The Forbidden Queen (57 page)

‘I suppose there is little purpose in my trying to make amends and asking Lord Humphrey to dine with us,’ I remarked to Bishop Henry, who still lingered, thoughtfully, at my side.

His regard was quizzical. ‘That was not wise, Katherine. What did you hope to achieve? Antagonising the man, however satisfying, as I know from my own experience, will not help your cause.’

But I shrugged, unregretful. ‘It was eminently satisfying. I enjoyed the expression on his face. Nothing I say will win him round, so I have destroyed nothing that could be made to work in my favour.’

But Bishop Henry frowned. ‘Be discreet. Compromising behaviour will bring you to the public eye, and who’s to know the result.’ Surprising me, he seized my hand. ‘I beg of you, Katherine. It’s not too late. Draw back from this.’

But I tugged my hand free. So he was not my friend either.

‘I have no intention of flaunting my love in public as if it were some deplorable scandal. It is not. I have brought no ill repute to my son or the English Crown.’ I eyed him. ‘Have you spoken with your nephew yet?’

‘No.’ Head bent in thought, as if he would see the answer in the extravagantly floriferous tiles beneath his episcopal boots, the bishop was already making his way to the door, although I doubted it was to catch up with Gloucester. ‘I’ll try and get to him before Gloucester does, and beat some sense into him.’

‘Sense? Do you think to persuade him to withdraw?’ All the energy that had driven me into defiance against Gloucester began to fade in the face of this new opposition.
It hurt that Bishop Henry should stand against me too. ‘So you agree with Gloucester,’ I said sadly. ‘You would advise me against it.’

‘I don’t know.’ At the door he paused, with troubled eyes. ‘All I know is that Gloucester will stop at nothing to destroy the rise of the Beaufort star in the Heavens.’ His smile was dry and brittle. ‘It is my wish, of course, to see our star rise. And until I see my way to it, my advice to you, my dear Katherine, is that you remain…’ he hovered over the word ‘… circumspect.’

A word that could mean anything or nothing.

‘And unwed,’ I added despondently.

He shrugged. ‘Don’t give up hope, my dear.’

Alice, silent throughout, walked at last to stand beside me as the bishop departed and placed her hand on my arm, which now trembled. ‘Madam Joanna did warn you, my lady.’

‘So she did. And Warwick, in his way.’

What would Edmund say in the wake of this denunciation?

‘Why should we not declare our love?’ I was eager, wanting to shout it aloud to the whole world.

We had returned to Windsor, Edmund travelling openly with me as one of my escort, my preferred companion. Why should he not? His protection, as cousin to my son, was quite unexceptional. It was impossible not to watch his lithe figure astride his burnished mount as he paced beside my litter. I was so full of exuberance that it was hard to pretend that there was nothing between us but family ties, friendship and formal courtesy.

This was the man I would marry. Why should we not be seen to love and be loved? Was it not now more than a year since Edmund had wooed me at Windsor in a frenzy of evergreens and old traditions made new, cloaked in velvet and winged in silver?

‘What need for secrecy?’ I demanded. ‘Who would possibly object?’

Edmund was well born. His blood could be no better, the slur of illegitimacy having long since been laid to rest. Who could take exception to his wooing of the Queen Dowager?

‘Wait a little, my love,’ he murmured against my temple, his lips a fleeting caress when he tucked me into my litter for the return journey.

But I gripped the front of his tunic. ‘I don’t understand why.’

Carefully he detached my hands, folding them one upon the other in my lap. ‘Because it wouldn’t do to cause political tongues to wag,’ he stated, smiling down into my eyes, willing me to see the future as he saw it. ‘Not yet. You must trust me.’ Even though his voice remained unemotionally cool, as if we were discussing the arrangements for the journey, Edmund remained implacable. No one would suspect the heated tenor of his reply as he leaned over me, arranging the cushions for my comfort.

‘One day you will be mine. I will take you to my bed as my wife, and there I will open the windows into heaven for you. You must be patient, my loved one. First I must make my intentions known to Gloucester and Bishop Henry. To the Royal Council. You are Queen Dowager and I am a Beaufort. Ours will be a political alliance, as well as one grounded in true love. It will not be done in secret.’

Which made good sense.

He reached up to untie the curtains, to shield me from
the sharp wind. ‘Exercise patience, Queen Kat, and hold on to the fact that my love for you is infinite.’ And the curtain was dropped into place.

But how difficult it was to be patient. What possible obstacle would there be for the marriage of a widowed queen and a young man of royal blood? It would harm no one. Young Henry liked Edmund. And I was tossed in a sea of longing, to be with him and know the happiness of fulfilment.

I will take you to my bed and open the windows into heaven
.

I could not wait.

But wait, Edmund had advised. Wait for a little time. So that was what I must do. I settled back against my cushions. I was too happy to be concerned, too secure in his love, anticipating the day when we would be together.

Back at Windsor, leaving Edmund to stable his horse and a tight-lipped Master of Household to organise the dispatch of my litter and escort, I went straight to the royal accommodations. And there was Young Henry in a creased tunic and hose, his fingers sticky with some sweetmeat, his hair clearly not having seen a comb for some hours. He ran to me and I lifted him into my arms. He was growing heavy at almost five years.

‘Have you brought me a gift,
maman
?’

‘I have.’

‘Can I eat it?’

I enclosed his hand in mine to prevent him smearing
honey on my bodice. ‘I don’t think you can.’ A creak of the hinge on the door and a soft hush of skirts caught my notice. ‘Look who’s come to find you, Henry. What do you think, Alice? I think he has grown in even a short few weeks.’ I turned my head, smiling my welcome. ‘Do you?’

It was not Alice who had entered. In the doorway I saw that the woman had not Alice’s upright carriage or robust figure; rather my visitor was fragile and moved with care over each separate step. And then she moved forward into a stripe of sunlight and my visitor was plain to see. Letting my son slide to the floor, I walked to meet her as I smiled, my heart warming, silently admitting that the blame was mine for the distance that remained between us.

‘Madam Joanna!’

It had been too long—Henry’s funeral, in fact—since I had last found time to sit and talk to her.

Young Henry ran to her, but, seeing her involuntarily drawing back, I caught him before he could hang on her skirts. The lines gouged beside eye and mouth, more cruel than I recalled, told their own tale.

‘Will you sit? You are right welcome.’ Keeping Henry at bay I took her hand and led her to a settle that was not too low, where I helped her to sink slowly back against the upright support.

Joanna sighed, a sound that was almost a groan.

‘Thank you, dear child.’ She managed to summon a smile. ‘Now you can kiss me.’

I did, shocked by the quality of her skin at close quarters for it was dry and as thin and yellow as old parchment. The pain in her limbs was clearly great, the malaise gaining strength with each month’s passing. Acknowledging that she would not wish me to talk of it, I merely kissed her cheek again.

‘When did you arrive?’ I asked.

‘Yesterday. I came up in easy stages from King’s Langley.’

‘To see me? Then it is my fortune that I returned today.’ I enfolded her gnarled fingers with their swollen joints very carefully in mine.

‘They said you were at Leeds.’

‘Yes.’ I whispered in a restless Young Henry’s ear and sent him off at a run to bring wine for our guest, nodding to my page Thomas, who would follow him, while I sat at Joanna’s side. She shuffled in discomfort and I could not but ask, ‘Madam Joanna, are you quite well? Should you have travelled so far?’

‘My joints ache, but I expect no less.’ The movement of her lips was spare. ‘I thought I had to come.’

‘Well, of course.’ Not quite understanding. ‘Why should you not visit me? Although it would have been more thoughtful of me to come to King’s Langley. Forgive me, madam. Will you stay? If only for a few days? Henry will enjoy showing you his new skills with a wooden sword. As long as you stay well out of reach, of course.’

But Madam Joanna no longer smiled, rather withdrawing
her hands from mine. In that brief gesture I had the impression that if she had been able to do it easily she would have stood and walked away to put some distance between us.

‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Has something happened to upset you?’

Madam Joanna’s eyes were old, full of knowledge, full of past grief, but her gaze was uncomfortably direct. ‘I have come for a purpose. When you have heard me out, you may not wish me to stay long.’

It was a disturbing disclosure, but still I did not follow. ‘I’m sorry, why ever would I not wish you to stay?’

‘Is Edmund Beaufort here?’

‘Why, yes. Yes, he is.’

‘Was he with you at Leeds Castle?’

Now I saw the direction of her questioning. ‘Yes.’ I raised my chin at the first trickle of apprehension that tightened just a little round my heart. But I was not perturbed. Perhaps she did not truly understand, and when she did—for surely Edmund would have no compunction about my telling Madam Joanna—why, then, she would wish me well for she had nothing but my happiness at heart. ‘Yes,’ I repeated, ‘he was at Leeds.’

Startling me, she raised her hands to cup my cheeks as if I were a child to be cosseted, shielded from some unpleasantness. Then let them fall into her lap and her words drove straight through all my new-found happiness.

‘Oh, Katherine! Will you take some advice from an
old woman who has seen much and suffered grievously at the hands of ambitious men?’ And for the first time I saw that her lack of ease was more than swollen and aching joints. She was sick to her soul, and my suspicions were grave. ‘I am not your mother to give you advice, but I’m the nearest you’ve got. I think you should be wary of too close a friendship with Edmund Beaufort.’

I kept my reply even, though my heart quaked. ‘Do you not like him?’

‘Liking him or otherwise is not the issue. It is a dangerous liaison, Katherine.’ How gentle her voice, how compassionate her eyes, but how ominous her choice of words.

‘You do not approve of our friendship.’

‘It is not wise.’

‘How can it not be wise?’ My replies were becoming more and more icy. ‘He is cousin to my son.’

‘If friendship is all it is, then I must ask your pardon.’ She tilted her chin, as if she could read my mind. ‘But I suspect it to be more than that, my dear girl.’

I looked away, quick to dissemble, fearing her displeasure, as I had always feared the displeasure of those around me. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Be honest with me, Katherine. How much is between you?’

I looked down at my clasped fingers, white with tension.

‘He makes me happy.’

‘Happy?’

Abruptly I stood and walked across the room until I came to a halt in the centre, keeping my back to her. I could not bear to see the reproof in her face. I concentrated on the leaping flames in the hearth as I chose my words to express all that I thought and felt from this miracle that was Edmund Beaufort.

‘Yes, Edmund makes me happy. Is that a sin, Madam Joanna? I think it is not. Do you know? He makes me smile and laugh and enjoy all that life can offer. He makes my heart sing for joy. He has lifted a weight from my shoulders so that I feel young again. No one has ever done that for me. No one ever cared enough about me. Before I knew him, after Henry’s death I was dragged down by loneliness and misery. I felt so old and superfluous. I was wretched indeed. Perhaps I should be despised for lack of will, of character. But so it was.’

I drew in a breath. Joanna waited, sensing that I still had things I needed to say.

‘Then Edmund Beaufort came into my life with such energy, such immeasurable elation. Such skill in forcing me to see what I might be if I was brave enough to take the steps. I have never known anyone like him. He has saved me from my black humours, he has dragged me back into life. Can you understand that?’

‘I too know what it is to be lonely, Katherine.’

And guilt flooded through me. Spinning round, I flung back to kneel at her feet, searching her face for some understanding.

‘Forgive me. Forgive me. Of course you do—but then you must know how much I value…’

‘Katherine! How much is between you?’ she repeated.

‘He loves me,’ I replied simply.

‘He has told you this, has he?’

‘Yes. And I love him.’

‘Damn the boy! He would, of course.’ She touched my hair, tucking a wayward strand beneath my veil, and her question was soft but I heard the bite. ‘I hear he seduced you in the heat of Twelfth Night revels.’

‘Who told you that?’ I demanded, displeased.

‘It doesn’t matter. James should have warned you, but I expect he was too taken up with his freedom and his new bride.’ She eyed me. ‘How unfortunate that he has gone back to Scotland. He’s an astute young man and you might listen to his advice before you listen to mine.’

‘But they are friends,’ I objected. ‘Why would he warn me against Edmund?’

‘So they might be friends. But James has a keen nose for self-preservation and power-brokering.’ For a moment she paused. ‘Have you been foolish enough to be intimate with him?’

I flushed to the roots of my hair.

‘Have you?’

‘No. I have not.’

‘Did he try to persuade you? I wager he did.’

I shook my head, turning my face away. ‘I would not,’ I whispered.

‘Then you are fortunate. The Beauforts have more charm than is good for them, and Edmund more than most, while you are beautiful and lonely and…vulnerable.’