As Nicholas went to greet Jane, she dropped him a curtsy. ‘So, you’re safe, Nicholas. What a relief! Now Agnes can go home.’
‘My dear Jane, it was entirely due to you that we caught him. Without your speedy intervention this morning we would’ve been living in a fool’s paradise.’
The King’s trumpeters blared out the arrival of the royal couple. The King, resplendent in his new doublet, Queen Anne, elegant in dark-blue velvet cut very low in the front, her dark hair covered by a head-dress studded with seed pearls. The baby she was carrying hardly showed, and her face was pale and drawn with fatigue.
The King was in expansive mood. He signalled for the Prior to say grace, the musicians to start playing, and the first course to be served without delay.
Course after course arrived, from steaming vats of beef soup laced with beer, through fish and game and the royal swans. The King was in fine form, repeatedly putting his arm affectionately round Nicholas’s shoulders. Finally, a great shout went up as the surprise pie was carried in by four servants. Then a hush descended, and the King looked at Nicholas.
‘So, you’ve made me a surprise pie. I didn’t expect it of you, Peverell. You’re too much of a worrier, not enough imagination. Now what’s in it? Come along, Pierre, chop it up, let’s see its innards.’
As the steward plunged his knife into the first compartment, rich smells wafted up into the rafters. There was venison, cooked in red wine, in one compartment, rabbit, cooked with baby onions and wild mushrooms in another, tiny song birds cooked in madeira in a third, larks’ tongues in another, and finally he came to the last section. Pierre asked the King to raise the cover. King Henry leaned forward and lifted the pastry lid. Two doves, indignant over their last-minute imprisonment, flew out and upwards, where they came to rest on one of the roof beams. Amidst the laughter and applause, Nicholas signalled to the musicians to start up a lively galliard.
But the King had other ideas. He stood up, forcing Nicholas to stand up with him. Then, with an arm round Nicholas, he called for silence.
‘Come, a toast. To Lord Nicholas Peverell, who saved my life today. From now on he is my friend, my Companion of Honour, and I shall treat his house as my own.’
Nicholas, thinking this sounded a doubtful honour, turned to the King. ‘You honour me with your praise, your Grace, but the real honour should go to Mistress Jane Warrener, my friend and accomplice, without whom, had she not acted so promptly this morning we would not be here now to celebrate this occasion.’
Jane stood up, and, urged on by her father, approached the King, and blushing, dropped him a deep curtsy. ‘Great Heavens, Peverell, you’ve got a good-looking lass to act as your accomplice! Come here, my dear, and sit next to me. Out of the way, Peverell, Mistress Jane can tell me herself why I must be grateful to her.’
After a few minutes, Nicholas decided that enough was enough. The King was getting a bit too enthusiastic, and Queen Anne’s eyes were shooting daggers at him. He extracted Jane away from the King’s clutches, and led her towards the stage which had been erected at one end of the hall. Then, oblivious to the fact that all eyes were on them, he held on to her hand and gently turned her round to face him.
‘Jane, you’ve been my loyal friend for so long, now will you honour me by becoming my wife? Just think of it, you will be the mistress of Dean Peverell.’
She looked startled, withdrew her hand, and dropped him a curtsy. ‘Lord Nicholas, I’m overcome. But just at this moment, the King is looking at us, my father is glaring at me, and Brother Benedict is waiting to sing with me. Besides, being mistress of Dean Peverell means nothing to me. I would only ever consider marrying the man I love and who, I know, loves me. Ask me another time, when we are not so public.’
‘Jane, don’t be so contrary. You know I love you. Just say “yes”. The King’s in the mood to give us his blessing.’
‘First things first, my Lord. And just at this moment, music is my priority.’
She turned to where Brother Benedict was waiting for her on the stage, and took her place beside him. Then they sang, to the delight of the guests. They sang songs about love and happiness and the pleasures of the countryside. When Jane sang one of the King’s own compositions called, ‘Pastime with Good Company’, the King rose to his feet in delight.
‘By God, Prior,’ he said, ‘Tell me, who’s the good-looking monk singing with Mistress Warrener? Don’t they make a fine couple? Tell him to pack his bags and I’ll take him back to Court with me. He can entertain the French Ambassador.’
The Prior looked the King straight in the face. ‘Sire, you have every right to govern your kingdom as you think fit. Allow me to govern my Priory in my own way. Brother Benedict stays with me until his abbot recalls him to France.’
‘Well said, Prior, you’ll make a good diplomat. You’re quite right, of course. None of my business what you do with your monks. Now, Peverell, come and take a turn with me in that garden of yours. I want a word in your ear. Let the dancing commence,’ he said as they went out, ‘if the Queen’s got a mind to it.’
He linked his arm in Nicholas’s and strolled outside into the garden, where the night air was warm and velvety and, in the background they heard the sweet sounds of the lutes and shawms coming from the house.
‘You know, Peverell, I’m damn grateful we’ve put an end to all these treasonable goings-on down here. I love this place, and I’ve much work to do in Portsmouth. I can see that I’ll be a regular visitor here in the future. I could appropriate Mortimer house, but I don’t fancy it, somehow. Treason contaminates the atmosphere. Also I’ve a mind one day to reinstate Lady Mortimer there with her children. I’m a merciful man, am I not, Peverell, when the occasion demands it?’
‘Of course you are, your Grace; I’ve never doubted it.’
‘And you’re a good friend, Peverell. Now, why not marry that lass of yours? Don’t mind the father, he’ll come round to you when you sire his first grandchild. The wench will agree, I’m sure, and it will be good to see her at Court. She can sing to me when affairs of state get me down. I could compose some songs for her. Matrimony’s a fine institution. I can heartily recommend it. Mind you, the Queen’s not well at the moment, not well at all. I hope she can stand the journey tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow, your Grace? You leave so soon?’
‘There’s work to do, Peverell. I’ve got a kingdom to govern. And the Queen’s baby could arrive at any moment. Pray God it’s a fine son to carry on my name.’
‘Amen to that, your Grace.’
‘Now, Peverell, what are we going to do about you? You’ve got a fine house, a fine wench – I know, you want your Priory, don’t you? Well, this time next year, Cromwell will have got the legislation through Parliament, and the monks will have to go. Don’t worry, I’ll fix that Prior of yours up with a good position somewhere. By the way, he’s a nice fellow. I could do with someone like him around at Court. He could make a second Wolsey. But no monks. No monks at Court. I’ve had enough of them. But you can have your Priory, then, and get yourself buried, when the time comes, in that chantry chapel you were telling me about. Mind you, it’ll cost you something…’