By Loyalty Bound: The Story of the Mistress of King Richard III (7 page)

“She is inside, in a private upper chamber, waiting for you.” Anne glanced up at the shuttered windows of the wooden building and shuddered. “It is quite respectable,” said Sir William in an amused tone.

Anne’s legs were stiff and she stumbled as she tried to walk, but Sir William supported her and steered her towards a steep flight of wooden steps. At the top a man dressed in the blood red of William Stanley’s livery with its hart’s head emblem was lounging against the wall by a stout door. He jerked upright when he saw his lord approaching.

“Open the door,” Sir William instructed him and the man bent to turn the large iron key that protruded from the lock. It squeaked as it opened and Sir William reached past her to give a perfunctory knock before twisting the handle and pushing the door. As it swung back Anne saw her sister sitting on a small stool in front of a blazing fire.

“Nan!” Izzie ran into her arms and Anne clung to her fiercely and kissed her wet cheeks.

“Are you well?” asked Anne, after a moment, taking her sister’s face between her palms and studying her closely for any bruises or other signs of mistreatment.

“Nan, I’m sorry,” she wept. “I am so sorry.”

“I will have some supper sent up,” said Sir William from the doorway and Anne heard the door being locked.

“Have you been treated well? Has he hurt you?” she asked, turning her attention back to her sister.

“I... I’m all right,” she said. “I was just so scared. I didn’t know what would happen to me. I’m so glad you’re here. It’s all my fault,” she added before beginning to sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nan. I know I shouldn’t have gone to the village.”

“Hush, hush,” Anne comforted her, taking Izzie in her arms again, stroking her hair and murmuring empty reassurances.

All through the long and tiring ride from Hornby to Lancaster her anger had increased with every mile as she had thought about the recriminations she would shout at her sister when she found her. But now she realised that no words would make any difference. Izzie was well aware that her disobedience had caused their greatest fear to come to pass. Little had she thought when she had watched Richard and her uncles ride away that by nightfall she would be held captive in an inn at Lancaster.

After a while she heard voices outside the door and the key scraped again. Sir William stood to one side as two of the women from downstairs brought in dishes of potage, bread and ale.

“Eat,” said Sir William from the doorway, “then get some sleep. We must leave early in the morning. We have a long journey.”

“Where are we going?” asked Anne in alarm.

“To a place of safety,” he told her. “There is no need to trouble yourself, Lady Anne. I will take care of you now.”

He left the room with a brief ‘goodnight’ and Anne turned without appetite to the food and then to inspect the bed to see if the linen was clean and if there were any signs of fleas or bugs.

Robert Harrington applied more oil to the blade and rubbed it vigorously with a rag. The past few days had been humid, with the constant threat of a thunderstorm rumbling in the heavy air and a hanging drizzle that left everything shrouded in dampness. The spot of rust he had seen on the Duke of Gloucester’s sword had alarmed him. He had lectured Diccon often enough in the past about the need to take good care of his weaponry and he was keen not to be caught out neglecting his duties to his new lord.

He glanced up as the tent flap was pushed back and the duke came in with a grim face. He met Robert’s eyes for a moment before going to the small trestle and pouring wine into a horn beaker from the flagon that stood there. Robert continued to work, though with half his attention on Diccon. He knew him well enough to sense when he was upset but also knew that it was better to wait until he was ready to talk rather than to question him.

“Montagu has declared for his brother,” he said after watching him for a moment. Robert stopped what he was doing and looked up. The implication was clear to him. If Montagu had decided to support Warwick, the king’s forces would not be strong enough to have any chance of winning a battle. And despite his brother’s confidence that the Stanley army would move to the king’s aid there was still no sign of them, and every day more lords seemed to desert their sovereign.

The duke reached to pour another cup of wine, then changed his mind and put the flagon down. His actions were calm but Robert could see that he was only just in control of his temper. If it had been the king then Edward would have thrown the cup and probably the wine as well, and the sound of raised voices from the direction of the king’s tent confirmed that his displeasure was being expressed in a predictably vociferous manner.

Robert slowly rubbed the sword again and twisted it to the light to check that the rust had been removed.

“I doubt I shall have need of that,” remarked the duke. “My Lord Hastings has advised the king to flee.”

“Flee, my lord?” asked Robert in surprise. He had thought that they would have to withdraw north and raise more men, but a decision to leave the country and allow Warwick and Clarence to take control was not what he had expected.

“We are to go to Lynn and take a boat for Holland. From there we will go to Burgundy and ask our sister’s husband for assistance.” He sat down on the edge of his camp bed and for a moment rested his face in his hands. “This will be the second time I have had to leave England,” he said.

Robert didn’t reply. He was unsure what to say and it no longer seemed appropriate to put an arm around Diccon’s shoulders to comfort him as he had done in the past when he had found him despondent – though back at Middleham his problems had mostly centred on an inability to accept defeat in the tiltyard or being beaten at chess by Anne Neville.

“Will you pack?” he said. “We are to leave at once.”

“The threat is so great?” asked Robert as he returned the sword to its scabbard with a grating sound. The duke nodded.

“Will you accompany me?”

“Of course, my lord. I am yours to command,” Robert reassured him, his fingers reaching to touch the white boar badge. “My brother and I...”

“James must remain,” the duke interrupted, standing up and recovering his composure. “I want him to return to Hornby and guard it until the king confirms his holding. I am sure he will on his return. Have no fear. We will not be gone for long,” he said. “Warwick need not think that this is the end. Nor my brother Clarence. The king will raise money and men. We will return to defeat them.”

As James Harrington urged his horse northwards he was relieved to see that Hornby Castle looked unscathed on the horizon. He glanced up at the overcast sky as a westerly breeze rustled the trees and he hoped that his brother had safely made landfall in the Low Countries. He had bade Robert farewell with a forced jollity that he hoped had not betrayed his anxiety at the outcome of Warwick’s determination to take power. It worried him that the king had been forced into exile. To regain power was often more difficult than to hold it from within a country and he had been praying fervently that the Duke of Burgundy would hear Edward’s pleas and equip him with the forces he needed to return and reclaim this throne.

As he clattered into the inner courtyard of the castle he saw Joan waiting to greet him with the children and their nurse. Their sombre faces told him that all was not well. He looked for his nieces and when he saw neither Anne nor Elizabeth his disquiet grew.

“My lord.” His wife curtseyed as he dismounted the horse and threw the reins to a waiting groom. Her eyes remained fixed on some spot on the ground and behind her Cedric was fingering his collar with his one hand as his other arm hung limply at his side. He too had downcast eyes and a protracted silence hung in the air.

“What troubles you?” he asked, addressing them both.

“My lord, we were attacked by the Stanleys not long after you left,” said Joan.

“They took the lady Elizabeth and the lady Anne.” The slight sob in his wife’s voice betrayed her fear that he would blame her for the news. She cowered in front of him although he had never raised a hand in anger towards her.

He looked at his steward. “How could that happen?” he demanded. “Where are they now? Do you have them safe?”

The slight shake of the steward’s head told him that the news was worse than he had first imagined. He looked back at Joan. Her trembling fingers touched her lips as she stared at him beseechingly. “What else could I do?” she pleaded when she had finished her explanations. “I thought it important to safeguard the castle. They were threatening to attack us with a cannon.”

“So you simply allowed them both to be taken?” he raged.

“They would have destroyed the castle and killed us all!” protested his wife, tears dripping from her chin. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. “Please do not be angry with me, my lord. You are frightening the children.”

His daughter was clinging to her nurse’s skirts and sobbing and the baby set up a wail that rebounded from the stone walls. “Take them inside,” said James irritably. “I’ll speak to you later.”

“My lord.” She curtseyed again and ushered the children and their nurse up the outer steps.

“See to the horses!” he bellowed at the grooms before turning to his men-at-arms. “You may go to your homes. I thank you for your loyalty to me and to the king.”

The men who had ridden in with him moved away in an awkward silence, saving their comments until they were out of his hearing.

The grooms took the horses and James looked again at Cedric. He had known the man all his life. He had fought hard for the Harringtons and had almost died of his injuries. It had only been the skill of his father’s surgeon that had saved his life and rather than leaving him to eke out the rest of his life in penury his father had rewarded him with the stewardship of the castle. Cedric was a good and competent man and he knew that he would not have relinquished his duty to Anne and Elizabeth without good reason.

“We could not have prevailed against them if they had attacked us,” said Cedric. “It seemed the only thing to do.”

James nodded. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “Sometimes our strength has to be in knowing when it is better not to fight. The king has fled,” he told him. “What will happen to Hornby now I do not know. But at least we hold the castle for the time being.”

Sudden tiredness drained him and he found it difficult to climb the steps. He called his squire to help him unarm. His wife had busied herself organising water for washing and food and drink and when he saw her watching him warily he was sorry that he had been so angry with her. He supposed that it was his own fault for not leaving more men to guard Hornby. Damn the Stanleys. They had better treat those girls well, he thought, as he filled his cupped hands with warm water from the basin and plunged his aching face into it.

Anne woke and, as sleep was unwilling to release her from its grasp, she struggled to remember where she was. After ten years of sleeping in the same bed she found it strange not to be at Hornby Castle. She stared around at the stone walls and the high narrow windows, and as her senses gradually composed themselves she remembered that this was Skipton Castle in Craven.

They had been here for several weeks now but every new morning was like the first. When they had ridden out of Lancaster on the road south she had thought that they were being taken to Lathom House in West Lancashire, but after crossing the bridge over the River Ribble at Preston Sir William and his men had turned their horses northwards again, up the valley through Clitheroe and Gisburn. Beyond the village and its market place with the stocks and pillory, the grey castle had loomed over them.

As they’d crossed the bridge over the moat, Anne had stared up at the two formidable round towers that flanked the gatehouse. There would be little chance of rescue from here, she’d realised as they were taken inside.

“Are we to be your prisoners?” she asked Sir William as she stood in the inner courtyard, secluded from attack by a long stone tunnel, a stout portcullis and a pair of studded and securely barred doors.

“Of course not, my lady!” He had looked shocked and a little hurt at her suggestion. “You will be my guests. It is my duty to take care of you now,” he added, and Anne had been struck by panic as she realised that it was possible she had been promised to him as a wife. On the journey Sir William had told her that he was a single man, a widower since his wife had died four years before, and that he was anxious to marry again. She could hardly bear it when he looked at her and the thought of him touching her was repulsive; he was old, probably more than twice her age, and the fleeting vision she’d allowed herself of him lying on top of her in a marriage bed made her stomach lurch with horror.

Now, Anne looked down at her sister who was still sleeping and felt angry with her all over again. It was Izzie’s stubbornness that had brought them to this. If she had obeyed their uncle and not gone to Hornby village they would still be safe. Anne shivered as she waited for a servant to come and re-kindle the fire; as September progressed the sun grew weaker and didn’t seem to warm the chamber at all. After a while she got up and began to dress herself. She tiptoed across the room and pulled on the heavy door. It squeaked and groaned a little on its hinges and Izzie turned and muttered in the bed but didn’t wake. Anne squeezed through the narrow gap and went down the stone steps.

The hall was empty and she walked to the small ante-chamber beyond, where the steps came up from the courtyard. There was a small herb garden below and a kitchen girl was knelt gathering some fresh leaves and placing them carefully in a basket. Anne was about to go down to where a patch of early morning sun had crested the castle walls when she heard booted footsteps ring across the hall behind her. She turned and saw Sir William following her. He took the weight of the door from her grasp and stood over her, so close that she could smell his odour and feel his breath on her face as he smiled down at her.

“You are up early,” he commented as he studied her. His intense gaze made her feel uncomfortable. She was still afraid of him. “It is a shame that you have spent your life shut away,” he said, as he touched her cheek gently with warm fingers. “You are pretty enough to grace any court.”

“We were not prisoners at Hornby,” she said, stepping away from him.

“Of course not. And neither are you a prisoner here.”

“Then how long must we stay?” asked Anne, as she watched his eyes linger over her.

“I cannot say.” He paused as they both heard the sound of a horn from the lookout tower. “News, I think!” he said. “And brought by the light of the full moon. Let’s hope that it is good.”

He passed her, his body brushing against her breasts, and signalled for the messenger to be brought in through the stone passageway. The mud splattered rider went down on one knee and handed a message to Sir William who unfolded the parchment and scanned it quickly.

Anne, having followed him half-way down the steps, watched as his expression turned from anticipation to apprehension. He looked up at her, speechless for a moment.

“What is it?” she asked. “What has happened?”

“The king has fled,” he replied in an astonished voice.

“Fled?” she repeated as she stared back at him.

Sir William looked back at the message to re-read it. “Warwick and Clarence landed in Devon and many lords turned in their favour. The king was deserted. He has gone... gone by boat from the east coast... some say to Holland. The queen has sought sanctuary in Westminster Abbey.”

“What will happen now?” asked Anne as he continued to stare at the words as if he could scarcely comprehend their meaning. Where was Richard, she wondered. Please God, keep him safe, she prayed silently over and over again, hoping that her thoughts would protect him.

“We can only wait and see,” said Sir William, turning to dismiss the messenger and his panting, sweating horse. “I wonder if Warwick will put Clarence on the throne or if he will bring old Henry out of the Tower.”

An air of anticipation hung over the castle as they waited for more news and on the third day another messenger arrived wearing the livery of Lord Thomas Stanley.

“You are to go to London, to your guardian,” said Sir William to Anne and Izzie at supper that evening. “I have received word from my brother. We are summoned to court to see the rightful king restored to his throne.”

Anne’s first thought was one of dismay at the prospect of the lengthy journey. “How far is it?” she asked.

“Do not distress yourself on that account, my lady,” replied Sir William. “I know that you are fearful on horseback so I will arrange a litter for yourself and your sister. We will travel slowly and take plenty of rest along the way.” Then he paused with a cup part way to his lips and stared at her. “You will need new clothes for the coronation,” he remarked as his gaze travelled up and down her body, “a gown more fitting to your status.”