The Innocent (40 page)

“Walk with me to the chapel, Doctor—we must be quick. You favor exercise for ladies in such condition as mine, do you not?”

“Within reason, certainly. All things within reason, as the Greeks said…”

The queen swept out of her apartments, her ladies trailing after her, and Anne had a moment to herself.

She picked up discarded garments quickly and then, daringly, glanced in the queen’s glass to see her own face.

A pale oval looked back—at least she had clear skin, not like poor Rose—and she could see that the deep red of her livery was flattering; but her face was the same, nothing had changed. She was who she’d always been, and yet…it was also the face of a stranger, the daughter of a king, someone she did not know, could not know. Then she gasped—Edward’s reflection swam into focus behind hers.

“Laggard. You look very well.” One quick stride and he was beside her, kissing her ravenously.

“Honey-mouth,” he breathed, kissing the base of her throat, his hand straying down to her breast. Then he was gone as quickly as he had been there, leaving her dazed. Like a phantom.

Oh, God, she had to leave the court—there was no choice now. Unconsciously, her hand strayed to the chain of the little filigree cross that hung between her breasts. Perhaps Mathew would allow her to return to Blessing House for a while, but would he give her sanctuary when she told him who she was?

Chapter Twenty-eight

Anne waited nervously outside Saint George’s Hall, anxious that at any moment, her absence from the queen’s chambers would be questioned, even though Jehanne was covering for her. It was close to the Christmas morning feast and her stomach growled uncomfortably, but inside the hall she knew the king was still talking to Mathew Cuttifer and William Hastings. She’d been unable to snatch a brief word with Mathew after early Mass, and now she’d heard that he was expected to travel back to London as soon as possible after this final audience with the king. All Anne could do now was wait in a small deserted anteroom she’d found outside the hall.

She was very cold, for there was no fire in the frigid little chamber, and she thought longingly of the warmth and happy chaos that was going on without her all around the castle. A reaction had set in against all she’d been told yesterday. To truly contemplate herself as the daughter of a king was the stuff of dreams—and nightmares.

She had to speak to Mathew without letting Edward see them talking, but if she succeeded, what could she really say? He would think she was mad.

She was still trying to form a coherent speech in her mind when she heard the doors of the hall groan on their hinges and the sound of male voices. It was the king, accompanied by Mathew and William Hastings. Quickly, she flattened herself against the wall behind the open door of the anteroom and let the small party of men walk past, talking seriously and quietly as they went. She waited until the sound of their conversation receded and then slipped out and ran silently behind them on felt-shod feet, flitting from doorway to doorway so that, should they turn, they’d not see her.

The three men were very close to the gate that guarded the king’s lodgings at Windsor and Edward was saying good-bye to Mathew before handing him on to a party of men-at-arms who would escort him back to London.

Anne could not hear what was said, but she saw the king nod graciously as Mathew bowed deeply and then backed out of Edward’s presence. The king and William watched him go and then turned back the way they had come toward Anne’s hiding place in a doorway. Quick as thought she tripped the latch, and skipped through the opened door into darkness, heart beating like a drum as she heard the king and Hastings stroll past outside, their talk a quiet murmur through the thick oak door.

Eyes closed, trying to control her breathing, she counted to ten as slowly as she could and then eased the door ajar. There, very close, was the gate, guarded by two men-at-arms. From the looks on their faces they were bored, cold, and very annoyed to be on duty when everyone else in the whole castle was having fun. Anne slid through the slightly opened door, blessing good fortune that the wall embrasure just next to her hiding place blocked the line of sight from the gate. Summoning a panicked look she ran toward the guards—startling them to alertness, for she’d appeared as if from the air.

“Oh, sirs, sirs, have you seen a man in a red furred robe with a large black velvet hat?”

The senior pikeman looked at the pretty little thing wearing the queen’s colors, hopping anxiously from foot to foot in front of them. The poor child was clearly agitated, wringing her hands.

“Just this moment gone, girl. He was with the king.”

“Oh, thank you, sir, thank you. The queen will be so angry if I do not speak to him. She has given me a message for him.”

The senior pikeman took pity. Everyone in the castle knew the queen was a very hard woman to please.

He could imagine the fate of this poor creature if she didn’t follow orders. “You’ll catch him if you run.

There’s been a delay with the horses. They’re meeting his party at the king’s outer gate.”

The girl picked up her skirts and was away before they’d had the chance to exchange another word, but it did his heart good to see the young thing run just like a hind in the spring forest. The senior pikeman sighed. Sometimes being part of the king’s guards was a less than glorious position, especially on a freezing cold day when everyone else was celebrating. He’d have liked to talk to her a little more, maybe find out her name. She might have shared a mulled ale with him later, when his duty finished.

Then he cheered up. If she wanted to go back to the queen’s lodgings she’d have to travel the way she’d come.

But Anne knew that returning to the queen’s lodgings this morning might be impossible if Mathew Cuttifer believed her. She had no real plans as she ran across the still frosty ground of the king’s ward other than to speak to Mathew, beg for his help, though she was painfully aware that she had little proof to offer of the truth of her identity. Yet, if he did believe her—what then? What would he advise her to do? The inner ward itself was enormous, an enclosed space bounded by the castle’s outer walls. As Anne ran, she prayed that Mathew would wait, that he would decide to visit the garderobe before setting out, that something would delay him.

Yes! She could see them now! A small party of men wearing the king’s livery was milling around just inside the arched gate in the massive outer wall. There were no horses, and she could see Mathew stamping up and down with a frown on his face, slapping his gloves against his thigh. She slowed her run to a decorous walk, breathing hard, a hand flying up to check that her headdress still covered her hair properly as the other smoothed the high waist of her dress. Appearances were important to her former master.

He turned and saw her. She swallowed nervously, hoping none of her fear showed as she walked toward him composedly and dropped to a curtsy from long habit.

“Anne!” Seeing her made him remember the note she’d left in his room; the press of business had driven her request from his mind. “My apologies that I did not seek you out. I was with the king and…

Excuse me for one moment, if you please.” To cover his embarrassment, he glowered at the captain of the king’s guard who had been assigned to see him safely back to London. “Captain, where are those horses? Time is fleeting.”

Mindful that the inefficiency of this simple task could well be sheeted home to him, the captain strode importantly toward the half a dozen men clustered near the outer gate, bellowing officiously, “Tyler!

Send another man to the stables. This delay is unforgivable. We must have Sir Mathew returned to London by nightfall!”

Mathew, secretly delighted to hear the magic “sir” and the automatic respect in the man’s voice, called out grumpily, “Is there somewhere I can speak to this girl out of the wind?”

“Of course, Sir Mathew. This way, Sir Mathew.”

The obsequious attention of the soldier made Anne even more nervous; clearly Mathew’s favor with the king was even greater than it had been. Would that fact further complicate what she was about to ask?

The captain was energetically determined to be helpful. He bowed the merchant inside the gate to a little room that led off the main guard post lit by a cheerful fire. There was a blackened oak settle in the inglenook that Mathew pointed to. “Sit, girl. And tell me what is so important that you had to run like a hoyden in full sight of the king’s windows?”

Gratefully, Anne dropped down onto the settle and smoothed her skirts as she asked grace to find the right words. “Sir, have you ever wondered who my parents might be?”

“Your parents?” Mathew was completely bewildered.

Anne realized she had begun on the wrong tack. “I have just been told some remarkable things, sir, things about my…history. They seem so fantastic, so like something out of a romance. Yet the person I trust more than any in the world has told me they are true. And if they are, I am in danger and so perhaps is the kingdom. I need your advice.”

Mathew, grudgingly, found himself intrigued. “Your parents, child? Mistress Deborah?”

“Sir Mathew, if you remember, Deborah is my foster mother. My real mother’s name was Alyce de Bohun and she had a child with the old king, King Henry. It seems I am that child.”

Mathew heard the words, of course, but it took a moment for them to assemble into any sort of pattern his brain recognized as sense. “Can this be proved?” Even as he asked the question, he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Surely what Anne was suggesting was preposterous.

“Yes. A letter exists from the old king…from my father, though I have not seen it; and there is other evidence. Sir, what should I do?” Anne had been able to speak clearly to this point but now her voice shook and she looked at him imploringly.

And he was dazzled. His wife’s little body servant had grown up in the last few months. She was now almost a woman and beautiful. Mathew shook his head to concentrate. He looked at her carefully, allowing his eyes to travel over her face, feature by feature. Then, buying time to think, he walked over to the fire, held his hands out to the warmth. “Was your mother English?”

“Yes, sir. She came from a Somerset family. My grandfather, my mother’s father, fought with the Duke of Somerset in France.”

Mathew grunted noncommittally. “A lady, then?”

Anne nodded. Yes, it was true, her mother had been a lady.

“Does the king know about you?”

Anne shook her head. “I believe he cannot. It was said I’d died at birth. The old French queen, Margaret, tried to kill my mother—and me. But, as you see…”

Yes, he did see. And the more he looked at her, the more her remarkable story had some ring of truth.

He searched his memory. As a young child, he had been held up as the great King Harry V, the father of Henry VI, marched past, ten thousand men of London at his back on his way to the glories of Agincourt. He’d been a strong, good-looking man in the very prime of his life and Mathew had never forgotten the image of the king he’d been eye to eye with for a moment—he a little boy on his father’s shoulders and Harry near enough to touch in that narrow London street.

The king had smiled at his tiny subject. Strong white teeth, bright blue-green eyes, eyes like those of the girl standing in front of him. And the same dark russet hair, the same fair white skin too.

Then Mathew remembered the first day this girl had come to his house, his unease at having a servant who looked so…well, unlike a servant. And now she sat before him, as composed as any queen might be—until you looked into those same strange eyes and saw the anguish there, the uncertainty.

“What should I do, Master Mathew?”

For a moment, his vanity wanted to correct her—he was attached to the new honorific—but more serious thoughts were running through his mind. “Yes, I can understand your concern. If your story is true, you have guessed correctly. You would be a most valuable piece in the game being played in our country now. Chess piece I mean,” he added hastily.

The room was silent as he looked at her for a moment then strolled over to the little window let into the thick wall of the gatehouse. Still no sign of the horses, he noted, abstracted; that was the least important thing on his mind now.

Yes. An English child of Henry VI would be a potent addition to the political stakes in England just now. There were many who did not accept the French queen’s son by Henry as his legitimate child and who would welcome a new English princess, unofficial or not. Edward, too, had a girl as his heir, so far

—even though the queen was pregnant again. But Anne was of marriageable age; that changed everything.

The marriageable English daughter of the old king—whom many still considered the rightful king—

would be a rallying point for all who wished to see Edward’s Yorkist family displaced and those who had no love for the rapacious Frenchwoman Margaret of Anjou or her suspect-born son. If Anne’s descent could be proved there were many great lords, Warwick among them, who would welcome an alternative to Edward on the throne of England.

A quick, glittering marriage with one of Warwick’s affinity—perhaps even Clarence—and the deed would be done. Another royal family could be created, one that Warwick would feel able to control, since Edward had grown too great for his grasp.

But Mathew still had his urgent mission to perform: the raising of money to help Edward fight Warwick and Clarence when the moment for battle came. Mathew closed his eyes. Visions of turmoil, flame, and blood filled his mind, things he’d thought never to see again, please God, in his lifetime.

“Sir Mathew? I shall have to return to the castle soon. What should I do?”

“Nothing. For the moment. I shall consult Lady Margaret—she will no doubt have useful things to say on the matter. Meanwhile, I suggest you try to obtain the letters you say the king has and that you tell no one—no one—what you have told me today. If what you say proves to be true, I shall help you. But we must have time to plan what should be done. Do you agree?”