Royal Mistress (70 page)

“Who are you, sir, and was it you I saw arriving just now? Has there been an invasion?”

“Nay, your grace,” the messenger faltered.

Anne sat up abruptly. “Is something amiss?”

Observing the curiosity of the guard, Richard motioned for the messenger and Francis to enter and then slammed the door in the guard’s face. The squire went on one knee, proffering Richard a letter.

“I-I am come f-from Middleham, your grace,” he stammered, astonished to find himself in the king’s bedchamber.

“Middleham?” Anne gasped, pulling on her bed robe and getting out of bed. “Is there something wrong with my son?”

Richard ripped through the seal of the letter, read the few lines scrawled by his steward, and with a great groan, fell to his knees.

“Oh God, what have we done to deserve this?” he cried in disbelief, and he reached back for Anne, who went down on the floor with him. “My dearest wife, brace yourself. Our little Ned . . . Ned is gone. He took ill of a fever a few days ago, and nothing the physicians did could cool the heat in his blood. He is dead, Anne, our son is dead!” Taking the swooning Anne into his arms, he rocked her from side to side, tears coursing onto her limp, trembling body. He nodded to Francis, who wisely hurried the messenger from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

The bereaved parents clung to each other, and hardened soldier as he was Richard could not have imagined such acute pain; it pierced him like a broadsword to the heart. Images of his beautiful little son filled his mind: his cheerful smile, unruly hair, blue eyes, and rather fragile arms and legs. He stroked his wife’s glossy light brown hair and entreated her to be brave. Anne was staring at a point beyond him as if in a trance and her lips moved but no words emerged. Then it seemed to him that as the news sank in, so did her body, sagging like a lead weight onto his lap, her silence frightening.

“My love, I pray you look at me,” he pleaded, unable to stem his own tears and turning her gently. “Let us share this grief together. I cannot bear the torment of this awful news alone. Say something, Anne, I beg of you.”

His anguish roused Anne, and she brought her gaze back into focus and looked up at him pitifully. Gently, she wiped his tears with her fingers and whispered her son’s name. “Ned, my little sweetheart, my little poppet, why was I not there to save you?” And then her grief came, and she buried her head in Richard’s chest.

“God have mercy on his innocent soul,” Richard lamented over her head, “for He has no mercy on us.”

W
hen the news reached London, church bells tolled all day and priests and townspeople alike sent up prayers for young Prince Edward’s soul, so suddenly taken. But there were some who wondered if God had forsaken the new king; perhaps the rumor was true that he had done away with his nephews, and a wrathful God was seeking vengeance.

In the seclusion of their solar, Jane and Thomas mulled over the information, each with their own thoughts about the king’s loss. Thomas had known the little boy during his first years with Richard at Middleham, and had admired the dedication of both parents to keeping the boy with them as much as possible. Sons and daughters of nobles were often sent from home at an early age; boys to learn Latin, French, the chivalric code, and how to become an independent man; and girls to learn how to sing, dance, read, and write, sew and run a household, and to become an accomplished marriage partner.

Queen Anne had been reluctant to let her son leave her side; she had miscarried several times, and the little boy would most likely be her only child. Richard had indulged her, mainly due to the boy’s frail health; he was only nine and would grow strong and learn to be a man in time, Richard assured his wife. It had never
failed to impress Thomas Lyneham that Richard devoted hours in a day to knowing both his sons: John of Gloucester, as his bastard was called, was a fine boy and beloved of his father, and perhaps because John did not have a mother to love him at Middleham, Richard gave him special attention. As soon as young Katherine had been old enough to leave her mother, she had been placed with Richard’s sister, the duchess of Suffolk, and now she was lady-in-waiting to the queen. No doubt Richard would arrange a fine marriage for his beautiful daughter. But the loss of his only legitimate child and heir to the throne was different, Thomas knew, and Richard must be devastated.

Jane was lying in the crook of his arm with her own ruminations on the prince’s death. Jane had no love for Richard, with good reason. He had singled her out to represent everything he had abhorred about his brother’s court, and she had paid mightily. But her own penance aside, she had not found it in her heart to forgive Richard for killing Will Hastings, and for whatever had been his role in the disappearance of those two boys in the Tower. It was as though the world had forgotten them, she thought, sadly. The most difficult aspect of her marriage to Thomas was that he was so devoted to the king. She tried to close her ears to her husband’s praise of Richard. She did not want to hear that he was in any way a good man, because she did not want to believe it.

But to lose one’s child after loving and caring for it for nine years? She could not imagine such heartbreak. A tiny part of her believed that Richard had deserved such sorrow, simply because of the suffering he had caused her. But Anne had done nothing to warrant God’s anger, Jane thought. She saw again the slight figure of Anne of Gloucester on her horse passing Jane at the conduit in the Chepe, when Anne’s face had held a sweet and happy smile. Now her face must be haggard, her body ravaged by agony, sleepless nights and pointless days. Perhaps she was wondering if her life had been worth living? No mother should have to endure that, Jane decided.

Suddenly a fluttering in her womb arrested her thoughts, and she gave a little gasp.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Thomas asked. “Are you unwell?”

Jane smiled in the dark. “Nay, I have never been better, Thomas. Our babe has just let us know he is alive and growing, ’tis all.” And she placed her husband’s hand on her belly, although she knew he would feel nothing. How ironic that in that moment of pondering one child’s death, the life of another should manifest itself thus. She sent a prayer of grateful thanks to the Virgin for giving her a sign.

It was then she knew she must forgive the king.

T
homas had commissioned a litter to be made for Jane’s personal use, and although she was disdainful of his overly protective treatment of her, by the time August came and the heat was unbearable, Jane reluctantly agreed the vehicle was worthwhile. In her seventh month of pregnancy, her belly was threatening to throw her diminutive figure off balance, and Thomas had teased her that she might never see her feet again. He cautioned her about going in and out of the city too much, especially as an outbreak of plague in the overcrowded neighborhood around Billingsgate had forced the temporary removal of the fish market to the area in front of Fishmongers’ Hall on the west side of London Bridge. But Jane insisted on a weekly visit to the Lamberts with another stop in St. Sithe’s Lane to see Sophie.

One mercifully cooler day in late August, Jane was helped into the awkward litter with Ankarette walking alongside, while two large hired hands carried the boxlike conveyance between them. They picked their way along the hardened rutted mud, doing their best to give their mistress a smooth ride, but at times a loose stone caused a stumble and Jane would be thrown to one side before the duo was able to steady the litter again.

“I cannot help my extra weight, sirrahs,” she joked to them, “and I shall soon have to double your pay.” But as Jane’s legendary
generosity always meant a few extra pennies at the end of the day, the men laughed cheerfully as they plodded on.

She loved her days with Sophie, from whom she gleaned much practical information about weathering these last few months and what to expect during the birthing process. Sophie promised to come and be of help after the babe arrived, and Jane was grateful. Seven-year-old Pieter could be cared for by Janneke, who had now married her cordwainer’s son and had moved into her in-laws’ house. The other two children were old enough to look after themselves.

Jane chose to pay a visit to Sophie first today, and after exchanging their news of that week, Sophie quietly said, “You do not regret your marriage, do you? Thomas is good to you?”

“Silly Sophie,” Jane replied teasingly, but then she was serious. “If you had told me a year ago that I would be married to the king’s solicitor and expecting a child, certes I would have thought you were ready for Bethlem. Ah, Sophie, I cannot think that I could be any happier. God must have been with me in Ludgate when He sent Thomas to interrogate me, for I would never have met him otherwise.”

“And you do not think more on Tom Grey, do you?” She saw a look of sadness flit across her friend’s face before Jane shook her head vehemently. Sophie vowed never to bring the man’s name into a conversation from that day on. She had simply needed to know.

Next, Amy Lambert greeted her daughter with warmth and a refreshing cup of spring water. She had sent her servant out of the city with John’s cart to fetch a bucket of it. “Warm ale does not quench the thirst like fresh water, does it?” she asked, fussing around Jane and giving her more cushions. “Are you managing with the heat, daughter? I must say, you look much too healthy to be so close to delivery. Childbearing suits you, Jane.”

Jane drank deeply of the sweet spring water and laughed at her mother’s enthusiasm. “I have been fortunate, so I am told. I pray daily that our child will be born whole and healthy.” She paused,
grimacing. “I cannot say I look forward to the pain, though, Mother. Sophie says the first child is the hardest.”

“All will be well, God willing,” Amy said with a smile. “After all, women have been birthing children since Adam and Eve.” She did not voice the concern she had that Jane’s petite frame might make for a long and difficult birth, well remembering her own. “And I shall be there to see you through it. You must have Thomas send for me and Midwife Long as soon as you have the first spasms. She can ride with me.”

Jane nodded. “ ’Tis astonishing to think she brought me into the world, too. She must be as wizened as an old apple now.”

“Perhaps, but there is nothing Goody Long does not know about childbirth, Jane. She has brought many a mercer into this world, and the guild pays her well. We can put our faith in her good . . .”

Voices heard in the stairwell stopped Amy’s talking. “Who has John brought home with him this time?” she wondered. “Since he has discovered his nicer side, he likes to entertain. I do not mind so much, but I wish he would warn me. We only have mutton pie with peas and spinach from the garden.”

“Amy,” John called as he mounted the stairs. “You will never guess who came into the mercery today and has agreed to dine with us.”

Amy smiled and rolled her eyes at Jane. “Nay, I would not. Who?” she answered.

Both women stared in astonishment as the tall, lanky figure of William Shore walked into the room. Not knowing Jane had chosen today to visit Hosier Lane, poor John’s bewilderment caused his mouth to open and shut like a hungry carp, and he looked at Amy to rescue him.

“Mistress Lambert, God’s greeting,” William said, with a small bow. And then he turned his attention to Jane, forcing his thin lips into a semblance of a smile. “Jane, I hope I find you well.”

Jane was, for once, speechless: she had never imagined seeing
William again. She had heard how successful he had become as a merchant adventurer in Antwerp, and she presumed he would remain there until he died. William appeared as disconcerted as she was.

“Aye, she is very well, Master Shore,” Amy said, coming to Jane’s aid. She could not resist adding, “Can you not see she is with child? She is married to the king’s solicitor, Thomas Lyneham, you know. They have a lovely house along the Strandway.” Then she took hold of John’s elbow and marshaled him out of the room. “Let us go and tell Cook we have one more for dinner, my dear.”

Jane lowered her eyes and placed her hands on her belly, aware William was staring at her.