Dragon's Court. Joanna Makepeace

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СКАЧАТЬ go at once to the solar and inform your mother that Dickon Allard is here. She will issue orders for the preparation of a chamber. Where is Ned? He should be here too to greet our honoured guest.”

      “Fishing in the Nene,” she said promptly and, meeting Dickon Allard’s smiling eyes, made him her first quick curtsy. Then, grateful to be out of his presence for a while, she sped off to the solar to break the news to her mother. With her hand on the door knob she reflected that perhaps it would have been better had her father allowed her to remain in the hall. At least she would have heard what Richard Allard said to him.

      Margaret Jarvis looked up hastily as her daughter entered. She was sewing at the dark blue velvet of a new-fashioned French hood and was alone. Her dark brows rose in interrogation as Anne swept in, her cloak billowing behind her.

      “There you are. I have been looking for you. I wished to try this on you for size. Goodness, child, what have you been doing to your clothes? You know your father’s means are limited these days. You should take more care. It is bad enough that Ned tears his hose, but you should know better.”

      “I’m sorry, Mother, but a kitten got caught up a tree and just would not come down. I had to climb. There was no one else nearby. He is safe now.”

      The child was breathless and evidently excited. Margaret was surprised. Just lately nothing had excited Anne or pleased her. Indeed, Margaret reflected, had she behaved so badly as her daughter had done recently, her own father would have taken a switch to her. Guy had held his hand and Margaret had admired his patience with the girl. Her own had been fast running out.

      The whole of the trouble lay in the fact that Dionysia Gresham had left their neighbouring manor to enter the Countess of Chester’s household and would, most likely, attend her mistress at court at Westminster. Anne sorely missed her friend’s company but there was more to it than that. Although the reasons for her own ineligibility to attend a noble household had been explained to her often enough, Anne had never really accepted them.

      “We have a visitor,” Anne announced breathlessly. “Richard Allard, from Yorkshire, isn’t it?”

      Like her father’s, Anne’s mother’s face expressed immediate pleasure at the news.

      “Richard, here? Oh, how good it is to have him. I shall have news of Dominick and Aleyne. It is far too long since we heard from them.” She rose at once, laying aside the unfinished hood. “Your father has been informed?”

      “Oh, yes. He is with him in hall. He sent me to fetch you. Father says a room must be prepared for him.”

      Again Margaret Jarvis’s dark brows rose. “I did not hear a horse enter the courtyard.”

      “No, he is on foot. Apparently his mare cast a shoe. Father will send a groom to fetch her from the smithy later.”

      Margaret was moving unhurriedly towards the door of the solar. Anne admired her stately passage in her dark burgundy velvet gown. It suited her well, though the tight-fitting sleeve cuffs were somewhat rubbed and Lady Jarvis still affected the old style of headdress: small cap, hennin and veil.

      Though Anne was aware of the latest changes in fashion through Dionysia who took careful note of all news from Court since tidings of her impending term of service in the Earl of Chester’s household, she was aware that her mother remained as lovely as her father had declared her to have been when he had wed her at Westminster, more than sixteen years ago, in the late King Richard’s time, and in his very presence.

      Anne was fully aware that it was this very allegiance to the late King’s household and her father’s continued stubborn loyalty to the Plantagenet cause that had resulted in their present impecunious state here at Rushton.

      Sir Guy Jarvis had been pardoned after Redmoor, for King Henry had shrewdly declared the beginning of his reign the day before the battle, thereby making all those who had fought for their King technically traitors. Anne’s father had survived the pursuit following the battle and managed to reach the comparative safety of Rushton, but the King’s officers had levied a swingeing fine from which the manor had never truly recovered financially.

      The number of household servants and dependents had had to be cut to the bone and for eleven years Sir Guy was aware that his every move was watched by agents of the Tudor now living in Northamptonshire. Anne sighed resentfully as she faced the need for economy in her own dress allowance, which denied her new-fashioned garments like the ones her friend Dionysia had obtained in which to travel to her new household.

      She would not have minded that so much if she had not to face the prospect of life here at Rushton, familiar and dear, but irritatingly dull. Anne had listened open-mouthed to her mother’s tales of life at Court and the intrigues and adventures that had befallen her there and wished that such a fascinating and exciting life could be hers.

      The arrival of Richard Allard brought home further the need for all of them to guard their tongues and behaviour. The Allards, too, made little secret of their contempt for the Tudor’s claims and Anne wondered doubtfully what was the reason which had brought Richard here. Could it be to embroil her father into yet another secret plot against the King? She paled at the thought.

      Only recently the arrest of the second pretender to the King’s claim, the man they called Perkin Warbeck, had caused fear and despondency to spread through those families who still doggedly supported the Plantagenets and Anne knew her mother constantly feared for her father’s safety.

      How could she constantly live like that? Anne wondered. She could not. She wanted a settled, peaceful life, if not at Westminster, at least secure on her own small manor with her husband and children safe by her side. Yet she knew well that the neighbouring gentry would be wary of allying themselves in marriage with the disgraced Sir Guy, that her father would not find it easy to find her a husband.

      She put to rights her appearance and joined her parents with their visitor in the hall to find that Ned had now come home and was seated near Richard Allard, listening intently to the tales of his recent travels. Anne experienced a momentary feeling of irritation that her brother should greet this stranger in so admiring a manner and regretted, more than ever, that she had had to appear before him in her old russet gown which had had to be pinned at the torn hem by her maid, Mary Scroggins.

      Anne’s worst suspicions were confirmed as it was obvious from the line the conversation was taking that Richard Allard’s loyalties were cast in the same mould as her father’s.

      Sir Guy was speaking as she entered and, at a signal from her mother, Anne seated herself on a stool by Lady Jarvis’s side.

      “In Leicester did you manage to visit the Friary?”

      Richard Allard took a pull at his wine cup and nodded. “Aye, I see the Tudor has not kept his word and had the promised memorial put on the tomb, but the King lies safe and snug and I paid for masses to be said for his soul.”

      Anne had heard that King Richard’s body had been shamefully treated following the battle at Redmoor and had been brought back into Leicester town half-naked, across the neck of his own destrier, White Surrey, wearing a felon’s halter around his neck. His body had been exhibited for public view in the church of St Mary the Lesser, outside Leicester’s castle and finally buried by the Grey Friars within their enclosure.

      On his rare visits to Leicester Anne’s father had visited the tomb, but had never once taken Anne to see it. She knew his visits there were viewed with disapproval by some of his neighbours, yet another mark against him СКАЧАТЬ