The Assassin's Wife (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

“I didn’t expect to meet you here.” Lionel’s jovial brown face creased into a smile. I pushed through the boisterous crowd round Maud’s shop to greet him.
 

“Gerta misunderstood Dame Eleanor’s instructions so I’m going to Hosier Lane to exchange some items.” I raised my voice above the hubbub but didn’t mention my delight at the opportunities this errand offered. “Mistress Attemore seems to be on form today.”

“Oh aye, she’s got some juicy court gossip.” Lionel winked at the handsome figure in the purple mantle and ornate linen head covering. “And as usual she’s making the most of it.”

“Elizabeth Lucy’s given the king a son.” A coarse-looking woman offered us this nugget of information. At the same moment, the crowd roared with laughter.

“I thought you said the king had tired of her.” I threw Lionel a teasing look. The coarse woman sniggered with her neighbour and other bystanders shouted bawdy remarks.
 

“Well, I daresay they were very close for a while—” Lionel raised his eyebrows to a rakish angle. “But only last week in the Black Bull they were saying he’d found himself a more pleasing mistress—”

“Were any names mentioned?”

“None that we’d know.” Lionel cast me a pertinent glance.

“Well, I must hurry. I want to drop by St John’s to see if my old priest’s there.”

But I didn’t find Brother Brian, so I visited the Mercers instead.
 

Their cheerful welcome enveloped me like a fine woollen cloak. I felt as if I’d returned home after long absence and lingered as long as I could in the hope of seeing Harry.

“He’s gone to talk business with a wealthy patron.” Big Hal squinted at me through the heat haze in the bake-house. “He’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

Twilight fell as I turned into Silver Street. After the noise and bustle of the bakery the place lay strangely silent, the houses crouched like watchful beasts eager for prey. A pale sickle of a moon sailed the sky. Glancing at the upper storey of our dwelling I glimpsed a white, boyish face pressed against the window.
 

Joan waited at the kitchen door, plainly ill at ease, twisting the strings of her apron and fiddling with her hair. “You’re very late.”
 

“I’m sorry.” I unpacked my purchases clumsily. “Brother Brian’s left St John’s. I went to the bakery.”
 

“Lionel said he’d seen you in the Chepe where the Attemore wench was spouting the latest court gossip.” The old anxiety lurked in Joan’s eyes.

“Maud’s famous for her stories but they need taking with a pinch of salt.”

“So it’s not true about the king fathering a child by that Lucy woman?”

“Oh, that’s true enough. She’s been the king’s mistress for some time. The boy’s to be called Arthur like the story-tale hero.”

“I wonder what my lady’ll say when she hears that? She’s mighty taken with the king herself.” Joan gave me a hard look.

“It’s no use telling Dame Eleanor anything unsavoury about the king. She’s besotted with his charms.”
 

Alison and Jack sniggered but Joan’s frown deepened. “I wish the rogue would grant her petition and have done with visiting. How long can it take to consider a petition anyway? I’ve a bad feeling about all this—”
 

Again I wished I could share my own concerns with Joan. The brooding sensation of a gathering storm still troubled me. I’d experienced such premonitions before and my father’s sudden death returned as a reminder. I fretted then over Eleanor’s shared secret, certain her love-sick folly would drag us with her into ignominy.

“What’s that?” Jack pointed to the large, still-warm pie I set on the trestle.

“Mistress Mercer sent us it to share. Her pies are famous.”

The succulent smell of meat pervaded the kitchen. Little Jack and Alison swarmed round the trestle, smiling at one another and licking their lips.
 

“No doubt you told her we keep a poor table here.” Joan tapped her feet and eyed the crisp, golden crust with grudging admiration.

“Not at all. But Mistress Mercer thought to save you time and labour by this gift.”
 

Little Jack sniffed appreciatively. “Mmm—It smells heavenly.”
 

“Finish your chores or you’ll not have a crumb of it.” Joan placed the pie on a platter as if it were a crown. Then she whisked Alison back to scouring dishes and set to peeling parsnips.
 

Taking a bowl from the dresser I began slicing a pile of leeks into it. “Jack— were you upstairs when I came in?”

Three pairs of eyes goggled at me.

“Me?” Jack shuddered and pulled a face. “I wouldn’t go up there. Alison says it’s haunted—”

“That’s enough,” snapped Joan. She turned to me with an anxious frown.
 

“I thought I saw a boy at the window,” I said, returning her stare.
 

“One boy’s enough in this house.” Joan swerved away to concentrate on the parsnips and an uncomfortable silence flooded the kitchen.

“Nan, can you help me fetch some water?” Something in Alison’s plain, pock-marked face alerted me. Recognizing this pretext for private speech, I glanced at Joan preoccupied in preparing supper, and put a finger to my lips. Signalling a curious Jack to keep silent, we slipped outside.
 

“Did you really see a boy at the window?”
 

“I did. And it’s not the first time I’ve seen spectres in this house.” We struggled with the pails. “You know something of its history—”

Alison shivered. “Joan’s forbidden me to talk about it for fear of frightening Jack but he knows anyway.”

“You’ve been together a long time, haven’t you?”

“Since his mother died.” She set down her pail as if she’d made her mind up about something, fumbling with the fraying edge of her threadbare, blue sleeve. “His mother wasn’t from round here. She was a pretty girl—no older than you are now. Mistress Proctor said she’d have to go when she found out about the expected babe. Kezzy—Jack’s mother—said his father was noble-born, but Mistress Proctor always swore he was just some tinker passing through the city. I don’t know. I was only about five or six. My mother persuaded Mistress Proctor to let Kezzy stay till she had her babe. She wasn’t a bad mistress. Anyway, they stayed until Jack was about three and then Kezzy got sick and died. She took the pox. My mother and sister and I took it too. I was the only one who survived.” The girl’s eyes gleamed moist, but the smile that twisted her lips wrenched my heart. “Mistress Proctor said I’d never find a husband with a face like this. Then she turned me and Jack out the house. My aunt promised she’d look after us but she took us to a church one morning and never came back. We’ve stayed together ever since and we’ve worked in lots of places, but this house—” She glanced at the upper storey with a shudder. “Dame Eleanor shouldn’t stay here. There’s no luck in this place—” She stared into my eyes. “You know that.”
 

“Will you go with her to Sudeley?” I asked. The girl’s intuition chilled me.

“If she’ll have us.” She picked up her pail. The weary acceptance in Alison’s shadowed face filled me with an aching pity, but how could I share my secrets with her?

Chapter Twenty-Two

One mellow April afternoon, the king cantered over to Silver Street accompanied by Lord Herbert and two men-servants. Something furtive and hasty in his manner spoke of danger. With barely a brusque acknowledgement, he stormed past us to Dame Eleanor’s chamber.

“You’d better take some wine.” Joan looked alarmed by the manner of this sudden intrusion. “That Flemish trollop has gone to Paternoster Row for some book or other my lady wanted. I wonder what’s brought the king here in such a temper?”
 

She drove me out of the kitchen and sent Jack to wait on Lord Herbert who lingered outside in the gardens.

Raised voices issued from my lady’s apartment.

“You treat me no better than a harlot.” Eleanor’s unaccustomed anger surprised me.

Though I couldn’t decipher the king’s murmured response, I suspected he was soothing her with his usual practised charm.

“Welcome! Welcome!” He greeted my hesitant entrance with honeyed laughter, no sign of displeasure spoiling his handsome features.
 

Rosy-faced Eleanor, eyes fever-bright, leapt from his side, but the king sprawled on the settle. Indolently, he watched me pour the wine, but beyond this feigned repose, I sensed how he waited, lithe as a cat poised to spring.

When I made to depart he rose swiftly. Seizing my arm, he drew me so close, I noted the golden hairs on his chin the barber had missed, and smelled the scent of wine on his breath. His hazel eyes glinted. I wondered if he was already drunk.

“Stay a moment.”
 

My face burned with embarrassment. Turning to Eleanor with a wide sweep of his saffron-coloured sleeve, he pretended astonishment. “Your waiting woman trembles in awe of me. What dreadful tales have you been telling her, Nell?” He drained a cup of wine at a single draught. “I’m sure she’s some inkling of the reason for my visits. Eh, wench?”

Eleanor squirmed while the king’s brows knitted together. I wanted to laugh, knowing he liked his play-acting to be applauded. Peevishly, he poured more wine. Swallowing this with a flourish, he retrieved his heavy, miniver-lined cloak from the settle, flinging it round his shoulders like an actor in a pageant.

“I fear I must bid you farewell.” He performed a courteous bow.

For the first time, I noted the flinty look, the cruel line of his mouth. Behind the façade of cordiality lurked a dangerous enmity. Something I must remember.

“But you promised—” Eleanor stammered, bewildered by this sudden change.

“And will make that promise good.” In two strides he took her in his arms. “Do you doubt me? Before your waiting woman, I swear my pledge of true devotion—I will marry you!”

Time stopped.
 

Pressed against the panelled wall by the door, I tried to steady my quickening heart-beat—
 

“No word of this to anyone.” The king thrust his face close to mine, his mouth grim. “This must be a secret. Understand?”

I fled at once and for a moment I halted in the passageway, stunned by what I’d just witnessed. Had I really heard the king offer Eleanor marriage?

In a daze I wandered out into the orchard and discovered Lord Herbert.
 

“Is the king ready to depart?” Rising from his seat beneath the almond tree, this elegant gentleman brushed dust and insects from his hose with a fastidious hand. I dithered while he called the slumbering attendants.

“Summon the grooms to bring the horses, girl.” I jumped at this command, flushing under the accusing stare of mingled impatience and exasperation. I ran at once to the stables and found the king already there with Lionel, sharing some jest.

“No need for ceremony,” he said, laughing at my clumsy curtsey. His lips quirked with amusement. “I’m sure your mistress needs your assistance more than I do.” He stared deep into my eyes. Draping an arm about Lionel’s shoulders, he said, “Let’s take the horses to Lord Herbert, my friend.”
 

“Oh Nan!” Eleanor flew at me like a swallow as soon as I returned to her chamber. “Is it true? Did you witness the king promise me marriage?
 

“Yes, Madam.” Breathless with running I struggled to speak. “But—”
 

A restless excitement bordering on hysteria set her pacing up and down, nervous fingers clasping and unclasping the delicate fabric of her gown. The ecstatic light in her eyes unnerved me.

“We must keep it secret, Madam,” I reminded her.
 

“Oh Nan, I must be dreaming. How could the king choose me above all others?”

How indeed? What about Lady Lucy and the rest? I knew King Edward possessed no sense of fidelity.
 

“Surely, a king must yield to the wishes of his council when it comes to choosing a wife?”
 

She stopped suddenly, fixing me with a wide-eyed stare. “But you were witness to our contract. A betrothal’s binding, isn’t it? Fetch Brother Thomas. I must tell him at once.”

“Brother Thomas? But we’re sworn to secrecy.”

“There are no secrets before God,” she answered.

Chapter Twenty-Three

May came in hot and sunny that year. Tensions ran high in Silver Street. All of us watched Eleanor. Giddy as a maid with her first sweetheart, she talked of nothing but the king’s next visit. She dispatched Gerta to purchase costly fabrics, ornaments and jewellery. When she commissioned sewing women to make new, fashionable gowns, I warned Joan about the mounting debts.