Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (24 page)

“Do you know where I might find Doctor Morgan?” I asked.

“In his grave, most like. Or mayhap he returned to his native Wales.” Dr. Chambre chuckled. “Some would say those two fates are the same.”

“I have been told my mother was ill before she ever came to court.”

His interest sharpened. “What ailed her?”

“Mother Guildford told me it was a wasting sickness, mayhap
consumption.” The disease was common enough. It had killed King Henry VII and some thought it had been the cause of Prince Arthur’s death, as well.

I thought I saw a spark of pity in the doctor’s eyes, but it was gone too quickly to be certain.

“She was Sir Rowland Velville’s twin sister,” I added.

“Ah. I know Sir Rowland. But I fear I cannot help you, mistress. I was still a student when your mother died.”

Dr. Chambre had already reached the door when I thought of one last question. “If it was the Countess of Richmond’s physician who cared for my mother, would it have been the countess’s confessor who gave her last rites?”

He paused, looking thoughtful. “I suppose it must have been.”

“Do you remember who he was?”

A short bark of laughter answered me. “Oh, yes, Mistress Popyncourt. He went on to greater things. The countess’s confessor was John Fisher. He’s bishop of Rochester now.”

My hopes of being able to question the priest dashed—one did not gain audiences with bishops easily, even minor ones—I thanked the doctor for his time. When he had gone I sank down on my luxurious bed, disconsolate. Even if I did convince the bishop of Rochester to speak with me in private, he would not tell me anything. He was not permitted to speak of what he heard in the confessional.

With that realization, I began to despair of ever learning more about my mother’s time in England or her reason for bringing us here. Those few people who had come in close contact with her all seemed to be dead or in distant parts…or suffer from passing-poor memories.

To me she remained vivid. I could not understand why she had not made a deeper impression on all those who had met her. Even
if she had been dying—a thing I still found difficult to accept—she should have been memorable.
Especially
if she’d been ill. If the other ladies had shunned her, fearing infection, surely they should recall doing so.

Unless she had deliberately effaced herself.

The air soughed out of my lungs. It appeared that there were only two people left to approach who might know something—my uncle and Lady Catherine Strangeways. To talk to either of them, I would have to arrange for an extended absence from court.

Although I was not sure why, I was reluctant to put my questions in writing. Even if both of them could read and did not need to share the contents with a secretary or a priest—something of which I was not certain even in my uncle’s case—it was far too easy for letters to fall into the wrong hands.

Counseling myself to be patient, I continued to spend my days with the Lady Mary and my nights with the duc de Longueville.

T
HE COURT HAD
moved on to Greenwich Palace by the time the next emissary arrived from France. The duc de Longueville met with him and returned to his lodgings in an expansive mood. I had been sitting near the window with my embroidery while Guy idly played the lute. We both sprang to our feet when the duke came in.

“What news, my lord?” Guy asked. Even though the two men were brothers, Guy never used the duke’s first name. I rarely did myself, and Longueville seemed content to be deferred to.

“The most excellent kind. The new envoy is here to arrange my ransom. Talks have already begun with King Henry’s representatives.”

“Will matters be settled quickly, then?” I asked.

“That will depend upon our success at negotiating another matter.”

“A marriage,” I guessed.

“A marriage…between King Louis the Twelfth of France and the Lady Mary.”

I sat down hard on the window seat, momentarily robbed of speech.

Guy voiced what I was thinking: “I thought Queen Margaret—”

“King Louis has heard that Mary is the most beautiful princess in Christendom. He sees no reason to settle for second best.”

Heard from Longueville himself,
I thought.

“Have you forgotten?” I asked. “The Lady Mary already has a husband. She was married by proxy years ago to Charles of Castile.”

He dismissed that ceremony with a careless wave of one hand. “They have not taken final vows, nor has their marriage been consummated.” The latter was what sealed the bargain. Until husband and wife slept together, they were wedded only on paper. With the cooperation of the church, such alliances—at least among princes—could easily be severed.

“What makes you think King Henry will go along with this plan?” I asked.

To my surprise, he told me.

More than an hour passed before I could leave the duke’s apartments without arousing suspicion. When I did escape, I headed straight for the king’s lodgings.

Hindered by long skirts, it took longer than I wished to race across one of Greenwich’s three courtyards and reenter the palace through a side door to the great hall. Still, the shortcut had saved me some time. I paused only long enough to brush snow from my face and headdress and catch my breath.

A body stitchet of boiled leather is not designed to permit rapid
movement of any kind, and mine was tightly laced. As soon as I had recovered sufficiently, I sped up the stairs that led to the king’s apartments. I did not slow down as I passed through the great watching chamber and I ignored the guards standing at attention at regular intervals around the room. I all but ran through the curtained door that led into the king’s presence chamber.

Seeing neither the king nor Will Compton, I slowed my pace only a little and advanced on the door to the privy chamber. A halberd appeared in front of me just before I could open the door, barring my way.

“You have no business in there, mistress.”

I did not know the young man assigned to keep intruders out of the king’s inner rooms. Frustration had my fingers curling into fists and my lips thinning into a flat, tight line. Nothing I could say would persuade him to let me in. It was his duty to regulate access to King Henry.

Forcing myself to smile, I removed the little dragon pendant my mother had given me so long ago and handed it him. “Give this to Sir William Compton and bid him come to me as soon as he may.”

He held the small piece of jewelry up to examine it. “This is one of the king’s emblems,” he said. “A Welsh dragon.”

That was exactly why I offered it. Outside of the royal family, few people had pieces of jewelry like it. Only my old friends from Eltham would know at once that a message sent with this little dragon had come from me and no other.

“What it is does not concern you, sirrah. Only that you deliver it to Sir William.”

“I cannot leave my post, mistress.” He returned the bauble to me.

I stamped my foot. He lifted an eyebrow, but did not relent.

I turned and surveyed the presence chamber, searching for any familiar face. There must be someone who could fetch Will out to me. I caught sight of Charles Brandon, recently elevated in the peerage to Duke of Suffolk, but doubted he would help. He was too full of himself.

During the campaign in France, the king and Brandon had become even closer than they had been before. Back in England again, King Henry had rewarded his boon companion with a title. The other gentlemen—Harry, Will, Ned, and the rest—were still high in the king’s favor, but none of them had received any honors beyond a knighthood. There was now understandable tension between Brandon and the rest.

I considered asking Ned Neville or Nick Carew for help. Then my gaze settled on Harry Guildford. Although we had not spoken in weeks, I did not hesitate to approach him. I waited until he finished speaking with a gentleman in lawyer’s robes before I tapped him on the shoulder.

“Jane!” Pleasure lit his face…until he remembered. His expression closed and he took a step back instead of greeting me with the customary kiss. “What do you want?”

Schooling my features to conceal how much his disdain wounded me, I asked if he would take a message to Will.

“Looking to couple with him now? I admit he’s a well-set-up fellow, but I’d have thought you’d prefer Brandon. After all, he’s a duke, too.”

Harry’s comment could not have been more hurtful. It was as if he had slapped me. I bit back a cry of pain and simply stared at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“You brought ill feeling on yourself, Jane! How do you expect people to react when you fraternize with the enemy?” He
glared at me, but our gazes locked for only a few seconds before he looked away. Ashamed of himself? I hoped so, but I did not count on it.

I longed to tell Harry the truth, but I did not dare. Bad enough he thought me a whore without adding spy to the list of my sins. Besides, I was sworn to secrecy. No one but Will and the king were supposed to know what I was about.

“I must talk to Will, Harry. It is important. Please. Tell him to come to my lodgings as soon as he can.”

I’d thought he could hold himself no more stiffly, but I’d been wrong. He stared down his nose at me, aloof and condescending, but he agreed to deliver the message.

On my way out of the presence chamber I felt as if every eye was fixed upon me, censorious or, worse, speculative. I returned to my rooms, sent Nan away, and felt my lower lip start to quiver. Before I knew it, I was sobbing as if my heart had broken.

Guy found me like that, sitting on the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks, almost incoherent. He fell to his knees beside me and gathered me into his arms. I do not know what he said to me. His voice was simply a comforting murmur that slowly brought me back to myself.

“You are the only old friend I have left,” I wailed, burying my face against his shoulder. I would have to go to France with Longueville. There was nothing for me here anymore.

“Shhh, Jeanne. It is not so bad as all that.”

“It is. Everyone h-hates me for being with the duke. Even you do not approve.”

“I do not hate you. I cannot.” Very gently, he pressed his lips to mine.

It started out as a comforting kiss, but the moment he slid his
arms around my waist and tugged me against him it became something quite different, something…magical.

My entire body tingled as I arched toward him, seeking to press closer. I returned his kiss, enraptured by the way his lips moved on mine. Longueville had never made me feel like this.

Abruptly, we both went still. He pulled back, slowly releasing me and helping me to my feet. “That should not have happened.”

“No.”

“I cannot regret that it did. I have dreamed of kissing you.”

“Oh.” I pressed my hands to my burning cheeks. “You should not be saying this to me.”

He heaved a gusty sigh. “We will not speak of it again. My brother has the prior claim. Neither one of us wishes to betray him.”

If only he knew! “We must pretend this never happened. Guy, I do not want to lose your friendship.” I would be left with none save a half-wit maid and a self-absorbed princess if that happened.

“Friend is perhaps not the best word for what we have between us,” Guy said, “but I do not want to lose you either. We will pretend.” His mouth twisted into a wry grimace. “We are both good at that.”

I took a step toward him, then stopped, shaking my head. “You should go now.”

“I should.”

Only moments after he’d left, Will Compton arrived. “This had better be important,” he said by way of greeting. “King Louis’ ransom envoy has arrived in England and talks have commenced to negotiate Longueville’s release.”

“Do you think I do not know that? Sit down. I will tell you what I have learned.”

Will gave a low whistle when I’d completed my report. “The
French want a marriage between the Lady Mary and King Louis? Impossible! She is already married to Charles of Castile and will be sent to his court as soon as the final details are worked out.”

“Before King Henry fell ill, it was his sister Margaret’s name the duc de Longueville meant to propose as King Louis’ bride, but now Louis wants Mary. She is younger. Prettier.” I shrugged. “And perhaps he has heard of Margaret’s temper.”

“No one can deny that Mary is beautiful.” Will helped himself to wine from my supply and filled two goblets, handing one to me. “But why would the French king think such a marriage might be possible?”

I hesitated, sipped the wine—a fine Canary—choosing my words with care. Longueville had given me a reason. “King Ferdinand of Spain is about to make a separate peace with France.”

Will’s breath hissed out on a curse. King Henry had gone to war against France with King Ferdinand, Queen Catherine’s father and Charles of Castile’s grandfather, as his ally. The negotiations for peace were supposed to be conducted jointly.

When Will began to pace, I understood his agitation. What I had just told him was not news anyone would wish to deliver to the king of England. Word that King Ferdinand had secretly changed sides would be a severe blow to King Henry’s consequence. It would also affect his ability to secure favorable terms in his own peace with France. I did not need to say that it was the duc de Longueville’s hope that King Henry would be so enraged by King Ferdinand’s duplicity that he would rush into an agreement to marry his sister to King Louis. To jilt Ferdinand’s grandson would be certain to strike Henry as the perfect revenge.

That the Lady Mary would be bartered to someone, no different from the king’s goods or chattels, was not something I could stop, no matter how much I cared for her. There was little to choose, to
my mind, between marriage to young Charles and old Louis…except that if my mistress was sent to France. I could accompany her there. While Will continued to pace and sputter in indignation, I let my mind drift. When all was said and done, perhaps a French marriage would suit me very well indeed.

10

K
ing Henry did not want to believe me on the French reports of the new alliance between King Ferdinand and King Louis, but his own sources soon confirmed it. Once he was convinced that his father-in-law had betrayed him, he was eager to fall in with the duc de Longueville’s suggestion. I accompanied the Lady Mary on the day she was taken into her brother’s confidence. I watched her face as he told her she would one day be queen of France.