It was late now, and he had little time if he wished to re-enter London before the entrances were locked against him. But at this stage he had only one thing to investigate, and this was quickly made clear. It was the sanctuary at Westminster Abbey which was being utilized, just as his grace the Duke of Gloucester had predicted. In less than one hour, Andrew Cobham, answering to Lord Feayton, was fully aware of the general situation, and had begun to take note of the smaller details. He finished his exploration with a brief visit to the Lord Hastings. This time he was received with relief rather than resentment.
Baron Hastings said, ‘You know then. His grace knows?’
Andrew Cobham bowed and sat. He said, ‘Indeed. His grace of Gloucester expected the dowager queen to flee into immediate sanctuary as soon as the Woodville plots collapsed, and their attempts to raise armed forces against him failed.’
Hastings nodded. ‘So, what I heard is correct? And you’ve been in Gloucester’s company all this time? It’s true Richard has arrested Rivers, then? You know the details? Tell me exactly how it happened.’
‘Earl Rivers failed to meet his grace at Northampton as had been arranged. But to avoid confrontation, Rivers rode back to placate his grace. His excuses were lame. Naturally we had already received news from London of the king’s council being subverted and the city virtually taken under Dorset’s command. It needed little imagination to see that Rivers intended keeping the young king away from the designated Lord Protector. Clearly he assumed his power unassailable. His grace of Gloucester responded with considerable patience, entertaining Rivers throughout the evening, questioning and probing, allowing opportunity for explanation and time for the earl to exonerate himself. You must know, my lord, that his grace the Duke of Buckingham had joined the party at this stage, and was, with his men, also camped at Northampton. Rivers must have been conscious of the forces against him, but his conversation was persistently evasive and underlined with contempt and subterfuge. Unknown to him, word had already reached us of Dorset’s attempts to take over the capital and the royal council. His grace knew that the orders originated with the earl. Naturally I was not present during the meeting, but I understand that when the earl finally retired, the Duke of Gloucester arranged for the inn to be surrounded, and had Rivers and his immediate companions arrested.’
‘Is there nothing else?’
‘Earl Rivers, Dorset’s brother Sir Richard Grey and Sir Thomas Vaughn were arrested and sent north to be detained in those castles under the duke’s authority. His grace, in company with the Duke of Buckingham, then advanced to meet the young king at Stony Stratford, to explain what had occurred and why. The Lord Protector and his highness are now proceeding together towards London. They will arrive in the city on the fourth day of May.’
‘The day designated for the coronation?’
‘Precisely,’ agreed Mister Cobham. ‘His grace does not intend that the coronation should take place in such a precipitous manner, nor at the instigation of the Woodvilles. It will be conducted in due time with greater dignity, and under the auspices of the Protector.’
Hastings chuckled. ‘Excellent. And now the damned Woodville woman has scuttled into sanctuary, taking her whole wretched family with her. Poor Abbot Esteney will be thrown out of his comfortable home as usual, and the entire Abbey grounds will be in disarray. I’m told the queen dismantled half the palace, dragging all her precious luxuries away with her along with a parcel of servants.’
‘I doubt it is my place to say,’ Andrew frowned, ‘but such absence of Woodville influence is likely to prove mightily convenient for the next few weeks, my lord. The Marquess of Dorset’s immediate departure seems particularly comforting.’
‘The court is certainly a more pleasant place without him,’ Lord Hastings smiled. ‘And they’ve declared themselves as guilty as hell, running like scared rabbits from the legal Protector’s arrival, and even from the arrival of their own little Woodville king. Will they emerge for the coronation, I wonder.’
‘I gather, my lord, that there are some rather more unfortunate aspects of this evasion of accountability.’ Andrew Cobham was not smiling. ‘The Marquess of Dorset, in his recent dubious capacity as Deputy Constable, has ordered the removal of his late highness’s treasure from storage at The Tower. This has been divided between the marquess, the dowager queen and her brother Sir Edward Woodville. Sir Edward, so recently although illegally created commander of the fleet, has promptly put to sea, with the appropriated treasure in his possession. The rest accompanied her highness into sanctuary. I doubt there remains sufficient to pay for his late highness’s funeral.’
Hastings leapt from his chair in fury and began to pace the room. The candles had already been lit and the flames flared and danced to the heavy thump of angry footsteps. ‘The villains, how dare they!’ he roared. ‘They steal from the realm. They steal from the people. They steal from the new king, even though he’s one of their own. Richard will struggle to raise new revenue for his Protectorate.’
‘His grace has written several letters, which I delivered this morning,’ Andrew nodded. ‘He reminds the council to ensure the king’s treasure is kept safe, and the Royal Seal secure. But in fact, both these measures have already been breached. The duke will not be pleased.’
‘Pleased? He’ll be biting the rugs! Good Lord, that damned Marrott and every Woodville bastard should be arrested immediately.’
‘Which is no doubt why they have taken to sanctuary, my lord.’
Lord Hastings returned to his chair and collapsed heavily into its depths. ‘If Edward had never – but there, the poor wretch is past regrets and I won’t criticise him now he’s gone. A king should be remembered for his greatness, his beneficence – not the miserable chaos he left behind him. I tell you this, sir – beware who you marry.’
Chapter Fifty-Eight
His fingers stroked her from the tucked dip between her collarbone to the rise of fair tangled curls at her groin. He had left the shutters down, and now the dawning sun bathed her breasts in a soft lemon shimmer. The once-crisp linen sheet had wrinkled into sweated confusion. He rolled her over and the counterpane, dislodged, slithered to the floor. His breath was burning her ear as he mounted her from behind, his tongue caressing, whispering to her as he entered deep, his hands spread beneath her body, pressing her up against him.
He had barely given her time to wake.
She mumbled, ‘I was waiting. I waited ages.’
‘I was here, little one. You were asleep when I came in. All night I’ve held you, wanting you, thinking of how you’ve suffered in my absence, missing you but letting you sleep.’
‘I wanted you, too.’
‘In your dreams?’ He grinned, moving lazily, long slow strokes, his belly hard against her buttocks, his fingers holding beneath her thighs.
Her breath quickened. ‘I always dream of you.’
‘Alas, how wretchedly predictable I must now seem. What can I do, I wonder, to surprise you?’
She couldn’t laugh, couldn’t catch her breath. ‘Never – predictable.’
His fingertips slid up and in, catching between her legs, finding the place that made her gasp. ‘It’s like music,’ he whispered, ‘playing you, hearing you.’
She whispered back, ‘Like a gittern? Perhaps even the same shape?’
His smile floated on warm breath as his fingers continued to explore. Then he turned her, facing him again and kissing first her lips, then her breasts, releasing her to bury his head in her hair, his own breath rasping, pushing suddenly slow and hard, hands imperative again, sliding beneath her to lift and hold so that her body raised and her legs folded over his back, ankles crossed as he entered deeper. The slick damp heat of his touch roamed relentless as the dawn’s light sparkled and strengthened. A rich crimson tinged with gold swept over the bed from the window, painting both their bodies in fire. He whispered, ‘Ready, my love?’ Though he knew she was. Then his pressure quickened and she cried out, clinging to him as his own voice, half-swallowed, called her name.