Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (15 page)

Time had wrought few changes in the former lady governess. She was more irascible, it was true. And her hair that had once been brown had more gray and new lines had appeared around her eyes and mouth. Otherwise she was still the same forceful woman I remembered from my youth. She had just entered her fiftieth year.

“I thought you might wish to hear the news from court,” I said from my perch atop a low Flemish chest. She was ensconced in the room’s only chair.

“I am not without friends! And I have eyes to see and ears to hear.” She gestured toward an open octagonal window that took up most of the gable end of the room. “No one could have missed the shouts and huzzahs and ringing bells that celebrated England’s victory over the Scots.”

Nodding, I allowed that the celebrations would have been difficult to miss. “I have news for you of Queen Margaret.”

“Poor chit.” Mother Guildford’s voice abruptly softened. For a moment, I thought she shared my own conflicting feelings of joy and sorrow. “There will be another battle now,” she continued. “This one political. The nobles will fight over who keeps control of the new king’s person while he grows to manhood.”

“Not so. Queen Catherine took a hand in arranging matters. That is my news. As the king’s mother, Margaret Tudor will serve as regent.”

“How long will that last? The Scots will not take to being ruled by a woman. Like as not, Margaret will soon find herself shunted
aside to live out the rest of her life bereft of both husband and children.”

“I do not think I would care to be a queen,” I murmured.

Mother Guildford gave a snort of laughter eerily like the sound her son Harry was wont to make. “On that we can agree. Now tell me why you really came to visit me.”

“Because you know everyone of any significance in all of England.”

“True enough.” Mother Guildford preened a bit.

“Do you remember my mother, Joan Popyncourt? She joined the household of Queen Elizabeth of York about fifteen years ago.”

A hint of wariness came into Mother Guildford’s expression. “She was not with us long.”

“Mid-June until early September.”

I thought I detected a flash of sympathy in her steel gray eyes. “Your mother came to England with you because she had family here. Talk to your uncle if you wish to know more. He is still alive, is he not?”

“Sir Rowland is abroad with the king. I will speak with him when he returns to England, but in the meantime there must be others I can ask about her.”

“What is it you wish to know—and why now?”

Why did we leave France in such a hurry? Why did we bring nothing with us but our clothing?
I thought to myself.

Aloud, I said only, “I have found myself remembering her of late and wondering about her last days. I thought perhaps she might have confided in you, mayhap told you what her reasons were for leaving France.”

“I did not know her well enough to inspire confidences.”

“Did anyone?” I held my breath.

“No.”

I hid my disappointment. My gaze shifted to my hands, folded in my lap. I clasped them together so tightly that the seam on one glove popped.

I could feel Mother Guildford’s gaze boring into me. She waited until I looked at her to say, “She was already dying by the time she reached England.”

“That is not possible! Surely if there was something wrong with her when we left France I would have noticed.”

“You were a child, Jane. Your mother took pains to hide her illness from you. A wasting sickness, as I recall.” Sitting stiffly in her leather-backed chair, Mother Guildford’s expression was set in grim lines. “No doubt
that
is why she came to England. She hoped her brother would provide for you, as he did by finding you a place at Eltham.”

She could have found me a place at the court of Anne of Brittany,
I thought. Besides, Mother Guildford’s explanation did not mesh with my memory of that first meeting between my mother and King Henry.

“My uncle cares little about me. Indeed, he has gone out of his way to avoid me since my mother died.”

“He did his duty by you. Upon her death, you became a royal ward.”

“Maman talked privately with the king when we first arrived. I was in the room with them. He promised to look after us both.” That, too, now that I thought about it, seemed strange. Why had he taken responsibility for me?

“Underage children of the gentry and nobility almost always become wards of the crown when their parents die. Do not think yourself anything out of the ordinary.”

But I was,
I thought. I’d had no wealth or property to be used
for the king’s benefit during my minority. Why had he bothered to assume responsibility for me? And why, since I
had
been his ward, had he not found me a husband? In the ordinary way of things, that was the first duty of a guardian. There had to be more to the story.

“Who was with my mother when she died? If not a friend or confidante, then what servant had she? Which of the queen’s other ladies was her bedfellow?” Few at court had the luxury of a bed to themselves. I could not remember ever sleeping alone. I usually shared both chamber and bed with one or two other gentlewomen.

Reluctantly, Mother Guildford said, “We were on progress.”

“I remember. That was the reason Maman could not come to Eltham to visit me.” King Henry VII, Queen Elizabeth of York, the Countess of Richmond, and their households had all traveled together, first into Essex and then north. Along the way they’d visited numerous courtiers and stayed at an assortment of castles and manors.

“She died at Collyweston,” Mother Guildford continued. “That was the king’s mother’s principal residence. When it was clear that your mother was dying, the countess ordered her removed to a small room of her own for fear of contagion.”

“She was left alone?” Horrible thought!

“One of the royal physicians was likely sent to her. She’d have had a servant to see to her needs.”

“Who?”

“How should I remember? It was many years ago.”

“What physician, then?”

“I do not know.” Mother Guildford held up a hand, palm toward me, to stop me from asking more questions. “I have an excellent memory, Jane, but I cannot recall every detail, nor can I tell you something I never knew.”

“Did Maman have a confessor? Surely a priest must have given her last rites.”

“I am certain one did, but again I have no idea who he might have been.”

“Someone must know. Who might I ask?”

“The queen’s household was broken up when Elizabeth of York died. By then I had been placed in charge of the Lady Mary’s household at Eltham. I do not know where anyone went. They are scattered, if not dead, by this time. It would be most difficult to track them down and I do much doubt they could tell you any more than I have. No one knew your mother well, Jane. She was not with us long enough and she kept to herself.”

In my agitation, I could no longer be still. I stood and began to pace, my steps taking me to the cold hearth, then across the room to a window hung with curtains of green say. It overlooked a small garden, ill tended. “If she was ill…dying…why did no one do anything to help her?”

“Shall I tell you what I recall of your mother’s illness?” Her voice sounded reluctant.

“Yes, if it please you.”

“It does not particularly, but I can see you will not let the matter rest until you have satisfied your curiosity.” Her tone was the same one she’d used to quell childish rebellions in the nursery. “With each passing day on progress, your mother seemed to grow weaker and more listless. She never ate much. I suppose she had difficulty keeping food down, but she did not complain. She did not ask for physic. Then, near the end, she collapsed. That is when she was separated from the other ladies. I am told she lay on her bed like a dead woman, only the movement of her eyes showing that she still lived. And then she did die.”

“And no one cared.”

“People sicken and die all the time, Jane. It is God’s will. You must be satisfied with that.”

No,
I thought.
I cannot be.

I had lived too long questioning nothing. It was past time I dug further into my own background. There
were
answers to my questions, all of them, and I was determined to find them. When my uncle returned from the French war, I would be waiting for him.

I
N THE ABSENCE
of both King Henry and Queen Catherine, we remained in the Tower of London. The queen, having managed things to her liking in the matter of Scotland, all without the need to travel farther north than Woburn, went on to Walsingham to visit the shrine of Our Lady. This was a popular pilgrimage for women who wished to pray for the safe delivery of healthy children.

The Lady Mary and I passed our time agreeably enough. King Henry VII’s library was housed in the tower he’d built adjacent to the royal apartments. It contained French romances as well as religious tomes and histories. The Lady Mary enjoyed being read to. Still more, however, she liked to be active and she preferred to include gentlemen in her activities. The duc de Longueville accompanied us when we went to visit the royal menagerie.

“Kings of England have kept lions and leopards here at the Tower of London for as long as anyone can remember,” the Lady Mary told him.

The three of us peered into the pit where one of the great cats was confined. He had a golden mane and many sharp teeth and roared when the Lady Mary threw a rock in his direction.

“In my father’s reign,” Mary said, “a lion just like that one mauled a man to death.”

I was surprised she remembered hearing about that incident,
for she’d been no more than three at the time. It was before I came to court. Her brother Henry had been old enough that when he’d been told what happened, he’d vowed never to go near the beasts again. To the best of my knowledge, he never had.

“In France, lions are used for sport,” the duke said. “Once I saw a mastiff pull down first a huge bear, then a leopard, and finally a lion, one after the other.”

“My father,” Mary countered, “once ordered a mastiff hanged because it presumed to fight against a lion. The lion, he said, was king and had sovereignty over all other beasts, therefore it was treason for a dog to attack it.”

“Let us go look at the porcupine,” I suggested.

Before we parted company with the duke, the princess invited him and the other French prisoners to dine with her the next day.

“What do you mean to offer for entertainment after we dine?” I asked as we watched Longueville walk away.

Mary’s smile faded. “It was most unfair of Henry to take the King’s Players away with him to war, and his fools and minstrels, as well. How am I to provide a lavish display with only a few musicians?”

“They will do well enough to provide music for dancing. And I am not without resources. I did help Harry Guildford devise some of his masques and pageants. Thanks to Harry, I know how to procure the services of tumblers, jugglers, and Morris dancers. I also know where to find John Goose.”

“Henry’s Goose?”

“The same.” The elderly fool, once part of the young Duke of York’s household at Eltham, had retired years before, but he lived in London.

I made all the arrangements. Less than twenty-four hours later, Goose was taking his final bow and the Lady Mary, wearing a new
gown of carnation-colored brocade, claimed the duc de Longueville as her partner for a dance.

I found myself facing Guy Dunois as the musicians struck up a lively tune. “You look tired, Jane,” he said.

I made a face at him. “You are supposed to tell me my beauty surpasses that of a rose and give me other flowery compliments.”

We parted, as the dance demanded. When we faced each other again, his eyes were full of mischief. “You were never the rose, Jane, and these days, I vow, you are more like the thorn.”

“How wicked of you to say so.”

“I do but tell the truth. If you prick me, I will bleed.”

When we danced apart again, I frowned, trying to make sense of his banter. I had never purposely hurt Guy. Was he only teasing me, or had I inadvertently caused him pain? Or did he mean that I was about to?

As we once more joined hands, he begged my pardon for his harsh words. “You are, it is certain, no English rose, nor yet a French lily, but mayhap you are one of those new blossoms from the East that now grow in the Low Countries. They call them daffodils.”

For the second dance, Guy partnered the Lady Mary and I found myself facing the duc de Longueville. Rational thought fled. He paid me all the pretty compliments I could desire, making me feel like a princess myself.

He was a superb dancer, even better than King Henry. When he partnered the Lady Mary for a second time, I retired from the floor and gave myself leave to stare at him with unabashed appreciation.

Small shivers of excitement passed through me as I watched him caper and cavort. There was no question but that he was toothsome and that I was physically attracted to him. I told myself
he was not for me, but I could not stop myself from imagining what skills he might bring to the bedchamber.

I repressed a sigh and chided myself for my wanton thoughts. When he was eventually ransomed, he would return to France to his wife. If he took me for a mistress now, where would I be then?

Tearing myself away, I slipped into the antechamber where the hired entertainers had gathered. It was my responsibility to make sure all of them had been fed and had received payment for their services. I stopped before the fool. “Master Goose,” I said. “Well played.”

“Mistress.” Age had lowered the pitch of his voice, but not by much.

Some fools are innocents, in need of a keeper to make certain they are fed and clothed. Others live by their wits, daring to be outrageous but seeing far more than they ever speak of. John Goose was in the latter category. “Did you know my mother, Goose?” I asked on an impulse.

“No, mistress. She was part of Queen Elizabeth’s household. I belonged to young Henry.”

I might have left it at that, but if Goose knew my mother had been one of the queen’s ladies, he might also recall other names. “Who else was there then?” I asked. “Can you remember?”