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But what if Simnel was in fact Richard, Duke of York? What if poor Edward V had died of the illness that was eating up his jaw, and his brother had survived in secrecy? It made sense that he had been taken to Sheriff Hutton and entrusted to John’s guardianship – and that John, with his strong sense of honour, should have resolved to restore the true heir to the throne. Maybe pretending that York was Warwick was meant to dupe Henry Tudor into thinking he was dealing with a silly claim by an imposter. It was convoluted thinking, she knew, but there was so much that was mysterious about this affair of the pretender; and Kate had a strong hope that she might be nearing the end of her mission to clear her father’s dishonoured name. Her excitement conveyed itself to her child, which stirred within her, heavy now under her heart. The answer lay with John, she was sure. She had a strong feeling, in her bones, that Simnel was York in disguise.
Katherine
July 1562. The Tower of London.
I never thought I would ever come to regard the Tower as a bower of bliss, but that is what it became for a short time, even for us poor prisoners; and here I have enjoyed two of the happiest nights of my life, for Ned came again four nights later, and we consoled each other in the same loving ways, and were husband and wife in very truth. For that short space, too, we were a family, with our little boy to gladden us and take pride in. He thrives, sweet Edward, which is a joy and relief to us both.
In between those visits, we sent each other letters, expressing our pleasure to find each other still in health and unbowed after all the long months of anxiety and fear. I long to be merry with you!I wrote to Ned, signing myself your most loving and faithful wife, which I truly am, whatever the Archbishop may say.
‘You could not know how I missed you too, darling, how I worried about you when I was in France,’ Ned told me, as we lay entwined together that second night, all passion spent. His words ignited a painful memory. It was as if a cloud passed over the sun.
I could not help myself. I had to ask. ‘Those bracelets …’
‘Bracelets? Those French ones the Queen asked me to commission? There were two for you. Did you get them?’
‘The Queen commissioned them?’
‘Yes, so that she and her ladies should be gay on the progress. That’s what she wrote.’
‘Yes, I did get them. I just wanted to thank you.’ There was no need to question him. All had become clear. Elizabeth, to spite me, must have given her ladies to believe that Ned had sent them the bracelets as love tokens. So all was well between my love and me.
But last night, Ned arrived to find my door locked and me weeping with frustration inside.
‘Mayhap your guards have taken fright,’ he called softly, and verily I believed they had. But this morning Sir Edward presents himself, looking grave. There can be no more clandestine trysts. A new order has just come direct from the Queen, forbidding Ned and me to meet.
I miss Ned desperately. But at least our letters are not forbidden. I long to be with you again, my sweet bedfellow, I write. Ned responds in kind and sends me a book. This is no small jewel to me, I tell him. I will read it at once, with my heart, as well as with my eyes.
He writes of his fears that I will be constrained to forget him. Oh, no, no, my sweet lord, I breathe – that could never happen. I ask in reply:
Do you think I could ever forget all that is past between us? No, surely I ca
Our brief idyll has ended, but soon I am dismayed to discover that there will be consequences. For I am with child again, and once more in terror lest I be found out. Some may think me a fool, but I had been so overjoyed to be reunited with my love that I let caution and reason fly into the wind.
When first I suspect my condition, I confide my fears to Ned, and he writes back, expressing defiant joy at the news. This will be the true proof of our marriage, he asserts.
I confess my state to my women – Mrs Ellen, who deals with my linen, has already guessed – and then to Sir Edward. The poor man is utterly horrified.
‘Great God in Heaven, we are all undone!’ he declares, wringing his hands. ‘When this gets out, it will most grievously offend the Queen’s Majesty, and with even more cause this time.’
‘I fear we will be punished heavily for it,’ I say, trembling and nauseous.
‘Aye, and myself too.’ I hang my head. This is not a fit reward for his kindness. Then an idea comes to me – an idea that might just work!
‘Sir Edward, could this pregnancy not be kept a secret? Only my women and my husband know. I am straitly confined here, allowed to see no one, and once the babe is born, it can be sent out to nurse privily, and no one the wiser.’
The Lieutenant thinks about this, scratching his head in distress. ‘It is the only safe solution,’ he agrees, his ruddy cheeks pale. But we both know we are ru
After supper, Sir Edward appears again, ushering in an elderly lady wearing a plain grey woollen townswoman’s gown with a white linen coif. Elizabeth Savage at last! Her face is pale and thin, the eyes light blue, the lips drawn down by fine lines; and her hands are clasped tightly before her.
She curtseys to me. She knows who I am. Her face is impassive, her eyes downcast, unreadable. It is easy to see that she was once a nun.
I take the chair by the fireside, and invite her to be seated.
‘Mistress Savage, the Lady Katherine is also interested in the tombs, so I thought we could discuss them together,’ the Lieutenant explains.
Elizabeth Savage nods, but says nothing. Maybe she was taught in her convent only to speak when necessary.
‘My father once owned the Minories,’ I explain, ‘and I stayed there often when I was younger. There are some great ladies buried in the church. I remember seeing their tombs as a child, but ca
A shadow crosses Mistress Savage’s already wary face. She knows something, I think.
‘They are particularly interesting monuments,’ Sir Edward puts in. ‘Yet it is not just the tombs we wish to know about, but the women who were buried in them. We know you visit these tombs often. We wondered if you had any knowledge of those ladies.’
‘I know nothing, Sir,’ the woman says, too quickly. I notice that her accent is refined, indicating gentle birth. She looks like a cornered deer.
‘Please, Mistress,’ I intervene. ‘This matter may concern a great wrong that was done many years ago to two kinsmen of mine. You will have heard of the Princes in the Tower …’
Mistress Savage sucks in her breath. Her involuntary response gives her away, and she knows it. ‘What is this about?’ she asks. ‘Why are you asking me about that?’
‘You know something about the matter, don’t you?’ the Lieutenant says gently. ‘We had a suspicion you might.’ It is easy to see that he is experienced in the business of questioning people. ‘Come, there is nothing to fear, I assure you. This is no official inquiry. I, and my lady here, merely have an interest in finding out the truth. We have been investigating the matter privily for some time now. The fate of the Princes is a mystery that has long intrigued us both.’ He leans forward. ‘You were the last abbess of the Minories. You visit those tombs often. I wonder why. I also believe that if anyone can tell us if there is a co
‘I know nothing,’ says Elizabeth Savage, flushing.
‘Is that so?’ Sir Edward asks. ‘Then why are you on the defensive? Why did you look so discomfited just now when the Princes were mentioned? Madam, I know you can help us. And we would respect your confidence.’