The King's Grace Page 10

AND SO GRACE found herself dressed in her old blue gown from the convent, now much too short for her, and a plain flannel cloak borrowed from a servant girl. Her hair hung loose down her back with a white linen coif covering it and tied under her chin. Escorted by a burly man named Daniel who carried a staff and whose booming voice and ferocious expression moved people out of the way in a trice, Grace ventured out that day in late October, a weak sun attempting to shine on the occasion.

  Londoners were out in force. Despite having only recently participated in another coronation, any excuse for a day away from the drudgery of their lives was cause for celebration, and they were in full voice when the first trumpets and shawms announced the beginning of the procession. Grace watched as heralds, sergeants at arms, squires, aldermen and knights strode solemnly past her position on the steps of All Hallows on Watling Street and on to Westminster. She thought she had become accustomed to the lavish finery of courtiers during those few months at court, but she stared openmouthed with the rest of the citizenry at the opulence of Henry Tudor’s entourage. Silks, satins and velvets of every color trimmed with fur, ribbons and laces adorned the men who rode by on their colorfully caparisoned horses. Jewels flashed from fingers, necks and hats, making Daniel mutter to his neighbor in his London accent: “’E’s spared no expense, ’as ’e? Don’t give a toss for the rest of us, do ’e? Just as long as ’is arse is on the throne, ’e’s larfing.” A few grumbles followed this little speech, but soon the music and the excitement grew to such a fever pitch Grace knew the king must be near.

  Preceding the king were the Lord Mayor of London and Garter king of Arms with the lords Derby and Nottingham, Oxford and…Grace gave a little squeal, “’Tis Lincoln! John of Lincoln!” A couple of spectators turned to look at her and, realizing her mistake, she immediately began to cough shielding her face from the prying eyes. When she thought it was safe, she looked up and watched her cousin parade slowly past, his face impassive and his eyes staring straight ahead as he sat astride his big black courser. At least he is safe, she thought; Bess will be glad to hear that, although riding with his enemies must have been unsettling for him, she decided.

  “The king! The king!” the murmuring became a roar as Henry Tudor, once earl of Richmond and now king of England, came into view. Drums and tabors thrummed a slow beat in time with the steps of the four knights who carried a high canopy emblazoned with the royal arms over the bare head of their sovereign. Trumpeters blew an earsplitting fanfare from platforms set up along the route. People craned to get a glimpse of him, and Daniel ended up lifting Grace up off her feet so she could see. The tall, bony man with a thin face and long, wispy, mouse-colored hair, clothed in a long purple gown trimmed with ermine, walked unsmiling through his subjects, gravely inclining his head to the left and the right. At twenty-eight, Henry looked old to Grace, although he was not the hideous monster Bess and Cecily had imagined. His hooded, pale blue eyes scanned the crowds—almost fearfully, Grace thought. Aye, he looks like someone expecting to be attacked. She remembered something John had said to her once: “To be born royal is to court an early death.” In her naiveté, she had not understood, but, with the disappearance of the two young princes in the Tower and the untimely death of Uncle Richard, she was beginning to see the truth of John’s pronouncement.

  “God save the king! God save the king!” The cry was contagious and, much to her astonishment, she found herself joining in with the hundreds of fickle Londoners who had shouted the same words to another king just as jubilantly only twenty-eight months earlier.

  HENRY WASTED NO time in calling his first Parliament in November, and by December, two of the many decisions made by the members directly affected the ladies at Ormond’s Inn. Henry was finally taken to task by his Commons for waiting so long to fulfill the oath he took in Rennes Cathedral, so he agreed to wed Bess in the new year. It was then only seemly that Elizabeth be reinstated as queen dowager, and Henry set his lawyers about repealing Richard’s Act of Titulus Regius in which Edward and Elizabeth’s marriage had been deemed illegal and their children ineligible to inherit the crown. Indeed, he ordered every single copy of it destroyed.

  The shocking news from those first days of Parliament for many of the Yorkist families was that Henry had dated his reign from the twenty-first day of August—the day before the battle of Bosworth. He refused to recognize Richard as king, and in all edicts and official documents referred to him as “Richard, late duke of Gloucester.” Thus Henry was able to attaint as traitors to himself anyone who had not fought with him on Redemore Plain or had not reconciled with him following the battle.

  “Lincoln and his father, Suffolk, have made their peace with Henry,” Elizabeth explained to Grace when she questioned the presence of the earl and duke in the procession. “But the likes of Jack Howard—the duke of Norfolk who died fighting for Richard—and his son, Thomas of Surrey, are attainted, as are many of our old friends.” She reeled off a list of names that meant nothing to Grace until Francis Lovell was mentioned.

  “He is John’s patron, is he not?” Grace asked timidly. “John of Gloucester, my lady,” she clarified, seeing Elizabeth’s frown. “He was with us at Sheriff Hutton.” She was annoyed to feel herself flush.

  “Aye, and still there under arrest by Sir Robert Willoughby’s command,” Bess told her mother. “John did not even fight at Bosworth—he was at the rear with the other pages and squires, guarding the supplies. I wonder if Henry has set John free?”

  “I cannot possibly imagine why Henry has a quarrel with John, except that he has Richard’s blood in his veins. Perhaps you might ask for John’s liberty as a boon, Bess, now that you are formally betrothed. He is a good boy.” Elizabeth sighed and looked at the clock on the table. “’Tis early yet, but with your first meeting with Henry arranged for the morrow, Bess, I think ’tis time we took to our beds. Grace, send in my women, if you will. And I would like you to serve me the all-night.” Grace rose, curtsied and left the room.

  Just before she closed the door, she heard Elizabeth say, “For all she is a by-blow, I cannot help but like the girl. There is a sweetness about her that is pleasing to me. Cecily, you could learn much from Grace. And now, girls, get you to bed.”

  Before she could be discovered eavesdropping, Grace flew down the passage, her heart singing.

  KING HENRY AND Bess stepped out to the music of lutes, recorders, vielles and the droning symphonie. Bess had chosen a shimmering green and gold gown to wear for her first meeting with her betrothed, and Henry was magnificent in a dark blue velvet pourpoint, its sleeves slashed to show white satin underneath. The room was brightly lit with hundreds of candles, as the winter solstice shortened the daylight. The meeting had gone well, and Henry’s frequent smile showed his councilors and Elizabeth that he was well pleased with his bride. Only her sisters knew how terrified Bess had been when she was first ushered into Henry’s presence.

  “You were right, Grace,” Cecily whispered. “He is not hideous at all. In fact, he is quite pleasant-looking—if you like tall, thin men.”

  “You like tall, thin men, Cis,” Grace retorted. “You flirted all summer with one.”

  Cecily’s irrepressible giggle made Elizabeth turn and frown at them both, but by then Henry was escorting Bess through the courtiers to the dais where they would preside over the evening’s entertainment in the king’s audience chamber, and the buzz of conversation saved the girls from further reprimand.

  “Oh, Tom,” Cecily scoffed. “I flirted with him only because there was no one else in that backwater. He was pleasant enough, but dull. I couldn’t even persuade him to kiss me.”

  Grace gasped. “Kiss you? You asked him to kiss you? How brave you are, Cis.”

  Cecily tossed her head and laughed. “Do not think, my sweet innocent, that I did not see you casting moon eyes at John. How shocking! He is your cousin, and thus forbidden fruit,” she teased.

  Grace blushed, but Cecily’s words alarmed her. “One cannot love a cousin?” s
he echoed. “I was told by one of the nuns that brothers and sisters may not wed, but they said nothing of cousins.”

  “Aye, ’tis against the laws of the church. Even Bess and Henry must seek a papal dispensation, for they are related in the fourth degree of kinship—in other words, cousins,” Cecily explained upon seeing Grace’s bewilderment. “You and John are first cousins, and if you have the addlepated notion that you might wed him, I do not suppose you would be able to buy a dispensation with all the gold in the treasury!”

  Grace’s heart fell like a stone into her stomach. But as she stood quietly in a corner while Cecily was led onto the dance floor by Henry’s chancellor, Thomas Lovell, she began to understand why John had treated her like a sister. It had nothing to do with her being so young and, as she judged herself, unappealing, and everything to do with their blood relationship. How foolish I must have seemed to him, she thought miserably, staring at the points of her soft satin slippers, peeking out from the hem of her fur-trimmed gown.

  “You have grown, my dear Lady Grace,” a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up into the handsome face of her cousin John of Lincoln. “May I lead you out to dance?”

  “M-me, my…my lord Lincoln?” she stammered, looking about her as though there was another Grace nearby. “You wish to dance with me?”

  “Certes, cousin. Cecily tells me you dance beautifully. Why don’t you show the court how all the daughters of King Edward can shine?” he said kindly, holding out his hand as an estampie’s lively tempo accompanied the dancers’ steps and high hops. “Besides, I feel more comfortable with my family than with”—he glanced in Henry’s direction, lowering his voice—“his.”

  His meaning was not lost on Grace, young as she was. I was right, she thought; ’twas indeed hard for him to process with his enemies that coronation day in London. She looked forward to revealing this tidbit to Bess and Cecily later.

  Grace thought better of her decision when Bess twirled into the chamber the sisters were sharing at Westminster for the night. Cecily collapsed onto the huge bed, peeling off her hose with no semblance of dignity, her gown and petticoats in enough disarray to show off her lithe legs. Grace allowed a tiring woman to unpin her hennin and unlace her stiffened bodice. Bess was in no mood for sleep, they could see, and all Bess’s attendants could do was follow her around the room, catching one of the sleeves she’d unlaced herself or the pearl earbobs she flung carelessly into the air.

  “I think I am in love,” she cried, finally standing still long enough for her women to untie her skirt and carry it carefully to the chest brought from Ormond’s Inn. “Henry was very personable, I thought,” she said. “And he is quite handsome, n’est ce pas? He paid me so many compliments, my head must have grown this evening. And he dances so well, does he not?”

  Cecily and Grace shared a secret smile. “Aye, he dances well enough,” Cecily said. “But I do not find him handsome. He looks a little like a weasel, in truth.”

  “A weasel!” Bess was indignant. “A weasel? Oh, you are just jealous because you do not like your husband, Cis.”

  “Pah!” Cecily said defiantly. “Certes, ’tis fortunate Henry was forced to wed you, for you were well on your way to being an old maid. I am only fifteen, and I still have my looks.”

  Her emotions strung taut that night, Bess gave an uncharacteristic shriek and flung herself at Cecily on the bed. Grace and the attendants stood staring in amazement at the sisters as they pulled each other’s hair, pinched arms and legs and used pillows to pummel one another, squealing in pain or satisfaction when blows found their mark. Suddenly the door opened and Elizabeth walked in, her hair falling around her shoulders to her waist over her blue silk robe. The attendants fell to their knees, and Grace gave her a nervous curtsy.

  “What is the meaning of this outrageous behavior? Get up, both of you. Immediately!” Elizabeth commanded, her eyes blazing with anger. “’Tis my belief the whole palace can hear you, much to my shame. Shame on you, Bess. And you are to become England’s queen? ’Tis not to be believed.”

  The two young women had leapt from the bed to the floor as soon as they heard their mother’s voice and were now prostrate before her. The attendants crept from the room, giving one another meaningful looks. They had no wish to come under the queen dowager’s menacing gaze. Grace shrank back, too, but Elizabeth put out her hand and stayed her, though not unkindly.

  “Well, Grace, I think I may count on you for a fair explanation of this lapse of reason. You will tell me, please, what happened.”

  This was exactly the sort of situation Grace hated. The nuns had instilled the fear of the Devil and his hellfire for any lies she might tell, and yet she wanted to protect her sisters from their mother’s wrath. She looked up at Elizabeth, who was waiting.

  “’Twas naught but a game, madam, and we meant no harm,” was all Grace could think to say as she made the sign of the cross with her thumb between her fingers behind her back.

  “’Twas my fault, your grace,” Cecily suddenly said from the floor. “I started it.”

  “Nay, I started it,” Bess said, getting up on her knees. “I am giddy from the wine, Mother, and was feeling so happy that I spoke without thinking and may have hurt Cecily’s feelings.”

  “Nay, ’twas my fault,” Cecily insisted. “I am very sorry, Bess. Am I forgiven?”

  Elizabeth stood by, quietly watching this little scene before turning on her heel and walking to the door. “I shall be glad when you are safely wed, Bess, and have a husband to control you. And we shall have to ask Henry to reunite Cecily with Ralph as soon as possible. Although ’twill take a man of steel to keep her in line,” she said sternly.

  As Grace held wide the door, Elizabeth glanced down at her and said, “Nicely done, Grace. May God give you a good night.” And she swept out, leaving Bess and Cecily clutching each other in contrite camaraderie.

  HENRY BECAME A frequent visitor to Ormond’s Inn that Yuletide, getting to know his bride and, Grace noted, succeeding in evading Elizabeth’s eagle eye on more than one occasion. He came with but a few esquires on these visits, and these young men kept Elizabeth, the girls and their attendants occupied while he walked and talked with Bess through the gallery and hall, bending his head to whisper things that made her laugh. Several times they went out of earshot, making Elizabeth look up from her embroidery frame and frown.

  Then, one afternoon before Christmas he came unannounced, seeming to know Elizabeth had taken Cecily to visit the sick at St. Benedictus’s hospital nearby. Grace and Margaret were playing a game of fox and geese, and Bess was practicing the lute, having begged her mother’s indulgence to remain home that afternoon. Elizabeth had searched her face closely and stroked her cheek. “I pray you are not sickening for something, Bess. ’Twould not bode well for you to give Henry any qualms about wedding a healthy young woman who will bear him an heir.”

  “Nay, mother. I am perfectly well,” Bess assured her. “But ’tis exactly because I do not want to fall ill at this moment that I choose not to visit the sick today. I crave your pardon. May I keep Grace here with me?”

  Elizabeth had nodded, kissed her eldest and hurried out to do her duty, Cecily a step behind her. Grace had been puzzled by the little smile that played about Bess’s mouth as she waved them off. As soon as Henry strode in, the steward barely able to announce him, all became clear to Grace.

  “Your grace, what an unexpected pleasure,” Bess murmured as she made a deep reverence. Henry smiled as he raised her up and, without a word to anyone, pulled her arm through his and left the room. The attendants, who had also fallen on their knees when they had seen their king, began whispering among themselves. Lady Alice, Bess’s chief attendant, made up her mind and, with consternation, hurried to the door. Two of Henry’s guards barred her way with crossed halberds.

  Indignant, she demanded to be let out of the room. “My lady is un-chaperoned, sirrahs,” she pronounced, and was met by stony stares from the men. “
How dare you keep me from my mistress!” she cried. “The king shall hear of this!”

  “’Tis the king’s pleasure that you stay here, madam,” one of the guards replied, unmoved. “We have our orders.”

  Near tears, for she feared Elizabeth’s wrath should the dowager queen find out, Lady Alice threw up her hands and joined the other women by the fire.

  Grace rose silently from her place, walked towards the guards and, for once glad of her smallness, smiled innocently at them and whispered: “I have need to go to my chamber, kind sirs. Will you let me pass? I am the Lady Bess’s little sister,” she added conspiratorially.

  The guards looked at each other and back at her, and seeing naught but a wisp of a girl looking guilelessly up at them, they made a quick decision. Uncrossing their halberds, they allowed her to go, leaving Lady Alice complaining loudly in her wake. She scampered down the passageway in search of Bess and Henry. She had no idea what she would do when she found them, but she knew it was not seemly for the two to be alone. All was quiet at this end of the house, but just as she was about to turn back and go down to the great hall, she heard a low moan, and then another and then something akin to a cry of pain.

  “Bess!” Grace muttered, an icy finger of fear clutching at her throat. “He must be hurting Bess.”

  But all had gone quiet except for some murmurs from within the solar usually reserved for guests. She turned the wrought-iron handle and, hearing the click of the latch, pushed the door open a crack. What she saw made her abandon her mission, turn and flee as fast as her legs could carry her down the stairs and into the great hall, empty at this time of day. But she could not get the scene upstairs out of her mind: Bess lying on her back on the bed, her petticoats up around…Grace did not know what people called their privy parts…and Henry, half undressed on top of her, heaving his buttocks in the same primeval manner she had seen dogs mount their bitches. She felt sick. But more than that, she felt certain that this was not supposed to happen until after one was wed. And why did Bess cry out in pain? Oh, I should have stopped him. I should have gone in and pulled him away, I should have…But as she calmed down, she suddenly laughed, imagining the scene. “Your grace, I pray you, get off my sister!” she would say, and he would reply: “And who are you to tell the king what he can and cannot do with his betrothed? Be off with you or it will be off with your head!” Nay, she would never breathe a word of what she had witnessed; ’twas not her affair, she concluded, and she thanked St. Sibylline for not revealing her presence at the door. As she climbed back up the stone stairs to the second floor, she grimaced. Perhaps I shall not marry after all, she thought, if I have to endure such a monstrous act. She did not envy Bess the marriage bed.