Читать книгу Virgin Widow - Anne O'Brien, Anne O'Brien - Страница 15

I WAS given no presentiment of looming disaster. The storm came without warning to break over our heads.

‘What’s amiss?’ I asked the Countess as I joined her at the head of the outer staircase from the old keep at Warwick. ‘What’s happened? Surely we’re not at war again?’ We looked down on the suddenly chaotic scene below to where the Earl’s Master at Arms had just ridden through the gates with a force of armed retainers, outfitted to my eye for battle. Neville pennons flew from the tips of a half-dozen lances.

‘I don’t know.’ She ran down the steps with me hard on her heels.

As soon as she opened the letter delivered to her hand by the Earl’s courier, I saw the recoil. Her eyes held the glassy blindness of panic as she lifted them from the words to survey the soldiers that filled our courtyard. The news was surely bad. In my innocence I thought it could only mean one thing and a cold hand tightened around my throat.

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Not that!’

‘What?’ Face so pale, eyes wide, even her lips white, the Countess had difficulty in answering me. It must be the Earl! Only so critical a disaster could rob her of her self-possession.

‘Is he hurt?’ I moved to stand closer at her side, fearful that she would sink to the floor, but although she looked through me as if I did not exist, her hand closed vice-like around my wrist.

‘What?’ She gasped as she took my meaning. ‘No…no. Your father is well. But…I knew he was disturbed, angry…I knew the bitterness that drove him, that he feared Edward’s soft words as a mere sop to cover his true motive. But I had no idea that Warwick would consider this! That he would refuse to let matters lie quiet and wounds to heal. By the Virgin! Why has he done this?’

‘But what?’

Her fingers tightened further, unaware, until I winced with pain.

‘Rebellion against Edward. Again.’ She forced the words through stiff lips. ‘He’s instigated an uprising in Lincolnshire, to draw Edward north into a trap where the Earl can defeat him in battle. Our Master at Arms is here to muster troops for my lord’s use.’

‘Will he take Edward prisoner again?’ I found it difficult to follow the reasoning. The King’s imprisonment had failed last time with humiliating results. Why risk another appalling failure? Why risk Edward’s good will a second time?

‘No.’ The Countess crushed the document in her fist as we watched the deployment of the men-at-arms. ‘Clarence is with Warwick. The plan is to depose Edward and make Clarence king. Clarence…! And Isabel then will be Queen. Ha! As if I care about that! All very well if my lord can carry it off. But if he cannot…If we fail, Edward will not forgive us this time. There’ll be no mercy for us at his hands.’

But I could not think of that. In a moment of pure selfishness all I could see was that we had been cast in the role of traitor again. Rebels. Enemies of the King, destroyers of the peace of the realm. Objects of Edward’s hatred and vengeance. For the first time I think I questioned the wisdom of the Earl’s actions. Yet surely I could rest on the Earl’s just decisions. I could not start apportioning blame.

Truth struck like a viper.

Oh, Richard. My dearest love. Where does that leave us now?

‘What do we do?’ I asked helplessly, the answer to my question stark and brutal in my mind.

‘We wait. What other can we do?’

One decision was made for us. At Clarence’s insistence, delivered shortly and verbally by the courier, we packed Isabel into a travelling litter and sent her with a strong escort out of harm’s way. She would travel slowly to Exeter where she would lodge in the sanctuary of the Bishop’s palace, under God’s protection and far from the dangers of warfare. Far from Edward, who might take it into his mind to take her and hold her and her unborn child as security for Clarence’s good behaviour. Margery travelled with her for her comfort. My mother was reluctant, but saw the sense of it. We watched her entourage disappear into the winter landscape.

‘I should not allow her to travel without me at this time,’ the Countess murmured, her anxieties showing in her hands clutching white-fingered on the coping stones. ‘She’s not strong. It would be better for her to remain here. If anything amiss occurs on the road…’

I shuffled wordlessly at her side. Clarence’s high-handed orders had not endeared him to me. Far better for Isabel to remain safely behind the walls of Warwick Castle. Then the Countess braced her shoulders and regarded me with a steady stare.

‘So! Do we lay up for a siege, daughter—or do we gather our possessions for instant flight?’

‘It’s Richard! Richard’s here.’

I raced from the battlement walk with no consideration for anything except that against all the odds he had come. ‘Richard has come. And Francis with him.’ I slid to a halt, ridiculously wishing I wore my new damask in rich cerulean with gold-embroidered bodice rather than my present hard-wearing woollen gown. Delight that I would see him again flooded through me. But I saw my mother’s fixed expression and the heat chilled, the fire died. How would either Richard or I face this redeployment of loyalties? Richard and I were on opposite sides, delineated by spilt blood and black treason. And as I had feared, Francis might be Warwick’s foster son, but was now riding in Richard of Gloucester’s train. I could not imagine how we should receive them. Nor what Richard could possibly say to me to give me hope, no matter how becoming my dress.

‘It had to happen,’ the Countess’s only observation. ‘Youth cleaves to youth. They were always good friends.’

We welcomed them—in a fashion—in the open spaces of the courtyard, but the greeting was edged with frost.

‘I cannot stay, my lady.’ Richard dismounted, flung his reins to his squire and approached, a chillingly formal bow, addressing the Countess, but with his eyes sliding to me. ‘It’s not fitting that I should be here with rebellion afoot and the Earl’s allegiance a matter of censure. I regret this. The rift is not of my making.’ There was a brittleness about his movements, as if he wished himself anywhere but within the walls of one of Warwick’s castles.

Francis too was ill at ease as he saluted my mother’s fingers. There was no warm embrace between them on this occasion. ‘I had to follow the dictates of honour, Lady.’

‘I understand.’ The Countess managed a thin smile. ‘If I have instilled honour into you, Francis, I must be satisfied, must I not? We must deal with circumstances as we find them.’

‘I am here to have conversation with Anne,’ Richard intervened with less than patience. ‘If you will permit it…?’

‘It is not seemly,’ my mother replied coldly, to my dismay. Would she indeed refuse? Deliberately, she would not meet my ferocious stare.

‘Anne was my betrothed,’ Richard said. I noted the tense with a sickening lurch of my belly. ‘It is seemly that I take my leave of her. I would ask your indulgence, Lady. Just this once. Is it too much to ask that I make my final farewells in person?’

Just this once. How empty a phrase it seemed. Final farewells? How cruel, how devastating. How could I survive if he were forced to simply mount up and ride away? Silently I prayed that the Countess would reconsider whilst, dark eyes intense and unyielding, every inch the Duke of Gloucester, Richard would not retreat, but challenged my mother to refuse outright, which would have burdened her with unheard-of discourtesy. The hesitation lengthened as she considered. She was going to refuse, I knew it, I could sense it as her lips parted…

‘If it please you, madam.’ I would beg for this as I had never begged before. ‘As Richard says, it will be for the last time. I doubt we shall see each other again. I need…I need to…’ My voice almost broke on the words. I had no argument to lay before her.

But the Countess, undoubtedly knowing the pain of separation for herself, nodded once as if the concession was dragged from her. ‘Very well. Go to the chapel, Gloucester, and take your farewell. God will watch over you and judge the sincerity in your heart. Anne, remember that you are my daughter and conduct yourself accordingly. You will remain there no longer than a half-hour.’ She turned on her heel.

It was a cold and austere place, built into the oldest part of the castle, with heavy pillars creating deep dank shadows even in the height of summer. There was no sun on that winter day to warm the coloured glass to give it a welcoming beauty. As cold and as heavy as my heart, it was a fitting reflection of our emotions. Francis remained outside, seated with his back against the wall to allow us a brief privacy. Door closed against the world, I watched as Richard tossed cloak, hat and gloves on to a wooden bench, but kept his sword buckled firm. This would not take long. He had come out of courtesy, out of love, but his allegiance to the King would determine all his future actions. Nor could I blame him. Did I not love him for his loyalty, his rigid sense of honour? I could hardly now condemn him for it, simply because it undermined my own happiness.

We had so little time, so few minutes. Already they were ticking away. I vowed to remain calm, with some at least of the Countess’s dignity.

Richard remained rigidly at arm’s length as if distance would make the parting easier. ‘I had to come. I couldn’t leave you without explaining—without telling you that I’m summoned to raise a force and join with the King, without…’ His words dried. He lifted one shoulder awkwardly and I saw the habitual little pull of the muscle beside his mouth when his emotions were compromised.

‘Without making your farewell,’ I added for him. ‘I understand. There’s no future for us, is there?’ I laughed—or was it a sob?—an unnatural, harsh sound in the still air. ‘Of course there is not. There can never be a future for us.’ An assertion now, not a question.

‘No. Warwick and Clarence have again chosen to put themselves outside the law. Edward has withdrawn his consent for our marriage. There can be no easy coming to terms between Warwick and the King this time.’

‘Is it very bad?’

‘As bad as it gets.’ His eyes flat, his face bleak and strained, pale in the winter gloom. ‘Warwick’s promised to bring troops to meet with Edward at Leicester, to help him crush the rebels. Edward suspects a trap, that Warwick is in truth bringing up reinforcements for the rebels. So Warwick plans to catch my brother unawares, Warwick on one hand, the rebels on the other, crushing Edward between them.’ Richard raised his fist, fingers clenched tight. ‘As neat as cracking a hazelnut.’

I frowned at the picture he painted. ‘Will it happen? We don’t know who will win, do we?’

‘There’ll be a battle before the week’s out. Edward will push for it, to bring the affair to its head. Hence my haste.’ Richard paused as if unsure whether to continue, hands now curled hard around sword-belt, studying the altar with its dull gleam of candles and silver crucifix. Deciding at last to speak his thoughts, however unpalatable to me. And I valued his honesty. ‘I think Edward will not lose this battle. He’s a gifted tactician and has the measure of your father. If Warwick and Clarence stand against him and Edward wins, he’ll take brutal measures against them both.’

I breathed slowly, painfully, against the truths I had known since the courier’s visit. ‘And we will once again be foresworn traitors with a price on our heads.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you could not wed a traitor,’ I ventured, knowing the answer.

Richard did not reply.

‘Oh, Richard!’ I whispered, a lump like a rock in my throat.

Richard abandoned his carefully preserved stance. He strode forwards and I found my hands grasped to pull me close, face buried against the metalled strips of his brigandine. I breathed in the familiar scent and heat of him, but as his breath stirred my hair his voice was terrifyingly severe. ‘It hurts now, I know. But you are young, Anne. It will fade as time passes. You’ll find another husband. As Warwick’s daughter, you’ll always have a value.’ An icy finger inched its way down my spine, a ghostly foretaste of what would come, but Richard continued, his fingers painful around mine. ‘I swear you’ll marry and raise a handful of argumentative children. You will be content.’

I looked up at him in horror, or was it anger, that he should so precipitately arrange another marriage for me. I was incapable of seeing my future other than as a black void.

‘I will not,’ I hissed. ‘I do not seek contentment. Can you cast me off, in so cursory a manner, as if it means nothing to you?’ So much for my vow of dignity. My fear of losing him was so sharp and real it drove me to extremes. ‘So I will find another husband. Of course I will. Am I not a Neville? But will I find another love? You say that the pain will fade. I don’t believe you. Are you saying that it will fade for you?’

‘No.’ He sighed on an exhalation.

‘Then why should it for me? Tell me this, Richard. Did you ever love me? Do you love me still?’

‘How can you doubt me?’ His eyes, stark with dismay, glinted in the dim light, but he would not turn away from the accusation in my face. ‘Anne…what choice have we with my brother and your father facing each other across a battlefield?’

‘I know!’ My anger segued into despair, my biting words of blame into a stifled sob. ‘And my father planning to lift the crown from Edward’s head. The worst of treachery.’

‘God damn Warwick to the fires of hell!’

‘But he’s my father. He demands my duty and my affection.’

‘So he might, but he has effectively destroyed any happiness we might have had together.’ My hands flat against his chest felt the anger, so far held in check, build to fill his whole frame, until the thunderous beat of his heart matched mine. ‘Never doubt my love, Anne,’ he murmured. ‘It is yours and will be for all time. This wounds me as much as it hurts you. And it destroys me that I can do nothing to comfort you.’

‘Richard! It’s time…’

He raised his head at Francis’s voice beyond the door. We could not linger. I could sense the urgency in him, even as his hands gentled to tender. Was there nothing more I could do or say?

‘Will you take this?’ I tugged off a little ring, a plain gold circle set with a ruby, even though it was far too small for a man’s hand. I pushed it, not without some difficulty as it caught on his knuckle, on to his little finger. ‘Will you wear it?’

‘Yes. I will.’

A last kiss. One final embrace. A desperate bruising of my lips as Richard claimed me as his for that last time. No joy, no sweet promise. Just a cruel ending. Until he framed my face in his hands.

‘I must go.’ He kissed my damp cheeks, the soft hollow of my temple, my eyelids. ‘I think it was your eyes I fell in love with. So dark, yet so full of light when you looked at me. I fell the whole way into them and now I think I cannot escape. Yet I must…God keep you, my love. God keep you safe.’

I could not bear it. So he would be honourable and self-sacrificing, would he? He would set me free. I did not want this, I did not want to be sacrificed.

‘Richard…’

But I did not know what more to say when there was nothing to be said. I released him as if his flesh burned my fingers, and clutching at pride I drew myself up to my full height. After all, he was a Prince of the Blood, whilst I was a mere subject, and a disloyal one at that. I sank to the stone paving in formal obeisance.

Catching up his cloak and hat from the bench, Richard would have gone, left me. Pre-empting him, I pounced and snatched up his embroidered leather gauntlets. He held out his hands for them.