The King's Grace (25 page)

His tone was patronizing, and Grace drew herself up to her full five feet in her pattens and gave him a supercilious stare. “Certes, I am fully cognizant of that fact. I wish to see your master, sirrah. I have come to do business with Master Caxton, and no one else. Might I assume from your manners that you are not he?” Her more refined speech had established her superiority. Twice in one day, she thought proudly. The young man bowed and hurried to the stairs that led to Caxton’s office.

Grace looked about her with interest. The great press dominated the workshop and was being overseen by a tall thin man with piercing eyes. She edged closer to the apparatus, whose wooden frame stood almost six feet high. On a table nearby, another apprentice was fitting soft metal letters into a chase. As Grace watched him smear ink over the framed letters, a grizzle-haired man with a full white beard came slowly down the wooden staircase, supported by the apprentice.

“May I help you, mistress? I am William Caxton, the owner of the establishment,” he said, unhooking a stick from a peg and leaning on it as he walked.

“Good day, Master Caxton. I am here on an errand from my mistress, her grace the dowager queen Elizabeth,” Grace replied softly when the
apprentice had moved away to help at the press. She had been expecting to find Sir Edward there, give him the letter and then start back for the abbey. She prayed Caxton knew of her mission and would allow her to wait upstairs for Brampton. She would not put the letter into anyone’s hands but his.

“At your service, my lady.” Caxton bowed gravely. “You are the Lady Grace, I trust?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Fear not. You are safe here, child,” the kindly printer told her, responding to her anxious glances at the others. “This is Master de Worde, my foreman. He looks fierce, but take no notice; ’tis from staring so long at sheets of printed paper to make sure each is perfect. Wynken, show our visitor how the machine works.”

Grace smiled her thanks and went closer to the press. The apprentice laid the now well-inked chase of words into its place and a page of paper upon it, and the foreman pulled down on the heavy bar attached to the screw, pressing the platen quickly onto the page and releasing it. As Grace watched, Caxton gently peeled the paper off the type and held it up for her to inspect. She gasped. It was as though someone had spent hours writing this neat script, but because of the skill and speed of the apprentices in setting the type and the astonishing invention of the press, the page was complete in minutes.

The paper fluttered in her hand and Grace knew the door onto the street had been opened, letting in the wind. She turned and, to her relief, saw Sir Edward Brampton walking towards her, a ready smile on his face.

“Lady Grace, ’tis a pleasure to see you and know that you came here safely,” he began quietly out of earshot of all but Grace and Caxton. “Ah, Caxton, I see you have been showing our young friend this marvelous machine. Did you know this man is renowned throughout Europe for his books, my lady?”

“Pshaw!” Caxton laughed off the compliment. “’Tis her grace, Madame la Grande, who deserves all the praise. Without her patronage, I would still be peddling goods as a Merchant Adventurer in Bruges! I would still be unmarried and not have my lovely daughter.”

“Madame la Grande?” Grace asked. “Who is she?”

“Why, she is your aunt, my lady,” Caxton exclaimed. “Her grace, the duchess Margaret of Burgundy. A most intelligent and beautiful woman.
’Twas she who took me from the Waterhall in Bruges—where the Merchant Adventurers lived, you see—and gave me a position at her court so that I could work on translating the
Recueil
—or
History of Troy
, as it is known in English. Wait, allow me to show you.” Caxton fetched a book from the shelf and put it into Grace’s hands as if it were made of gold.

With reverence, Grace opened the embossed leather volume and read the introduction to the first book ever printed in English:
“At the commandment of the right high, mighty and virtuous princess, his redoubted Lady Margaret, by the grace of God, duchess of Bourgoyne…meekly beseeching the bounteous Highness of my said Lady that of her benevolence listened to accept with favor this simple and rude work here following…”
Grace looked up at Caxton and was touched by his expression. “’Tis humbly said, Master Caxton. I trust my aunt was pleased with your dedication?”

“I am proud to say she shed a tear upon first reading it, just as I will if you continue to remind me of that memorable moment of my life, my lady,” Caxton said, laughing. “Now I must return to my accounts, or this poor fellow here”—he indicated de Worde—“will not be paid this quarter. Lady Grace, Sir Edward,” he murmured, bowing. “I am always at your service.”

Another customer came into the shop, and again the apprentice hurried to greet the newcomer. Sir Edward led Grace to a quiet corner, consternation on his face.

“I fear you are come on a fool’s errand, my lady,” he said, “for which I am deeply sorry. I have received word from my wife in Lisbon that I am required there, and I shall now not be returning to Bruges as I thought. I assume you have come with a letter. Aye, I thought as much. It pains me greatly to break my word to her grace, but I must—and ask her forgiveness.”

Grace’s expression of dismay stirred something in the old sea dog’s heart and he picked up her hand and patted it. “Let us walk in the abbey gardens and think how we might resolve this. I know it would distress your mistress if you returned with this news. I saw how much she was counting on getting word about her son from Burgundy. Her health is not good, I could see that.”

Grace shook her head. “She does not eat, Sir Edward, and she complains of dizziness and shortness of breath.”

Sir Edward nodded. “Her heart has been broken too many times, I fear.
It has weakened over the years.” He took her hand and tucked it under his arm and called farewell to de Worde, who hurried to see them out, where Edgar was waiting.

“I have been fortunate enough to speak to your sister, Viscountess Welles, while I have been at court. She is also a very lively young lady,” Brampton said.

Grace smiled and sighed. “Aye, she is, and I miss her very much. She and I became fast friends until our lives forced us apart. She has come twice to see her mother and me, but she spends much of her time in Lincolnshire at her husband’s estates, I understand, which,” she confided in her companion, “would not please her one little bit. She hates being away from court.”

“I told Lady Cecily of my visit to your mother and how dismayed I was to see the penury in which I found her. I hope she has influence with the king, and that he will relent and allow her grace, the dowager, a place at court again.”

“Hmmm” was all Grace said in response.

The herber behind the abbey was a pleasant place, and Grace remembered her time at the abbot’s old house with Elizabeth well. So much had happened since those early days when she had first been taken in. It was hard to believe six years had passed. Sir Edward’s squire fell into step behind his master and Grace, and Edgar lumbered along a few paces behind the squire. It was nigh on two o’clock and Edgar was thinking about the return journey and the pot of ale waiting for him at his tiny cottage under Bermondsey’s walls. He didn’t much like the look of this foreign gentleman, with his ridiculously high plumed hat, and he was not going to let Grace out of his sight. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and then cleaned it down his belted tunic. He lounged against a wall, just far away enough to be visible and yet close enough to come to Grace’s rescue if necessary.

Grace led the way to her favorite excedra and sat down while Brampton paced back and forth, deep in thought. “I have an idea,” he said suddenly. “’Tis a bold one, and you may dismiss it out of hand, but I have the means to make it work.”

Grace’s young eagerness delighted him, and he took her hand and kissed it. “Queen Elizabeth must be thankful to have such a pretty and
lively attendant, my lady. I was fortunate enough to have a page once who was curious and eager to learn, and he reminds me…” He stopped.
“Jesu Christus,”
he exclaimed in Portuguese. “I wonder what happened to young Pierrequin.”

Grace frowned. “Your plan, Sir Edward. What is your plan?” she said, dismissing the remark about the page. “I dare not return to her grace without hope of delivering this letter. ’Twould break her heart—and her spirit,” she added, touching her chest.

“It would take an act of courage to embark on this adventure, and I do not know how brave you are, my lady,” he said, raising a quizzical eyebrow. He was amused when Grace leaped to her feet and faced him. “Soft, Lady Grace, I see you are no milk-sop. Sit down again and listen.”

“G
RACE
! M
Y DEAREST
sister,” Cecily cried when Grace was ushered into the room. “I am so glad to see you, although”—she stood back to look askance at Grace’s plain brown gown—“I trust all is well with mother? You look as though you have fallen on hard times.”

If you came to see her occasionally, my dear Cecily, perhaps you might find out for yourself, Grace thought indignantly. But she was too happy to see the gregarious Cecily, well into another pregnancy, to chide her out loud. In truth, Elizabeth had received word from Henry’s treasury in February to say her pension was to be raised to four hundred pounds, but, as was typical of all things in government, she had yet to see a penny of the increase.

“How I have missed you, Cis!” Grace said, kissing Cecily warmly on both cheeks. An unexpected lump came into her throat; she had not realized until now how much she longed for company of her own age. She touched the long draped sleeve of Cecily’s fashionable square-necked gown, admiring the rich red kermes silk, delicately woven with white flowers, and envying the ermine-trimmed, stiffly gabled headdress. The jeweled collar that lay prominently upon Cecily’s full breasts was worth a king’s ransom, Grace was sure. I could be wearing a similar garb if I weren’t in attendance on the cloistered queen dowager, she thought fleetingly and was instantly guilt-ridden.

Eyeing the curious attendants, she whispered, “You
do
know why I am come? Or I will have spent a night in a dingy room at the White Horse for
nothing. Edgar—my escort from the abbey—and I had to share straw pallets in the room with four other travelers. I could not sleep for the snoring of one fat woman and the bedbugs eating me alive. Even the dormitory at the convent was better than that.” She crinkled her nose in disgust.

Cecily let loose her high laugh and took Grace in her arms again. “You should see your face, my sweet girl. It would sour milk! Aye, I was expecting you. Come and sit with me, and tell me about
Mother
,” she said, staring meaningfully at Grace. She turned to address her astonished attendants. “For those of you who do not recognize this lady, Grace is my half sister, and I am right glad to see her. Now, we should like some privacy. You may leave us.” The women curtsied to their mistress and to Grace and left, disappointed.

Grace could hear them chattering after the door had closed, and grinned at Cecily. “This will be all around the palace in a matter of hours, I have no doubt,” she said. “I pray Henry will just think I am here with a message from the queen dowager.”

“Oh, a pox on Henry! He will not even care; his mind is on France and Brittany these days, and trying to arrange for Arthur to marry the Spanish infanta,” Cecily said, easing her ungainly body down on the bed with a satisfied grunt and patting the brightly colored counterpane for Grace to join her. “Now tell me everything. Sir Edward was infuriatingly vague, but I did glean that Mother’s well-being was at stake and that I should see you as soon as I could. I told him that I will go to Bermondsey and tell her where you are. ’Twill be safer if I go. Two visits from Sir Edward in as many weeks will give Henry’s spies plenty to twitter about,” she said. “Pray God Mother is not angry; I do not think I could support her ire at the moment.” She winced, her hands caressing her belly. “This one is a kicker. Can you feel him? My sweet Anne never gave me such trouble.”

Grace blushed at the idea of touching Cecily’s distended stomach, but she was glad she did, for the thrill she got from feeling the babe’s foot protruding determinedly through the taut skin was a joyful one. “So you think this is a boy?” she asked, and Cecily nodded confidently.

“I pray you are right, dearest Cecily,” she said and changed the subject. “Before we proceed with the reason for my mission, what news can you give me of Bess? Is she happy? Does she enjoy motherhood? Why does she not come and see her mother more? Does Henry forbid her?”

Cecily frowned. “As John Welles’s wife, I am not at court so much, as you know. Hellowe—his seat in the flat fens of Lincolnshire—is a world away, God help me. It is so dull there, I would even prefer Sheriff Hutton,” she groused, making Grace chuckle. “Bess is always glad to see me, but ’tis not so much Henry who guards her against her own family but that bat-fouling baggage of a mother-in-law. And”—she snorted, and Grace smiled, having forgotten Cecily’s way with words till now—“do not forget, she’s Jack’s stepsister as well. ’Tis all so incestuous, Grace, and I dare not speak a bad word about any of them
to
any of them for fear it will be repeated. But most of all I fear the Beaufort bitch.”

“Aye, Scraggy Maggie,” Grace murmured. “Certes, she is the queen through Bess, I can see that. Poor Bess; she was always the dutiful one among us. I pray you, give her a kiss from me and tell her I pray nightly for her and her babes. I do not, however, pray for her husband. He has treated the queen dowager very ill indeed.”

Cecily nodded. “Bess will be glad to know that you pray for her, Grace—as do I.”

Grace untied and took off her cap. Unpinning her dark curls, she shook them out and breathed a sigh of pleasure as they tumbled free. Cecily pounced on a louse that fell off the linen cap and crushed it between her finger and thumb. “Ugh!” Grace groaned. “It must have come from the tavern straw. Dear Cis, pray comb my hair and make certain there are no more. They are the very devil to be rid of.” While Cecily ran the rosewood comb through Grace’s unruly tresses, Grace asked: “Now, tell me, how much do you know of my upcoming adventure? And will you help me?”