A Dangerous Inheritance

Kate had never met the younger Edward, for he had spent most of his twelve years either at court or at Ludlow. But she grieved for this cousin who had lost his father so early in life, and prayed earnestly for him. It could not be easy to be a king, even when you were grown up.

‘Another minority,’ the Duchess said, as they sat at di

‘But if my father is there to guide the King, all will be well, surely?’ Kate asked, laying down her knife and wiping her fingers on her napkin.

The castle chaplain leaned forward. ‘There is an old prophecy, Dame Katherine: Woe to thee, O land, when thy king is a child. This kingdom has not had a happy experience of royal minorities. They breed dissension and rivalry among the nobles of the realm. The late King Henry VI succeeded when he was a babe in arms, and factions ruled, and for want of firm government all law and order was undermined. Now the threat is from the Queen and her blood.’

‘My father will deal with it!’ Kate insisted. ‘He is in the right.’

‘Alas, my child, we have seen too many instances of might prevailing over right in this unhappy land in recent years. But we must take heart: your father is powerful and respected. He is of the old royal stock; these Wydevilles are mere upstarts.’

‘Aye, but they have the King in their clutches, and you may make no doubt they have poisoned his young mind against my lord,’ the Duchess countered. She had eaten very little.

‘With my lords Hastings and Buckingham on his side, my father must prevail!’ Kate persisted. She would not – could not – entertain the possibility of any alternative outcome. In her mind, the Duke was invincible. Had he not taken Berwick from the Scots?

‘Your admiration and zeal for your father is touching,’ smiled the chaplain. ‘We must pray for good news soon.’

Kate prayed. She spent many an hour in the chapel, kneeling beside the Duchess and beseeching God to preserve and keep the Duke. Without his reassuring presence she felt bereft, and it was clear that the Duchess A

‘He wanted to marry me,’ she said, as they clustered around her by the fire. ‘We had known each other as children, for my lord was brought up in my father’s household. We played together: I called him Dickon, and he was pleased, in time, to call me his sweetheart. He was the youngest of a large family, and not very big or strong, but he worked exceptionally hard to prove himself in his military exercises and his swordsmanship. I admired that in him. Then he went away to court, and we did not see each other for some years.’

‘Tell us about being rescued!’ piped up Edward. Kate smiled and ruffled his wispy curls, as his mother went on with her story.

‘When my father was killed in battle at Barnet, he left my sister Isabel and me a rich inheritance that was to be divided between us. Isabel was married to your father’s older brother, the Duke of Clarence. He wasn’t a nice man; he was over-ambitious and very greedy. Isabel’s share of our fortune went to him, because she was his wife, but he was determined to have mine too. I was then living in his household, under his protection, but when he heard that Dickon wanted to marry me, he carried me off and hid me in this big house in London, and there I was forced to work as a kitchen maid. My lord of Clarence warned me that things would go very ill for me if I complained or revealed who I was, and as he had already threatened to send me to a nu

‘It must have been awful for you,’ Kate said.

‘It was. I had no idea how to scrub pans or chop vegetables. I had had a gentle upbringing in a castle. The cook was constantly scolding me. He didn’t know who I was, of course. But then’ – and now her fair complexion glowed – ‘Dickon found me. Someone in Clarence’s household talked; I think he bribed them. And he stormed into that house with a vengeance, and demanded that I be delivered into his care. Well, he was the King’s brother, and he was dreadfully angry: they dared not oppose him. I ca

‘Did he whisk you away and marry you?’ asked John.

‘Not immediately. He had to obtain the King’s permission for the marriage. So, like a perfect, gentle knight, he escorted me to the sanctuary at St Martin’s and placed me in the care of the Archbishop of York while everything was sorted out. And then we did get married. It was a quiet ceremony at Westminster.’ A wistful look crept into A

‘And then did the King chop Clarence’s head off?’ asked Edward. At seven, he enjoyed gory details.

‘No, my son, that was later, when he was discovered plotting against King Edward.’

‘Or is it true that he was drowned in a butt of Malmsey wine?’

Watching A

Edward looked at her in surprise. ‘John told me.’ John had the grace to look guilty. A

‘You shouldn’t go telling him things like that,’ she reproved.

‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’ he asked, his black eyes holding hers.

‘True or not, he’s too young to hear such stories.’

‘I am not!’ protested Edward. But his mother merely sent them both to bed, silencing their protests with a raised hand.

‘Bad boys!’ Kate murmured.

‘Exhausting,’ the Duchess sighed, gazing fondly at her beautiful dark-haired stepdaughter, for there was much affection between them. ‘But you are a good girl. I am blessed in having you for company. It often seems to me that you could be my own daughter.’

‘You have been more than kind to me, Madam,’ Kate replied, touched. ‘I am deeply grateful for all that you do for me. I owe you so much.’ And it was true: as a bastard, she could not have wanted for more. She had been brought up as befitted a legitimate daughter of a Duke and Duchess, learning ma

Yes, she was lucky, Kate often told herself.

*

Her mother, after whom she had been named, was alive and well. She was the wife of the Queen’s cousin, James Haute. But Kate had no memories of the woman who had borne her because she had been fostered by a wet-nurse immediately after her birth, and brought to Middleham when she was two. Her earliest memories were of Middleham, with its strong walls, its mighty towers and its sumptuous private apartments where her father and his family lived in great splendour. She had grown up to love the very air of Wensleydale, its high fells sprinkled with purple heather, its riverside meadows, green valleys, rushing streams and ancient woodlands.

Kate was aware that her father sometimes dealt in business with James Haute’s brother Richard; and she assumed he had met Katherine Haute and her husband socially through Richard Haute. Kate had never liked to ask her father about her mother because it was too delicate a matter, and it was obvious that he was uncomfortable talking about it.