The Devil in Ermine Read online

  THE unkind hint that Uncle Dick was reaching for his nephew’s crown became as common as dog dung and the citizens buzzed in like flies to investigate the stink. You could sense it riding through East Cheap to Crosby Place. The people whispered at the street corners, three here, four there, glancing suspiciously at strangers, noting the badges of the men-at-arms outside the cookshops and brothels. Hastings would have smelled it by now and I would also make sure the miasma crept under Westminster Sanctuary’s door.

  It was worth the trouble. A day or so later, Elizabeth, bored by the company of her children, proved herself easy bread to the mould of fear. She did just what I hoped: she decided that a reconciled local enemy might be better than a multitude of absent friends. A pretty, perfumed messenger – Mistress Shore – was summoned to the sanctuary and given a letter of loving friendship for Lord Hastings.

  How did I know that? Well, although Richard had placed a cordon of men-at-arms around the sanctuary, he wasn’t going to deny his little nieces the joy of clean sheets, and laundresses do like to chatter. So when Ratcliffe informed us that our horny Lord Chamberlain was now playing the goat with Mistress Shore every evening, I rubbed my hands with delight. It as was as good as hanging himself with one of her garters. By night she made love to the old wretch and then each morning she visited the sanctuary with sweets for the royal children and a progress report for Elizabeth. I would have wagered my dukedom that Dorset had hidden at her house as well before he sprinted out across the fields.

  DANGER should make a wise man careful, but when I glimpsed Mistress Woodville in line with other petitioners at Crosby Place next morning in the drizzle, I could not resist desiring her favour. Very stoic she looked, holding up a square of cered leather above her head. Soon her arms would tire, and the rain would bedraggle her starched veil.

  ‘Nick, there is a young woman halfway down the line in a gooseturd green gown with a long mustard cloak. Pluck her out and bring her to the other door to the Great Chamber.’

  RICHARD was not pleased that I had rearranged his queue; probably due to his damnable sense of justice and the consequences of being forced to tidy his bed as a page.

  ‘You are not going to tell me any more about this woman, are you?’ he muttered, grumpy but curious.

  ‘I hardly know anything about her either, cousin, but it’s fair that you see her.’ The word ‘fair’ hooked him. He sent Tyrrell to bring Margaret Woodville in.

  ‘Mistress Poyntz, your graces.’

  I thought Tyrrell must have found the wrong woman and my jaw slackened to see it was indeed Margaret Woodville. The little witch had never told me she was married. The loosened hair of the previous evening had been a way to gull my servants, not to mention their master.

  She curtsied to us both, self-conscious like any woman of her sodden hem and dripping headdress.

  ‘Present your petition to his grace, madame,’ I instructed her. ‘Then you may stand by the fire and warm yourself.’

  Frowning, my cousin observed her over steepled fingers and his pile of papers. His secretaries at either end of the board inspected her with discreet admiration. Her firm breasts and graceful neck and shoulders would have turned most men’s heads.

  She darted me a swift look of gratitude before she loosened the ties of her cloak and fumbled nervously with the drawstring leather bag hanging from her girdle. After setting her petition before Richard, she retired meekly to stand before the hearth. Loyaulté catching the dripping edge of her cloak woke and shifted away with a look of displeasure that matched his master’s.

  ‘You are Lord Rivers’ bastard daughter?’ asked my cousin.

  ‘Yes, your grace.’

  ‘Well, I honour you for your loyalty to your father, Mistress Poyntz, but it is up to the Royal Council, not I, to grant your father his freedom.’

  She came forward once more, glancing at me again before meeting the Lord Protector’s scrutiny. Some pigs might fly but this white boar had his cloven hooves firmly planted.

  ‘If your graces would speak to the Royal Council on his behalf.’ Her beseeching face looked to us in turn. I kept my expression objective; Richard’s was weary.

  ‘Are you requesting me to condone treason, madame?’ He leaned forward again. ‘Your father’s governance of the Prince of Wales must have deluded him into believing that he should govern England as well.’

  ‘My lord, I am sure he did not mean to—’ She fell to her knees. ‘Please give him another chance. Let him go on pilgrimage to Jerusalem.’ A reminder of the hairshirt and saints badges on her father’s cap.

  I think Richard winced inwardly like I did. Pilgrimages were the way Rivers made the rest of us feel wanting.

  ‘No, madame,’ my cousin replied firmly. ‘He shall remain a hostage until all the monies that have been thieved by your other kinsmen are returned. If you wish to help him, I suggest you go and visit your aunt in Westminster Sanctuary and tell her that your father’s wellbeing depends on her change of heart towards me, his grace of Buckingham and the Royal Council. You have leave, madame.’

  What choice did she have but to hide her disappointment and rise with dignity?

  ‘One moment, though!’ He forced her to stop and turn back to us. ‘What is your husband’s name again?’

  Another obeisance. ‘Robert Poyntz of Iron Acton, my lord.’

  ‘And why is your husband not here to support you in your petition?’

  For an instant her expression might have resembled a fly’s just before it hits the sticky web. ‘Because he is Constable of Carisbrooke Castle on the Isle of Wight, my lord.’

  ‘Hmm, isn’t that a post that your father once held?’ His knowledge startled her. ‘Is your husband there now?’

  ‘I…I am not certain, your grace. He has a good man as his deputy. I know that.’

  The Lord Protector glanced heavenwards. ‘Numbskulls,’ he muttered, beneath his breath, and swung round on his senior secretary. ‘Kendall, see Mistress Poyntz out and record where she is presently residing. When you next see your husband, madame, pray ask him to attend me.’

  ‘I thank your grace.’ A briefer curtsey.

  She left unsated, and I could not go after her as I desired, for my cousin exploded immediately in a right pother.

  ‘A pox on that damnable family! Fetch Lord Howard in, one of you! Edward Woodville is swanning up and down the Channel with half my brother’s wealth and who are manning our fortresses? His bastard niece’s husband for one.’

  I said nothing, merely leaned back against the window with my arms folded and waited for our estimable admiral to arrive from one of the chambers off the gallery and sweeten the Lord Protector’s humour.

  ‘There’s still no news, I’m afraid,’ Howard announced. He breezed in, waving empty ink-stained fingers. I liked him. He was one of the wheels on which the cart of England ran. In his sixties, with a score of military campaigns behind him, he exuded dependability.

  Richard came straight to the point. ‘Jock, did you know Rivers’ son by marriage is Constable of Carisbrooke?’ Howard curled his lip and shook his hoary head. ‘Holy Paul!’ fumed my cousin. ‘Do either of you know who’s Constable of Portchester, then?’

  I met Howard’s glance and shrugged. All I knew was that Portchester was the sentinel castle east of Portsmouth.

  The Admiral of England swished his mouth sideways, looking sheepish. ‘Ahh.’

  ‘Ahh?’ prompted Richard, his smile an illusion.

  ‘Sir Edward Woodville, I believe. Your pardon, Dickon, I should have found out—’

  ‘No, I should have thought of it,’ fumed my cousin. ‘See!’ he exclaimed, turning to me. ‘The entire south is riddled with the Woodville pestilence. Get an order out, Jock. I want every one of the constables along the south coast replaced with people we can trust. The cinque ports, Southampton, Poole, Plym—’

  ‘The Royal Council…’ Howard began.

  My cousin’s fingers rose in a ‘V’.

  ‘Just a mome
nt.’ I intervened, hiding my amusement. ‘Have you considered the consequences, Richard?’

  ‘Harry, it will take very little for me to ride back home and rebuild Hadrian’s Wall across Yorkshire. I am sated to here.’ He sliced a hand across his throat. ‘Everywhere I look, there’s some Woodville toad. Didn’t my brother have any sense? Good English noblemen have been starved of office for years because of one family’s greed. Go, Jock, what are you waiting for! I want Edward Woodville and his ship. By Heaven, I’ll have his head!’

  The door closed behind Howard, but Richard still looked as though wanted to hurl the wine jug through the window. Even Loyaulté got out of the way of his pacing master.

  ‘Isn’t your wife arriving this afternoon?’ I asked sweetly. My cousin just needed to get his leg over and take some pleasure.

  ‘Humpf.’

  ‘In God’s Name, cousin, cut yourself some slack. You’re not a slave on a treadmill.’

  ‘Harry, I cannot run this blessed kingdom if I don’t know what’s been going on. I need to talk to King Louis’s embassy and—’

  ‘King Louis’s embassy can go scratch himself. Make ready for Lady Anne. She’ll be expecting a husband not a workhorse. What say I hear the petitions for the rest of the day?’

  ‘Harry—’ He was like a songbird with the cage door open, hesitant to leave. It wasn’t because he didn’t adore his wife but I guessed the letters and dispatches were a bulwark against the truth – that he was a prisoner now, unable to return to his beloved north.

  ‘No one manages anything better than you, Richard, but even the Almighty took a day to rest and tomorrow is Sunday.’

  He ran a hand around his chin.

  ‘Go!’ I ordered laughing.

  PETITIONS are tedious but it was time I grabbed the pick and shovel for some real work. I wanted the Londoners and the royal council to see me as a man of integrity, not a wine bibbler like Dorset or a one-day-a-week philosopher like Rivers.

  And speaking of Rivers – I sent for Delabere to sniff around the clericals at St Martin’s before supper time and find out more about pretty Margaret. Wouldn’t it sting Rivers if I played the wasp to his daughter’s honeypot? No, that sounds cruel. My antennae had sensed a hunger in her just as great as mine. Had not Aristotle said that ‘Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies’?

  When I arrived back at the Manor of the Red Rose and found Mistress Poyntz back on my hall doorstep like a boot scraper – no, a spitting cat might be more accurate – it seemed like destiny.

  Encouraging this friendship was reckless, but I reckoned that even if we did not become soul mates, she owed me at least a pennyworth of thanks.

  I had her taken up – discreetly, mind – to my chambers and I ordered a private supper.

  What she did before anything else was slap my face.

  ‘NOW, just an instant,’ I growled, as she struggled to free her wrist from my grasp. ‘What was that for?’

  ‘For having my husband dismissed from his post.’

  ‘You have a poor sense of logic, mistress. I helped you see his grace of Gloucester, did I not?’

  ‘Oh yes, my lord, you gave compassion with one hand and thieved it back with the other. Let-me-go!’

  ‘Not unless you agree to break bread with me. Or perhaps you would like to lose Iron—’ She kicked me. ‘Acton.’

  It was time to silence any potential scream so I kissed her. Her hand pushed against my chest but then she sighed beneath my lips and let me taste her. Her breath was sweet and I deepened my embrace. I knew how to tell a woman what I wanted from her. It worked. Rivers’ daughter kissed me back, stealing her fingers round the nape of my neck and letting me draw her closer. It was some time before I raised my head at my servants’ knocking.

  Pershall and Bannaster were in with their platters for the side board before I had even loosed her. She sprang away from me in shame and turned her back, straightening her cap and probably trying to convince herself that she had not enjoyed the moment.

  ‘The lady will share supper.’ My tone brooked no rebellion.

  Pershall winked and as the door closed behind him, my lady Poyntz whirled round on me like a windstorm, hands fisted.

  ‘I am leaving, my lord. I have my children to—’

  ‘Lying ladybird,’ I clucked, enjoying the shame staining her cheeks. ‘Your children are safe with their nursemaid in Gloucestershire. Did you imagine I should not become curious? You came to London to witness your father’s triumph and then you received a letter from him begging you to intercede for him. I have to say he must be desperate if he’s down to relying on you, my sweet. I told you to weep.’

  ‘Jesu, you are a hard man.’ Many a true word….? Yes, she was right.

  Would she spread her wings and depart in a fury? No, the aroma of the supper viands had reached her. I caught her rueful glance at the enamelled domes on the side board.

  ‘And you are either stupid or very brave, Mistress Poyntz,’ I told her, unlocking a cupboard and taking down my richest mazers. ‘I am the most powerful duke in the kingdom after the Lord Protector and you have just assaulted me.’

  ‘Are you trying to impress me, my lord?’ She flicked a scornful glance at the jewels twinkling on the mazer lids and then stared down at the dirty mark across my left shin. ‘Did I draw blood?’

  I looked down at my new scarlet hose and then sharply at her. Oh, yes, my vanity was bruised.

  She guessed her danger, for her beautiful eyes held a mixture of fear and exultation as she watched me from across the room. Was I the lion to be tamed by her whip and dance of feet?

  ‘Perhaps the apt words to describe you are “impertinent and imprudent”, madame.’ I removed the lids from the mazers and filled them generously with an expensive claret. I was being magnanimous in allowing the wench leash, almost as much as Cat, but any hunter knows that a cunning prey makes the taking sweeter.

  She accepted the wine from me, her breath levelling, and I touched my cup to hers, my expression challenge for challenge. I could see now the rubbed edge of her satin collar and the wear on her sleeve as she drank but the costly chased metal beneath her fingertips seemed to mean nothing. It was me she was examining over its edge and that pleased me.

  ‘Why are you here other than to abuse me, Mistress Poyntz?’

  ‘Because…because it is better than doing nothing.’ The first touch of wine had moistened her lips. ‘And maybe you will change your mind.’

  I swirled mine before I drank. ‘I’m married to a Woodville, remember. I do have some understanding of the clever cogs and greedy wheels within your family. Everything is calculated to a nicety, like now.’ I looked across the rim, daring her to deny it. ‘It’s in the blood never to act on impulse.’

  No lashes fanned down to veil her purpose. ‘My mother did,’ she replied pointedly, trying to convince me she was only a half-measure. ‘I have been paying for it ever since.’

  ‘Ah! So, kicking me was an impulse?’

  ‘Oh no, that wasn’t.’ A dimpled smile lit her face. ‘But I would not have kicked you if you’d been grey and hoary. I’d have shown some—’

  ‘Respect?’

  She nodded.

  ‘But that is what this is all about.’

  I wanted respect for my birthright. Respect and revenge, so when Pershall handed me a hand mirror, I could look myself in the face.

  Her eyes were sad and I saw she knew how that felt. ‘Yes,’ she said softly, and lifted a hand to my cheek. ‘But it comes from within, I think.’

  Well, that was a matter of opinion. I drew away and poured myself more wine. ‘Pray be seated if you are staying, my lady. If not, for the love of Heaven, plague me no longer and go now.’ Before I behaved dishonourably.

  I sat down by the small table knowing she would not stay. Her perfume would linger but she would be gone, the flash of auburn hair like a squirrel’s flight, seen, forgotten, but instead I heard the rustle of her gown and felt the movement of cloth as
she set a plate before me.

  ‘May I serve you, my lord?’

  Oh, there is a God. I lifted my head and watched her with hunger and an aching heart as she lifted the covers of our repast. Her fingers, neither so long nor unpleasantly elfin as her sire’s, worked in wifely fashion. Soon my plate was arranged delightfully and then she served herself. It was astonishing to me that I could not remember Cat ever doing that; it was beneath her. Always the cutler or a servant served us.

  ‘This is a feast,’ Rivers’ daughter murmured, drawing up a cross-legged chair and seating herself opposite me at the small table.

  ‘I pawned Brecknock castle to pay for it.’ I did not tell her I was already in debt to half of London. Trading on hope. ‘Good appetite, my lady!’

  She ate daintily, licking the excess from her lips. The western sun lit her tawny, crumpled cap and played upon the fine cheekbones; Rivers had given her good scaffolding. But while I was thinking it wondrous how she had piled her tresses into so small a space, she was thinking about her husband’s anger.

  ‘Is there aught you can do about Carisbrooke, your grace?’ she asked, setting down a cleaned chicken leg.

  ‘Fearful of being blamed?’ I prodded a bowl of lavender fragrant water towards her.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Then be comforted. Your husband is not being singled out. There is to be a general change of sentries along the coast.’ One nepotism replaced by another, probably with knights speaking the Yorkshire dialect.

  Another silence followed but a gentle, companionable one; we might have been a modest merchant and his wife. Would life have been different if I had wed a frisky noblewoman like this instead of boring Cat with her plague of harps and hurdygurdies?

  ‘So how long have you been married, Meg?’

  Her shoulders stiffened at the sudden familiarity but she did not rebuke me.

  ‘Five years, my lord,’ she said briskly. ‘We have a son and a daughter. Anthony is three and Anne was born last year. She’s named for my grandmother. And you, my lord? Have you children?’