A Dangerous Inheritance

‘And if I refuse?’ Harry challenges.

‘Then I will call my men and have you thrown out.’ Pembroke’s shoulders suddenly sag. ‘Look, it’s late, and I’m tired. I don’t intend to stand here arguing. I am sorry, but you must be patient for a while longer. Now get back to your chamber, my son. And you, my lady, go to sleep. Goodnight.’ He holds open the door.

Harry is vanquished. He stoops and kisses me briefly, then sullenly walks out of the room, his father following. This time, the key does turn, leaving me a prisoner. I am a wife, yet not a wife: a virgin still, and I fear I will remain so for God knows how long. It is enough to make anyone weep. And I do.

Kate

June 1483. Crosby Place and the City of London.

There was a great stir and commotion in London. People were busy making ready for the young King’s coronation. Whenever Kate, accompanied by the new maid her father had appointed, ventured out of the house to browse in the enticing shops in Cheapside, she saw queues of liveried servants at the goldsmiths’ and the mercers’, collecting jewels and fabrics ordered by their noble masters and mistresses.

London, to Kate, was still an intimidating, if exciting, place. That air of menace she had sensed when she first arrived still pervaded the streets, and many citizens continued to parade about in their armour, clearly fearing trouble. She was aware of the tension within Crosby Place, where the King’s councillors had been gathering for private meetings. She had seen them from her window, dismounting in the courtyard and being ushered into the house. Her father often sat up late at night in conference with them; she had glimpsed the candle flames flickering through the diamond panes of the council chamber.

One morning, there had been a stranger at breakfast, a handsome, smooth-tongued lawyer whom the Duke had introduced as Sir William Catesby. He was clearly liked and trusted by her father, but Kate took an instinctive aversion to him. He seemed sly and crafty, and he spoke with scant respect of his master, Lord Hastings. Kate had always imagined Lord Hastings to be a kindly, upright man, and she knew he had rendered a timely service to her father, so she felt indignant that Sir William Catesby seemed to regard him with derision. And her indignation rose higher when, as her father walked with him to the porch to say farewell, she overheard their muttered exchange.

‘Fear not Lord Hastings, good my lord.’ That was Catesby. ‘He is content that the Council should be divided. The fool thinks I am reporting all our proceedings here to him and the rest.’

‘As long as he thinks you loyal to his interests, we need not concern ourselves with him,’ the Duke replied. ‘And so fare you well, Sir William. I will proceed with our other matter. And I am ready to offer you good lordship at any time.’

That did not sound very charitable towards Lord Hastings either, Kate thought. What could his lordship have done to offend her father and his lawyer?

There came an evening when the Duke of Buckingham, a grand, lordly northerner with a bluff ma

Buckingham made much of the Duchess A

Buckingham praised John highly. ‘Ye have a fine boy there,’ he observed. ‘What will ye be, young man? A knight?’

‘If my father so wishes, Sir,’ John answered. He had been well schooled in courtesy and obedience.

‘I see no reason why not.’ The Duke smiled, but he looked so tired, Kate thought. John was happy, though. To win his knighthood was all he asked of life.

‘And this fair damsel, is she to be wed soon?’ asked Buckingham, helping himself to another chicken leg and beaming at Kate.

‘She is but thirteen,’ A

‘Aye, Duchess, but your good lord here could find a husband to warm her bed andprove useful as an ally,’ Buckingham said. ‘Two birds with one stone, eh?’

‘All in good time, Harry,’ Gloucester intervened. ‘I would keep my fair Kate with me a little longer yet. More wine?’ The subject – to Kate’s relief – was closed.

They sat late at the table. The wine pitcher, refilled twice, was nearly empty again, and the candles were burning low. John had been sent to bed, and Kate had withdrawn to the fireside with her sewing. At the far end of the hall, a lone minstrel plucked a lute. Kate recognised the tune: Mon souverain desir, an old French chanson, and found herself humming along with it.

‘What of the Queen?’ Buckingham asked suddenly.

Gloucester gave a snort of exasperation. ‘She is adamant she will not leave sanctuary. In fact, she’s been so obstructive that the councillors are refusing to visit her any more.’

‘Someone ought to persuade her that she has nothing to fear from you, my lord,’ the Duchess put in.

‘Ah, but do I have anything to fear from her?’

‘Maybe it’s better she stays in sanctuary,’ Buckingham said. ‘At least we know where she is and what she’s about. But there remains the problem of what to do about the Duke of York.’

‘He must leave sanctuary as soon as possible,’ Gloucester said. ‘It does not do for a boy of his age to be cooped up in confinement with his mother and sisters. And his presence is needed at the coronation.’ He got up and began pacing. He had imbibed several goblets of Rhenish, and his gait was a touch ungainly. It was one of those times when it became noticeable that he had one shoulder slightly higher than the other. ‘I will have the boy out of there, whatever that woman says,’ he vowed darkly. ‘How will it look if he is absent from his brother’s crowning?’

‘Bad,’ replied Buckingham. ‘A political embarrassment.’

‘Go gently with the Queen, my lords,’ A

Kate’s fingers were working automatically with her needle, but her mind was wholly focused on the conversation going on behind her. ‘The Duke of York is but nine years old,’ the Duchess was saying.

‘You have a soft heart, A

‘In a couple of years he’ll be of an age to go into battle,’ Buckingham declared. A

‘Aye, well ye’ll just have to insist that the Queen gives up the lad,’ Buckingham was saying. ‘Tell her his brother needs company of his own age in the Tower.’

‘Indeed he does,’ Gloucester agreed.

A chair scraped the floor. ‘Forgive me, my lords, I am going to retire,’ A

‘I have done that already,’ Buckingham replied. ‘It was useless.’

The City was still abuzz with rumours. Whenever she went abroad, Kate was aghast to hear common folk pronouncing freely on the deeds and motives of their betters, and she quickly learned not to open her mouth, because the Londoners seemed to regard all northerners as savages, and as far as some were concerned, her father was one of them.