Royal Inheritance (27 page)

“Princess Mary became Queen Mary.”

“Yes, she did. But not without some difficulty. And after Sir Thomas Wyatt the Younger led a failed rebellion in Kent in an attempt to prevent her marrying the king of Spain, Queen Mary put many people in prison. Your father was one of them.”

Hester’s voice went very quiet. “I remember. And you went away, too.”

“I will tell you more of that in good time,” Audrey promised, “but what you must remember now is that Queen Mary is no less dangerous than King Henry was. On a whim, any king or queen can imprison a subject . . . or execute him. A careless word on your part could lead to your father’s death. Or mine. Or even your own.”

Audrey hated seeing fear replace joy in her daughter’s eyes, but it was necessary that she understand the enormity of the secret she now shared.

“I will not tell anyone that I have royal blood,” Hester promised in a shaken whisper.

“Come here, then, and give me a kiss.” Audrey’s limbs felt so heavy that she could scarce lift her hand to touch Hester’s shoulder as the child bent to brush her lips across her mother’s cheek. She bade her daughter leave her alone to rest awhile, promising to speak with her again when she had recovered her strength.

As soon as Hester had gone, Audrey turned her face toward a corner of the room. There a second door, covered by a curtain, led into the chamber Jack used as a writing room. She was unsurprised when her husband moved out of the shadows. She’d sensed his presence at just about the time she’d been telling Hester what Sir Anthony Denny said to her after the interview with King Henry.

“You told her.”

The accusation in his voice stung, the more so because she knew she deserved his censure. It
had
been unwise to burden a child so young with this dangerous knowledge. But what choice did she have? Audrey’s sense that time was short increased with each passing day. She had not regained her former health or strength. Despite brief remissions, she was growing steadily weaker.

Aloud, she said only, “It was time she knew.”

“She need never have known.”

His long strides ate up the distance between door and bed until he was looming over her. She looked up into his scowling face. The expression, though ferocious, had no power to frighten her. She knew full well that Jack would never hurt her, not in any physical way.

“The rest of what I will tell her,” Audrey said, “will serve as a cautionary tale. She will come to understand the need for secrecy when I am done.”

“Will she? She is eight years old, Audrey. Too young to have any sense of discretion. You accused me of endangering our family, endangering our child, but I vow you have just taken a greater risk than I ever did!”

After Jack stormed out of her bedchamber, Audrey lay very still, staring up at the canopy above her head. Her vision blurred as unshed tears gathered in her eyes. Jack was right. But he was wrong, too. She herself had gone too long without knowing the truth. Hester had a right to hear it, and from the one person who could share the entire story with her, not just bits and pieces.

Determined to continue her tale on the morrow, Audrey willed herself to sleep.

A nightmare jerked her awake in the wee hours of the morning. She cried out, and Jack’s arms came around her, holding her until she stopped shaking.

“What was it?” he asked.

But she could only shake her head. The details of the bad dream were already fading. She did not want to call them back.

She fell asleep the second time with her head resting on Jack’s chest, but he was gone when she awoke. By the time she broke her fast and dressed, he had left the house. Despite a steady rain, he had gone out on horseback.

“Have the fire built up in the withdrawing room,” she ordered her maid, “and have someone send my daughter to me. Then no one is to come near us for the remainder of the morning.”

As soon as Hester appeared, Audrey intended to resume her narrative. She required both warmth and privacy for the telling. Reliving what had happened next would not be easy.

I
never saw the king again. He died in the early hours of Friday, the twenty-eighth day of January. I did not know that right away. King Henry’s death was kept secret for the better part of three days. Even the queen was not told at once. The Seymours were busy putting everything in order for the succession of their nephew, who would reign as King Edward the Sixth. He was nine years old.

On the last day of the month, a Monday, Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford was created Duke of Somerset and named Lord Protector of the realm. His first act was to dissolve Parliament.

“What about Queen Kathryn?” I asked when Bridget brought word of this to Father and Mother Anne in the house in Watling Street. “I thought she would be named regent.”

Father, seated in his favorite chair close to the fire, was wrapped in a blanket against a chill. His cough had worsened with the prolonged cold weather. News of the king’s death, although it was not unexpected, had affected him badly. He did not even look up at my question.

“You thought wrong,” Bridget said. “The Seymours are in power now.”

“Sir Thomas, too?”

“Master Scutt says he’s to be created Baron Seymour of Sudeley and Lord High Admiral.”

“And how does he know all this?” I demanded. “Your husband has lost his post, has he not, now that there is no longer a queen at court?”

Bridget laughed. “I would not be so certain of that. The Lord Protector has a wife, and she has already commanded Master Scutt to make new clothes for her—rich clothes as fine as any the queen ever had. She’s taken possession of Queen Kathryn’s jewels, too, those that Her Grace did not have with her when the king died.”

The Seymours in power might not be such a bad thing, I told myself. As far as I knew, Jack was still in Sir Thomas’s service. If Sir Thomas rose in prominence, so would Jack.

Then another thought occurred to me. “What of Sir Richard Southwell?” Since his betrayal of the Earl of Surrey, he, too, had been allied with the Seymours.

“There’s talk of a place for him on the new king’s Privy Council.” Bridget chuckled. “And how could I forget? Your beloved is back in London, Audrey. Young Darcy, or should I say Master Richard Southwell the Younger, has moved into his father’s old chambers in Lincoln’s Inn.”

“He is not my beloved,” I muttered.

Two days later, Sir Richard and his son paid Father a visit.

“My husband is ill,” Mother Anne told them. “I’ll not have him upset.”

“Move aside, woman.” Sir Richard pushed her out of his way and entered the hall. He studied Father’s shrunken form for a moment
before speaking, as if trying to decide whether flattery or bluster would work best.

“You have delayed long enough, Malte.” His voice was close to a shout. “I have the marriage contract with me. The details were hammered out months ago. Now is the time to sign, you and Audrey both.”

I noticed he did not say “you and your daughter.” I took this as more proof, although I did not need any, that Southwell knew I was the king’s bastard and wanted me for his son for that reason and that reason alone.

I placed myself between the angry knight and the man who was, in all ways that were important, my father. “I do not intend to sign, Sir Richard. Not ever. And I cannot be forced into marriage.”

“I would not be so certain of that.”

I glanced at the younger Richard. He would not meet my eyes, but I knew that he did not want to marry me any more than I wanted to wed him. I wished I could count on him to stand with me and say so, but his craven manner convinced me that he would never disobey his father.

“Give me a little more time, Sir Richard.” This feeble whisper came from Father. He did not lift his head to look at any of us as he spoke.

“You’ve had more than enough time already. This business has dragged on for years. Everything is in place. Sign and we’ll complete the formalities as soon as the banns can be called. Better yet, I’ll secure a special license and Richard and Audrey can wed at once.”

Father abruptly stood, as if to defy Sir Richard face-to-face, but the effort was too much for him. He staggered, then fell forward to land hard on the hearth. Sir Richard was closest to him, but he made no effort to catch him or to break his fall.

Mother Anne and I rushed to Father’s side and helped him to sit up. Dazed, he looked at me as if he did not know who I was. With an effort, we got him to his feet. Sir Richard still did nothing to help. At least his son, after one agonized glance in his father’s direction, stepped in to take Father’s weight from us and help him shuffle into his bedchamber.

Sir Richard followed at a leisurely pace and watched in stone-faced silence as we got Father into bed. Mother Anne sent a servant for a posset. Only after she’d coaxed Father into swallowing a few sips of the healing brew did Southwell speak in a low, menacing rumble of sound.

“This is not finished, Malte. The king’s death has changed nothing. In truth, I have even more influence in this new reign. You might think on that while you recover.”

Having uttered that vague but very real threat, he turned on his heel and left the house. Young Richard rushed out after him.

The slam of the door in the shop below us made Mother Anne jump it was so loud. I winced. Father’s eyes flew open and he reached for my hand.

“
I want you to be safe after I am gone, Audrey.” His pleading gaze broke my heart, as did the lack of strength in his grip. His fingers slid away from mine, too weak to hold on. “Southwell looks after his own.”

“And when I am no longer useful to him? I’ll not be safe then.” I thought of the Earl of Surrey and a shudder ran through me.

“You must marry someone, child,” Mother Anne put in. “And that boy is not his father. There is kindness in him. Wed him, bed him, bear a child or two, and your life will be your own again.”

“No, it will not. Once I have a husband, he will own everything,
even the clothes on my back. A wife is no better than a slave. The only hope I have of happiness is to marry a man who truly cares for me. You have had that happiness with Father. How can you ask me to accept anything less?”

“You still want Jack Harington,” Father whispered, “but the man has no estate and no fortune of his own. He is a good man, Audrey, but he cannot provide for you or protect you.”

“Nor have you seen him for some time,” Mother Anne put in. “He has accepted that his pursuit of you is futile. You must do the same.”

I nearly blurted out that I
had
seen Jack, and not so very long ago, either. Only two months had passed since our journey to Windsor Castle. I caught myself in time. It would only distress Father to learn of that trip, and to know that I had sought Jack out at Seymour Place. I let him continue in his belief that it had been years since we’d last met.

“Whatever man marries me
would
have the wherewithal to protect me. He’d have control of
my
inheritance.”

“You will never be able to tell, Audrey, if such a man loves you for yourself or only wishes to wed you for the land you will inherit when I die.”

Fighting tears, I dropped my gaze to my hands. They were clenched so hard that the knuckles showed white. I could say no more without causing Father greater distress, but that was not the only reason I wanted to weep.

I loved Jack Harington, but he had never once said that he loved me, only that he would wed me if he could. It did little to soothe my troubled thoughts to remember that he had behaved nobly, refusing to ask for my hand for exactly the same reasons Father gave—his poverty and lack of prospects.

And what of the other, I wondered—my royal inheritance? That strain of Tudor blood, tainted though it was, had value only if it was acknowledged by the king and now His Grace was gone without ever revealing my true identity to the world.

I frowned in confusion. If there could never be any proof of my parentage, then why was Sir Richard Southwell still so intent upon my marriage to his son?

“My lands will make me a considerable heiress,” I said aloud, “but there are other heiresses far more wealthy than I am. Why has Sir Richard not pursued one of them for his son?”

“He wants
you
.” Father’s whisper was weak but still audible.

“Why?”

“What does it matter? He will not give up. The more you resist, the more determined he will become to have his way.”

Was it that simple? A craving for power over others? I swallowed convulsively, remembering that Sir Richard Southwell had brought down one of the most powerful families in England. The Duke of Norfolk was still a prisoner in the Tower and under sentence of death.

As if she read my thoughts, Mother Anne said, “Sir Richard will leave us in peace once you agree to marry the boy.”

Abruptly, I stood. “I must be alone. To think.”

Responsibility weighed heavily upon me. I did not believe that Father had long to live. Once he was gone, who would protect those he left behind? Mother Anne and the servants and the apprentices would be almost as vulnerable as I was. My actions could bring disaster down upon us all.

I fled the sickroom and the house, pausing only long enough to don my warm cloak. I dashed into Watling Street, catching Edith off guard. By the time she gathered her wits and tried to follow me, I was already out of sight.

Desperate to get away from everyone, I had no destination in mind as my running steps slowed gradually to a fast walk. Oblivious to my surroundings, deaf to the noise and confusion all around me, I pushed my way through the throngs of people clogging London’s streets. I paid them no heed, but I tried in vain to ignore my own chaotic thoughts.

A
t length, when I stopped and looked around, I realized that my feet had carried me into East Cheap and then north along Bishopsgate Street. The former priory of St. Helen’s was within sight.

The servant who answered the door of Sir Jerome Shelton’s house radiated suspicion. I suppose that was only natural, given the events of December and January. Deciding that he would not be likely to tell me if Lady Heveningham was staying there, even if she was within, I contented myself with asking if he would deliver a message to her. With obvious reluctance, he agreed. I gave him my name and asked that she be told I wished to speak with her. Then I left.