A Dangerous Inheritance

‘Phew! Archery practice is hard work in this heat,’ he grumbles, mopping his brow with his sleeve. ‘What’s that you have there, Katherine? Oh, it’s those papers from the chest. May I see?’

I show him the first page. ‘What do you make of that?’

He reads, exhales and raises his eyebrows.

‘It’s about Richard III. Look, there’s a date – 1487. But he was killed at Bosworth in 1485.’

I peer closer. Yes, there is the date 1487 right at the foot of the page – and I can just make out the words ‘appreh’ and ‘Raglan Castle’. Most of the bottom lines have faded away.

‘It must have been written by one of my ancestors,’ Harry says.

‘Would they have known something about the fate of the Princes in the Tower?’

‘Who knows? What is there to know? King Richard murdered them.’

‘Whoever wrote this didn’t think so.’

Harry shrugs. ‘But we don’t know who wrote it, or why, so how can we judge it? And Richard was a wicked, evil man. We may thank God that Henry Tudor vanquished the bloody tyrant at Bosworth.’

‘I suppose anyone claiming in 1487 that Richard was i

‘They’d have been laughed at, or worse!’ Harry sniffs. ‘It would have been rash, even perilous, to write such nonsense. Yet my forebears of the time were staunch Yorkists, loyal to Richard’s house. They evidently found something to admire in him, and maybe they didn’t believe the rumours that the Princes had been murdered. My great-uncle was married to Richard’s daughter; he was also in the service of Richard’s son; and he got word to Richard that Henry Tudor had landed.’

‘I don’t suppose he was very popular with Henry Tudor afterwards.’

‘He made his peace with the new King,’ Harry tells me. ‘You see, he was rather like my father. He did not fight at Bosworth. He was said to have turned up late, but I suspect he waited to see which way the wind blew before committing himself. It is a regrettable family trait, I fear.’ He gives me a rueful look. ‘But it was as well, because King Henry craftily dated his reign from the day of Bosworth, so that all who fought for Richard were traitors. My great-uncle kept his earldom. He was a ca

I look at the papers again. ‘So he could not have written this.’

‘He wouldnot have written it!’ Harry is adamant. ‘Henry Tudor was suspicious of all those who had been close to Richard. William would have had to go out of his way to prove his loyalty to the Tudor dynasty. Anyway, I think this was written by a woman. A man would not have tied these papers up with a ribbon.’ He dangles the tawdry, fraying thing.

‘I have it!’ I say, but am silenced when the Countess enters the parlour, obviously bursting with news.

‘My lord has sent word. Northumberland is to ride to Norfolk at the head of the army, to take the Lady Mary. He has said that Jane and Guilford shall be crowned in Westminster Abbey within this fortnight.’

‘Hurrah!’ cheers Harry, and my heart leaps! The Duke must be sure of victory if he is pla

‘Good news at last,’ I breathe. ‘But did not the Queen refuse to have Guilford crowned?’

‘That might be the price of the Duke’s support,’ my lady says shrewdly. ‘Now, Katherine, I should like you to come to the still room to help me make some honey. I’ve got some lovely lavender in, and if we’ve time, we can mix some balms and salves too. And, Harry, I have word from the stables that your new courser has arrived. You had best go and check that you are satisfied with him.’

My husband disappears in an eager hurry, and I tie up the little bundle of papers and put them back in my wallet before hastening after my lady’s retreating back.

I am not allowed to go out. My lady is adamant. There are rumours of a mutiny in Yarmouth against Northumberland, and armed men prowl the streets of London.

‘They are deserters from the Duke’s army,’ she says. ‘The mood of the people is ugly. They suspect these deserters of being spies, sent by him to seek out dissidents.’

‘The soldiers are deserting?’ I ask in alarm. How swiftly the wheel of fortune turns.

‘Yes.’ She is tight-lipped. I know she feels sorry for me, but her first loyalty is to her lord. ‘They complain they have not been paid. Our steward heard some of them spouting forth in a tavern. And he heard something else, my dear – something I think you should know.’

We are alone in the quiet of the still room, making scent with the rest of the lavender – a scent I shall never want to smell again.

‘What is it?’ I ask, sharper than I had intended because of my fears.

‘He heard people saying that the Lady Mary is marching on London with a force of thirty thousand men, and that most towns have declared for her and proclaimed her queen.’ The Countess looks unhappy. We might all be casualties of Northumberland’s ambition.

We sit late after supper that evening, going over and over the latest news and its possible consequences, as the candles burn down and, beyond the open latticed windows, the sun disappears, leaving a soft, velvety sky studded with stars. It grows late, but none of us are ready to sleep. In fact, I doubt I could sleep. I keep dwelling on Jane, shut up for her own safety in the Tower. Has she heard these disturbing reports? Does she realise that, if Mary wins, she might be branded a usurper and traitor? She, who never wanted her crown! Does Northumberland realise what he has done? And our parents? Did it ever occur to them, when they abetted him in this grand scheme, that they might be putting their daughter in danger – and themselves? And that there might be evil consequences for me too?

‘I do fear for my sister,’ I blurt out.

Harry reaches for my hand. His eyes are kind and full of compassion. ‘Do not worry, sweetheart. All is not lost yet.’

‘The Lady Mary is known to be a merciful princess,’ the Countess says. ‘She will understand that Jane is young – and that she did not want to accept the crown.’

Her words strike a chill down my spine. It is as if she believes it is a foregone conclusion that Mary will triumph.

The door opens and the Earl walks in. He looks haggard and weary, and sinks into his great chair at the head of the table.

‘Greetings to you all,’ he says flatly. ‘Is there any wine left?’

My lady picks up the ewer and pours. Her husband downs his goblet in one go. ‘More. I need it.’ The Countess pours again.

‘What has happened?’ Harry asks.

‘Northumberland is facing ruin,’ his father replies grimly. ‘He is finished, and it is only a matter of time before he is taken.’

I start to shake. Harry grasps my hand tighter.

‘But all may not be lost,’ the Earl is saying. ‘Most of us on the Council are ready to declare for Mary. We have seen how the tide is turning.’ He looks at me. ‘Your father, my dear, has been doing his best to prevent us from leaving the Tower. Fortunately, the Master of the Mint managed to escape with all the gold from the Queen’s privy purse, which he was taking to Mary’s supporters in London.’

‘And you have escaped too, my lord, thank God!’ the Countess cries fervently.

‘Aye, by the skin of my teeth. When my lord of Suffolk heard how great an army was poised to march on London, he had his daughter proclaimed all over again, then ordered the gates of the Tower to be locked – not to keep Mary’s forces out, you understand, but to keep us privy councillors in! He trusts none of us. But if Mary wins, we stand to be accused of high treason. You all know the penalty for that.’

There is a chilling silence. I hardly dare breathe.

The Earl continues: ‘Yet I ca