The King's Grace (70 page)

From Tom’s rhythmic breathing Grace knew after only a few minutes that he was asleep, and once again marveled at it. She lay awake for an hour or two, reliving scenes from her unexpected life at court: the summer at Sheriff Hutton and her stirrings of love for John; her time with Elizabeth at Bermondsey; her unexpected marriage to Tom; her adventure in disguise to Malines, and the second one to meet her so-called half brother; John’s capture and their last moments in the Newgate. Then the scene at Smithfield came back to haunt her, the shadow of the scaffold with its gibbet looming over the crowd. Dear God, now two others who had been part
of her new life were to meet similar fates. She remembered again the boy Ned struggling in Robert Willoughby’s grasp at Ormond’s Inn that day he was taken from the family, and his sister Margaret’s fear that she would never see him again. Then she thought of her visit with him at the Tower. He was cheerful enough, considering his years of captivity, and she remembered thinking he might not be as daft as people said. But he did not know the ways of the world, Grace admitted. How could he, only watching it float past his window on the river? Nay, he could not have planned such a complicated conspiracy to set himself and Perkin free. She imagined him at his trial, tall and handsome, looking at all the nobles and bishops around him and not recognizing a soul. How demeaning for one of his lineage, and how terrifying! He probably did not know what he was saying when he did not deny his guilt. Her heart ached for him, as it did for Perkin.

Ah, Perkin! Or was he Perkin? Her desperate need to fit in with her family, and her obsession with her half brother, had sometimes led her to act rashly, she knew now, but she had been so convinced Richard was alive when Sir Edward Brampton came to Bermondsey. She could remember Elizabeth’s joy at the news and her own excitement when she finally met Richard at Dendermonde. She had been certain then that he was indeed Richard. But had wishes and feelings colored her judgment? She tried to piece the puzzle together, remembering the instances when she had been swayed one way or the other: from the man’s noble demeanor, his likeness to her family and his acceptance by so many in positions of power to his public confession and private denial to her; from his lack of knowing Dorset and other court familiars of the young Dickon to the pomander of Dickon’s hated cloves and his dreadful singing voice. But something did not add up to his being a boatman’s son, either. So who was he? And why was she the only person who wanted to know?

Sweet St. Sibylline, but she was simply too tired to unravel the threads tonight. She heard the watch cry one of the clock, and her eyes finally closed. Turning onto her other side, she felt Tom stir in his sleep, missing her. And then she slept.

P
ERKIN’S STATUS AS
condemned man meant Grace was allowed only half an hour with him in a damp, filthy cell belowground. In the ambient glow of a guttering rushlight the guard had left in a niche near the door, she
could not see what she was standing on, but it felt slimy and the stench was almost unbearable. Thank Heaven Katherine had not come with her, she thought; she was right to demur.

The king had reluctantly allowed the visit, thanks to Lady Margaret’s cajoling. Tom had appealed to the love she had for Viscount Welles and the good service he had given Lady Margaret’s half brother. He had thought it prudent to ask on behalf of Lady Gordon as well as for Grace, knowing from Grace that Henry had a soft spot for Katherine and might grant the Tower visit more readily.

Henry had virtually spat at Tom. “Aye, let them see the false prince one more time. Perhaps when Lady Gordon sees how low he has sunk—even lower than whence he came—she will know him for who he really is: Piers Werbecque, a poor boatman’s son from Tournai. Pah!” He waved Tom away. “Half an hour, no more!” he cried.

But when the small boat docked at the Tower wharf from Westminster and Katherine looked up at the towering stone walls, she balked. “I cannot go, Grace,” she whispered. “I shall not bring him the comfort he needs today, for I know I shall only weep at the sight of him.”

And looking at the pathetic figure on the soggy straw, chained to the wall, the hackles almost too heavy for his emaciated arms and legs, it was all Grace, too, could do not to weep. She saw the disappointment on his grimy face when she and not Katherine was let into the cell. She was aware of movement to the left of her and realized Perkin was not alone. She held the light above her head and whispered her name. “I hope I do not disturb you, sir,” she said, not recognizing the man shivering in the other corner.

“’Tis John Atwater, Grace. He who would have made me king in Ireland,” Perkin told her, his voice a monotone although his teeth were chattering. “He was my friend—until this. We die together on the morrow.”

Grace choked on her response, but went closer to him so they could converse quietly. She wished she had brought more than a few groats with her, so she could pay the jailer to give him a clean shirt in which to meet his Maker. “God have mercy on you, Perkin. I will pray daily for you,” was all she could say, pulling her shawl about her in the chilling damp and putting the light in its sconce.

“In truth, I shall be happier where I am going than stuck in this filthy hole,” Perkin said, laughing harshly. “Last night I was bitten twice by a rat,
God damn it to Hell.” Grace picked up her skirts and shrank against the wall. “Fear not, Grace, they come only at night—although how they know the difference down here, I know not.” He changed the subject, desperation in his voice as he knew they had so little time. “Where is Katherine?” he asked. “I have so much I want to tell her. They said she would come.”

Thank you sweet Sibylline for the dark, Grace thought, feeling herself color as she was about to tell a lie. She held her thumbs between her fingers and prayed for forgiveness. “’Tis the woman’s curse that has kept her from you. The queen is strict about the customary seclusion.”

Perkin nodded, crying to the heavens: “My ill luck continues, I fear. God, why do you hate me so?” He softened. “Then you will have to relay my words to her, if you will be so kind.”

Grace’s eyes were becoming used to the darkness, and she saw that a small amount of light was coming through a grating from the room on the ground floor above them. She reached out and stroked his cold cheek and his shivering stopped. He merely gazed at her with his odd eyes, and a memory of a long-ago dream stirred. She could feel the foul water oozing from the muddy floor and seeping into her thin leather shoes, and she wished she had worn her pattens.

“When did you know I was not Richard?” he whispered out of nowhere.

Grace withdrew her hand quickly. “’Twas not one thing, exactly. I was forced to believe your confession—it was so detailed—although I defended you with Tom and my sisters, because I was certain ’twas not gained without pressure.” She saw him nod absently. “But there was one tiny mistake you made—a tiny fact about you that I was privy to through those years serving Queen Elizabeth—that convinced me.”

Perkin harrumphed. “I made many mistakes. The first was being born at the wrong time and in the wrong place. Nay, being born at all!” He gave a short bark of laughter, as if enjoying a joke. “’Twas not so hard to pierce my disguise in my mind, but once on the path ’twas hard to go back. So what was it? I am curious.”

“Prince Richard hated the smell of cloves, so the queen told me. The night you were with Katherine and whispering to her while holding the orange pomander to your nose—”

Perkin burst out laughing—a painful, unpleasant sound. “Do you hear,
John? I was undone by a few cloves and an orange.” Then he let out an agonized cry. “Sweet Virgin, Mother of God, what have I done to deserve this?” He beckoned her closer. “Ah, Grace, if you knew how the demons do torment me in the dark!” he muttered, not wanting Atwater to hear. “I fear the scaffold with every fiber of my being. To have the hood blind me, feel the noose about my neck, hear the creak of the trap beneath my feet and know it will soon fall open—”

“Soft, Perkin,” Grace interrupted him, sitting on her haunches and taking his face between her hands. “Think only of the blessed release from all this. You deserve to fly to Heaven and take your place with those who know earthly pain no more.” She could feel his tears on her fingers but she kept her hands on his cheeks until he calmed. “Our time is short. Is there aught more I can do for you? May I carry a message with me? A token for Katherine?”

“You will convey my duty and love to my wife,” Perkin said solemnly. “Tell her the happiest times of my life, and what sustains me in this hour of my death, are those halcyon days at the lodge at Falkland, riding with her in the forest, reading with her by firelight, watching the birds circling above us as we sat upon the hill looking across the Forth all the way to Arthur’s seat.” He let the tears flow, not heeding that it might be unmanly, and poured his heart out. “But most of all, I treasure lying with her and conceiving our son together. ’Twas Heaven on earth, tell her, and when I stand on the scaffold tomorrow, I shall imagine I am standing in the heather of East Lomond, smelling the scent of wild bluebells and hearing the larks singing high and curlews crying again. She will be with me forever then.” He was sobbing now, making the jailer take notice outside, stick his nose through the grille on the door and growl, “Time be nearly up, my lady.”

Ignoring the guard, Grace tore off a piece of her petticoat and, using Perkin’s tears to moisten it, cleansed his face a little. “I will tell her all that you said, my dear ‘brother,’” she said, her tears coming now. “I wish you were my brother, in truth, for I could have none better. Is there aught more I can do for you?”

“Dear Grace,” Perkin murmured, catching her hand awkwardly with his manacled one and carrying it to his lips. “Why do you do this for me? Now you know I am not your brother, why do you care?”

Grace stood then. “I do it for Katherine—her love is true—and I do it for you, because like me, your life has been forced upon you, and we have been made to become what we are not. I must go where I am told because of who I am, when all I crave is a life of quiet on a farm.”

“And I would have spent mine on the deck of a ship charting unknown lands,” he whispered back. Suddenly, a scene among roses flashed before Grace’s eyes, and she saw again Aunt Margaret’s secret smile as she read from a letter to Grace and John. Aunt Margaret knew Perkin long before he fled from France to her court, she realized with a jolt. “Aunt Margaret must—,” she spoke out loud.

Perkin grasped her skirt. “Aye, I beg of you, Grace, Aunt Margaret must be told that I never forgot my pledge to her all those years ago. Tell her that. She will know what I mean.”

Grace nodded, although puzzled. “Aunt Margaret? Besides giving you shelter after France and helping you with men and ships upon your first attempt at an invasion, had she helped you before? Certes, she has abandoned you to your fate now.”

“Never say so, Grace!” Perkin hissed so vehemently she took a step back. “She sent me messages during those months in the Tower through a priest who was in her service. She did not abandon me. She loves me. But she has no power to free me. Now, if you care at all, I beg of you, carry my message to her.”

“Aye,” Grace whispered. “I promise.” Then she took a deep breath as she heard the guard’s key in the lock. “Who are you in truth?” she said.

“Ask Aunt Margaret, for I cannot tell you,” Perkin muttered. “Now, go!”

Grace bent down swiftly and kissed him on the forehead, flinching at the vile odor of him. “God grant you his mercy,” she told him, deciding not to add,
and give you a swift end.
Then, giving Atwater a quick blessing, she hurried from the room without a backwards look.

“God bless you, Grace Plantagenet,” Perkin called after her. “And
adieu
.”

The guard leered at Grace as he led her back out into the fresh air, where Edgar and Katherine were anxiously awaiting her. Her fur hem was coated with the cell slime and her feet were wet through. She reached into the small pouch at her waist and gave the guard two groats. “If ’tis possible, sirrah, can you see to it that he is clean for his ordeal tomorrow. After all,”
she said, eyeing him, “we do not know for certain he is not the duke of York.”

The guard was pleased to get the money and laughed. “We have orders to clean both prisoners, my lady. Sir Simon’s orders included fresh shirts and hose. What a waste!” He guffawed and disappeared back into the blackness of the dungeon.

Edgar walked a step behind her, ready to support his mistress, whom he had once before seen deathly white. He would be there to catch her ere she fell this time, too, he thought. Grace walked in a daze along Water Lane to the Byward Tower gate and, as she passed behind the portcullis room, she saw Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, coming towards her carrying a basket and a book.

“Good day to you, Lady Grace,” Margaret said, surprised. “Are you here to see my brother, too? I have brought him food and a prayer book.” There was a catch in her throat, and Grace could see she had been crying.

Grace was glad Margaret had come in time to see Ned. Margaret lived most of the year on her husband’s estates, but must have heard of her brother’s trial and come quickly.

“I had hoped to see him—I was not certain anyone else would come, but now that you are here, certes, he will be happier to see you,” Grace said. “Pray tell him he is in my prayers, and that I do not doubt Henry will pardon him. ’Tis the talk at court,” she lied, and was glad to see hope in the woman’s eyes. “No doubt we shall see you at court until—”

“No doubt,” the other woman finished with a small smile of understanding. “I shall look forward to praying with you, dear Grace,” she said. “My brother needs our prayers.”

Grace chose not to add,
As does Perkin.
She merely nodded, bowed and walked on.

T
OM MET THEM
on the Westminster wharf when the boat returned from the Tower and walked both women back into the palace. Grace turned to thank Edgar for his escort and, in an unusual gesture, he grasped her hand and kissed it.