By Loyalty Bound: The Story of the Mistress of King Richard III (14 page)

Then she heard footsteps on the stairs and she shrank back, unsure what was about to happen.

“This chamber?” demanded the voice.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she heard Lady Stanley reply as the door was opened. Anne recoiled as he came in, his face darker than the persistent clouds. She glanced at Lady Stanley, standing behind him, and then back at Richard.

“Get out!” he bellowed at Lady Stanley. “As soon as my men are fed we will leave, as you request. And my lady will go with us!”

Lady Stanley gave him a hesitant curtsey and hurried away. Richard closed the door.

“Anne,” he said. “Forgive me for not coming sooner.”

Her hands fastened into fists around the cloth of his tunic and all the tears she had been holding inside for weeks came tumbling and convulsing from her in relief. He said nothing but held her against him until she could cry no more.

“I’ve soaked your clothes, my lord,” she choked at last as she raised her face to his. He kissed her swollen eyes then held her for a moment at arm’s length, studying her shape.

“I have only just had the truth from William Stanley,” he told her.

“Then you are not angry with me?” she asked him.

“Anne! No!” His face was anguished as he drew her to him again.

“But you were angry with me when we parted,” she said.

“No. I thought that you despised me for what I had done. I wasn’t sure I would find a welcome from you.”

“Of course I welcome you. I have longed for you. I wanted to send word to you, but I didn’t know how...”

“Hush, hush,” he soothed as she began to cry again. “I am here now.”

“But what about Lord Stanley?”

“I will deal with him,” he replied. “What matters now is your welfare and the welfare of our child.” He glanced down and then cupped his hand around her burgeoning stomach. “He grows strongly.”

“How do you know it is a boy?”

“You were made to bear my sons,” he replied, kissing her wet cheeks again.

“Where will you take me?” she asked.

“To Pontefract Castle. You will be safe there. And you will be cared for. I once promised you that I would do my utmost to keep you from Stanley’s control. It has been far more difficult than I ever imagined, but I will keep that pledge, as far as I am able, until the day I die,” he told her.

When she came downstairs Anne was glad to see that her Uncle Robert was one of the men who had accompanied Richard. He also embraced her and reassured her that she would be safely conducted to Yorkshire. The horse litter that Richard had brought was large and filled with furs and well-stuffed pillows to cushion her from any jolting, but they had not travelled far before the sickness beset her again.

“Stop. Stop!” she called as the juices flooded her mouth and the bitter fluid rose in her throat. As soon as the horses had been halted she scrambled to the ground, heaving. Gentle hands held her head and it was a moment before Anne realised that it was Richard who had got down from his horse and knelt beside her.

“This is not a fitting thing for you to see,” she told him, wiping her mouth and feeling ashamed.

“I have seen much worse in battle,” he replied as he helped her to her feet.

“Besides, I have been remiss in not finding a woman companion for you. So until that can be rectified I must assist you myself,” he said as he handed her his own fine linen handkerchief to wipe her face.

At last they approached Pontefract and Anne pushed back the curtain of the litter to watch as the castle, standing on a hill a short distance from the town, grew closer. The encircling sandstone walls and towers looked formidable as they drew up the slope to the west gatehouse.

“You will be safe from Lord Stanley here,” said Richard, leaning down from his horse. She smiled up at him. Although the journey had been trying and tiring at times, his unwavering kindness had allowed her to take some enjoyment from it and they had grown to know one another better in the privacy that it had afforded.

Richard urged his horse on ahead of the litter as they clattered under the arch of the gatehouse, through the bustling outer bailey where people paused in their tasks to watch them pass, and beneath the Constable Tower into the huge inner bailey where as soon as they halted Richard was at her side.

“Let me help you,” he said, reaching out as she stepped unsteadily towards him.

“A moment,” she said as weakness overcame her.

“I will assist the lady,” he said, waving away both her uncle and an approaching servant. “Can you walk?” he asked, “or shall I carry you?”

“I do not think that would be seemly!” she said, shocked at his suggestion. “I’m sure I will manage. I do not think...” she began, as the bailey began to darken around her and she felt him lift her from her feet and carry her up some steps.

Inside, he put her down on a chair near the fire and knelt before her to unfasten her cloak and rub her hands between his.

“Bring a little wine,” he told someone and she felt his hand cradle the back of her head as he lifted the cup to her lips. She sipped and felt the warmth revive her a little. Her vision steadied and she saw him watching her with concern.

“What will people think to see the brother of the king kneeling before me?” she asked, half-serious in her concern that the retainers of Pontefract should not judge her harshly.

“They can think what they please,” he replied. “Anne, you made me afraid. Do you feel a little recovered now?”

“I... I am better.”

“Shall I send for a physician?”

“No!” she protested fearfully.

“Well, colour is returning to your cheeks,” he said, smoothing her face gently with his thumb. “Rest here a while and I will make sure your chambers are ready.”

“Everything is as you ordered, Your Grace,” said the constable, who was watching anxiously from the other side of the hearth.

“Do you feel able to walk now?” Richard asked her.

“Yes. I do not need you to carry me again,” she replied, still embarrassed at his open show of affection for her in front of these strangers. “But I would be grateful for your arm,” she said as she stood up. He smiled and rather than simply offering her an arm to lean on he grasped her firmly, pulling her close to the warmth of his body.

“Come,” he said. “I will take you upstairs.”

They ascended the stone steps one by one and walked along a short passageway to a door. Inside was a pleasant room with a large oriel window that overlooked the inner bailey. A fire blazed in the hearth and there were comfortable chairs and tapestries, and even a rug laid on the boarded floor that Anne thought too expensive to put her feet upon. There was a large bed, with dark green hangings fastened back, and, beyond, a second bedchamber and a small garderobe set into the outer wall.

“Is this all for me?” she asked, staring around the luxurious apartment.

“I thought the smaller chamber could be used for the nurse and the baby when he is born,” said Richard. “But in the meantime I will arrange a companion for you. I thought of your mother but I am told she is heavy with child herself at Dudley Castle and cannot come. So I have asked your uncle if his betrothed, Isabella Balderstone, can come and attend you. He speaks of her often and I believe she is a kindly woman and only a few years older than yourself.”

“Thank you,” said Anne. “I am grateful.”

She watched him as he stood with his back to her, staring down into the bailey. After a moment he turned to look at her. “I cannot stay with you long,” he said. “There is a matter in London which I must attend to.”

“When must you go?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Richard.” She reached for his hand, but he didn’t come to her. “Can you not stay with me for a few days at least?” she asked, not wanting to be parted from him. He studied her for a moment and she thought he was going to relent, but then his eyes seemed to grow distant.

“There is something I have to do,” he said. “It cannot wait. Now that I have you safe, I must return.”

She wanted to ask him what it was that was so important, but she was learning that there were things that it was better not to question him about, like the time when she had asked him about the old king, Henry. And she wondered how many other things there were that it was better not to know.

“Stay with me tonight?” she asked.

“You are unwell. You need to rest.”

“I need you,” she told him and watched his serious face turn to a smile.

“I will come to you later,” he promised.

Anne rested and ate a little of the supper that was brought. Then a girl came to turn down her bed and asked her if she needed any help to undress. Anne sent her away, then sat on the small stool by the fire and waited for Richard.

At last there was a brief knock and he came in.

“I have spoken with your uncle,” he told her. “He will send a messenger to bid Isabella to come. He sends his greetings. I told him you were too tired to be disturbed tonight but that you will speak to him tomorrow before we leave.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you rather I left you to sleep... I can see that you are weary. Shall I send for someone to assist you with your gown?”

“No,” she said. “I only need you.” She watched as he prowled the room, reminding her of the caged lions at the menagerie. “What is wrong?” she asked, feeling her lip tremble as she spoke. “Are you displeased with me?”

“Anne,” he said, coming to her and kneeling at her feet again and resting his head on her lap.

“What is wrong?” she asked as her fingers touched his dark hair.

He sighed and then looked up at her.

“You do know that I love you?” he asked after a moment.

“I did not know for certain. I hoped you did. I love you,” she told him, feeling a rush of desire for him that overcame all her weariness and fatigue. “Lie with me,” she pleaded and he lifted her onto the bed and helped her to take off her clothes before pulling her close and gently loving her.

As promised Isabella Balderstone arrived a week later. She was a quiet woman, with dark grey eyes and blonde curly hair that crept out from around the edges of her coif. She was shy at first and a much meeker companion to Anne than Izzie had ever been – and although it was pleasant to have someone who agreed with all she said and consented to her suggestions, Anne missed the fierce debates she enjoyed with her sister.

They stitched clothes for the baby, walked in the gardens, played music and sang a little and the days passed, though throughout each one, as her body grew more rounded with their child, Anne wondered what Richard was doing and when he would return.

She devoured each snippet of gossip she heard from servants and messengers about what was happening at court until she overheard some talk that disturbed her. It preyed on her mind until one afternoon, as it grew too dark to sew, she put her stitching aside with a sigh and decided to confide in her friend.

“I’ve heard some talk... about the Duke of Gloucester,” she began. Isabella did not look up but continued to embroider a delicate flower on a gown for the baby.

“What have you heard?” she asked after a moment, continuing with her work.

“That there is trouble between him and his brother, the Duke of Clarence.”

“Ah that.”

“You know of it?”

“I’ve heard some whispers.”

“And you get letters from my Uncle Robert,” said Anne. She had seen Isabella reading them and with every one that came she felt a jolt of disappointment that Richard did not write to her.

“He writes to me, yes,” said Isabella, her eyes still downcast.

“Does he ever mention the duke?”

“He is in his household, so much of his news reflects the duke’s affairs. But there is nothing that need concern you.”

“You know something,” said Anne, looking closely at her. “There is something you are keeping from me – something that concerns Richard.”

“The duke is a busy man. He has affairs that he must attend to. If there is anything he thinks you should know then I am sure he will tell you himself.”

Anne stood up. Her back was aching with the weight of the child and she found it difficult to sit in any position for long. She walked up and down the chamber to ease the pain, pausing to look out at the darkening afternoon and the threat of snow to come. The penitential season of Advent was wearying to her with its short daylight hours and pervading cold and she would be glad when Christmas came.

She sighed and eased herself back down onto the chair by the fire. “I am fearful that the duke will fall out with his brother again,” she said. “Do you know what it is they quarrel about?”

“Land,” replied Isabella. “You know how much the Duke of Gloucester needs land and how he loves the north.”

“Yes,” said Anne, remembering how he had once spoken of his plans for the future as they lay together. “I know he loves those wild places. He told me that Middleham Castle is even more remote than Hornby.”

Isabella cried out after stabbing her finger with her needle and quickly set the tiny gown aside to prevent it being stained with her blood.

“Does he argue with Clarence about Middleham?” asked Anne.

“I cannot say,” said Isabella. “Excuse me.” Anne stared after her as she hurried out. It was so unlike her companion to be flustered. She frowned. It was the mention of Middleham that had brought it about, she was sure. What was it that she was keeping from her? Anne went back to the window and stood looking out. Whatever it was that Isabella knew she was determined to discover it. She turned and looked at the closed door. Isabella slept in a chamber just opposite hers. Then Anne dismissed the thought. She would not demean herself by reading Isabella’s private letters. She would write to Izzie and ask her what she knew. She and John were spending much of their time at the Stanleys’ London house and if there was anything to know she could rely on her sister to find it out.

Robert grimaced as the raised voices carried out through the closed door. God knew, the wood was thick enough to have muted the argument but every word was clear.

“You will tell me where she is!” demanded the Duke of Gloucester.

“She is in my wardship and her whereabouts are no concern of yours!” shouted back the petulant voice of George, Duke of Clarence.

The brief display of brotherly affection after the reunion at Banbury had not lasted long, thought Robert. And neither had the hopes that the duke might take his niece to wife. It was another Anne he was seeking now: Anne Neville, the widow of Edward, Prince of Wales and heiress to half of Warwick’s vast estates. Diccon wanted to marry her. But his brother, reluctant to share the Warwick wealth with anyone, would not reveal where he was keeping her hidden.

“I will find her!” raged Gloucester. “I will find her if I have to search every house in London!”

Robert knew that Diccon’s threat to search every house was no idle one. They had already looked in all the places the duke thought his brother might have hidden the heiress. Clarence was keen that Anne Neville should take vows at a convent and allow her portion of the Warwick lands to be administered by him. But Diccon was not willing to give up his chance of taking the share that had long been promised him. The death of Edward of Lancaster at Tewkesbury had provided him with the opportunity he had thought lost, and he was not prepared to lose it a second time.

Before Anne had chance to send the letter she had written to her sister there was a sudden buzz of activity.

“The duke is on his way!” Isabella told her, hurrying in. Anne knew that the excitement in her voice was because she would soon see Robert. Their planned marriage had been postponed again as Richard had needed her uncle in London, and although Isabella never complained Anne knew that she craved the day when she would be his wife. “A messenger has arrived to bid the servants make preparations,” she said. “They will be here before nightfall and plan to stay for Christmas.”

Anne felt all her anxieties fade. She had convinced herself that Richard intended to stay in London but the news that he would be with her before the end of the day filled her with joy. The baby within her kicked. “Your father comes,” she told the child as she cupped her hands protectively around it. “He comes because he loves us.”

They waited, their sewing neglected, watching impatiently from the tower. It darkened and began to snow in the late afternoon and Anne grew anxious again. Then, at last, she heard the sound of a horn in the distance. Isabella said that she could see them coming, and they both hurried down to the hall.

The retinue came into the outer bailey, the horses slipping on the wet cobbles, and Anne watched from the top of the steps as Richard rode in under the carved gateway on his grey stallion, accompanied by Uncle Robert. She was half-way down, oblivious to the weather, by the time he had dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy with a word of thanks. Her heartbeat and the fluttering of her stomach and the leaping of the baby merged as one as he looked up at her.

“My lady!” he said.

“Your Grace,” she stammered, trying to curtsey on the narrow steps as he bounded up them two at a time to take her arm and steady her.

“Come inside,” he told her sternly. “I would not like you to tumble in your rush to greet me. See how the lady Isabella waits inside,” he scolded as they reached the doorway where her companion was standing. Isabella smiled and curtseyed to the duke but her eyes quickly returned to Robert Harrington who followed them up the steps.