The Innocent (48 page)

It needed thought, deep thought.

Day—the time of day—that was the key! The vestibule would always see comings and goings during the day, but what about night, after compline?

Of course, he had a ready-made accomplice within the Abbey, but would the monk be sufficiently resourceful? And would he be connected with Mathew’s operation in London if the loss of valuable documents was discovered?

He would have to think on this, long and hard.

Chapter Thirty-six

Anne’s first sight of Burning Norton was not encouraging. Somehow she’d thought it would be large and imposing like Blessing House, so the undistinguished huddle of gray buildings surrounded by the slimy brackish waters of a ditch pretending to be a moat was disappointing. But she was hungry and stiff and very, very cold, and any shelter from the howling night was welcome, especially since there was a warm flicker of yellow light in several of the small upper windows.

The unshod hooves of the moorland ponies made a busy clatter as they rattled across the drawbridge toward the protection the inner court offered from the bitter wind outside. Young and strong as she was, Anne had suffered from the rigors of this journey over the high moor. It was hard to unlock her frozen hands from the reins, harder still to slip down from the pony’s back.

But there were welcome hands to receive her and a woman’s clear voice raised over the chaos.

“Welcome, Mistress Anne. My husband’s house is yours.”

Anne found herself looking up into Sir Mathew’s face under a housewife’s wimple. It took a moment to understand that this was his daughter, and Giles’s wife, Alicia. She tried to make her rigid body drop into a curtsy, but the kind eyes looking down into hers smiled and would not let her try. “Come now.

The hall is warm and snug and so is the solar. And there is food waiting after your journey.”

Alicia took her new guest out of the torch-flickering darkness of the inner court and up exterior stone stairs into an upper room, the first-floor hall of Burning Norton. As they walked into the hall around the sturdy wooden screen that protected the entrance from the wind, Anne saw they were in an unexpectedly large space for what was just a fortified farmhouse, and there was an impressive fireplace in one wall, adorned with a huge hooded mantelpiece. The roof vault was supported by carved timber beams picked out in red, blue, and green and they made a brave sight. At the far end from where the party entered was another flight of stone stairs leading up to the solar door halfway up the height of the wall. Giles smiled proudly as he saw Anne glance toward it. “Yes, mistress, there is the solar I spoke of.

I had it built across the end of the hall and it makes us a fine set of private apartments, as handsome as the solar in Blessing House, as you shall see. Come now, up these last stairs…”

Once reached, the solar was indeed a pretty room. There were well-burnished wall sconces with wax candles in them, a luxury to welcome their guests, and a set of arras in brilliant colors to enliven the stone walls. The wooden floor with its bright, new, honey-brown oak planks was covered by the unexpected luxury of two beautiful rugs from the Levant. The fire, lit to welcome them, smelled of heather and as its warmth began to penetrate their nearly sodden clothes, Deborah breathed a deep and happy sigh, exchanging a quick glance with Anne. It felt like sanctuary to be here.

But there was more to see. Proudly Giles threw open yet another door and they saw an inner chamber.

It was a private bedroom for himself and Alicia, luxurious though not large. Their curtained bed was on a small dais standing in front of an oriel window that was impressive for the large number of its clear glass panes. They could hear the voice of the wind in the dark moors outside, but here inside the room was quiet, snug, and smelled delicious. Anne sighed deeply. At last, she began to feel safe. Surely no one would find them in this remote, hospitable place?

“I will take your clothes to be dried in the kitchen. Then there is food to be served in the hall. No doubt your woman will assist you to dress, but I should be delighted to help also.”

Alicia smiled kindly at her guest and Anne felt tears in her eyes.

“You are kind,” Anne said as Deborah began to strip her of the sodden wool of the dress she had worn during the journey. “But Deb—My woman is soaked through as well. Here, Deborah, warm yourself.

Mistress Alicia will help me.”

If Alicia showed no surprise at this thought for the welfare of a servant, it was because she was a practical woman. London ways were not the ways of the north and she, too, had members of her household who were more like family than servants.

Fingers and bodies warmed quickly in that small room beside the solar. And soon Anne and Deborah had peeled off their wet clothes, dried themselves on the linen provided by Alicia, and dropped clean garments over their heads. Chilled flesh came back to life as Deborah rubbed Anne’s hands briskly and insisted on lacing the back of the plainest of the velvet gowns from Anne’s small traveling coffer.

Sadly, the rich cloth was creased even though it had been carefully folded in the packing; still, it would shake out as it was worn, and in the dim light of the hall below, who would see?

Down in the hall, Giles warmed his back by the fire. He was content to be home, though he would speak to Alicia later about the needless expense of the wax tapers he saw everywhere. Sometimes his wife puzzled him. Certainly Anne was something of a mystery and Sir Mathew considered her important, but they had no knowledge of her exact status. Why waste money until they were certain all this show would have some beneficial result?

Still, his slight annoyance cleared away like morning mist when he saw the women descend from the solar. Anne glowed like a dark red jewel as she walked toward the fire, the flickering light touching the delicate shape of her face and the sinuous curves of her body under the scarlet dress. A murmur behind him grew as his assembled household saw her face properly for the first time.

Anne was dressed so simply and yet looked so fine, so cleanly drawn, that Alicia seemed lumpen by her side—until she smiled at him and Giles remembered why he liked her so much. His wife understood he would be dazzled by Anne and, unlike most wives, was not jealous. There was no point; was a woman jealous of the sun?

Anne was not part of their lives, never would be, she was just passing through and they both understood that. There was no need to worry about his faithfulness to her; he knew that she knew that too. But he was a man and he could look.

Gazing almost vacantly at Anne, he barely heard Alicia clear her throat, and then again, more noisily.

With a start, he remembered his duty and picked up Anne’s right hand, placed it over his own, and escorted her to the place of honor at the board that had been laid across the top of the hall facing its length.

Below them the household of some twenty men and women watched in silence, avid for any detail of the moment that would be endlessly discussed in the kitchen, the dairy, the smithy, and the sheepfolds.

Little enough happened in midwinter at Burning Norton, God knew, and now there was this lady, this mysterious lady to talk about. As beautiful as the statue of the Virgin in the Abbey of Rievaulx—more, for this one was real flesh and blood where the Virgin was ivory and gold, and only a statue, after all.

The grace was said and almost before the last “amen” there was a noisy scramble as the household seated itself and the food began to arrive from behind the screens at the entrance door.

Anne smiled privately to herself for a moment. How odd it was that she was sitting here a guest at the high table and below her were the servants of this house. So recently she would have been one of them, down there, gazing up at the master’s table. She shivered. The high could so easily be brought low, and the low high, that life seemed mad. Did not God ordain each of their places? Why had he chosen her for this confusing shift in circumstances? She caught Deborah’s eye as she sat below the high board with the other servants. Perhaps it was time to look into the scrying bowl again; time to ask what the future might hold.

Questions of the future were very much on Mathew Cuttifer’s mind as, away south in London, he finally held an unrolled sheet of vellum in his hands. It had cost him as much as the cup with which he’d endowed the Abbey, but perhaps it would be money well spent. Though the hazard was still very great before a return could be expected. That was the merchant in him thinking. It had been dangerous, expensive, and secret work for Brother Nicholas at the Abbey. He had had to buy his way past the brother who held the key to the Chapel of Pyx at much risk of being exposed and asked very inconvenient questions indeed. Then something else touched Mathew’s soul as he looked on the clear black writing before him. Unusually, the letter was written in English, not the Latin or French he would have expected. Whatever the language, its meaning was very clear: To our dear brother of Somerset, greeting. Inasmuch as it has pleased almighty God to endow our person with the realm and governance of this Kingdom of England, and the governance of all the souls that dwell here within its boundaries, it is our intent always to have the welfare and sustenance of such souls closest to our heart. And in this matter, give heed to this our intent as set forth in this Deed.

In that you hold from our hands all of the lands of the county of Somerset as our liegeman, it is our wish that lands within the Parish of Porlock in the county of Somerset be set aside and dowered in perpetuity to Lady Alyce de Bohun and her get, who are most close to our heart, as is our following wish.

Item. That the village of Wincanton the Less, together with its farmlands, formerly the property of the monks at Appleforth, be transferred to the estate of the said lady for her sole use and enjoyment, and that of her descendants.

Item. That the right to mill flour for the village of Wincanton the Less, together with the mill known as Cobby’s Mill, also formerly the property of the monks at Appleforth in the said village, be transferred to the estate of the said lady for her exclusive use & profit.

Item. That the dues payable from the fair held each year the last Wednesday before Michael’s Mass in the town of Taunton be given and bequeathed to the estate of the said lady in perpetuity.

Item. That the fortified manor known as Herrard Great Hall together with its lands, fishponds, waters, and all its rights, goods, chattels, and livestock whatsoever, heretofore the property of the Crown, be given and bequeathed to the estate of the said lady and to be hers and the heirs of her body and all in perpetuity.

Let all be done in accordance with our wishes and with greatest dispatch.

Henricius Sixtus. By the Grace of God, Sovereign…etc.

And there was a second piece of vellum, attached to the first. It contained few words but these were explosive. Again, they were written in English.

We, Henry, the Sixth to bear that name, hereby acknowledge and declare that the child presently carried by the Lady Alyce de Bohun is of our get. The child that shall be born will therefore be our natural child and as such will ever be close to our heart. It is further our wish and intention that the said child and its mother, the said Lady Alyce de Bohun, shall be dowered with the property hereby separately noted for their good sustenance and that of their heirs and descendants in perpetuity.

Given under our hand, signed and sealed this day of the seventeenth of August 1450 anno domini at the Palace of Westminster.

It all fitted. The scrolls—and the other evidence that Jehanne and Deborah possessed—could prove that Anne was Alyce de Bohun’s daughter, and by deduction, they could prove when and how she had been born. She was entitled to the property mentioned in the letter, and, something else, she was entitled to be acknowledged as King Henry VI’s natural daughter.

Mathew knew that he held a document only a desperate man would have written. Henry must have thought that in acknowledging his bastard child, and providing for her, he was protecting her mother.

But the queen had found out, and in signing that letter, he had, unwittingly, signed Alyce’s death warrant.

Now, finally, the time had come to choose, to really choose his course. His intuition had told him from the time he had last met Anne at Windsor that she was a trump card to be played most carefully, but a trump card nonetheless. The question now was, when should the move be made? Every day was vital since events were moving fast, if the intelligence he had from his paid informers at Westminster was true. He’d heard the king had disappeared with his “riding court” a day or so back—gone hunting, so it was said. But Mathew was aware, as few else were, of the wedding preparations at Warwick Castle. If Edward arrived too late…what would Anne’s worth be then?

Chapter Thirty-seven

Four days had passed since Edward had received the mud-spattered messenger at Westminster, and though he and his “riding court” had traveled with remarkable speed, common sense told them they’d be too late to stop the wedding of Clarence and Isabelle of Warwick.

Now the king and his youngest brother, the dark, intense, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, sat on their blown and muddied horses gazing down on Warwick Castle in the first uncertain light of a frozen day.

The building was deserted but for a few men patrolling the battlements. Edward looked at Richard, puzzled.

“Well? Where are they all?”

Richard frowned. His agents had said a thousand of Warwick’s affinity had been billeted in the town nearby, but the lack of obvious comings and goings to the castle, even at this early hour, made him uneasy. “I was reliably informed, Edward. George is in there, I promise you.”

Edward urged his horse forward a pace or two, looking across at the gray bulk of the building. He flicked a glance at William and Richard, breaking into a smile. “Very well, dear friends. Let’s set this up proud—in we go!”

He flung his cloak back, dropping the hood off his head in the same fluid movement. In the scant, creeping light he was magnificent, with a coat of light, well-burnished riding mail under a velvet particolored tunic of blue and gold quartered with the leopards of England and the lilies of France. A circlet of gold kept his long hair away from his face and one hand rested lightly on the pommel of the sword at his side. Even William, used to the king’s physical presence, sucked in a breath of cold air.