The Abbey at Westminster backed the palace, and overlooked the Thames across the royal gardens. But the area of sanctuary, spacious, walled and secluded, was tucked between Thieving Lane and St Margaret’s Church. The sun struck the great rows of the Abbey’s stained-glass windows, flooding out in a kaleidoscope of haloed reflections, echoing Paradise. But the sharp spring breeze from the river did not feel sacred in the least and Tyballis shivered, trying not to cling too tightly to Andrew’s luxurious sleeve.
‘Cold, my love?’ he murmured. ‘Or a little – just a little – frightened?’
‘When asked impertinent questions,’ she answered, raising her chin, ‘I am to stare blankly and remain silent.’
He chuckled. ‘Quite right, my sweet. And when we are accosted, as we will be, you will remember that. Silence can be as valuable as any blade.’
And so Lord Feayton answered for his companion whenever they were stopped, and therefore crossed the sunny courtyard without being turned away, approaching Abbot Esteney’s house where the dowager queen highness was housed.
Her highness had arranged her family’s quarters with a view to a prolonged lodging. The house she occupied was grand, spacious, and now further filled with her own luxuries and servants. She did not expect an immediate pardon. Nor did she intend to facilitate the Lord Protector’s future influence over her royal son by putting herself and her freedom willingly in his hands. The Duke of Gloucester inspired great loyalty within the country, but she still had many adherents. A beautiful woman can appear saintly in the eyes of the uninitiated, and although in her forties and less beautiful than she had once been, she had learned regality. She might no longer ensnare a king, but she could still sense the timorous Archbishop of York’s heartbeat pounding faster whenever she approached him.
Yet sanctuary, even within the abbot’s palatial dwelling, had wretched disadvantages. Neither feast nor pageant lightened the dull hours. Her personal chef prepared the dishes she favoured, and Westminster’s tradesmen delivered daily, but the company remained ever unchanged. The music was limited to the ecclesiastical, and dancing, mumming and drollery were impossible to arrange. While maintaining mourning for the late king her husband, the long hours seemed even more drear.
The dowager queen was walking in the sunshine with her grown son when she noticed a possible diversion. The Marquess of Dorset noticed first, for he immediately recognised the gentleman in question. He stopped suddenly mid step, staring, one silken pink knee half-raised. His mother, a step ahead, turned and lifted her well-plucked eyebrows. ‘You are acquainted, Thomas, with these persons? I doubt I have ever seen them before. What are they doing here?’
The Marquess frowned. ‘I know the man well enough. Geoffrey Marrott befriended him a year or more back, but recently I discovered him to be a creature of Hastings’, even of Gloucester’s, and not to be trusted. In fact, I advised Marrott to eradicate the man.’
‘Without evident success,’ pronounced the queen. ‘I intend to ignore them. Then I shall have them removed from the premises.’
But Lord Feayton could be remarkably difficult to ignore. He stood directly in the path of the illustrious company and bowed low, presenting one long and elegant black silken calf. The lady at his side, eyes hidden behind her veil’s netting, curtsied deeply. The marquess did not appear to reciprocate the pleasure, and in particular did not relish being forced to introduce a man he distrusted to his mother. ‘Feayton. What business have you here?’
Lord Feayton seemed unperturbed. ‘An auspicious encounter, my lord. I came principally with the intention of introducing my intended bride to my old friend, but doubted to discover your lordship so promptly. Instead, in the precincts of the Abbey itself our Holy Father supplies the fortunate opportunity. May I therefore present Mary Berwick, my future wife?’
Dorset bowed stiffly. The queen, bored, nodded and walked a little apart to join her ladies.
The Marquess was trying to remember whether their friendship could ever have been classified close enough for such a contrivance, remembered only irritation and decided that Feayton was now certainly after something. Dorset pouted, making his polite acknowledgment. ‘Wish you a bountiful future, Feayton. Sons, and all that. But for the moment I’m hardly in a position –’
The young lady in question lowered her eyes with maidenly modesty and curtsied again. ‘Ah, sons,’ Andrew smiled with faintly conspiratorial vulgarity. ‘An apt blessing, my lord, from one who so well understands the importance of a fertile virility, whether within the matrimonial state or – otherwise.’
The dowager queen, overhearing this remark, again raised the exaggerated arch of high-plucked eyebrows and turned away, signalling to her cluster of ladies, a floating urgency of diaphanous satins. The marquess turned pout to scowl. ‘Damned inconvenient, Feayton, as it happens,’ he said. ‘And if you expect some sort of official recognition from me –’
Lord Feayton at once said, ‘Excellent. Your noble mother was not my quarry, Thomas. Now. A word in private?’ Dorset hesitated. Feayton continued. ‘Never fear, I am not courting favours, nor come with complaints. A little pointless, don’t you think, under the circumstances, my lord? Your family is not exactly in a position to bestow honours just yet. No, I have come to offer help, not to beg for it.’
The Marquess of Dorset did not appear relieved. ‘Help? I’ve no need of it, Feayton, and am master of my own destiny as always. You think me vulnerable? Handicapped? Not at all. And I’ll not be discussing my personal business with you. Indeed, I am perfectly aware of your recent problematic dealings with my friend Lord Marrott. Now I’d be obliged if you’d leave me to my own affairs.’
Lord Feayton smiled and showed no intention of leaving. ‘But I persist, as you see, my dear Thomas. I cannot depart without speaking – informing, I might say, having much to impart.’ Andrew regarded Dorset’s undisguised puzzlement, and his smile widened. ‘Am I being too subtle, my friend? I fear you are unaware of one particular fact. You see, to put it bluntly, I was of the party which travelled from Middleham passing through Northampton on the last day of April just gone, and was therefore witness not only to events, but privy to the aftermath, of decisions discussed and finalised, and to, let us say, plans of a protective nature.’
Dorset jumped. ‘Protective?’
‘In a manner of speaking, my lord.’
Dorset was still scowling. ‘How you managed to be in the party with Gloucester –’ He stopped, eyeing the small silent figure of the lady at Feayton’s side. ‘But a word in private, you said? May I escort your charming betrothed to a place in the shade? And cooling refreshments? Hypocras and tansy cakes, perhaps?’
Tyballis sat alone in the tiny parlour and eyed the cup and two small biscuits nestled on pewter. After the breathtaking unexpectancy of actually encountering her majesty the dowager queen, Tyballis was feeling quite weak. It was therefore some few minutes before she rose, adjusted her veil and headdress, and quietly left the chamber.
She was unacquainted with the Abbey grounds, but Andrew had tutored her for some hours the night before. Stretched naked on the bed beside her, he had impressed outlines with his fingertip on the sheet, explaining each entrance, each surreptitious corner and each cobbled alley. ‘She will come here,’ he had told her. ‘Some time immediately after the dinner hour while the sun, being at its zenith, frightens off the inquisitive meanderers and the midday services keep the priests and nobility occupied. Satisfying hunger will be the concern of all others. You will find her here – having entered, as we shall, through the Bell Tower. Try not to hover. She will be suspicious of strangers. However, I shall have Dorset safe elsewhere and your path should be unwatched.’