Dragon's Court

Anne was fully aware that it was this very allegiance to the late King’s household and her father’s continued stubborn loyalty to the Plantagenet cause that had resulted in their present impecunious state here at Rushton.

Sir Guy Jarvis had been pardoned after Redmoor, for King Henry had shrewdly declared the beginning of his reign the day before the battle, thereby making all those who had fought for their King technically traitors. Anne’s father had survived the pursuit following the battle and managed to reach the comparative safety of Rushton, but the King’s officers had levied a swingeing fine from which the manor had never truly recovered financially.

The number of household servants and dependents had had to be cut to the bone and for eleven years Sir Guy was aware that his every move was watched by agents of the Tudor now living in Northamptonshire. Anne sighed resentfully as she faced the need for economy in her own dress allowance, which denied her new-fashioned garments like the ones her friend Dionysia had obtained in which to travel to her new household.

She would not have minded that so much if she had not to face the prospect of life here at Rushton, familiar and dear, but irritatingly dull. Anne had listened open-mouthed to her mother’s tales of life at Court and the intrigues and adventures that had befallen her there and wished that such a fascinating and exciting life could be hers.

The arrival of Richard Allard brought home further the need for all of them to guard their tongues and behaviour. The Allards, too, made little secret of their contempt for the Tudor’s claims and Anne wondered doubtfully what was the reason which had brought Richard here. Could it be to embroil her father into yet another secret plot against the King? She paled at the thought.

Only recently the arrest of the second pretender to the King’s claim, the man they called Perkin Warbeck, had caused fear and despondency to spread through those families who still doggedly supported the Plantagenets and Anne knew her mother constantly feared for her father’s safety.

How could she constantly live like that? Anne wondered. She could not. She wanted a settled, peaceful life, if not at Westminster, at least secure on her own small manor with her husband and children safe by her side. Yet she knew well that the neighbouring gentry would be wary of allying themselves in marriage with the disgraced Sir Guy, that her father would not find it easy to find her a husband.

She put to rights her appearance and joined her parents with their visitor in the hall to find that Ned had now come home and was seated near Richard Allard, listening intently to the tales of his recent travels. Anne experienced a momentary feeling of irritation that her brother should greet this stranger in so admiring a manner and regretted, more than ever, that she had had to appear before him in her old russet gown which had had to be pinned at the torn hem by her maid, Mary Scroggins.

Anne’s worst suspicions were confirmed as it was obvious from the line the conversation was taking that Richard Allard’s loyalties were cast in the same mould as her father’s.

Sir Guy was speaking as she entered and, at a signal from her mother, Anne seated herself on a stool by Lady Jarvis’s side.

“In Leicester did you manage to visit the Friary?”

Richard Allard took a pull at his wine cup and nodded. “Aye, I see the Tudor has not kept his word and had the promised memorial put on the tomb, but the King lies safe and snug and I paid for masses to be said for his soul.”

Anne had heard that King Richard’s body had been shamefully treated following the battle at Redmoor and had been brought back into Leicester town half-naked, across the neck of his own destrier, White Surrey, wearing a felon’s halter around his neck. His body had been exhibited for public view in the church of St Mary the Lesser, outside Leicester’s castle and finally buried by the Grey Friars within their enclosure.

On his rare visits to Leicester Anne’s father had visited the tomb, but had never once taken Anne to see it. She knew his visits there were viewed with disapproval by some of his neighbours, yet another mark against him for his commitment to the former dynasty.

King Richard III had been dead now for fourteen years. Surely, Anne thought angrily, her father and this man could allow him to rest in peace and not continue to antagonise the present occupant of the throne even in secret. If Sir Guy were to accept the situation without complaint it would be more likely that she, Anne, would be allowed to mix with her neighbours’ daughters and the prospect of a suitable marriage would be made possible.

It was all very well for Ned to talk boastfully of what amounted to treason, but he was still a boy and his life was unlikely to be blighted by his youthful opinions which, undoubtedly, would mellow with time. She glared at him as he pressed Richard Allard for more news of the world at large.

Richard Allard had clearly been recently from the realm but he was discreet and somewhat vague as to his wanderings. Anne was in little doubt that more than likely he had been at the Court of King Henry’s greatest avowed enemy, the late King’s sister, Margaret of Burgundy, at Malines.

From time to time Richard Allard’s eyes passed over her as she sat demurely and she read amusement in them. Her father had passed no comment on her recent behaviour, so she gathered that her treatment of his friend’s son had not been divulged and she sank back on her stool somewhat relieved.

Supper was served and their visitor continued to regale them with news of other men her father had known and loved in the past. Watching Sir Guy, Anne saw that his handsome face was alight with avid interest, a state she had not seen revealed in him for many a month.

Afterwards, her father announced his intention to visit the stables to check that Master Allard’s horse had been brought back to Rushton and was being bedded down comfortably. Ned rose at once, eager to accompany him.

Sir Guy smiled at his visitor. “No need for you to come, Dickon. We will see everything is done for your horse’s comfort. Make further acquaintance with my daughter.” He smiled at Anne genially and moved to the screen doors. Lady Jarvis had left earlier, murmuring that she must ensure that the sheets in Master Allard’s chamber had been aired and the warming pan brought into use. Anne nervously found herself alone with their visitor.

“Sir,” she said hesitantly, “I am grateful that you have made no reference to my boorish behaviour in the orchard. My father would have been gravely displeased.”

He shrugged lightly. “You were not to know who I was.”

“No,” she stammered awkwardly, “but—but I am enjoined to be courteous to everyone I meet.”

“Indeed? And are you?”

“Yes, no—most of the time,” she added lamely. “You caught me when—when my spirits were low.”

“You must have been vastly uncomfortable up that tree, possibly frightened.”

“Oh, not frightened.” She found herself laughing as his grey eyes twinkled and she realised he was teasing her gently. “Well, I was just beginning to panic, just a little, and Ned seemed completely out of range of my calling, but—but it was not that.”

“Oh? You are not happy here at Rushton?”

“Yes, of course I am—but sometimes I long to go further afield as you have done.”

“From necessity, Mistress Anne, I assure you. Often I would prefer to be living in tolerable comfort with my family in Wensleydale.”

“Then why do you not remain there?” she said impulsively and immediately blushed with shame as she realised her question was impertinent in the extreme.

He looked grave for a moment and said quietly, “Duty calls me from home more than I would wish. My father’s old injuries necessitate him remaining at home and we have duties—elsewhere.”

“And you are on your way south?” she enquired diffidently.

“Yes, I journey to London on business but I hope to return home for Christmas. My younger sister, Anne, is expecting her second child then and I am anxious to attend the christening.”

“Your sister is wed to a local gentleman?”

“Yes, she is very happily wed to Sir Thomas Squire whose manor is near Bolton. She already has a healthy brat of a five-year-old-son, Frank, whom we all love dearly. I am hoping she will bear a daughter this time, for me to cosset.”

Anne was silent for a moment, considering. How fortunate Anne Allard had been to marry a man who loved her and to bear his children, but how could she endure the dull life in the wilds of Yorkshire?

“Is—is Sir Thomas of—your persuasion?” she enquired cautiously.

Richard Allard’s grey eyes opened very wide and, again, his expression grew grave.

“Yes,” he replied, a trifle shortly, “as most gentlemen of Yorkshire are, but he is circumspect and does not pursue his views too actively.”

She knew the unspoken rider to that was “as I and my father and your father do.”

Her lips trembled as a little tingle of fear ran through her.

When her mother returned and said meaningfully that it was getting late and the ladies should retire Anne was almost relieved to obey. She rose and curtsied and met her father on his way in through the screen doors as she left in her mother’s wake.

Sir Guy poured more wine for his guest when they were left alone together.

“How long can you stay this time, Dickon?”

“No more than two days then I must be on my way again.”

“To London?” The finely arched brows rose interrogatively.

Richard Allard nodded and drained his wine cup. “Yes. You will have heard that Warbeck was rearrested in June after some attempt to escape and now is confined in the Tower—with the Earl of Warwick?”

Sir Guy drew his chair closer. His son, Ned, had already been dispatched to bed and he had given his servants instructions not to disturb him further tonight. Even so he was careful to keep his voice low when talking of such inherently treasonable matters with his friend’s son.

“You think he may be too close?”

Richard Allard sighed. Sir Guy had again refilled his wine cup and he swirled it slowly, moodily, watching the firelight glow in the bloodlike depths.

“It would be preferable, for both their sakes, if they were kept strictly apart.”

“Surely Henry will be aware of that and take steps to see that that is done?”

“Yet, if there is danger in such contact with Warbeck, that might prove profitable for Henry.”

Sir Guy sat bolt upright. “You mean he would have an excuse to rid himself of the Earl? Over the years he must have longed to do so. The late King’s nephew has so clear a claim to the throne that it must be a constant thorn to Henry’s peace of mind.”

“Precisely.” Richard stared down at his boots and stirred his feet restlessly.

“I go to keep an eye on things, nothing more. If it proves necessary to try to extricate the Earl…” He shrugged. “I pray heaven there is no such need.”

“You are known at Court?”

“I have never attended since I served King Richard as a page before Redmoor but, like you, as my father’s son, I need to remain discreet. I intend to be back in Yorkshire at Christmas. My sister Anne will be delivered then. You know she miscarried a child two years ago and was very ill. She is now recovered and happy about the impending birth but, naturally, we are all anxious for her.”

“Your mother in particular.” Sir Guy nodded. He hesitated. “You are still unwed, Dickon?”

Richard inclined his head smilingly.

“No romantic entanglements?”

“Oh, plenty.” The young man laughed. “I have thought myself in love many times, particularly when I was young but—I have never deemed it politic to offer marriage to any woman and I am still heart whole.”

Sir Guy supped his wine. “I imagine your mother has pressed you to take a wife—for the succession if nothing else.”

“My father understands well my reasons. Like you, we find managing the desmesne is difficult under straitened circumstances. What have I to offer a maid?”

“Strength, youth, good health and you are not un-comely.”

Richard Allard laughed heartily. “I am no longer so young, sir.”

“How old are you, Dickon, now, twenty-five, -six?”

“Twenty-seven,” the other replied with a rueful shrug.

“I was almost your age when I wed my Margaret.”

“An arranged marriage?”

“We had been betrothed five years earlier but her father broke off the arrangement. He wished her to marry one of Dorset’s gentlemen but the fellow died. She was about to enter into a new betrothal when King Edward died and her father’s fortunes were altered. King Richard saw to it that I was given my bride.”

“Against her will?”

Sir Guy pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps so, at first, but afterwards we realised our love for each other. Our marriage, like your father’s, has been totally successful. Margaret has given me her complete support. Her love and loyalty have never faltered, despite our difficulties over the years since Redmoor.” He paused and then said deliberately, “At one time your father and I considered a contract between you and my Anne.”

Richard Allard turned bright grey eyes upon his host. “Aye, I know, and—and I would be very honoured, yet I am old for the lass. She must be sixteen or near-abouts.”

“In a few weeks, and mature for her age.” Sir Guy frowned. “Lately she has been restless, fretting against her exile from what she considers the hub of events. Of course, I am relieved that she is—only, I also know she will soon be ripe for the marriage bed and I am anxious to see her settled.” He shrugged. “After all, who knows what the future will bring to any of us?”

“I said I would be honoured, sir, but…”

“You do not find Anne attractive?”

The grey eyes lit up. “I find her enchanting. She has her mother’s beauty and a combination of yours and Lady Jarvis’s sprightly make-up. It is just that—my duty leads me into dubious business. Were I free to consider marriage I would request her hand.” He broke off, staring into the fire’s bright heart. “You must know, Sir Guy, how deeply our womenfolk suffer when we are engaged in dangerous work. I would not risk either the security or the happiness of Mistress Anne while I am committed elsewhere than in Wensleydale.”

Sir Guy sighed again regretfully and nodded in agreement.

He decided to change a subject which could be embarrassing for his guest. He said quietly, “You saw this Warbeck at close quarters—often?”

“Not often.” Richard Allard’s tone was wary as if he guessed at the other’s next question. “You are about to ask if I believe that his pretensions are genuine?”

“Yes.”

Richard shook his head. “I wish I could answer that squarely. I just do not know. I saw him quite close once or twice. Certainly he resembles both the late King Edward and Queen Elizabeth, his wife. That likeness is quite uncanny. Were it otherwise I would have dismissed his claims out of hand for, to be frank, sir, he does not appear to have that about his character that would make me accept him as a son of King Edward, for all my father has told me about that man, or a nephew of King Richard. He is charming, courtly, but without that steel core which was their inner strength. Of course, his life has been unfortunate and without that training which would have prepared him for intrigue and war…”

“His confession?”

Richard Allard’s grey eyes met those of his host quizzically. “If you or I had been in the hands of Henry’s officials, would we not have confessed to anything? I think we can dismiss the confession from our considerations.”

“You have met with the Duchess Margaret?”

“No. I have been in contact with Wroxeter, of course. He is her trusted man, as you know, and has been in attendance at Malines since Redmoor. He gave me no direct opinion on the man’s identity, only, naturally, that he was of use to Margaret in putting a burr beneath the Tudor’s saddle cloth. I know only that that slur on the late King’s reputation, regarding the murder of his nephews, is slanderous.

“The boys survived Redmoor, as you know only too well. Where they are now, I cannot tell. It is just as well I do not know. Were I to fall into Henry’s hands it could be disastrous to their well being if I were to be questioned on such matters. I cannot be certain I would be able to hold out against divulging the facts were I subjected to torture.”

Richard’s father had made him aware that, following King Richard’s coronation, Sir Guy Jarvis had escorted the elder of the young sons of King Edward IV north to Castle Barnard, while the younger prince, Richard, had been taken abroad, presumably to Burgundy. He did not know if Sir Guy was aware of the whereabouts of his former charge. It was clear from his question that he was as unsure as all of them were about the true identity of the latest pretender to claim King Henry’s throne.

Was the man who now lay in the Tower the very prince who had been escorted to his Aunt Margaret’s palace in Burgundy? The man had confessed that he was an imposter, the son of a merchant named Warbeck who had been carefully groomed for his role but, as he himself had said to Sir Guy, who could be sure that such a confession had not been extracted under torture or even the threat of torture? Richard was well aware that such pressures on even the bravest of men could not always be overcome.

Sir Guy appeared to have fallen into a reverie from which he drew himself up abruptly.

“It is getting late, my friend. You must be wearied. You’ve been travelling some days. I’ll escort you to your chamber.”

Richard rose willingly enough. At the door to the inner rooms of the house he stopped for a moment and looked directly at his host.

“Sir, as I have said, I do not expect my business in London to engage me for too long a time, neither do I anticipate any particular—difficulties. When I complete the handling of my father’s affairs and—any other problem I might encounter, I would be grateful if I could break my return journey here at Rushton.”

“You know you will be very welcome, Richard.”

The other hesitated for only a moment then he said deliberately, “Should all go well, I will then request the hand of your daughter, Anne, in marriage, sir.”

Sir Guy gave a faint hiss of breath and his blue eyes shone with an excited gleam.

“That request will be received favourably, you can be assured of that, Dickon. However…” He paused and his lips curved a trifle sardonically “…though you will encounter no opposition from me, you may do so from the lady herself.”

A crease appeared between Richard Allard’s brows. “You would not wish to force her hand?”

Sir Guy looked away from him. He sighed heavily. “I would not wish to do so, but I am anxious to ensure her safety and happiness. Married to a man who would not hold my views, let us say, she could endanger the security not only of herself but of all of us. Ned’s future needs to be safeguarded. I do not wish to have to hold a discreet silence within the bounds of my own family. Anne is by no means docile nor easily silenced from stating her own candid views on such uncompromising matters as the running of a household, fashion—and more volatile subjects.

“She would be safe from the pressures of State affairs in Yorkshire, and I know your lady mother would receive her joyfully.” His smile broadened. “I can recall your mother, Richard, when she and your father first met and I served him as squire.

“I trod a difficult balancing act between them, unwilling to anger him but anxious not to upset your mother, who held different opinions then from his and those she holds now. She was then, as she is now, a very gracious and courageous lady. I would be happy to think of my child in her care. I know she would neither over-cosset nor browbeat her.”

Richard Allard’s lips curved into an answering smile. He could well imagine the situation. Much of the tale of his parents’ stormy courtship and marriage had been told to him but, knowing his mother as he did, he was aware that there must have been many a skirmish between them before the state of wedded bliss had been established.

“The only bar to a proposition of marriage being offered today, sir, is the fear that I may be unable to offer Mistress Anne the security you are so anxious to gain for her. I could wish for no more suitable bride or future mistress for my Yorkshire estates than Mistress Anne.”

Sir Guy clapped him heartily upon the shoulder.

“God go with you, Richard. I shall pray for you constantly. Yet swear to me that you will take every care.”

Richard Allard threw back his head and laughed. “I am used to taking great care of my skin, sir. I shall not cease to do so when such a prize is there for me when this game is played through to its conclusion.”

Chapter Two

Anne found Richard Allard in the stables early next morning examining his horse’s new shoe. She stopped abruptly as he swung round to face her.

“Good morning, Master Allard.” She sounded a trifle breathless as if she had been running. “I trust you slept well.”

He was dressed as he had been yesterday in leather jack, warm hose and riding boots. She glanced at him hastily. “Are you planning to leave us this morning?”

His grey eyes twinkled as he surveyed her. She was looking fresh and sparkling in a plain blue woollen gown, linen coif as yesterday, pattens for crossing the littered courtyard and warm cloak. She flushed under his scrutiny, as if realising she had been rude to question her father’s guest on the matter of his departure, and made to pass by him towards the back corner where the stable cat was energetically licking her kittens. He blocked her way.

“Are you anxious to see me go, Mistress Anne?”

The flush became darker and she stammered, “Of course not, sir. It was just that I saw you dressed for riding and thought….”

“No, your father offered me his hospitality freely and I told him I would most probably leave tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she said a little lamely. “He will be glad to have you stay longer and hear in more detail about your home and parents. Ned will be delighted. He longs to travel as you have done and will hang on your every word.”

“You do not find my conversation interesting?”

“Of course I do.” She looked flustered. “But it is unlikely that I will ever have the opportunity to travel.”

“You would like to do so?”

Her blue eyes grew dreamy. “I would like to see more of the world than Rushton, certainly, though,” she added hastily, “I love the manor dearly.”

“You would like to go to Court as your mother did?”

“Yes,” she said, then defensively, “I know my father would never wish to see either Ned or I in the service of the King but…”

“You think that foolish?”

“My parents are—they have had their chances,” she murmured, her cheeks burning. “It is only natural that I would wish to see London town, see the Queen and, yes, the King also.”

“And the severed heads on Tower Bridge,” he added drily and her blue eyes grew huge and concerned.

“I had not thought…”

“Mistress Anne, you must know it would be unwise, even dangerous, for your father to go near to Westminster considering his former loyalties.”

“But other men have…”

“Changed their coats? Yes, that is certainly so and to good advantage for many of them, but it is not your father’s way.” There was utter contempt in his voice and she stepped back apace as if she feared he might strike her.

“But all that is so long ago,” she protested. “I never knew King Richard and Ned and I have to suffer for something which took place when I was just a babe in arms.”

“But I did know the King,” he returned evenly, “and so you must excuse my own partiality.”

“You knew King Richard?” Her eyes were huge again now, rounding in wonder.

“Indeed I did, I served him as page and was honoured to do so.”

“You—liked him—in spite of what they say of him?”