By Loyalty Bound: The Story of the Mistress of King Richard III (13 page)

“Hush!” Izzie’s hand smelt of fruit as it covered her mouth to silence her. “You must be more careful, Nan,” she said. “This is a dangerous game that you play. And I told you about the things he has done. I wouldn’t want him to touch me. And why make Lord Stanley angry? No good will come of it. You must forget him. Promise me that you will forget him, Nan.”

“I can’t,” she said.

Next morning Lord Stanley called her down to the solar.

“You have displeased me immensely,” he told her, his narrowed eyes displaying his contempt. “I will not have a daughter of my house talking in secret with Gloucester. You will go back to Lathom with Lady Stanley and you will remain there until your husband comes to claim you.”

“Yes, my lord,” she replied with resignation, wondering if her snatched moments with Richard had been worth such a severe penalty. She decided that they had. Her only regret was that they had not parted as friends. She bitterly regretted angering him and would have liked the chance to tell him that she understood and did not think badly of him, but another meeting was out of the question and even a letter was impossible as she was not allowed out of the sight of one of the Stanleys or their trusted servants as her belongings were packed ready to leave.

Before noon she and Lady Stanley were in the carriage heading north. Izzie had hugged her and told her that she hoped she would be allowed to come and visit her soon.

“Please,” Anne had whispered as she clung to her sister. “If you see Richard, tell him that I understand.” Her sister had nodded and kissed her cheek, but Anne suspected that she would not do as she was asked even if she got the chance.

The carriage ride made her nauseous as usual and with every mile that she was parted from him it grew worse. It was hot and the flies buzzed around their heads, attracted by the horses and the drying pools of water that formed in the sudden overnight thunderstorms. At least it will end when we reach Lathom, thought Anne. It was the only reason she was glad to arrive, but when she eventually crept to her bed to lie down the sickness continued.

She blamed it on her grief. Her body might be at Lathom but her heart and soul were in London with Richard. She longed to know what he was doing at every moment of the day. She thought about him every morning as soon as she awoke and his name was on her lips as she made her evening prayers.

It wearied her and as the weeks passed her stomach rejected everything she ate. At first Lady Stanley seemed too concerned with her own poor health to notice that there was something wrong, but Anne looked up to see her staring at her one afternoon as she sat with a piece of sewing on her lap that had not been touched for weeks.

“You are ill,” she remarked. “Your humours are seriously disturbed. Your stomach rejects your food and yet it distends as if you are never from the table. You may need a bleeding to restore your balance - if the planets are favourable.”

“I am well,” insisted Anne.

“No. I have been too deep in my own grief to see. Something troubles you. I will ask the physician to come.”

Despite Anne’s protests, Lady Stanley was resolute that the physician should see her.

“You need have no fears,” Lady Stanley reassured her. “The physician comes from Chester and he is well-qualified. He has attended me and other members of the family on many occasions with good success. I know you are hesitant. You have never had the privilege of consulting such a learned man before, but there is nothing to fear. The physician will make you well.”

He came the next day; a small, squat man with dark hair and the face of a mole. Anne recoiled from him on sight. She had never had need of a physician before – she had always consulted Mistress Payne at Hornby.

Lady Stanley brought the man into her bedchamber and he began by taking her wrist to feel for her pulse.

“I am not unwell,” she insisted. “It is the changes of air that affect me and the long journeys. I will feel better soon.”

He didn’t comment except to ask that she produce a sample of her waters in one of his glass flasks and he waited outside the bedcurtains with Lady Stanley whilst she blushingly complied.

“A little cloudy,” he commented holding it up to the window. Then, having inspected her urine, he insisted on her lying on the bed and raising her gown to uncover her nakedness whilst he pressed his cold and clammy hands to her bare belly, leaving Anne feeling violated.

“Your husband will be pleased,” said the physician at last, having asked her questions about her monthly phases. “Did you not realise that you are with child?” he asked as if she was witless.

Lady Stanley exclaimed in astonishment. The physician turned to her as if to say something but seemed to think better of it and, after accepting his fee in a small cloth purse, he wished them both a good day and went out to his waiting horse.

A letter was written immediately to Lord Stanley and sent by messenger the same morning. Lady Stanley did not speak of the subject to Anne but instructed that she was to keep to her bedchamber until Lord Stanley had given instruction on what was to be done.

Anne did not object. She needed time to think about what the physician had told her. Her mind had been so filled with worries about her sour parting from Richard that she had given no thought to the chance that a child might spring from their brief union. She wished now that she had asked Mistress Payne about the ways to prevent a man’s seed taking hold. The village girls who worked in the kitchens at Hornby had often discussed such matters as they scrubbed the tables and swept the floors, but Anne had only listened idly, never thinking that the knowledge might be useful.

A few days later Anne was sleeping on her bed following the dinner that the servant had brought. She had eaten a little of the white bread and sipped at the pottage and for once it had stayed down and she felt a little better. At first she wasn’t sure what had wakened her, but the voice she recognised from below filled her with dread. Lord Stanley himself had come.

The house was filled with the sound of his shouting and Anne waited, listening at her door, as Lord Stanley rebuked his wife.

“I left her in your care! You only had to watch her! How can this have come about? What villainous servant or village boy has availed himself of a daughter of my house? When I discover who is responsible I will personally thrash him until he begs for mercy!”

Anne quaked as she listened to his words and prayed that he did not intend to use her likewise. She doubted that being with child would elicit his compassion as the child was not of his blood and it would only please him if a beating tore it from her womb.

A moment later she heard a servant approaching and turned to the small mirror to put on a coif and pull her modest gown into order. She took a deep breath and, although she could feel the trembling of her chest as she slowly exhaled, she thought of Richard and took strength from him. She had not sinned, she told herself, the sin was with Lord Stanley who had forced her into a marriage to steal her inheritance. She would go and face him with dignity despite her fear.

When she walked into the hall and saw his grim face, her courage almost deserted her.

“So, you carry a child?” he demanded without preamble.

“Yes, Father,” she replied meekly.

“I did not realise that I was taking a common strumpet into my family when the king gave me your guardianship,” he said, his lips as narrow as his eyes, whilst his wispy beard trembled with rage. “I do not suppose he will be pleased to hear this. And neither can we pass it off as your husband’s child since he is but nine years old.” He paused again to glare at her. “So,” he continued, “whose child is this that I am expected to take as a cuckoo into the house of Stanley? Who have you defiled yourself with whilst in my care and as a daughter of my house? Who is the father?”

“The Duke of Gloucester,” she replied and watched as the calculations of his mind began to make sense of what he knew.

After a moment he stalked from the hall without another word and, going to the private solar, slammed the door shut behind him. Anne stumbled to a bench on shaking legs, one hand covering the child in her womb as if to shield it from harm.

“You are to return to your bedchamber,” said Lady Stanley when she came in a moment later, “and you are to remain there until my husband decides what should be done with you. He is very angry,” she added, unnecessarily.

Anne was thankful to retreat and close the door behind her. Later she heard Lord Stanley’s messenger leave and he rode off himself early the following morning. She thought that once he had gone Lady Stanley might allow her downstairs, but no one came to her door except the servants with her food and to bring fresh water and take away her soils.

Balderstone in summer looked different. Robert was only able to catch glimpses of the manor house through the trees as he approached. But Isabella was watching for him and was waiting in the courtyard. It was so long since he had seen her that she seemed almost a stranger. But a beautiful stranger, Robert thought, wanting to pull the cap from her head and touch the fair curly hair that he glimpsed beneath it.

Her smile was warm and welcoming as were her lips when he pulled her against him.

“I’m right glad to see you,” he told her, breathing in the scent of her body. “Pray God the king is secure and we can be wed at last.”

“There were days this winter past when I doubted the day would ever come,” she said.

“Surely you did not think me unconstant?”

“Never that. But there were dark days when I feared that you were lost to me,” she admitted.

Although Robert would have liked to take her to the church and wed her that very afternoon he knew it was not possible. Harvest time was approaching and Isabella wanted to see everything gathered and stored before she left her mother to travel to his lands at Badsworth.

Robert felt irritated at her reluctance. Her mother would have to manage alone once Isabella was his wife. But she had waited for him and he owed it to her to wait a while longer, though he ached with the suppressed desire for her. They set a date for October and Robert returned in good humour to London.

Back at court, he was surprised to see the tall, broad-shouldered man in the ante-chamber of the Duke of Gloucester’s apartments. His hand felt for the leather covered handle of his sword as he swallowed down his bile and civilly greeted William Stanley.

“You desire to speak with His Grace?” he asked as if such a thing were beyond belief.

“I do.”

“Then I will convey your request,” replied Robert, doubting that Diccon would agree.

“It is about Anne, your niece,” said Sir William.

“What of her?” asked Robert, pausing. The man had an air of disquiet about him.

“There is something the duke should know... and maybe you as well,” he said and the urgency in his tone made Robert think that something was amiss and he hurried to find Diccon to beg him to admit the man and hear what he had to say.

The Duke of Gloucester was sitting at a trestle table with letters and documents spread across it. A line was creasing the space between his eyes at the bridge of his nose and he was in low conversation with a trusted lawyer.

“My lord,” said Robert, loath to interrupt.

“What is it?” asked the duke, although his tone was not one of rebuke.

“Sir William Stanley is here and craves to speak with you.” The duke raised an eyebrow. “He says it concerns my niece, Anne.”

“Fetch him in,” said the duke after a moment. “Take these and try to make some sense of them,” he said to the lawyer, and as the man left the chamber Sir William brushed past him.

“Stay,” said Diccon to Robert as he made to leave. “This may concern you also.”

“Indeed it does,” replied Sir William and then he stood, turning his hat in his hands, before he began to speak. “You know that the lady Anne is at Lathom House in Lancashire under the care of my brother and his wife.” He hesitated again and then looked at the duke with an expression filled with jealousy and contempt.

“She is with child,” he said.

Robert did not believe it. The boy, Edward Stanley, was far too young to father a child and it was well over a year since Anne had been with Diccon at Hornby.

“Are you certain?” demanded the duke, his steely eyes fixed on William Stanley.

“Aye, Your Grace, and from what my brother tells me the lady has claimed that you are the father.”

“And why do you come to me with this?” asked the duke, only betraying his emotions by walking to a chair and sitting down.

“Because my lord brother plans to have the child taken away when it is born and put in the care of the nuns at Chester. Anne is to be told that it is stillborn. I do not do this for you,” he added, glaring at the duke. “I do it because I care for the lady Anne and would not like to think of her so ill-used.”

Gloucester was on his feet with his fists clenched and for a moment Robert feared that he would strike Sir William. He stepped forward with a hand outstretched and when Diccon looked at him he saw that he was struggling to control his temper.

“Gather men, enough men!” the duke told him. “I intend to take the lady into my care!” Then with a tight-lipped face he strode from the hall to his private chamber and shut the door behind him. Sir William turned to Robert with a look of inquiry.

“It will be done, my lord,” he reassured him. “And thank you for bringing us this news.”

“As I said, I do it for the lady Anne,” repeated Sir William with a brief nod before he left.

Anne’s anxiety grew. She needed to know what was going to happen to her and although she imagined all manner of ways that she might send a message to Richard, not one of them was practical. And even if she did manage to get a letter to him how could she be certain that he would not be displeased? He had been angry with her when they parted and he might simply deny that the child was his.

Then, one morning, she heard hooves and the grinding wheels of a carriage outside. A banging came on the door that reverberated throughout the house and she heard raised voices downstairs - men’s voices. As Anne listened, afraid that Lord Stanley had come to take her away somewhere, she thought that she recognised one of them. She pressed an ear to her closed door. She could not be sure what was being said, and though she longed to believe that it was Richard she could scarcely believe that he had come to Lathom.