By Loyalty Bound: The Story of the Mistress of King Richard III (19 page)

“There is talk of war again,” sighed Isabella as she read extracts of her letter to Anne. “The Duke of Burgundy has been killed and the French king is threatening to seize his domains. Duchess Margaret has written to Edward and asked him to send an army, but he refuses, seemingly reluctant to forfeit his French pension.” She paused and turned the letter over. “There’s also more trouble between the king and George of Clarence. He has a fancy to marry Margaret’s step-daughter, Mary, but the king will not hear of it. Robert thinks it would give him too much power. Edward still does not entirely trust him. There is to be a great council meeting in Westminster to discuss the crisis.”

A few weeks later, Uncle Robert came to Pontefract and told them more.

“The king is furious,” he said. “There is a rumour that Clarence had two astrologers cast the king’s horoscope to try to ascertain when he will die; they say that they discovered the next monarch’s name will begin with a ‘G’.”

“For George, Duke of Clarence?” said Anne in shocked surprise. “But casting the king’s horoscope is treason in itself. Why would he do such a thing?”

Uncle Robert shook his head. “The dispute over the Warwick lands has strained the relations between the king and his brother. They no longer speak directly, just send one another ill-tempered messages. And I also hear that Clarence and his followers are spreading leaflets around London encouraging people to rise against the king.”

“So, he still wants the crown for himself,” said Anne. “I know that Richard found it hard to accept his disloyalty when Warwick rebelled. I don’t suppose he’s pleased by this turn of events.”

“No, the duke is sorely displeased with his brother and I can see trouble ahead,” said her uncle gloomily. “Especially when Clarence asserts that the king is not his father’s son, but the son of a French archer and that he, Clarence, is the rightful monarch.”

Easter fell on the sixth day of April in 1477 and the Great Council broke up. On his way north, Richard stopped to see his children, and Anne.

“My brother Clarence has gone to Warwick Castle,” he told her as they strolled along the wallwalk in the warm spring sunshine. “And my sister Margaret still appeals for help in Burgundy, but the king is mindful of his treaty with the French. It’s all a mess,” he commented, with a faraway look in his eyes as he gazed down over the town of Pontefract. “I don’t know how this affair with George will end. He tries the king’s patience so severely with his claims that the crown is rightfully his that I can see no solution.”

Anne put out a hand to touch his arm in reassurance but she merely skimmed the fabric of his sleeve and then drew back. She longed to hold him and have him hold her and she suspected that he felt the same.

She knew that even the slightest touch between them might break their self-control. But she also knew how much it would hurt him to break the vows he had made to his wife and she did not want the guilt - or his accusations that she had tempted him.

Some weeks later Uncle Robert broke his journey north to Middleham from London with a serious and worried face.

“What is wrong?” asked Anne as he came into her solar where she was embroidering a little gown for Katherine to wear at midsummer.

“The king has had Clarence arrested and sent to the Tower, accused of treason,” he told her. Anne stared at him in disbelief as he began to explain. “Clarence accused his late wife’s attendant, Ankarette Twynho, of poisoning her. He said that she gave Isabel a drink of ale mixed with poison four days after the birth of the baby. When he returned to Warwick at Eastertide he sent armed men to bring the woman from her home in Frome to Warwick Castle. She was put on trial and although she pleaded not guilty she was taken to the gallows and hanged the same day. And that is not all. On his return to London, Clarence had his men spread leaflets about the city making all manner of wild accusations against the king. Edward fears that Clarence has become too powerful and too unpredictable.”

“But surely the king won’t execute his own brother?” asked Anne, stunned by the events that had taken place whilst she played with her children in the Yorkshire sunshine. “What does Richard say?”

“He is very angry with Clarence. You know that he cannot abide any disloyalty to the king. But what will become of Clarence now I cannot say.”

June 1477 brought more immediate trouble for Anne. As soon as the letter with the seal of the eagle’s claw was placed in her hand she knew what it would contain. It was the letter she had been both expecting and dreading and she didn’t need to read it to know that her husband, Edward Stanley, had reached his fourteenth birthday and she was summoned to Lancashire for her marriage to be consummated.

Her first thought was for her children. It did not surprise her that no mention was made of provision for them and she understood by this omission that they would not be welcome. She sat down on the stool at her writing desk and stared at the letter for a long time wondering what she should do. Then, after opening up the little wooden writing box and taking out a quill, she sharpened it, dipped it into the ink-horn, and wrote to Richard at Middleham.

A few days later a messenger dressed in his familiar blue and murrey colours brought his reply. He told her that he would take the children into his own household and that, if she desired it, he would arrange for her to enter the sanctuary of a convent rather than the obligations of her marriage.

She sat and held the letter. It was not written by a secretary but was in his own hand and she wept, not just because she would be parted from her children, but because whichever option she chose it meant that she would no longer have the meagre comfort she received from his visits to see John and Katherine whenever he had business at Pontefract.

She knew that his preferred choice was that she should go to the convent, but she was not ready just yet to cut herself off entirely from the secular world. Besides, in her letters, Izzie still implored her to return to the Stanleys so that they could be re-united. If she returned she might eventually be allowed to go back to Hornby with Edward Stanley. She would be able to visit her sister at Melling and Anne hoped that she would find consolation with Izzie that would be impossible within the walls of a nunnery.

After long consideration she wrote to Richard to thank him for his offer of protection but to say that she had chosen to acknowledge her marriage. He replied briefly that he would respect her decision and gave a date on which he would come for the children.

Anne sat in the nursery with John and Katherine, trying not to cry. She was bereft at the thought that she might never see them again and had been unable to explain to them what was to happen, other than to say that they were to visit their father in one of his other castles.

Her stomach lurched as she heard the horses coming but rather than going down to the hall to greet him she waited, not knowing how she could face what was to come.

Before long she heard his voice as he came up the stairs and John looked up from his game with the little carved horses and knights that Richard had given him.

“Papa?” he asked her. Anne nodded, her lips pressed together against her tears.

The door opened and he came in. He was dressed in dark blue and his hair was longer than it had been the last time she’d seen him. There was a shadow of stubble around his cheeks and chin as if he had not shaved that day and before he had chance to say anything his son had flung himself at him. “Papa!” he exclaimed and Anne was torn between the torment of losing him and thankfulness that he loved Richard so much; a love that was visibly returned as his father bent to hug and kiss him.

“How you have grown into a comely young man!” he told him and, keeping one hand on the boy’s head said, “And where is my pretty daughter?”

Katherine had been clinging to Anne’s skirts but when her father bent and held out his arms she ran to him with a smile and he picked her up and swung her around in a wide arc making her squeal and clutch at him. Then holding her in one arm and with his other hand on John’s shoulder his eyes at last met hers.

“Anne. Are you well?”

“I am well, Your Grace,” she choked as she made her curtsey to him, desiring with all her being to run to him as the children had, to be hugged and kissed and held as he held them. “And you?” she managed to ask, although it was an unnecessary question. He had the look of a man who was content with his place in the world.

“I am well,” he replied. “Now,” he said to the children, “do you want to come to the stables and see what I have brought for you?”

“A horse?” asked John, looking up at his father with an eager face.

“You’ll see in a moment,” replied Richard. He grasped them both by the hand and was about to take them out when he turned back to her. “Will you come as well?” he asked.

She nodded and followed them down the stairs. Both John and Katherine were quizzing their father about the animals he had brought. What size? What colour? What were their names? When could they ride them?

“Soon!” he laughed. “But first they need to rest and eat their dinner. They have walked all the way from Jervaulx Abbey and their legs are very tired. How would you like to come to Middleham Castle and live with me for a while?” he asked as the children danced on the ends of his hands.

“Yes! Yes, please!” they cried and Anne wept as she followed behind and listened to them.

He had brought a sturdy bay pony for John and a little dapple grey with pretty dark eyes for Katherine.

“Kate is too little to ride all the way to Middleham,” said Anne as Richard lifted his daughter to sit on the pony’s back and she leaned forward to hug her arms around its neck.

“I had no thought of her riding all the way,” he replied. “I have brought a small litter for her to travel in if she becomes tired.” Anne nodded, duly reprimanded. She knew that he thought she fussed over the children more than was good for them.

“When do you plan to leave?”

“I thought to stay a day or two. There are some matters I can attend to whilst I’m here. Unless that makes it too hard for you?” He turned to her in the gloom of the stable and Anne saw that he understood how difficult this would be for her.

“Please stay,” she said. She knew that putting off the parting with the children would not make it easier when they did go and that parting from him again would be almost unbearable, but she gave in to the temptation of two more days; two more days with John and Katherine; two more days with him. And although she knew that he would not come to her as a lover, she hoped that he would spare some time to come to her as a friend before she finally gave herself up to Edward Stanley.

He nodded and rested his hand on her arm, sending a whirling surge of desire for him coursing through her body. “They will be well cared for. I promise you that.”

“And your other son?” she asked after a moment, when she had regained control of herself. “How is he?”

“Edward is beginning to thrive, thank God,” he told her. “We were fearful for him, but his health improves.” He glanced back at their son and daughter. “I pray he grows as strong and bold as these.”

“I pray so too,” she said, and although she wanted to ask about his wife, in the way that she sometimes wanted to press the hurt of a bruise, she didn’t and Richard said nothing about her although she knew that Anne Neville was never far from his thoughts.

The morning came when they were to leave and although Anne had expected the rain to pour down from a dark sky she saw that it was bright and sunny, and she was thankful for her children’s sake that they would have a pleasant day to begin their journey. She dressed quickly and hurried to the nursery, determined to join John and Katherine at their prayers and see them dressed and fed one last time.

She kissed them both as soon as she saw them. They were excited about their journey to Middleham with their father and Anne tried to match their eager talk as they asked her questions she could not answer about the castle.

Richard did not come to them, although he had visited the nursery on the other mornings of his brief stay. Anne was thankful that he had realised her unspoken need to say goodbye to her children alone.

Too soon a servant came to say the coffers were loaded and the horses ready. She fussed over the children’s clothing, making sure their hats were secure and their coats were fastened. But they were eager to set off and as soon as she released them from her arms they ran down to the courtyard and the ponies that they had been promised they could ride at least part of the way.

Richard was waiting. The morning sun illuminated him and Anne’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. She watched as the children ran to him without hesitation and he lifted them to their saddles, making sure their feet were in the stirrups and the reins in their hands. John he trusted to ride alone; a squire was to lead Katherine’s pony.

Taking a breath to compose herself Anne went to say her farewells, determined that the children’s memory of her should be a smiling mother rather than one convulsed in tears. She tried to tell them that she loved them and would miss them, but their thoughts were already of their adventure and their new home and they seemed to have dismissed her from their lives already. Anne tried not to be hurt. They did not realise the enormity of the parting and she hoped that, when they did, they would not miss her too much.

Finally she turned to Richard who had watched as she had kissed and blessed both John and Katherine. He stepped forward and put his arms around her. His hands sought out the contours of her back as he pressed her close to him and his lips caressed her cheek. She clung to his familiar body, savouring the moment, until he put her from him and turned, without a word, to his horse. Through her tears she saw him wipe his own face before he mounted the stallion. He didn’t say goodbye as they rode from the courtyard but Anne saw him glance back as they turned out of the gateway. She raised a hand in farewell, her silver ring catching the light. She didn’t know if she would ever see him or her children again and she prayed that Anne Neville would be kind to them.

A few days later armed men from Lord Stanley came to escort her to Lathom. They transferred all the belongings she had accumulated during her years at Pontefract onto baggage carts and, after she had thanked the servants with handfuls of coins, Anne stepped into the waiting carriage. Accompanied only by an unknown woman from the Stanley household, she closed her eyes in private prayer as they rolled out from the safety of Pontefract’s high walls and took the road westwards.

Lathom House looked unchanged as they approached and, although Anne’s whole being drooped at the sight of it, she was glad that her prolonged and trying journey was over. No one came out to meet her. A groom helped her down and, as she stood shivering, a servant opened the outer door ajar. An ominous silence fell as she walked in. Lord Stanley stood waiting. He looked older and even more severe as his critical eyes surveyed her. Trembling, Anne curtseyed, her eyes straying as she did so to the woman dressed in black who sat in Lady Stanley’s chair. So this was Lady Margaret Beaufort, she thought, widow of Sir Henry Stafford and Thomas Stanley’s new wife. She was reputed to be a pious woman, but Anne thought that she looked merely sour.

Then she saw her husband, Edward Stanley. He had grown taller and his shoulders were broadening under a dark green velvet doublet. His pale eyes, under a fringe of thick fair hair, regarded her with as much distaste as ever.

The hostile silence seemed to last forever until it was broken by Lord Stanley. “Greet your wife,” he told his son and Edward came towards her and took the hand she proffered. He touched it with his lips as though tasting some dish that had taken on a putrid air and after he had released it Anne wiped it surreptitiously on a fold of her skirt.

“The girl will show you the bedchamber,” said Lord Stanley. “Bathe yourself well for you looked grimed with travel. Then you may come down for supper before your husband takes you to his bed.”

Anne guessed that her own look of dismay must have matched Edward’s expression at the prospect. She still felt sickly and was tired, and she had hoped to be spared the indignity of having to share a bed with the boy for one night at least. But it was not to be so. She inclined her head and followed the silent servant up the stairs to the chamber where she had been imprisoned until Richard had come for her. It looked menacingly familiar. Her coffers had been brought in but not unpacked. A bath had been prepared and after being helped from her dirty clothes she sank her weary, aching body into the warm scented water. The girl brought a soft cloth and began to help her to wash but Anne dismissed her, wanting to be alone and thinking to slip beneath the water and remain there. But moments later, choking and coughing, thoughts of her children and of Richard crowding her mind, she acknowledged that she could not commit that sin. She grasped at the wooden sides of the tub and as she pulled herself up her ring caught the candlelight. She twisted it around her finger and prayed fervently for strength. After all had she not chosen this outcome? Had she not thought that she could be stronger than this; that she could deceive and outwit these people and find some dignity? Women find other ways of wielding power. That was what Richard had said to her once when she had asked him why he thought she should not inherit Hornby. She hoped that he was right and that she could find some way to remain in control of her life, and that she would not regret deciding against his well-meant advice to commit herself to the convent.

She pushed herself up and stepped, dripping, from the tub onto a cloth that had been spread on the floor. Shivering, she wrapped a towel around her and went to stand in front of the fire to rub herself dry. As she did so she saw the blood and realised that her prayers had been answered. Marital relations were not permitted at such a time.

She lifted the lid of a coffer with a feeling of relief and found the stash of woollen cloths she kept. She bound one to her then slipped a clean chemise over her washed body. She called the servant and bade her bring the dark gown that she had sewn herself at Pontefract. If the new Lady Stanley, the Countess of Richmond, could dress like a widow then so could she. Anne added a plain white coif that completely covered her damp hair, allowed the girl to fasten her stockings and dark shoes and then went down the stairs to face the Stanleys.