Virgin Widow (30 page)

‘Yes, my lord. As you say.’ I could respond in kind. If we were to play at wooden indifference, as if we had never met beyond a cursory acquaintance, then I would be amazingly chilly.

It was very strange, the whole exhausting episode that unfolded. Richard barely looked at me, only once in that first moment when his eyes touched on mine, and then they were dark and flat. His mouth showed no curve in greeting. Rather his whole body stiffened as if he withstood a blow from a mace. I expected something from him. Surely I had that right, even after a twelvemonth of separation. Of all the emotions I had withstood since the invasion, nothing hurt me as much as Gloucester’s cold rejection.

Gloucester might not look at me, but I looked at him right enough.

He was definitely
Gloucester.
Not
Richard.
As with the King the plate armour had been shed. His brigandine, although protective with its strips of metal, was of velvet, the nap luxurious, the colour deep blue and jewel-bright. Over it his collar of office glowed, the dark rubies catching the light, blood-red. To my mind, as my eyes were drawn to them, it gave him a dangerous glamour. The Richard I had known would not even consider his appearance. But was this man Gloucester the same? I did not know. He wore his authority easily, yet there was a brittleness about him, a sharp confidence. I did not think that his authority as Constable would be lightly questioned despite his lack of years. Somewhere along the line the Duke of Gloucester had acquired the knack of power and had developed it, deliberately or by chance. In physical appearance
he was much as I remembered, but with subtle differences. The dark sweep of hair, tousled and untidy from restless fingers, his face thinner, more austere, rather the face of a scholar than a soldier, yet I knew from common gossip that he had fought with distinction in battle. At Tewkesbury his initiative and cool leadership had won many men to him to sing his praises.

But he has blood on his hands.

I allowed my eyes to move down to his hands, long-fingered, capable, that juggled with the rolls and their seals. They could hold a knife to appalling effect.

And just what does he see in me?

I wondered.
I
saw a man of power, of influence, of authority. Of arrogance even in the proud tilt of his head. But what did he see in me? My heart sank at the obvious answer. I doubted that I had grown with the same alluring attraction as he had, and my feminine vanity shuddered inwardly at my present appearance despite all my efforts to brush and repair. Three weeks on the move, in weary flight, on horseback across rivers and the muck of spring roads, had destroyed my clothing beyond all acceptance. Did he see an untidy, weary young woman, gown once fine, but now irreparably stained? A strained widow whose nerves had had quite enough for today? I would not blame him. I despaired at what he must see.

‘A family reunion?’ He turned to stand at the centre
of the three of us, strangely dominating the event. He dropped the scrolls on to the table.

‘Yes, of sorts,’ Edward replied with an appreciative glance in my direction. ‘We’ve been discussing what to do with Lady Anne.’

‘And?’ Gloucester’s gaze remained limpid, his voice soft. ‘What’s your decision?’

‘Clarence had offered to take her in,’ Edward remarked. ‘To live at Warwick under his protection. It will be good for her to be with Isabel.’

I saw it because I knew him. Because I was watching him. Gloucester’s reaction was remarkable in its control, but I saw the muscles in his shoulders tense, I saw the little grooves beside his mouth deepen infinitesimally. His eyes were icily hostile as they fixed on Clarence. Yet still his tone remained polite, courteous, merely interested.

‘A generous offer, Clarence.’

‘No—’ Clarence’s smile was fat with complacency ‘—merely the perfect solution.’

‘Altruistic, some would say, who did not know the truth of it.’

‘What bug’s got under your skin, Dickon?’ Edward asked, alert to trouble. ‘It would solve the immediate problem.’

I simply looked from one to the other, my senses reawakened, fully engaged. There was something here between them that went beyond the surface.

Gloucester swung round to the King. ‘No. I don’t agree. It’s the worst of decisions.’

‘Why?’ Clarence leaned back, lifting his cup of wine in a flamboyant toast.

‘I know your game, Clarence. It must not be.’

‘I have no game, little brother.’ The faintest hint of malice.

‘Yes, you do. And it’s a vicious and self-interested game. She should not go to Warwick.’

‘But the King agrees that she should…’

They faced each other, like dogs fighting and snarling over a bone. I feared that I was the bone, yet did not understand why I should be. Silky smooth, Clarence was enjoying himself and I knew that the last place I wanted to be was under his dominion in Warwick Castle. But nor did I want to be
here
to be snapped and snarled over.

‘If you will excuse me, your Majesty.’ I drew their attention. ‘I am indisposed.’ I curtsied again to Edward.

‘Of course.’ Immediately he led me to the door. ‘You can be at ease now. It has been a long journey for you, lady, but you are safe and come home at last.’

Edward laid a large hand lightly on my shoulder. I felt the warmth of it through my shabby sleeve and, unlike Gloucester’s greeting, I knew the King did not refer to the miles of my coming home. Sensing the first true compassion since I had set foot in England, I could feel tears threaten. As quickly as I could,
without looking in Gloucester’s direction, I left the room. I could not bear to stay to be squabbled over—and to what purpose? I had no answer to it. I did not like it. Nor to being an
immediate problem
to be solved.

What had happened to Gloucester—
Gloucester,
not
Richard?
It was as if he had acquired an outer shell. Not smooth, as an egg might be—Richard would never be smooth—but all encompassing, seamless. No vulnerability, no weakness was allowed to show. After this meeting I doubted he had any weakness and the vulnerability of his early years at Middleham had gone for ever. At Tewkesbury I had found him cold, perhaps the result of a preoccupation with the aftermath of victory. Here, there was no excuse for his detachment.

Except…I had seen it as he entered the room. He might no longer have an affection for me, but he still wore the ring, the little gold circle with the ruby stone, on the smallest finger of his right hand. What should I make of that, if anything? Or the fact that he had turned it, again and again with his left hand, when Clarence had issued his challenge and demanded my presence at Warwick Castle.

We promptly left the next day. Edward would make haste to London with Gloucester, taking Margaret with him. Meanwhile Clarence would escort me to Warwick.

And then, amidst all the noise and bustle and tumult of horses and wagons, of armed men and travelling
litters, much like a military operation, there was Gloucester himself, leading his horse over to where I awaited my own orders. I stood stony-faced and braced myself to keep my thoughts locked tight within.

‘Lady.’ He inclined his head.

‘Gloucester,’ I mimicked his terrible and deliberate formality.

‘You will be comfortable at Warwick.’ Would I? Unimportant words, yet I sensed that the cool uninterest of yesterday was not as secure. Rather a banked heat. I considered an equally bland reply—and instantly rejected it.

‘Yesterday you did not wish me to go! As I recall, you condemned it!’

To my vexation, I got another bland response in return. ‘The King would have his way.’

‘Then of course I must do as the King wishes.’ I looked away.

‘Anne. Some advice…’

I turned my head slowly. ‘Advice? I’ve had a bellyful of advice of late.’

‘About your position in Clarence’s household…’

‘What advice can you give me? What do you care?’ My resentment flashed into life. ‘You hardly greeted me yesterday, hardly had a word to say to me. Had I had a safe and comfortable journey? No, I had not! Is that all you could say after twelve months or more? You looked at me as if I were a useful counter in a
particularly nasty board game. Why should I now listen to your advice?’ I was not proud of my venom, but it eased the pain a little to hurt him as he had hurt me. And I saw the result immediately. It was as if I had slapped him, his face white and stark, but I was not sorry. He had
hurt
me. ‘It’s perfectly clear to me that any connection between us is at an end. Unless of course you have your mind solely on my inheritance.’ Remembering Tewkesbury, I drove the point home.

If anything, his face paled even further, bone white.

‘Anne…I know what it looked like. But I dare not—’

‘Dare not what? It seems to me that you dare put your hand to anything, if what they say is true.’

‘What?’ His brows snapped together.

‘Did you not cut down my husband, unarmed and helpless and a prisoner, in cold blood?’ I faced him, the curl of a sneer on my mouth, daring him to deny it. Praying that he would.

To my horror he did not. The bloom of anger surged into his face again like battle flags. Before I could step back, before I could read his intent, his hand gripped my wrist fiercely to hold me still. ‘There’s no time for this now. Too many ears, too many interests involved.’ His voice was little above a murmur, but the urgency had returned in good measure. ‘All I can say is don’t let them—’ He rapidly cut off his words, dropped my wrist.

‘Don’t let them
what?
Don’t let
who?’

Clarence loomed at my shoulder. ‘We are ready, Lady Anne.’ He acknowledged Gloucester, stiffly, I thought. ‘I’ll see you in London, Gloucester. Within the week.’

‘Don’t waste time,’ Gloucester advised briefly. ‘We shall need you if the revolt in Kent is as widespread as rumours say.’

There it was again. Some antagonism that had nothing to do with common rivalry between brothers. I looked from one to the other, but could only see the shimmer of tension, like two full-grown stags on first sighting. Wary, watchful, but neither willing to take the first step towards outright aggression.

Then it was broken. Clarence mounted and Gloucester took my hand to hand me into the litter.

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘Once, in an earlier life, you called me Richard,’ he murmured as he tucked a cushion under my arm. The quick brush of humour almost destroyed me.

Almost. I snatched my hand away. ‘Once I thought you loved me.’

Which put an effective end to any further conversation.

I had expressed a preference to ride, but I was given no choice, Clarence deeming it safer to escort an anonymous lady behind closed curtains rather than the Lancastrian widow for all to see. At least there was one advantage as I crossly pulled the drapes against the
passing scenery. Complete privacy. As soon as we were on the road I opened my clenched fist. A screw of parchment, closely folded, that Richard had pressed into my palm. I smoothed it.

You are of age and cannot be forced into any act against your will. Don’t let them persuade you to enter a convent.

No superscription. No signature. No evidence of who or why if it was found by an unfriendly observer. I frowned at the two lines. Why would Isabel—why would anyone—try to persuade me to enter a convent? The curtains were twitched back.

‘Are you comfortable?’ Smiling, Clarence bent from his horse.

‘Certainly.’

‘We shall soon be at Warwick. You will be welcomed there, back with your family.’ His handsome face was all concern for my well-being, all anticipation in my homecoming.

What was he planning? There was
something,
but it remained undefined, shadowy yet undeniably present, like the rich pattern on a damask partially obscured beneath a layer of gauze. Accepting the futility of trying to read Clarence’s devious mind, I gave myself over to some hours of inactivity as I clenched my fist over the evidence. Once I had treasured such a note for the closeness it brought me to its author. Now I was not so sure. As for its content, I needed no convincing and took a solemn vow on it. I would never
enter a convent. On that I needed no advice or instructions from any one. No one would persuade me to it. No one was ever likely to suggest it.

Why should they?

The towers of Warwick Castle, rising solidly above the protective stand of trees, glowed warm and welcoming in the evening light. For the first time on the journey I pulled back the curtain so that I might see the familiar walls, the sweep of the Avon, the wash of early summer foliage. Memories flooded back, happy ones. My childhood here, although the weeks were few in comparison with Middleham, had been in high summer when the river ran low and the gardens were sultry in the still air. When the swans with their fluffy offspring had dabbled in the shallows and my prospects had been entirely safe and predictable. How inviting to live here again, in familiarity, with old servants and comfortable affections. No spies, no lurking suspicion, no fear of imminent capture or death. No tensions or bitter jealousies, no deliberate ploys to hurt with sharp words. I could perhaps be happy here again.

Except for the one garish unknown, the random shape in the pretty mosaic I had created from memory and hope. Isabel. How would she receive me? Nor did I know how I would react to having her stand in authority over me. I felt the little flutter of fear as the litter
lurched to a halt, curtains quickly looped back. Servants came forwards, faces I recognised with smiles for the Neville daughter. I was helped from the cushions, feeling like a child again, cosseted and welcomed.

‘Anne! At last.’ The clear voice reached me across the courtyard. ‘We have been waiting an age.’ There Isabel stood, on the steps. I wondered fleetingly if she would wait for me to go to her, in the manner of petitioner and petitioned, but she did not. Running down the stairs, her face was alight with what could only be joy. ‘Thank God! You are safe.’

I might have hesitated, but the pull of reunion with its compassionate words was suddenly strong and I fell into her embrace. We hugged, arms tight, and all was well again, as if we had never been parted, never exchanged bitter words. She was my sister and she would care for me. In the depths of my misery I did not question the warmth of her greeting.