Mistress of Mourning (15 page)

“Varina, I heard what happened,” Nick told me, speaking quietly over Arthur’s head. “But before Arthur leaves us so that we may speak alone for a moment, I have an early yule gift for him.”

“For me, Sir Nick?”

“Just Master Nick for now, Arthur. But yes, when I was a lad, I always favored tops and could get them to spin for hours—well, minutes—and this is a special one.” He produced a large wooden top from his satchel, one carved and painted. “You see,” he said, stooping to Arthur’s height, “when you get it going just right, this painted hunt hound seems to chase this roebuck. They are fashioned so that they appear to go up and down a bit too. Now, here’s the leather pull cord. I’m pleased you’re here, because I’d rather show you, man to man, than leave it with your mother.”

“I thank you! Can we try it here?”

“Some other time. You take it with you and let me know later, will you? I’m leaving on the morrow with the other Arthur—our prince—for Wales, and there’s to be a fine parade out of town, if you might bring your mother and the rest of the family to see us off.”

I heartily hoped Sibil Wynn was still with the queen and not with Princess Catherine. Still, the day of the jousts, I had felt she was flirting with someone below us when Nick had not yet appeared. Oh, what was wrong with me? I had no right to be jealous about this man! Yet, although I’d best forget him, I rued that he was leaving.

“Oh, yes, I’m sure we shall see them off and wave you away!” Arthur cried, standing on one foot and then the other in his excitement. “Is it all right to leave, then, Mother?”

“Yes. Yes, and thank Master Nick again for his kindness.”

As Arthur obeyed and hurried off, I steadied myself for whatever was to come. I stared at Nick’s black gloves, which he’d dropped on the counter. The queen’s other guard she’d sent to me, Jamie Clopton, always wore black gloves.… My pursuer in the crypt had worn black gloves.… Christopher too had fine black winter gloves.…

“You’ve quite won him over,” I told Nick as the door closed behind Arthur.

“But have I won you over?” he asked, as his eyes narrowed in perusal of my face and form, just the way I caught him watching while I carved the waxen images.

He was not jesting; he looked entirely serious. I could have fallen through the floor.

Nick always made my thoughts scatter. He was not merely flirting—was he? I hoped that if Arthur ran straight to Gil or Maud, they would give me a moment before rushing in. I could not believe that Nick was here. Was his purpose only to bring my son a gift and to tell me he was leaving and that he’d been moving up in the world? We had shared much of our sad losses and our goals those days we’d spent together. Though I must get over this man, a farewell was better than nothing from him.

“The lad favors you, Varina.”

“Do you think so? If you’d seen his father, you would see him more in Arthur. The younger, Edmund, looked like me.”

“Yes—I have not forgotten about Edmund.”

“Nor I the losses of your family and fortune. So, did the lady at the palace send you?”

“With a gift for your Arthur when she’s about to be separated again from hers? No. I regret I haven’t come sooner, but I have been kept in almost constant attendance upon the prince or the king.”

“That should please you. Now to Wales. And you said you heard what happened. You mean
Signor
Firenze’s death?”

He nodded, his eyes still devouring me. “One of the palace guards who knows the sheriff told another—but how we heard doesn’t matter. The lady knows, and she is grieved and concerned.”

“Did you hear the rest? That I found his body? Nick, I swear, I was pursued by the same man! He spoke only once in a distorted whisper, but he claimed the queen had sent him. He said that the master painter was already on his way to the palace and I must go too.”

Nick came closer and rested his hands heavily on my shoulders. Little waves of heat radiated down my arm, to my breasts and belly, even lower.

“I had not heard all of that. Maybe Firenze talked too much—the man talked all the time—and he was overheard by the wrong person. Although they have gone underground for now, even in the city there are some who hate the Tudors. I will see the lady knows that the assassin pursued and tried to trick you too. She is sending a groom to care for your horses, but in truth he is a guard to keep you safe. Varina, I wish it were me.”

Now his hands gripped my shoulders, else I would have hurled myself against him and hung on tight. How foolish I
had been to think I could forget or forgo this man—and he was leaving.

“Listen to me,” he plunged on, his tone as hard as his hands. “You must put out the word that you have hired this man. He will sleep in this shop at night and go with you should you have an errand. Another mouth to feed, I know, so the lady is sending a purse of coins with him. She will be most interested in who the man in the crypt—the murderer, perhaps—was and how he might have known to target you and Firenze.”

“Am I to tell no one who my new groom really is?”

“Your immediate family, if you must.”

“Please thank her for us,” I told him with heartfelt relief and gratitude. How could I ever have suspected the queen? “So you came today to tell me all that because she asked you to?”

“Yes and no. Though I seldom see her of late, she did send me because I know about what you have done for her. I’m to tell you that Jamie Clopton is the man I mentioned, and he’ll be coming later today. But I also came because I had to see that you were well and to let you know I rue the day you finished your work and I could see you no more.”

My eyes widened as he came closer; I held my breath as we both stood, slightly leaning on the counter and toward each other. “I brought something for you too, and I ask for a gift in return,” he went on as he put his hand into his satchel again and drew out a flat wooden box the size of a handkerchief. I watched, transfixed, as he unhooked a tiny metal latch on it.

“Nick, I have no gift for you.”

“Just your promise you will not wed—or so much as become betrothed to Master Gage you told me of, or to anyone else, while I am gone. I believe I will be back with the prince’s retinue in the late spring or early summer, unless His Majesty summons me back before then. He told me that he might need me for something he has promised to look into. But will you promise me about denying Master Gage?”

“Has no one set her cap for you?” I blurted.

He grinned, then sobered. “I am pleased you are dismayed about that, but I am not going to wed anyone—not until I have done for the king and myself what I must do.”

“Protect the prince.”

“And, as I told you before, find Lord Lovell.”

Oh, by all the saints, I thought, why did he have to talk of his passion for justice and revenge when I wanted to talk of promises and passion? I’d sworn off men, and here I was, ready to do anything he asked, queen’s commands or not.

When I hesitated, he opened the lid of the box. A garnet necklace with black metal links lay within on worn green velvet, glinting in the glow of the shop lantern. Putting one hand to my throat, I gasped at the beauty and the impact of it. “Oh, Nick, I cannot.”

“A gift of friendship, not ownership. It was my mother’s, one of the several things my grandmother managed to snatch when we were turned out of our home and estate. When you wear this, whether openly or under your clothing against your bare skin, I want it to cheer you, to remind you that we have shared much and perhaps shall share yet more.”

“It is so dear of you, especially since it was your mother’s.”

“She died in childbed bearing my sister, who came early and had weak lungs. Two of us Suttons, at least, Lovell did not as good as kill!”

“But if your grandmother lives in poor circumstances, should she not have it?”

“She insisted I keep it. Will you argue like a lawyer and turn me down?”

My chin and lips were trembling, but I mouthed the word “no.” Would he think I was puckered for a kiss? I longed for one, not more words, so I closed my mouth and argued no more. I did not want to seem ungrateful, and I would have proudly worn even a piece of brass or tin he gave me. How much this must mean to him—
I
must mean to him.

“I will ever treasure it—and my time with you,” I whispered, blinking back tears that welled up in my eyes as he fumbled with the clasp to put it on me. When he had fastened it, I turned, almost within the circle of his arms, overwhelmed by his gifts, his nearness. Surely no future lay ahead for us, but we had these snatched moments before he left London, left my life again.

“You see, Varina,” he said, his voice rough with emotion too, “you remind me of her—my grandmother, for I hardly remember my mother. Not in appearance, but you are strong, despite fears and danger, loving and protective of your boy—your boys—as she was to me. And loyal, always loyal, whether to queen, or country, or a man—the right man, that is.”

We embraced and held hard. How well we fit together, soft body to hard, his all angles and planes. My breasts flattened against his chest. Even through my lawn chemisette I
could feel the press of the necklace below my throat. He kissed me there, his lips and the tip of his hot tongue sliding down to the fluted collarbones above the necklace itself. Then he took my mouth, possessively, just once, then seemed to pull himself away as if my lips opening beneath his in surrender had burned his.

“I’m late,” he said, grabbing his gloves. “And if I stay a moment more, that counter will make us a very hard bed. I should be at Baynard’s Castle now, overseeing the final packing. Varina—I know Jamie has a dour face, but he has a good heart. Keep him close, but don’t you dare treat him as you would me. The necklace is beautiful, and you are too,” he threw over his shoulder as he made for the door. “Keep it safe for me then.”

He started out before a brief look back just as Gil hurried in. “Ho, Gil,” Nick said, “keep a good watch over Varina!”

Gil gaped that he knew his name, and I recalled again how much Nick and I had shared about our lives those days in the little waxworking chamber at the palace. My body yet ablaze with his touch and gaze, I hurried to the window to watch him mount and spur his horse away into the thickening snow.

Queen Elizabeth of York

This very day the king and I would be en route to Windsor for yule, so it saddened me sore to be waving Arthur and Catherine away as they started toward Wales, far to the west. A cheer from the waiting crowds went up as their long entourage left the cobbled courtyard of Baynard’s Castle and
headed into the London streets, raked clear of muck heaps and strewn with straw.

“Uncap, knaves! Your prince passes!” came the cry from some of the guards, though I am certain that Arthur with his kindly heart would not have asked his people to bare their heads in the winter wind.

Arthur turned back in his saddle, looked up, and waved once more to us as we stood in a window of the gatehouse through which the procession streamed. Then, turning his face away to acknowledge the cheers, he was lost to my sight. Although Catherine would make the journey in a litter, she had opened the leather curtains to wave farewell too. It brought to my mind seeing my parents set out on several journeys, and how—at least in coloring, if not in strength—Arthur resembled his royal grandsire.

Though the king quickly turned away to talk business with some of his privy council—the first portion of Catherine’s massive dowry had just been paid by the Spanish—I stayed at the window, watching the parade pass under me. Behind the initial yeomen guards and the royal couple came officers of their household, English advisers appointed by the king who comprised Arthur’s Council of Wales and the Marches, then more guards. I spotted Nicholas Sutton, since he was tall and sat a horse so well. He was craning his neck, looking back and forth, evidently searching for someone. Many of the Spanish nobles who had come to England with the princess had sailed for home, but the ladies she had left came next, mounted and wrapped against the winter winds with their riding masks protecting their complexions. And then came the endless rattle and clatter of nearly one
hundred carts and packhorses of the baggage train, overseen by guards and servants.

So far to go, one hundred twenty-five miles, days of waving and nodding at four miles an hour, perhaps just ten to twelve miles a day. Bitter weather, grueling roads, staying each night in different inns or homes, including several Arthur himself owned. Anger flashed through me that the king had decided now was the time they were needed in Wales. But he had promised they would be sent for to return to London for the summer season. How it grieved and fretted me to be separated from any of my children, especially my princes.

My heart was burdened too by the murder of the brilliant artist Roberto Firenze. Nick had said that the assassin had told Varina Westcott I had sent him to fetch Firenze and her. Plotting was afoot, and not just mine. I had suspected before that someone close to me was not to be trusted, but who? Who else might have known what Firenze and Varina had done for me? Granted, the Italian talked incessantly. While the king investigated the princes’ demise in the Tower, should I do more than send a guard to help protect Varina? And how to do that from Windsor Castle, while I was away from London during the busy yuletide season? No, I feared I must trust that for now, sadly, but of necessity, Varina and Jamie Clopton were on their own.