The King's Grace (33 page)

Now Grace lay on her bed thinking about Bess and her devotion to Henry. She could not reconcile the love Bess declared for her husband with the sadness she saw in her sister’s eyes. Something is wrong, she thought, but I pray I am mistaken. Bess does not deserve to be unhappy—unlike me. She grimaced in the dark, and her guilt over her unkind treatment of Tom returned to worry her before she fell asleep.

She dreamed of the grassy field again, and there was John smiling at her from afar. This time he did not disappear from view but turned and shouted at someone else. A second man appeared, holding a sword that glinted in the sun. Grace could not see his face, as it was hidden behind a salet, the visor closed. John shouted again, this time in anger, and went for his sword to face the stranger, but Grace found that she was holding it. She tried to run towards him with it but her feet were rooted to the spot. She cried out for help: “Help him! Somebody please help him!” A shadowy figure carrying a noose appeared near John, and looping it about John’s neck, he began to tug him out of the way of the knight’s sword. It was Tom Gower. “I will help him, Grace,” Tom yelled at her, laughing hideously. “I will help him to the gallows!” Then the knight lifted off his helmet and laughed along with Tom. Horrified, Grace saw that it was King Henry. She
willed her legs to move and excruciatingly slowly began to run towards John, but she was too late. Henry pointed his sword at John’s belly and ripped it open, spilling his guts upon the green grass. Grace screamed and woke up, tears streaming down her face, her heart racing and her shift drenched in sweat.

“Soft, Grace, what is it?” Elizabeth called from the bed. “You screamed to wake the dead—and you certainly woke me. Katherine, fetch the child some wine. Mother of God, but it is hot in here. Small wonder Grace has bad dreams.” She sighed, knowing that whatever sleep she might have had that night was at an end with this disturbance.

Katherine grudgingly climbed out of bed to carry out Elizabeth’s wish. “Here’s wine for you, Grace,” she said, yawning. Grace sat up and took the cup, the sweet liquid soothing her, although she knew a potion of hot thyme would ward off more nightmares. Then, hearing Elizabeth turn over, Katherine bent closer and whispered, “Her grace has had an exhausting day and needs her sleep. How inconsiderate of you to wake her!”

“Certes, I wish I had not either, but ’tis God who controls our dreams, Lady Katherine. And this was a bad one,” Grace shot back.

“The Devil’s handiwork, more like! I saw you dallying with that squire alone in the field. I watched you from the window. You should be more discreet where you do your whoring!”

Grace gasped at the woman’s gall, but she was in no mood to continue the fight that had begun that morning. She turned towards the wall and gave the woman a terse good night. How I hate you, she thought, and how I wish I could leave this dismal place. It was the last supplication she made to the Virgin before she drifted off.

I
F THE
V
IRGIN
heard her plea that night, she waited until autumn to respond. A messenger arrived from Greenwich with a letter from Cecily that caused Elizabeth to first frown, then nod thoughtfully and take a long, hard look at Grace, who was busy mending a stocking. “Katherine, I pray you go and tell the abbot I shall be dining with him today,” she said to her attendant. “It has been a long time, and I fear I may have offended him by my persistent absence.”

Katherine’s face fell at the dismissal; she was put out she would now not know the contents of the missive, but she curtsied and left the room. Grace
looked up from her work, made curious by Elizabeth’s unusual request. It had indeed been months since she had dined in public, preferring to be served alone by Grace or Katherine, while they took it in turns to take their meals with the rest of the community.

“Come here, child,” Elizabeth said. “I have some news for you.”

Grace’s wide eyes betrayed her apprehension until the dowager gave her an encouraging smile. “Many would think it good news, Grace, so do not look so fearful.”

Elizabeth watched her young attendant carry a stool forward and sit carefully upon it, arranging her faded green dress around her. Pretty thing, she thought, not for the first time; and there is a look of Ned about her when she smiles. She sighed, as she always did when she thought about her dead husband.

“It seems your sister and her husband are offering you a way to leave me that you would be very foolish to refuse,” Elizabeth began.

Grace gazed at the skeletal woman in front of her, dismayed always by the hollow cheeks and lifeless eyes. “Leave you, your grace?” she exclaimed, finding the end of her belt and twisting it between nervous fingers. “I could not do that. ’Tis my duty to serve you, after all your goodness to me.” She tried to hide the panic in her voice. Leave? Oh, dear God, ’tis all I know. She glanced around the room, its drab surroundings now seeming cozy and familiar. Thoughts flitted in and out of her brain like barn swallows around their muddy nests. Where shall I go? Why must I go? Then she knew. Henry must have found out about my journey into Burgundy, she thought. He must have spied on me. Someone has betrayed us! Sir Edward? Cecily? Oh, no, she realized suddenly, it must have been Tom. Dear God in Heaven, he must really hate me!

But Elizabeth did not seem ruffled, and Grace reasoned she would be if they had been found out. Instead she was calmly saying, “I know you know your duty, my dear, and for four years I could not have wished for pleasanter company. But Grace, I am not long for this world, and you have your life ahead of you. We must do what is best for you.” She handed Grace the letter. “Why don’t you read it for yourself.”

With trembling fingers, Grace reached out for the parchment. She glanced at the signature and saw Cecily’s untidy scrawl at the bottom of the page. She frowned and began to read aloud:

“Right honorable and esteemed mother, the most high and mighty queen dowager, I give you greeting. This letter concerns our dearly beloved sister, Grace, and insomuch as you, too, love her, you will be pleased to know that Viscount Welles, my husband, has granted his henchman, one Thomas Gower of Westow in Yorks, permission to wed her.”
Grace put her hand to her mouth and gave a little cry. “Oh, no! Not Tom,” she muttered, the room beginning to swim around her. She looked down at the letter, but all the words were a blur as she fought back tears. “Your grace, my dear lady, do not make me do this, I beg of you. I am certain Cecily is doing this to be kind, but…” She was at a loss for words and looked up hopefully at Elizabeth. “But I am not ready to be married. Or to leave you,” she added hurriedly.

Elizabeth rose in one swift motion and swiped the letter from Grace’s hand. “What is this nonsense, Grace?” she cried. “You have no right to contest Viscount Welles’s proposal for you. He is the king’s uncle, and Cecily is the queen’s sister. Do be reasonable and see the sense in this. After all, you are sixteen and no longer a child. Why, I was married with a son at your age. Do you have any notion what is to become of you once I am gone? A nunnery, perhaps? Is that what you want? Nay, I didn’t think so.” She went to the window and read some more. “Cecily is prepared to give you a small dowry, and she wants you to live with her in Hellowe as part of the household. True, I could wish the fellow were higher born or could offer you more than the income of a manor or two, but Cecily says he is a good man with the right leanings.” She arched her brow, intimating that those were Yorkist leanings. “Why, she said he was squire to John of Lincoln. Is that true?” Grace nodded miserably, and Elizabeth retorted, “Then that is enough of a pedigree for me.”

She went to Grace’s side and with great difficulty crouched down on her heels to Grace’s level and took the young woman’s hand. “Grace, my sweet child, why the sad face? Has this Tom Gower insulted you? Is he a monster? Tell me that he is, and I shall refuse to let you go. Otherwise, your future is not in your own hands—or in mine. You know that. You would be at the king’s mercy once I die, and believe me, he would not think twice about wedding you to the highest bidder or consigning you to the nearest abbey. You would have no choice but to obey.” She sighed as she looked at the sulky expression on Grace’s face. “Speak to me, Grace. I will listen this once, for I owe you much, and I do not wish you unhappy. And,
in truth,” she could not forbear to add, “your leaving would inconvenience me considerably.”

Grace’s pulse quickened, for once ignoring Elizabeth’s selfishness and clutched at a straw of hope. But then Elizabeth stood up and returned to her train of thought. “Our lives as women give us little in the way of control—surely you have seen that. Look at your own sisters: Bess was forced to marry Henry, as you know, Cecily the dull Jack Welles. And poor little Catherine was contracted to Juan of Castile when she was a baby! Aye, it was broken off when your father died, but then Henry promised her to dead King James’s brother in Scotland, and”—she gave a sardonic laugh—“me to James himself, which thankfully came to naught when the man was killed at Sauchieburn. Catherine is only eleven, and who knows who will barter for her yet. We are but royal chattel, Grace, and you are more fortunate because you were born a bastard. Had your father still been king, you would have been a good catch for an ambitious man at court, as even a bastard royal has influence if the father is a king. Do you see?” She searched Grace’s sad face, her generous mouth drooping and her large brown eyes close to tears, for some sign of acceptance of these hard facts. “But now…”

“Now I am nothing,” Grace whispered for her. “I know that. But I am still not free to love where I will.”

“Love comes eventually, from respect and familiarity—most of the time. You learn to love and count on each other. Why do you not think you could love this Tom Gower? You know him, I can see that, or you would not act the way you are. Is he an old man?” Grace shook her head. “Is he cruel?” Grace shook her head again. “Does he have one eye, warts and no teeth?”

Grace’s mouth trembled in a semblance of a smile, and she shook her head a third time. “Nay, my lady, some would say he is handsome,” she conceded. “But…”

“But what, Grace?” Elizabeth snapped her brows together. “You are beginning to try my patience. For the last time, what is
wrong
with this man?”

“I love John of Gloucester,” Grace blurted out. “I cannot conceive of wedding anyone but him.”

Elizabeth’s bell-like laugh rang around the room, but it sounded like a death knell to Grace. Now the tears fell in great drops on her dress. “’Tis
no laughing matter, your grace,” she said miserably. “You are going to say he is my cousin, and thus I cannot marry him. I know that already.” She rose suddenly and stamped her foot. “Oh, life is not fair! I just want to die!”

“
Tiens!
All these years, and I never knew you had a temper,” Elizabeth said, amused. “So now your secret is out—although I seem to remember guessing at it two years ago, did I not?”

Grace stared at the floor and gave an imperceptible nod and a loud sniff. For once, Elizabeth’s maternal spirit was moved to open her arms and invite the weeping Grace into them. “’Tis true, you cannot marry John,” she said, rocking the young woman gently, “even though money can perform miracles with the pope. Sadly, we have none, and besides, John cannot offer you a home, children or stability. And women of our station need that, Grace. Who knows if you will ever see John again? Remember him as your first love, and keep that memory sweet and fresh.” She paused as Grace let out an anguished sob. “Hush, now. Marry Tom Gower and have a family of your own. You are a born mother—look how well you take care of me. Would you not like to hold your own wee babe? Aye, what woman doesn’t? I should know; I have held ten, although some be with the angels now.” She put Grace from her and pulled a cambric kerchief from her sleeve. “Dry your eyes, child. You do not want Katherine to mock you more, do you?”

Grace looked up in astonishment, dabbing at her face and blowing her nose. “You notice?” she asked. “I thought you did not notice.”

“What do you think I am?” Elizabeth retorted. “A ninny? Certes, I notice. She treats you abominably, but she is old and sour, and I do not have the strength or desire to change her. In truth,” she told Grace brightly, “there is another good reason for you to become Tom Gower’s wife. You can leave the old bat behind!” She was rewarded with a chuckle.

Grace took a deep breath. “As always, I am grateful for your wisdom, your grace.” She stood on tiptoe and, without warning, kissed Elizabeth on the cheek. “You have been like a mother to me, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.” She noticed from the softening of her features that Elizabeth was moved by the gesture, and she was glad. The dowager had not known affection since before Edward died, and Grace knew well that Elizabeth’s daughters were respectful but afraid of their mother.

There was a knock at the door, and Katherine’s voice called, “’Tis I, Lady Hastings. May I come in?”

Elizabeth recovered her composure and sat back down on the shabby cushions of her chair. Grace asked quickly, “I beg of you, indulge me one more favor: let me go into the garden and gather my thoughts before we go and dine with the abbot. I promise I shall think long and hard about all you said.”

Elizabeth nodded and then called out, “Come.”

G
RACE FOUND A
patch of grass in the shade of a hedge out of sight of the ploughmen and sat on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest. Questions tripped off her tongue in quick succession like raindrops off a roof. What did Cecily say to Tom? Why would Tom want to wed me after our miserable meeting? Why does Cecily think I would even consider marriage with him? What has her husband to do with this? How do I feel about leaving here? Do I want to wed now? Do I want to wed Tom? Do I want to wed at all? Sweet Jesu, what choice do I have? And finally, what it all came down to: “Why can’t I be with John?” she cried in frustration to the clouds scurrying by in the autumn wind.

Calm down, girl, she told herself sternly. Think this through. Consider your present circumstances. You are no more than a servant, in truth, for all you have royal blood in your veins. And you have no means of your own. What if Elizabeth
should
die in this place? What then? Do you want to be a nun? “Nay,” she snorted as she snatched up a daisy and began pulling off its petals. “If my lot was to be one, God would have left me at Delapre,” she said aloud. Come, Grace, you have been praying to be released from here every night for two years, she told herself. Now here is your deliverance, and you are hesitating. What did you have in mind, pray? John! Always John. How many times had she daydreamed of John riding through the gate, clattering into the courtyard and, seeing her picking flowers, come running to sweep her off her feet? “You addlepate!” she cried, throwing the decimated daisy into the wind. “Daydreams are for children. John looks on you like a sister. You should be ashamed of yourself.”