send the children to visit her during June. She knew that she ought to arrange bedchambers for them but couldn’t summon the energy, thinking always that she would attend to it later.

Then she woke early one morning and the strength of the sun enticed her to put on her cloak and outdoor shoes and walk down the Steep to the river. She noticed that there were tiny buds on the trees and her mood lifted a little as she stared at the hills to the east, clear against the blue sky. She thought of Richard on the other side of them. He had loved her. He had told her so, and the countess herself said that he had spoken of her warmly. Would she have preferred never to have loved and been loved, she asked herself as she bent to pick up a small rock and threw it into the water where it rebounded with a splash. “I still love Richard, Duke of Gloucester,” she told the rooks as they circled above her. They cawed to one another and ignored her, but words spoken out loud can never be denied.

Anne climbed back up the hill and went to look for Edward. She had hardly seen him since they came back from court and she felt a little guilty. He too must feel lonely, she thought, as she opened the door that led to the spiral staircase of the tower chamber. Slowly she went upwards, round and round, to find him. She would go to discover what his work was about, she decided. She would try to show some interest and talk to him about his ideas and discoveries. She owed him that much at least.

As she neared the top she heard muffled voices and then her husband laughed. At least she thought it must be her husband, though she realised that she had never heard him laugh before. She pushed open the door. The trestle table was laden with flasks and bottles of all shapes and sizes. Some were filled with liquids – clear or red or yellow - and there were bowls filled with powders, and leaves and herbs strewn across the work surface. She heard the voices again and realised that they were coming from the smaller adjoining chamber. Curiously she walked across and looked in at the door. Her husband was lying on the small pallet bed that he had brought up for the nights when he was working late and didn’t want to disturb the household. His clothes were half pulled off and beneath him, crying out in pleasure as he moved rhythmically against her, was Lucy Payne. Anne stepped back, holding her breath, and crept down the stairs.

The sound of the approaching army brought Anne to the window of the solar in the octagonal tower. She watched as the men and horses came down the road from Melling and milled around in the market place before being dismissed to their homes. She smiled at the sight of Edward, under the banner of the eagle’s claw, as he turned his horse towards the castle gate; she didn’t need her sister’s better eyesight to recognise him, though it was not so much for his return that she was grateful as for the news he might bring.

The September evening sun was still warm as she made her way out into the courtyard to greet her husband. News of the victory against the Scots had already come by messenger but she was eager to hear the details, especially as it had been Richard’s campaign. But she waited as Lucy ran forward to greet him. The couple embraced and kissed and Edward lifted up little Ned, their three year old son, and set him high on his shoulders as the laughing boy clasped his hands around his father’s head. He should have been in bed but they had allowed him to stay up for the homecoming. Anne smiled at the sight of them. Lucy was expecting a second child and although she was still officially Anne’s maidservant she lived as a lady within Hornby Castle and was a companion to Anne who adored her little son and spoilt him more than was good for him.

“I’m relieved to see you uninjured,” Anne told Edward after pressing her lips to his unshaven cheek. “How far have you come today?”

“From Middleham,” he told her, obviously tired after the long ride. “And your children are well,” he reassured her.

“And it is all settled with the Scots?”

“Yes. The Scots asked for peace and the Duke of Gloucester has negotiated favourable terms. Berwick belongs to England once more and the king’s daughter Cecily will marry the Scottish heir.”

“And were you very brave, my love?” Lucy asked him as he stood, clad in his burnished steel armour, tall and sunkissed in the castle courtyard.

“I was indeed,” he told her and Anne smiled up at the man who had grown into a soldier and commander who fought alongside his father and brother in the Stanley army. “The truth is,” he confessed to Anne, “that we were left to lay siege to the castle at Berwick whilst the duke and his army took Edinburgh. He told my father that as he knew how good he was at laying sieges he would entrust the task to him. It was in fact a little boring, and nothing much happened until Gloucester returned and the castle fell to us.”

“And my uncle?”

“Sir Robert is safe and well and honoured for his bravery with a banneret.”

“And the Duke of Gloucester?” she asked, relieved that the fighting was over.

Her mind was never quiet when he was at war.

“He is jubilant, as he always is when he wins. You know what he is like,” smiled Edward showing no jealousy. “He sends you his regards,” he added as an afterthought, but for Anne it was the most important thing he said. “Oh – and this.” Edward reached up into a bag that was slung across the back of his saddle and produced what looked like a dried up twig. “It is Scottish heather,” he said as she took it from him. “I think it may be dead for lack of water though.”

“No,” said Anne as she held the token that had been in Richard’s hands; a token that he had plucked for her in the midst of his busy campaign. “It will soon revive,” she said as she went to the kitchen to find a jar and some water.

Richard was one of the great lords of the north now. King Edward never travelled so far and rumour had it that he had fallen into such licentiousness that he only concerned himself with feasting and women these days. But Richard stayed loyal to his brother and would hear no word against him. He stayed loyal to his wife too, though he and the duchess had been blessed with no more children and Edward of Middleham remained prone to the falling sickness.

Her own children, John and Katherine, thrived in Yorkshire however, and when she did see them Anne always marvelled at how tall and how clever they had become. John was ten years old now and could read and write in English, French and Latin. He was becoming skilled as a horseman and with weapons, and she couldn’t conceal her pride in him. Katherine was eight and quite a lady. She rode fearlessly and had a little merlin hawk, which she took out hunting with her father. Her sewing was as good as Anne’s and her letters full of news; John’s remained more dutiful. She wished that she could see them more often, but Richard had been kind and kept his word that she should not lose them altogether and they made frequent visits to her at Hornby.

Kate enjoyed music and Edward encouraged her to practise on his clavichord. John too seemed to enjoy her husband’s company and was always keen to accompany him to the top of the tower and watch his scientific experiments with awe. Edward told her that the boy asked such questions as he found it almost impossible to answer and Anne wondered what John told his father of his visits. She prayed that he would not talk about Edward Stanley’s atheism for fear that Richard, whose faith was strong, would think it too bad an influence on his son and forbid him to come again.

Now Edward went to wash whilst Anne bid the servants bring the supper. They ate in the great hall by candlelight and little Ned fell asleep with his tousled head on the table. His father picked him up and went with Lucy to put him in his bed. As she watched them go, Anne felt a pang of sorrow for the days when she and Richard had watched over their children’s prayers and kissed them goodnight in the nursery at Pontefract.

“Will you stay at home for a while?” Anne asked Edward later as they sat around the fire, sipping their wine.

“For as long as I can,” he said, smiling at Lucy whose hand he was holding. “But we are summoned to London for Christmas.”

Anne glanced at Lucy’s swelling body. Her child was due in January and she would not be able to accompany them.

“Must we go?” she asked.

“Yes, my father is determined to gather all the family together at Stanley House, and there is also to be a parliament in January, which will honour the Duke of Gloucester for his success in Scotland.”

“A parliament? It must be... what... five years since the last one?”

“That’s why my father thinks we should all be there. It will be an important event.”

Anne looked at Lucy again. She knew what it was like to be left alone with a child and a baby, but the lure of seeing Richard, albeit from a distance was very strong. Besides, even though her husband was a grown man he still bent to the will of his father.

“Do not fret about me. I have my mother,” said Lucy. Anne nodded. After all, Hornby was Lucy’s home and there was no finer midwife than Mistress Payne.

“We will not stay any longer than we must,” Edward promised her.

Anne kissed them both goodnight before they went up the stairs together; she had given up the blue chamber to them long ago. By the time she had ensured that the servants had locked all the doors and covered the fires it was very late when she went to her own bed. It was the one where she had first known Richard and as she lay down each night to sleep she took some comfort from the memory.

As they arrived at Stanley House it looked warm and welcoming after the inns along the way. Anne was glad to see it, although she prayed that Sir William would be keeping Christmas in his own castle. But as soon as she walked in through the door she saw that none of her favourite saints had blessed her.

“My lady!” he exclaimed and strode across the hall to grasp her hand and press it to his moist mouth. “How delighted I am to see you!”

“Be assured that the feelings are not mutual,” she muttered pulling her hand away from his overbearing grasp.

He laughed down at her and chucked her under the chin as if she were a small child. “Anne, you know that you like me really and that you cannot go on resisting me forever,” he whispered. “Why don’t you slip away from that husband of yours and come to my chamber tonight?”

“And what would your wife say to that, sir?” He roared with laughter as if she had made some huge joke, his head thrown back and his teeth on full display.

“My wife will say whatever I tell her to say, and do whatever I tell her to do – including keeping to her own chamber. But it is immensely tedious. I crave a woman with a little spirit,” he replied.

“You disgust me, sir,” said Anne with as much dignity as she could summon whilst glancing round to see if Edward had come inside yet.

“You deceive yourself,” he told her. “You will be mine, I assure you.”

Anne did not reply. She knew that no matter what she said he would insist that she did not mean it and that in truth she liked him. He seemed to have persuaded himself that his delusion was true.

“I must go and see that the servants unpack my gowns properly,” she said and escaped upstairs.

Lord Stanley and the Countess of Richmond had already arrived from Lathom and with them had come Lord Stanley’s eldest son George and his new wife Joan le Strange. She was a pretty girl with copper coloured eyebrows and Anne wondered if the rest of her hair, hidden under an elaborate hennin, was of the same hue. She had brought George both a fortune and the title Lord Strange of Knockin; her mother was a sister to the queen and she regarded Anne with disdain as if she were a poor relation.

Anne and Edward were given an even smaller bedchamber than usual, at the back of the house. It had only one narrow bed and Anne suspected that Lord Stanley had arranged it to punish them.

“Is there space for us to share that bed?” said Edward doubtfully when they retired on the first night of their stay. “I would not like to offend you.”

“I am not so easily offended,” Anne told him and after he had studied the hard, cold floor for a moment he settled beside her.

“I hope Lucy is well,” he said.

“She has her mother to care for her. Try not to worry,” said Anne touching his shoulder. His body was warm in the bed and she longed for it to be Richard beside her. It had been so long since she had experienced that special intimacy and her body yearned inside and out for his touch. Edward gave a slight sigh as he pulled the covers around him against the cold and Anne suspected that he lay awake as long as she did into the distant, dark hours of the night, listening to the chimes of the city bells; both of them wishing to be with someone else.

Sir William was waiting next morning when she went down to breakfast and came to sit beside her.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Your husband didn’t keep you awake then?” Anne didn’t reply but poured some ale, her hand shaking slightly. “You did not come to my chamber after he was asleep.”

“Indeed I did not, sir. And if you were waiting for me then your expectations were very foolish.”

“Oh Anne! You know how to drive a man mad with your dalliance,” he complained. She reached for her knife to slice some cheese, but Sir William’s jewelled blade flashed in his hand as he cut some for her and placed it on her platter. “You know that I will do anything for you. Whatever you want... just ask.”

“Sir, I would ask you to desist from pestering me.”

“Anything but that,” he replied and Anne stared at the cheese, all appetite ruined because he had touched it. It was going to be the most unpleasant Christmastide, she thought.

On Christmas Day there was a thin covering of snow on the ground. After mass in the chapel they went to court at Westminster Palace for the feasting. The trumpet blasts across the icy air announced the coming banquet and although Anne was wrapped in vair-lined mantle, she found that she was shivering as the heat from the braziers scarcely seemed to warm the thick-walled chamber. There was a multitude in there and she stood to one side, glad that Edward had grown tall enough to act as a shield from the crowd, and watched the comings and goings of people looking for the other people they wished to claw by the sleeve and ask favours from. Anne gazed around until she saw Uncle Robert coming towards her. His livery collar, with its alternate suns and roses and white boar pendant, glinted in the watery sunlight that seeped in through a high window. With a brief acknowledgment of her husband he put a hand on her arm.

“The duke craves a word with you,” he said and she went with him, heart pounding, to a quiet alcove where she saw Richard waiting, half pulling and replacing his small dagger from its sheath as he often did when he was distracted.

“Your Grace,” she said as she curtseyed, wondering again what it was about this man that set all her senses throbbing. He took her cold hand in his and kissed it; his mouth was warm and she longed to feel it against hers. “The children?” she asked, hopefully.

“At Middleham, my lady.”

“Your wife?”

“Across the chamber.” He vaguely indicated the other side of the hall.

“I’ve heard glowing reports of your exploits against the Scots,” she said.

He smiled. “It was gratifying. I enjoyed it. But how do you fare?” She watched as he looked her over, assessing her well-being.

“I am well.”

“And your husband treats you kindly?”

“He does. Although I have not broken my vow to keep from his bed,” she reassured him.

“And he agrees?” asked Richard.

“He is in love with a girl at Hornby Castle, a maidservant of mine. They have a son and expect another child any day now.”

“And it is not too difficult for you?” he asked. “If you wish to seek the ease of a convent I would still arrange it...”

“No, Richard. I am content as I am.”

“But not happy?”

“How can I be happy unless I am with you?” she asked him and saw a frown flit across his face as he glanced in the direction of his wife.

“God does not always send us the life we desire,” he said. “But you would tell me if you were in need of anything, or if your husband was unkind?”

“I would. But he is a good man and I have grown fond of him.”

“He gave a good account of himself in Scotland,” said Richard. “I was pleased to have him in my army.”

“How long will you stay in London?” she asked him.

“Not long. There are too many affairs in the north which deserve my attention... and I will not be sorry to leave. I do not like what I see here,” he told her. “My brother has grown dissolute under the influence of the queen and her adherents. My Lord Hastings and Dorset embroil the king in their adulterous pastimes. They seem more interested in the pleasures of the flesh than the perils of their immortal souls.” Anne nodded. She too had heard more talk about the king’s excesses, his feasting, and purging so that he could feast some more, and his appetite for women. She didn’t have to see Richard’s tight-lipped expression to know that he disapproved.