Sickened by the reports of carnage, and by the pleasure most people seemed to take in them, I wanted nothing more than to retreat from public view. It was not to be. The Lady Mary was expected to speak to the crowd gathered within the Tower precincts. She and all her household had to appear to rejoice at the news of England’s great victory over the Scots.











6

The night after we received word of the Battle of Flodden, the Lady Mary suffered from nightmares. The next night, she ordered me to keep her company. It was not uncommon for one of her ladies to sleep with her for warmth, but what she wanted from me was distraction.

Closed into the high, curtained bed, the covers pulled up to our chins, we were as private as anyone could ever be at court. In the room beyond, several more of her women slept on pallets on the floor. If we spoke too loudly, we would be overheard.

“I do not wish to think of blood and battle,” the princess said. “Tell me what you have learned from your French friend.”

I hesitated, uncertain it would be wise to admit that my mother had been thought capable of killing a king. I did not believe for a moment that she had done so, but the royalty of any country are bound to be sensitive about such matters.

Mary pouted. “I thought we were friends. You can trust me to keep your confidences.”

I lay on my back, staring up at the brocade ceiler over our heads. “It appears that my mother wished to disappear. She spirited me out of France and somehow the rumor started that she and I had both died after leaving Amboise. In truth, we came here to England to begin a new life.”

“Anyone would prefer England to France.” Mary sounded smug.

“What troubles me is that I do not know why we had to hide where we were going. Maman promised me that she would explain, but she died before she could keep her word.”

“Is there no one else you can ask?”

“My uncle must know something of her reasons, but he is with King Henry. It could be months yet before I have the opportunity to talk to him.”

As we’d had reports of the war with Scotland, so, too, had we received news of King Henry’s campaign against the French. After the battle in which the duc de Longueville had been captured, the English had gone to Lille, where they were entertained by Archduchess Margaret, the regent of the Netherlands. Diplomacy had replaced combat, and among the matters being discussed was a date for the Lady Mary to consummate her marriage to Charles of Castile. His title might come from a Spanish kingdom, but Charles himself had been raised by the Archduchess of Flanders. She was his aunt, the sister of that same King Philip who had once visited England. Charles had another aunt, too—our own Queen Catherine.

“Is there no one else who knew your mother when she first arrived?” Mary asked. “She was one of my mother’s ladies, was she not?”

“Yes, for a few months before she died.” My voice was flat, hiding the turmoil inside me.

“A few weeks is long enough to make friends. Oh! I know! You must talk to Mother Guildford. Do you not remember? Before she took charge of my household, she was in Mother’s service. She must have known your maman.”

I grimaced, thinking my expression hidden, but Mary knew me too well.

“Stop making faces. Mother Guildford is exactly the person you need. She has an excellent memory and she knows everyone. She should. Before she was in my mother’s household, she served my grandmother.”

“Which one?”

“Father’s mother, the Countess of Richmond.”

Perhaps, I thought, that was where Mother Guildford acquired her sour temperament. I remembered the countess as being irascible on her best days, and she had always seemed to go out of her way to make me feel inferior…when she took notice of me at all. But Mary was right. Mother Guildford was the most likely person to remember who had befriended a newcomer at court some fifteen years earlier.

Two days later, accompanied by a groom, I set out on horseback for Mother Guildford’s little house near the Blackfriars’ Priory, in London. She lived there in strained circumstances. Her husband’s death in Jerusalem on pilgrimage had left her deep in debt. Her only income, so her son Harry had told me, came from fifty marks a year in dower rights and the rent Charles Brandon paid to live in what had once been his uncle’s house in Southwark, the London suburb on the south side of the Thames. No one seemed to know why, but Sir Thomas Brandon had willed the property to the widow of his old friend Sir Richard Guildford. Perhaps he had felt sorry for her.

Mother Guildford received me in a small parlor at the upper end of the hall. It smelled of cedar and the strong, unpleasant odor of gout wort. “Why have you come now?” she asked. “It cannot be for the pleasure of my company or you would have found time to visit me long since.”

Time had wrought few changes in the former lady governess. She was more irascible, it was true. And her hair that had once been brown had more gray and new lines had appeared around her eyes and mouth. Otherwise she was still the same forceful woman I remembered from my youth. She had just entered her fiftieth year.

“I thought you might wish to hear the news from court,” I said from my perch atop a low Flemish chest. She was ensconced in the room’s only chair.

“I am not without friends! And I have eyes to see and ears to hear.” She gestured toward an open octagonal window that took up most of the gable end of the room. “No one could have missed the shouts and huzzahs and ringing bells that celebrated England’s victory over the Scots.”

Nodding, I allowed that the celebrations would have been difficult to miss. “I have news for you of Queen Margaret.”

“Poor chit.” Mother Guildford’s voice abruptly softened. For a moment, I thought she shared my own conflicting feelings of joy and sorrow. “There will be another battle now,” she continued. “This one political. The nobles will fight over who keeps control of the new king’s person while he grows to manhood.”

“Not so. Queen Catherine took a hand in arranging matters. That is my news. As the king’s mother, Margaret Tudor will serve as regent.”

“How long will that last? The Scots will not take to being ruled by a woman. Like as not, Margaret will soon find herself shunted aside to live out the rest of her life bereft of both husband and children.”

“I do not think I would care to be a queen,” I murmured.

Mother Guildford gave a snort of laughter eerily like the sound her son Harry was wont to make. “On that we can agree. Now tell me why you really came to visit me.”

“Because you know everyone of any significance in all of England.”

“True enough.” Mother Guildford preened a bit.

“Do you remember my mother, Joan Popyncourt? She joined the household of Queen Elizabeth of York about fifteen years ago.”

A hint of wariness came into Mother Guildford’s expression. “She was not with us long.”

“Mid-June until early September.”

I thought I detected a flash of sympathy in her steel gray eyes. “Your mother came to England with you because she had family here. Talk to your uncle if you wish to know more. He is still alive, is he not?”

“Sir Rowland is abroad with the king. I will speak with him when he returns to England, but in the meantime there must be others I can ask about her.”

“What is it you wish to know—and why now?”

Why did we leave France in such a hurry? Why did we bring nothing with us but our clothing? I thought to myself.

Aloud, I said only, “I have found myself remembering her of late and wondering about her last days. I thought perhaps she might have confided in you, mayhap told you what her reasons were for leaving France.”

“I did not know her well enough to inspire confidences.”

“Did anyone?” I held my breath.

“No.”

I hid my disappointment. My gaze shifted to my hands, folded in my lap. I clasped them together so tightly that the seam on one glove popped.

I could feel Mother Guildford’s gaze boring into me. She waited until I looked at her to say, “She was already dying by the time she reached England.”

“That is not possible! Surely if there was something wrong with her when we left France I would have noticed.”

“You were a child, Jane. Your mother took pains to hide her illness from you. A wasting sickness, as I recall.” Sitting stiffly in her leather-backed chair, Mother Guildford’s expression was set in grim lines. “No doubt that is why she came to England. She hoped her brother would provide for you, as he did by finding you a place at Eltham.”

She could have found me a place at the court of Anne of Brittany, I thought. Besides, Mother Guildford’s explanation did not mesh with my memory of that first meeting between my mother and King Henry.

“My uncle cares little about me. Indeed, he has gone out of his way to avoid me since my mother died.”

“He did his duty by you. Upon her death, you became a royal ward.”

“Maman talked privately with the king when we first arrived. I was in the room with them. He promised to look after us both.” That, too, now that I thought about it, seemed strange. Why had he taken responsibility for me?

“Underage children of the gentry and nobility almost always become wards of the crown when their parents die. Do not think yourself anything out of the ordinary.”

But I was, I thought. I’d had no wealth or property to be used for the king’s benefit during my minority. Why had he bothered to assume responsibility for me? And why, since I had been his ward, had he not found me a husband? In the ordinary way of things, that was the first duty of a guardian. There had to be more to the story.

“Who was with my mother when she died? If not a friend or confidante, then what servant had she? Which of the queen’s other ladies was her bedfellow?” Few at court had the luxury of a bed to themselves. I could not remember ever sleeping alone. I usually shared both chamber and bed with one or two other gentlewomen.

Reluctantly, Mother Guildford said, “We were on progress.”

“I remember. That was the reason Maman could not come to Eltham to visit me.” King Henry VII, Queen Elizabeth of York, the Countess of Richmond, and their households had all traveled together, first into Essex and then north. Along the way they’d visited numerous courtiers and stayed at an assortment of castles and manors.

“She died at Collyweston,” Mother Guildford continued. “That was the king’s mother’s principal residence. When it was clear that your mother was dying, the countess ordered her removed to a small room of her own for fear of contagion.”

“She was left alone?” Horrible thought!

“One of the royal physicians was likely sent to her. She’d have had a servant to see to her needs.”

“Who?”

“How should I remember? It was many years ago.”

“What physician, then?”

“I do not know.” Mother Guildford held up a hand, palm toward me, to stop me from asking more questions. “I have an excellent memory, Jane, but I cannot recall every detail, nor can I tell you something I never knew.”

“Did Maman have a confessor? Surely a priest must have given her last rites.”

“I am certain one did, but again I have no idea who he might have been.”

“Someone must know. Who might I ask?”

“The queen’s household was broken up when Elizabeth of York died. By then I had been placed in charge of the Lady Mary’s household at Eltham. I do not know where anyone went. They are scattered, if not dead, by this time. It would be most difficult to track them down and I do much doubt they could tell you any more than I have. No one knew your mother well, Jane. She was not with us long enough and she kept to herself.”

In my agitation, I could no longer be still. I stood and began to pace, my steps taking me to the cold hearth, then across the room to a window hung with curtains of green say. It overlooked a small garden, ill tended. “If she was ill…dying…why did no one do anything to help her?”

“Shall I tell you what I recall of your mother’s illness?” Her voice sounded reluctant.

“Yes, if it please you.”

“It does not particularly, but I can see you will not let the matter rest until you have satisfied your curiosity.” Her tone was the same one she’d used to quell childish rebellions in the nursery. “With each passing day on progress, your mother seemed to grow weaker and more listless. She never ate much. I suppose she had difficulty keeping food down, but she did not complain. She did not ask for physic. Then, near the end, she collapsed. That is when she was separated from the other ladies. I am told she lay on her bed like a dead woman, only the movement of her eyes showing that she still lived. And then she did die.”