A Dangerous Inheritance

She had not known until she was six that the Duchess A

After the screaming stopped, one of the exhausted damsels found her huddled, weeping uncontrollably, at the top of the spiral stairs.

‘I don’t want my mother to die!’ she was wailing, over and over again.

‘She’s not going to die,’ said the damsel briskly. She had reasons of her own for resenting the bastards that had been forced upon her mistress; she felt that the Duchess had been slighted, and that it showed scant respect on the Duke’s part. She knew of the grief that A

‘Listen, she’s not going to die!’ the damsel repeated. ‘And she’s notyour mother!’

The world had rocked. Kate stared up at her tormentor in horror, then fled past her to the safety of the nursery, where Agnes, her nurse, sprang up, surprised, and dropped the small bodice she was stitching. On the floor beside her, John of Gloucester, a sturdy two-year-old, had ceased playing with his puppy and turned up a troubled face.

‘It’s not true! It’s not true!’ Kate had cried, burying her face in the capacious apron covering Agnes’s soft bosom. ‘It can’t be true!’

‘What’s not true?’ the nurse asked, kneeling down and holding the quivering child firmly by the shoulders. She was shocked at this display of uncontrolled emotion, which was so out of character, for Kate was normally a happy, plucky, biddable child. Agnes was also alarmed, but for a different reason. ‘Look at me. Tell me! Is the child born? Is her Grace happily delivered?’

‘I think so, but Cecily said the Duchess isn’t my mother,’ Kate wept. ‘I hate her! It’s not true!’

There was a pause – a fatal pause – and then Agnes cleared her throat, and hugged Kate tighter.

‘Calm yourself, child. It’s time you knew the truth. No, the Duchess isn’t your real mother, but she has been a mother to you in every other way, which is as good as being your mother in very truth.’

Kate, still sniffing, took a moment to think about this. ‘Then who is my mother?’ she asked tremulously.

‘Sweeting, I do not know,’ the nurse replied, pulling her charge onto her ample lap. ‘But there is something else I should probably tell you, now that you know this. When a man and a woman marry, their children are trueborn and their lawful heirs. But your father was never married to your mother, and thus you are baseborn and can never inherit anything from him.’

Baseborn. Kate didn’t like the sound of that. It made her feel second best.

‘But,’ Agnes was saying soothingly, ‘the Duchess loves you as much as the Duke does, everyone can see that, and I have no doubt that they will see you well provided for.’

A thought occurred to Kate.

‘What about John?’ She nodded at the toddler, who had lost interest in their talk and was now rolling on the rushes with the puppy. ‘Is he baseborn too?’

‘Aye,’ Agnes answered, although her mouth had that buttoned-up look that Kate knew so well, which usually meant that she disapproved of something and would not discuss it. ‘But the Duchess loves him too. She is a great lady in more ways than one. You are both fortunate children.’

‘This new baby …’ Kate began slowly.

‘Heavens, child, what are we doing chattering here when we don’t even know how the Duchess is – or if the babe is healthy? We must hasten and find out.’ Putting Kate from her, Agnes pulled herself to her feet, scooped up John in her arms, and ushered her charges through the deserted rooms that led to the ducal bedchamber. Here, all was subdued bustle, with damsels and maids moving quietly hither and thither with stained towels, smelly basins covered with cloths, soiled bedlinen and empty goblets. The midwife was packing her bag in the antechamber.

At the sight of Agnes, come to claim her new charge, the ranks of serving women and noble ladies parted, and the midwife straightened.

‘A boy,’ she a

‘Is all well with her Grace?’ the nurse asked.

The midwife hesitated. ‘The child is small, but he will grow. I’ve sent for the wet-nurse.’ There was a pause, while her eyes met those of Agnes. ‘The doctors say the Duchess will recover, but there will be no more children, so thank God it’s a son and heir for the Duke.’

‘Has the Duke been sent for?’ Agnes asked.

‘Been and gone. He could see the Duchess was exhausted, so he said he wouldn’t tire her.’

‘How did he take it – about there being no more children?’

‘I don’t know. The doctors went into the great chamber with him. They spoke in private.’

‘Well, we must give thanks that my lord and lady have a son,’ Agnes said resolutely. ‘Shall we go and take a peep at him, Kate? John can come too.’

The Duchess slept on as they gazed on the tiny mite in the cradle. He was so little, and looked so fragile.

‘He favours his mother,’ said Agnes uneasily; she could think of nothing else to say. If this little scrap lived, she would be surprised.

‘He’s so sweet,’ Kate observed. ‘Can I rock him?’ One of the young rockers moved aside to make room for her. Kate found it hard to imagine that this weakly mewling infant would grow up to be a great lord like her father. She did not voice her new fear that this trueborn child would displace her in her father’s affections; and that the Duchess A

But soon Kate would find that her fears proved groundless. A

Edward of Middleham did live. He survived all the perils of early childhood, grew stronger and thrived – although he would never be the most robust of children. He had even been created an earl by his uncle, King Edward: he was now my lord the Earl of Salisbury, and proudly bore the title that had belonged to his mighty Neville forebears. One day, with God’s good grace, he would be Duke of Gloucester, like his father before him. But not yet, not for a long, long time, Kate prayed.

For all his exalted rank, young Edward was a boy like any other, and grew up to worship his older half-sister and brother. He tried to emulate them in all they did, and learned quickly so as to keep up with them. The three children could often be seen building castles out of toy bricks, or playing make-believe games of knights and dragons, in which Kate was always the princess in distress, John was always St George, and Edward insisted on being the dragon, ranting around and pretending to breathe fire. Fine weather found them ru