The King’s Sister (32 page)

Henry, trying hard, was warm and welcoming.

‘Elizabeth. Huntingdon.’ Clasped hands. A fleeting kiss on the cheek. A sup of warm ale and a cushioned settle after days over rutted roads. All was as it should be, and Henry’s greeting was the perfection of a welcoming and generous host. ‘It’s good to have you here. It is a time for family to rejoice and celebrate. We have much to celebrate. It’s time to put the past behind us.’

How benign. I preferred Henry when he was boisterous. It had been many years since I could read his enthusiasms, his expressions. The smiling lines on his face might have been engraved with a knife.

‘Of course we would come,’ I said, returning his embrace.

‘I could not refuse your invitation, sire’ John added, careful of ceremony. ‘An invitation to a royal property is a rare and fine thing.’

He had not been invited to Hertford. That had been a compulsion under guard. I nudged John as Henry turned his head. I could sense that John seethed behind the benign exterior, but he shrugged and, as he had promised me, set himself to play the role of loyal brother to the newly crowned King.

‘I have had a lifetime of experience,’ he had observed dryly. ‘I will do it to perfection.’

Pray God he meant it.

We hunted and hawked, enjoyed the mummers and minstrels, the games of the young people. The name of Richard was not mentioned, and although his absence hovered over us, I relaxed into the family traditions of the past. It was so easy to slide into the court life that I knew, all gossip and ostentation and unthreatening friendship.

We had been there barely a week, celebrating early Mass in the great chapel of St George as the family did, our children in a row, fidgeting under my eye and that of their nursemaids. Until Charlotte, sharp-eyed as ever, leaned across brother John:

‘Where is Father going?’ she whispered during the priestly preparations.

‘Your father isn’t going anywhere. He has promised to take you hawking along the river since the ice is too thin for skating.’

‘He is,’ Richard, on my other side, said. ‘He ordered his horse to be ready. He wouldn’t take me with him.’

I considered. ‘Perhaps it’s an errand for the King.’

And perhaps it was not. I turned my head, but John was nowhere to be seen. Where was he going, at this moment, when a Mass was to be held in commemoration, for the quiet rest of Mary’s soul and that of her ill-fated first born child.

‘Is he still here, Richard? In the Castle?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Yes.’ This was Elizabeth. Did all my children listen to adult conversations? ‘Father said he had to …’

I hushed her as heads were turned in our direction. ‘Stay here,’ I ordered. And I left with a genuflection. What an excellent time to choose for some purpose I could not define. Had he intended to tell me? I thought not.

I found him in the stables, already shrouded against the winter cold in felt chaperon, a fur-lined cloak, however unfashionable it might be, and heavy gloves, one foot in the stirrup. There was a squire, a page, but no escort.

‘John!’

He abandoned his reins to his page and approached, his hands held out to take mine, quick repentance in his face. ‘Forgive me, Elizabeth.’

‘I’m uncertain what I have to forgive you for as yet. Where are you going?’

‘London.’

‘Why?’

He pulled me out of the path of his squire who was leading a spritely animal from stable to courtyard. At the same
time, I could only note, he manoeuvred me to where we could not be overheard.

‘Why are you going to London,’ I repeated. ‘When you should be with me, kneeling with everyone else to give thanks for God’s blessing on our King and his family?’

For a split second he looked away, his brows meeting heavily, but any discomfort was momentary, for within a breath he was planting a kiss on my lips and rubbing my cheek with the back of his glove.

‘A matter of business. I doubt I’ll be missed.’

‘I think you might be.’ And then: ‘Is it legitimate business?’

His smile was quick and assured, before becoming a grimace of disgust. ‘Of course. Did you not know? Your royal brother, my love, since he has stripped us of the duchy of Cornwall lands, has made a gift of them to his eldest son. I need to see my man of law. There are legal matters to attend to before the transfer to Prince Henry. Not something I appreciate, but a necessity.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I could understand John’s irritation. Yet my suspicions were still lively, my fingers curled like claws into the fullness of the fur edging of his cloak. ‘I don’t like this,’ I said. ‘You are taking no escort.’

‘There’s no need for concern. I’ll be back within two days. Now return to the Mass and pray for me. And our children.’ He all but pushed me through the stable door.

‘And for the King?’ I asked dryly.

John kissed me, firm enough to shut me up, but fleeting. ‘Certainly for the King. What could harm him now that he wears the Crown and we are all loyal subjects?’

‘John …’

He shook his head, mounted with habitual fluid grace, and rode out, leaving me to disbelieve every word he had uttered.

But true to his word, John was back in our midst within the two days. Eyes bright, face flushed with cold, he strode into the chamber where we were gathered to enjoy an afternoon with chess and frivolous gambling, lifted me off my feet and kissed me. There was a rustle of laughter around us.

‘Did you miss me, Countess?’

‘Not at all. Too much going on here to miss someone so unnecessary as a husband.’

Henry strolled across towards us.

‘It must have been important business.’

‘It was. The little matter of my erstwhile Cornish estates.’ John’s reply was brittle but at least brief. ‘And now I must make my apologies to my wife, who is still scowling at me for abandoning her to all this indulgence.’

I laughed, suspicions momentarily allayed by the light mood. ‘It’s good to see you back, my lord.’

He took my hand. ‘Come and tell me what you have been doing.’

He led me from the room, indulgent comments following us. Yes, I had missed him. His return filled me with hot desire, but I was troubled by that air of shimmering excitement about him. A nervous energy. Whatever the legitimate business, it had stirred his blood, which had excellent
repercussions, for he restored the intimacy between us with verve and drama, reminding me of the early days when we still had much to discover about the passion that held us. John kissed and caressed me into insensibility, and as all my fears were swept away, I reciprocated in kind.

‘I must leave you more often,’ he groaned when I had destroyed all his self-control with a crow of delight.

‘Don’t you dare!’

I proceeded to relight all the fires anew.

‘What’s Henry doing?’ he asked as, slowly, with some youthful endearments, we put our clothing to rights, John taking it upon himself to pin my hair into passable order beneath a simple veil.

‘Planning his grand tournament. He has in mind something spectacular on the lines of his grandfather’s extravaganzas.’

‘Perhaps I’ll offer my services.’

‘Which will surprise him. But please him as well, I think. Are you truly reconciled to him?’

‘Why not? He could have had my head. Many say I should be thankful it was only my dukedom. I can live with it.’

‘I’m sorry about the Cornish estates. I know you valued them.’

‘I’ll live without them. But not without you.’

It was the sweetest of reunions, touched with all the magic of the seasonal glamour. Yet it did not quite smooth out my days and I found myself watchful, wakeful, alert for any wrong step in the pattern of the festivities.

And then I saw it.

I saw it from the vantage point of the gallery when Elizabeth and Alice had given their nurses the slip. What had all the appearance of a clandestine conversation, four men tucked into a quiet corner, heads close together over a cup of wine. Standing perfectly still I looked down. John was instantly recognisable. With him was his young nephew Thomas Holland, the Earl of Kent after the death of John’s brother Thomas two years ago. And there was my cousin Edward, former Duke of Aumale, demoted to Rutland, another of Richard’s friends suffering a stripping of titles and land, as both John and Thomas had. All three close associates of Richard in the past, but seeing them in intimate conversation surprised me. I had not thought there was much in common between Edward and the Hollands. Edward was a mere twenty-six years to John’s forty-seven. They had had little to say to each other when Richard was King, but here they were in some heart to heart. John was doing all the talking.

The fourth of the group was a young man with a fashionable bowl crop, over-long sleeves and chaperon, face shielded from my view, but playing a part in the deep discourse, until a group of courtiers came too close and the contact was ended, the unknown man slipping away as if on an errand. A final murmured comment, then with a laugh as if it was a trivial matter, easily abandoned for more entertaining matters, John and those remaining joined the boisterous throng raising their cups to cheer on the revellers who were reminiscing over their hunting exploits. But not before I saw a screw of paper change hands between John
and my cousin Edward, to be tucked smartly into Edward’s sleeve.

All in a matter of moments. It might never have happened. But it did. It was probably entirely innocent, but there was something about their watchfulness, the speed with which they brought their exchange to an end. And, as the anonymous youth departed, my eye was caught by a glitter of silver and enamel. A livery badge, if I were not mistaken.

I made my way from the gallery to join the revellers.

‘What did my slippery cousin Rutland have to say?’ I asked my husband with grand insouciance.

‘Rutland?’

‘I saw you talking with him. And your nephew.’

John replied easily enough. He would always match me for composure, guilty or innocent, a past master at masking his thoughts. ‘Nothing of moment. Whether they will take part in Henry’s grand tournament. I wagered I would beat Rutland into the ground.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ I awarded him a smile. ‘Who was the young slave to fashion in your midst?’

‘A squire. Rutland’s. By the Rood, Elizabeth. Why is that important?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t like what I saw.’

‘What did you see?’

‘Four men in a suspicious huddle, that broke up as soon as you were no longer alone. And before you ask, I was leaning over the gallery.’

He breathed a laugh. ‘You’re imagining things.’

‘I don’t think I am. I’d say you were plotting something
that must be kept secret.’ I paused, to see the mask descend on John’s features.

‘There was no secrecy.’ He was obdurate.

‘No? Then why did I think I saw—and now I am sure that I did—Richard’s livery badge of the white hart pinned to Rutland’s squire’s shoulder? Very unwise in this climate, I’d have thought.’

‘An affectation, I expect. I didn’t notice. It had no meaning, but I agree it was unwise.’

As I detected the slightest hesitation before this response my heart plummeted. The more I was drawn into this accusation and denial, the more fearful I became.

‘Why would Rutland’s squire wear …’

‘Don’t!’ John’s hand was hard around my wrist. ‘Don’t speak of it.’

‘Why not? What are you involved with?’ Our voices had fallen to a whisper. ‘I think it’s a conspiracy. I just don’t know what you’re conspiring to do.’

John surveyed the room, then drew me into the centre of it so that we were surrounded by courtiers and children and he could see if the gallery was empty of interested audience. Safety in numbers, for this was no place to discuss insurrection.

‘So I can’t hide it from you.’ Keeping his voice low, his smile was wry. ‘I didn’t think I could. You’re too clever by half, Madam Countess. So this is it.’ He must have seen a flash of fear in my eyes, for he tightened his hold. ‘There’s no cause to look aghast. It’s not as bad as you think.’ He kept a smile in place as if we talked of nothing but the delights of each other’s company. ‘We
are of a mind to persuade Henry to come to terms with us.’

‘Who is of a mind?’

‘Those he put on trial for their allegiance to Richard. Those he casually stripped of land and title, even though they had forsworn Richard in the end.’ Despite all his efforts, the smile faded. ‘We hope to encourage Henry to promise restoration of land and titles and promotions. We plan to bring Henry into a …’ He paused on a little laugh. ‘Into a frank and meaningful discussion, when we meet for the tournament. He will be full of festive goodwill.’

It sounded feasible enough. ‘Is that all?’

‘That’s all. What else do we need to do? Aumale, reduced to Rutland, is as keen as I. So is Thomas who wants the dukedom of Surrey restored to him. There are others.’ Now I understood. ‘You discussed it in London.’

‘Yes. A group of us met in the Abbot’s lodging at Westminster Abbey where we could come and go without too much interest shown. We made our plans, and that is what we will do.’

‘When?’

‘The Feast of the Epiphany, when Henry’s in a magnanimous mood after the tournament. There’s nothing to fear, Elizabeth. Henry will listen and see sense. He will reassure us and we will bend the knee in recognition of his generosity. Does that put your anxieties to rest?’

‘And the squire?’

‘A courier. Faceless enough to carry information between us without rousing suspicion. Except in the mind of my wife, it seems. That’s all. It was a mistake,
his wearing the white hart. I should have reprimanded him.’

John kissed my hands while I turned the thoughts over in my mind. The beat of his blood in his wrists was regular and steady. If he was disturbed by my accusations, he was hiding it well. And then a thought …

‘Would you wear the white hart still? When you ask for Henry’s goodwill, will you ask for the release of Richard as well?’

‘No,’ he replied gravely. ‘We will only ask what Henry will be prepared to concede. Are we not pragmatic? Richard’s release would be a step too far.’

Eminently reasonable. I studied his face, the well-loved features, the smile that still warmed my blood, the curve of his mouth that could reawaken all my desire.