A Dangerous Inheritance

‘That is all,’ he says, to my astonishment. ‘We bid you good day, Lady Katherine.’

Kate

October 1485. Westminster Palace.

Kate had not gone out with the other peeresses to watch the coronation procession. She had no intention of witnessing the Tudor triumph, pretending to be a king. She had pleaded the sickness of her condition, and stayed in her chamber, resting on the bed, with Sir Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthurfor company.

William looked magnificent in his new purple velvet robe lined with ermine and guarded with three bands of gold lace and miniver, and a silken surcoat of the same hue, sashed in blue velvet. He had departed early, clutching his coronet, to take his place in the Abbey. He was still angry with Kate for not telling him what the King and the Lady Margaret had discussed; it was clear he was terrified lest she had let slip something that might impact adversely on him. In the end, he had given up, but her silence still rankled, she knew.

The palace seemed unusually still, although outside she could hear the bells of Westminster pealing joyfully, and the crowds cheering. She said a prayer for the soul of her father, through whose death this day of celebration had come about. She thought too of John. Where was he now? Still in hiding? Was he even alive? If only she could see him again – just one glimpse was all she asked.

Hours passed. She awoke, realising she had dozed off. The book lay splayed on the counterpane where it had fallen from her hand. She heard the Abbey bells chiming four. They would be at the banquet in Westminster Hall now. Soft footfalls and women’s laughter outside her door told her that the peeresses were returning.

She got up and splashed water on her face, then ventured out into the palace. Most of the galleries and chambers were deserted, apart from the guards on duty. They wore new uniforms, doublets of scarlet cloth with full sleeves and bases pleated from the waist, with black velvet bo

She wondered if someone was following her – someone who did not want to be seen. It stood to reason that Henry Tudor might be having her movements watched, to discover whom she met and conversed with; possibly he believed she could lead him to someone who might know the truth about the Princes, for there must be people at his court who knew more than they would ever now reveal. She resolved to be careful, just in case. And yet – there was no one to be seen. She must have imagined it.

She went out into the gardens by the river to get some air. And it was there that she espied someone she knew.

‘Pietro!’ she cried, and the man reading on a bench by St Stephen’s Chapel jumped in surprise.

‘Mado

She walked over to him. ‘We have come up to Westminster – my husband and I – for the coronation,’ she told him. ‘I did not look to find you still at court.’

‘Is that so surprising, Mado

‘I understand, Pietro,’ she said, although she could not help feeling a little taken aback at the speed with which the little Italian had turned his coat. Not so long ago he had been lauding her father’s accession. But then she supposed that he was just one of many who had had no real choice but to switch loyalties.

He was regarding her uncertainly. ‘Mado

‘I have never spoken of them,’ she assured him, not telling him she had written down all he had said. ‘Yet I still wonder about them, you know, those poor boys …’

‘It is dangerous even to wonder, Mado

‘Well, they would. After all, the King is to marry Elizabeth of York.’

‘So they say. It is said tht he wished to be crowned first, as king in his own right, before sending for her.’ No, Henry Tudor would not wish it to be thought that he owed his title to his wife! Kate knew a moment’s pity for her cousin: imagine being married to that dark, suspicious prince, the Tudor!

‘Elizabeth of York is at court now?’

‘So I heard, Mado

Indeed it was, unless the King was wary of a future mother-in-law notorious for her meddling. Or maybe Elizabeth Wydeville knew more than was good for her.

‘Her son Dorset is returned from exile,’ Pietro said, his eyes darting here and there. ‘The King confirmed him in his titles.’ But it was unlikely, under the Tudor, that the Wydevilles would enjoy the power that was once theirs, Kate thought.

She took a deep breath. ‘Your mention of Sheriff Hutton brought to mind the Earl of Lincoln. Is there any news of him?’

‘Not that I have heard, Mado

Kate felt another pang of anxiety for John. Hadhe fled abroad? Or was he near at hand? If only she could write to him. She did not mean to betray her marriage vows; she just wanted to ask him if the Princes had been at Sheriff Hutton.

She wondered if she dared approach the Queen Dowager. But Elizabeth Wydeville was in disfavour. Was it because the Tudor suspected she was withholding information about her sons, the Princes? Did she know or suspect that they were not dead? That would explain why she had consented to leave sanctuary with her daughters the previous year. But Kate feared that any contact with the Wydevilles might be noted; and even though they were her kin, they might not want to know her.

If anyone could help her on her quest, Kate thought, it was Bishop Russell. She asked Pietro if he was still in office as Lord Chancellor.

‘No, he was dismissed by the King. He went back to his diocese. And Bishop Stillington is imprisoned at York, sorely crazed.’ No doubt for laying that dubious evidence of a precontract, Kate thought. The Tudor would not deal lightly with a man who had impugned his future Queen’s legitimacy.

‘Mado

Interlude

September 1561. Whitehall Palace.

Midnight, and Sir William Cecil is closeted alone with the Queen. Elizabeth often likes to conduct private business at night, and is wont to summon her unsuspecting ministers without warning, not caring that she rouses them from their beds. But Cecil has not yet retired, and he is as alert as she. He knows they have something of great import to discuss.

The small panelled room is stuffy in the heat; only a tiny lattice stands open to the Thames. Somewhere outside, an owl hoots. There is no moon tonight.

Cecil, sweating, has just handed his mistress the depositions of Lord Hertford and Lady Katherine. She reads them, frowning.

‘No discrepancies, I see. Do the other witness statements tally with these?’

‘Yes, they do. The groom Barnaby testified that he saw the Lady Katherine and the Lady Jane arriving at Hertford House that morning. Jenkin, another groom, saw them too, from an upper window, as did the cook, when they walked by the kitchen door. I have discharged all these witnesses, and only Mistress Saintlow remains in the Tower. I assure you, I should not like to tangle with that lady again: she is trouble! But I verily believe she can tell us no more.’