The Maiden and the Unicorn (15 page)

The Kingmaker followed the man's glance, examining her fiercely for a moment before he signed the letter, dismissed everyone within earshot and strode across to her. "I have a question, Margery, and think carefully before you answer me. Why did you not stay with Ned this time? You are pretty fodder. Did he not tempt you?"

"He is not the man I remember," Margery said softly, glancing down to momentarily hide her face. "Besides," she slowly raised her eyes honestly to his, "I do not want to be a wealthy whore in some little house in Chelsea, frightened lest the Woodvilles decide not to tolerate me, afraid lest I lose my looks. To be honest, I hate being a woman, having to be all compliance. If I was a man, my lord, I would be earning my bread with my wits, using the mind God gave me. If I was a man, I could be out there with a sword in my hand capturing ships for you instead of trapped here by my sex." She glanced up at the clean, white gulls, mewling above the mast, soaring in the wind, with a sigh.

A twist of compassion curled his lips. "I do believe you mean it." Surprisingly he wrapped an avuncular arm about her shoulders. "More's the pity you are not a man, but since the Almighty has made you a woman, Margery, you must make the best of it. If He has determined you should be a wife and mother, then you must make the best of that too." She peeped sideways at him with a wry smile only to have her blood run cold. He was appraising her body.

"My lord?" She stepped away. His eyes, thankfully devoid of any wickedness, rose pensively to peruse her face. A sense of relief surged through her and her shoulders lost their tenseness. Then another alarming thought frightened her like a warning bell. Heaven forbid that he was going to suggest she climb the ecclesiastical ladder and become an abbess! Then enlightenment came. Jesu, he was behaving just like a guardian and thinking of husbands. Well, that thought had to be nipped off at bud size instantly. A refusal to take matters seriously was definitely necessary.

"My lord, do not wish me on any man if that is what you are planning. He would not thank you for it. Believe me, I am quite happy to serve your daughters. Can I not earn my keep just as your male retainers do? I have done so right willingly in the past."

The Earl flicked her cheek. "So you are now a mind-reader, little witch. Well, deny it all you may, but it's high time you had a household of your own to run. A bunch of keys at your waist is what you need, my dear, to keep you busy and your wits occupied. There will be no time then to wish yourself a pirate. Yes, I shall give it some thought!"

"Not until you have England beneath your heel again, my lord, then I shall accept no less than a newly-minted duke."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Margery, my dear, you can have your King back again with a golden halter about his neck or mayhap Master Stone shackled and bound."

"Now that," exclaimed Margery, "would suit me very well!"

Chapter 7

Margery was happily restored to the Neville household within two days of hard riding. The villages were shabby, the roads ribboned by over -zealous hedges. It was raining hard when they reached Valognes. The grey town bestraddled the meeting of the roads from Brittany, the port of Cherbourg and Bayeux. Charred chalk ruins frayed its edge, a reminder of how bitterly the English and French had ravaged Normandy. Sodden peasants eyed them resentfully behind the soaked panniers and dripping stalls of the market place as if their small party had brought the foul weather. They found the logis royal to the east, protected by a meagre river, with workshops huddling close to its walls. Inside, fires had been lit in the solar and the smoky air stung Margery's eyes bringing tears that would have come anyway as Isabella, pale and bitter from her loss, threw herself into her arms. No longer glowing with the imminent babe, she looked gaunt beside her full-bosomed mother.

If the Countess had any intention of rejecting Margery after reading her lord's letter, she must have put the thought aside for some later occasion. It was probably because the Duchess, after howling over her loss to a new audience, had brightened. Margery had always been able to spur Isabella to laughter and she had done so now, sympathetically listening and then summoning Alys to bring in the puppy she had purchased for her in Calais. Isabella instantly named it "Tristan" and fell in love with the mischievous creature. The Countess, with a loud sigh of resignation, withdrew and Margery, her prayers answered, foolishly thought that her problems were all resolved.

It was a time for confidences, for some burdens shared. When the other women joined them, Margery took even more care with the reasons for her absence, knowing that dear Ankarette Twynhoe was absorbing every word like a dessicated sponge.

Later, a hidden scrap of paper in Gloucester's tidy script that de Commynes had failed to discover was hooked from its cunning hiding place and delivered quietly to fifteen-year-old Anne, bringing a bright blush to her milky complexion.

Presenting the Duke of Clarence with his letters was no easy matter. It seemed that Isabella had driven him away with her tears and he spent the next three days out hunting. On his return, it was near impossible to talk to him unobserved, but Margery eventually managed to snatch a few private words with him. It had required a great deal of effort. She had managed to persuade the Countess that Isabella needed music to cheer her. The musicians she eventually sent for from Carentan were more suited to a Norman farmers' Twelfth Night dance than playing for sophisticated noble ladies, but the lusty rhythm had everyone tapping their feet and even the self-conscious Duke could not bear to sit while the others danced.

She liked him the least of the three Yorkist brothers. Whereas charm was a natural spring in Ned, George of Clarence pumped it up in a gush only when it pleased him. Since the day he had first arrived for training in the Earl of Warwick's household, it had been clear to her that here was a child who had already learned how to manipulate people with tantrums and sulks. Now, witty and wilful at twenty-one, he always served his own selfish ends.
 

"I hear you have compromised yourself again, Meg. Two weeks unchaperoned with a troop of brigands thieving my manors." He grinned at her, showing the sort of teeth that distinguished Englishmen throughout Christendom. When Ned smiled, the sun shone; when George of Clarence smiled, you noticed his teeth.

"If you were not a duke, I should clout you," she replied cheerfully as their palms briefly met. "I have secret letters for you."

The remainder of their brief conversation became phrases annoyingly punctuated by spins and claps. He seemed unexcited by her revelation, as if she had brought him a cart of eggs instead of letters from a king, a duke and half a dozen duchesses. His eyes mocked her from beneath his ruddy gold lashes as the pipes and tabors ceased, but next day he did collect the letters from where she had hidden them. She waited several days for the answer but it was as if he had forgotten, showing his disdain for his brother's offer of mercy. Well, there was still time for patience.

The year was fast ripening into early summer and the garden around the logis, which the King of France had lent the Countess, was dappled with tumbling apple blossom. The wild daffodils upon the grassy banks around the little town had withered, surrendering to yarrow, nettles and creeping strawberries. With her mission temporarily in abeyance, Margery felt as though she had no cares in the world. But she was wrong.

* * *

There was a folded letter in the Earl's hand as he awaited Margery in his antechamber at Valognes. He had sailed up the coast to Barfleur and it was the first time she had seen him again since her arrival in France. Margery thought at first the letter might be Ned's and prayed that the Earl had decided upon reconciliation. On close examination, the wax was the wrong colour and the seal was smaller than the personal signet the King had used. Margery watched regretfully as he tossed it onto a pile of papers.

"Margery, be seated. Let me be direct with you. My circumstances have forced me to give much thought both to my future and the fortunes of those who depend upon me, yourself included. I fear I have been too concerned with my own affairs over the last few months to pay justice to yours."

"My lord, I am very grateful that you have given me your protection all these years, believe me."

"You have not helped my task by tarnishing your honour but I think the time to make amends on your part and on mine is now. It was my wish that you devote your life to God but the Abbess wrote to me that you showed no inclination, and there was also another consideration which is why I originally summoned you from Nuneaton."

"My lord?"

"In a nutshell, Margery, there is now an old friend at Le Havre, one who has long admired you. He has requested you in marriage. I agreed." Margery's eyes widened with horror. "I know it is a surprise but you are very fortunate, considering your past sins."

This could not be happening. "My lord, I have no desire to be wed. I thought you understood my feelings."

"What is this nonsense?" His patience evaporated like August rain on hot cobbles. "So you prefer to take the veil instead?"

Should she lie? Would hesitation and a plea for time to think upon the matter make a difference? "N-o, but..."

"I think you must trust my judgment. Who knows where we may find ourselves in a twelvemonth? This man is ready and willing to give you his name. Should aught befall him, his family will look after you. It is a better match than could be expected for you."

"You have not even told me his name, my lord. It might help."

"I stand reproved. It is Huddleston. His family are well respected in the north and have long served the Nevilles. You may have met him. He was in my brother Montague's household for some years."

She shook her head. "I need time to think upon this, my lord."

"No, child. You owe me this obedience. Your sinful doings with the King hardened me towards you but I have forgiven you. You were young and, perhaps, like Eve, you were tempted. By St Anne, I have no doubt that Ned could charm Lucifer himself, had he a mind to." The Earl paced away from her then swung round, his fingers clasped behind his back. "I am quite resolved on this, Margery. If you will not obey me, then you shall not be welcome in my sight. Marrying you to Huddleston is the best that I can do for you. I doubt there will ever be another opportunity of so acceptable a suitor."

Margery coldly curtsied but once outside the door she picked up her skirts and ran down the passageway. Out in the orchard she sat with her back to a tree, unseen, her knees cradled in her arms.

It took her an hour before she felt sufficiently in control to return to the household. Mass was an opportunity to pray for deliverance from this elderly suitor, except she was startled by her name in the calling of banns. Now she knew how a fox felt hearing the hunting horn. And, of course, the household congregation immediately lost interest in heavenly affairs and squinted sideways.

Ankarette dug her elbow into Margery's ribs in conspiratorial fashion. "Margery, you secretive vixen," she hissed. "Thank you for telling me. I thought I was your friend."

"Secretive!" exclaimed Margery as they left the chapel. "It is not
my
doing. I have never set eyes on the wretched man. I thought I should have time to consider but this is beyond endurance. I told my lord I did not wish it."

Ankarette, married to a Devon gentleman, with several children of her own, shook her head despairingly. "Has the plague invaded your mind? I thought you had more common sense than most, you foolish wench. Accept the man with a good, sweet grace!"

"No, not me, Ankarette, I am completely bereft of all common niceties. I do not want to marry the fellow, curse him! He is old and I have never heard of him."

"You think him too old for you?" Her friend looked incredulous.

"I try not to think of him at all. Ouch!"

"It seems," muttered Ankarette, swiftly trying to untangle the veil of Margery's headdress snared unwittingly by a rose bush, "that you have hardly thought at all."

"I shall have to prevent this somehow, Ankarette. How many times must the priest call the banns?"

"Thrice, then the marriage may take place at any time. Keep still!"

"Jesu, my lord of Warwick is in haste to be rid of me, it seems."

"Perhaps he is worried that you will entice the Duke of Clarence into sin. Don't stand there looking as though you've just seen a miracle. Admit you've been sending glances the Duke's way ever since you arrived in Valognes." Margery's older friend was eagle-eyed when it came to observing a variety of human foibles.