A Dangerous Inheritance

‘Everyone has, it seems. In truth, I could not help myself. I wish I had kept my mouth shut.’

‘So do I,’ he mutters. ‘Not that what you said was untrue, but it can have done us no good.’

‘She was kind to us both this morning, after her fashion.’

‘She is a great dissembler! Nothing she does is without calculation. But even if she has relented towards you, you should beware of courting her wrath further at this time.’

‘You may depend upon that,’ I assure him grimly.

As soon as I get a moment to myself, I go up to my mother’s chamber and, trying not to look at the empty, stripped bed, search in the chest where she kept her private papers. And there I find the letter, as I had expected, written in a shaky hand. It is addressed to the Queen, and below the lines I had read already, my lady had written: This marriage is the only thing I desire before my death, and it will be an occasion for me to die quietly. There is no more, and no signature. She died before she could finish or send it.

Ned, the Duchess and Stokes are grouped by the fire when I enter; it is a cold evening, we are all huddled in furs, and Arthur and Guinevere are stretched out so close to the hearth that they are in danger of being singed by sparks.

I show them all the letter. ‘Read this, I pray you. You will see that it was my lady’s dying wish that Ned and I be married. Should we not send this now to the Queen? She can hardly refuse, in the circumstances.’

‘Elizabeth is not well disposed towards you at present, Katherine,’ the Duchess says bluntly. ‘You spoke unwisely to her, I hear. That was foolish in the extreme, and it betrays a want of prudence. One should never say such things to princes, only tell them what they want to be told. My advice is to wait a while until tempers have cooled.’

‘But the Queen spoke kindly to me this morning, and I gave her an apology,’ I protest.

‘The Queen has a long memory,’ the Duchess says. ‘I counsel you to wait.’

‘Mr Stokes, what do you think?’ I ask. Stokes was zealous in my cause: he will not abandon me now, and others value his wisdom.

But for once, he seems to be at a loss for words. ‘I ca

‘What do you want to do about the letter, my lord?’ Stokes asks.

Ned does not look at me. ‘I will meddle no further in the matter,’ he declares. ‘Burn the letter. In view of the late Spanish conspiracy and the Queen’s anger with Katherine, it could destroy us all.’ And Stokes takes it from me before I can gainsay him, and throws it in the fire.

‘But why?’ I wail, seeing my hopes char and curl up and burst into flame, gone from me for ever.

‘Because, my sweetheart, I will not risk either your neck or mine at this present time. We must be patient and endure this waiting a while longer, until Elizabeth’s wrath is truly abated. Our moment will come, I promise you.’

‘When? I ca

‘You can and you must bear it,’ the Duchess hectors me. ‘Make your move now, and all will be lost. Is that what you want? Besides, there are other considerations to remember.’

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

‘Ned has his way to make in the world; he desires to restore his House to the greatness that was once ours. He ca

I look at Ned, who is staring at his boots. I know that his mother speaks sense. Reluctantly I am coming to see that it wouldbe a bad move to approach the Queen now, and with a leaden heart I steel myself for another seemingly endless wait before my real life can begin.

As chief mourner, I follow my mother’s coffin to the high altar of Westminster Abbey. In deepest black, my face obscured by a voluminous hood, I strive to focus my thoughts on her whom I have lost, yet I ca

One of the heralds – Clarenceux King of Arms – commences with a ringing proclamation: ‘Laud and praise be given to Almighty God that it hath pleased Him to call out of this transitory life unto His eternal glory the most noble and excellent Princess, the Lady Frances, late Duchess of Suffolk, daughter to …’

I ca

Kate

April–May 1484. Nottingham Castle.

All that season, the land was quiet, save for the persistent rumours that rumbled like distant thunder. But Kate was so sunk in despair that she paid little heed to them, or to anything else – until something happened that jolted her back to reality.

The court was at Nottingham Castle, a massive stronghold perched spectacularly on a great rock overlooking the ancient town below, and Kate was lodged in the palatial apartments built by King Edward. Her betrothed had returned to his duties at Middleham, but John was still with the court; he kept well away from her now, although once or twice she glimpsed him watching her. He was suffering too: she could see that. Maybe he had been right to take a realistic view of her madcap plan to run away, yet still she could not face him. She was barely holding herself together as it was.

The King, however, was in a merry, satisfied frame of mind. He had overcome his enemies, he had given the lie to the rumour-mongers – or so he believed – and he was on his way back to the north, where he was popular. And the Queen’s spirits had lifted because soon they would be at Middleham, where she would be reunited with her son.

Easter came and went with its usual solemnities and celebrations. Then, two days later, a messenger came seeking the King.

The Prince was dead. That fair, delicate child had fallen violently ill with pains in his belly, and had suffered an unhappy death – eleven days ago. Eleven days! He had breathed his last, the poor, frail boy, as the court made its unwieldy way northwards, and had been lying cold in his winding sheet at Middleham as his parents feasted on Easter Day.

Kate could not stop crying, and her grief was not all for her half-brother. Some of it was for herself, and his death had created an outlet for it. The remembrance of her sad situation and her approaching marriage made her weep all the more; it was as if there was a fount within her that would never run dry.

As for her father and stepmother, their grief almost bordered on madness. The shock had been terrible, and nothing could console them for their loss. They would see no one, but remained shut off from the court in their private apartments. Kate could only hope that they were managing to console each other in their shared agony. She longed to go to them, but the remembrance of her father’s anguished face when he told her the news, and his terrible cry of pain when he doubled up and howled at her to go from him quickly, was enough to deter her.