Page 31 of The Rose at Twilight

D ONCASTER LAY UNDER A sugar-coating of new snow that frosted its rooftops, its cobbled streets, and the bare branches of its trees.

The street known as the Kirkgate formed a tunnel for the morning’s freezing north wind, and Alys felt as though she were being pushed by it up the hill.

Drawing her thick wool shawl closer, she studied the houses, looking for the one she sought.

Towering above her on her right was the steeple of the gray stone church for which the street was named.

Behind her, she could hear the chatter of Ian’s teeth over the crunch of his boots through the thin crust of snow.

And across the way, the upper stories of a row of ancient, adjoining cottages leaned out over the lower, giving them a top-heavy appearance.

The way they had been angled to fit against the rising street made them look as though they were sinking.

Crossing over and stopping before the last one, the sharp angles and crooked end-wall chimney of which made it appear even more tipsy than the others, Alys hesitated, glancing back at Ian.

“Art certain we shall find her here?”

The lad shrugged, hugging himself. “’Tis what they ha’ said at Wolveston, mistress, when I did ask.”

“I wish I had gone with you.”

“Aye, but the players might ha’ left Bawtry wi’oot us, did we both gae, and we’d no ha’ got here sae easily wi’oot them, or wi’oot takin’ a far greater chance o’ bein’ recognized.”

“No, but I do think that if anyone were searching for us, we ought to have learned of it by now.”

He shrugged again, the gesture ending in a shiver. He nodded at the blue door of the end house. “Shall I rap?”

She nodded and found that she was holding her breath, but when the door opened she gasped out a cry of relief and flung herself, sobbing, into Jonet’s arms.

“Lassie! Mistress Alys!” Hugging her and laughing, Jonet drew her into the tidy little front room, paying no heed to Ian until he followed and shut the door behind them.

Her eyes widened then at the sight of the tall redheaded lad, and she drew away, striving to regain her dignity.

She could not keep her eyes from her mistress, however, nor could she hide her delight at seeing her again.

Alys, too, was grinning broadly. “I had feared you dead, but at Wolveston they told Ian you were here with your sister.”

“’Twas that great gowk, Hugh Gower, who sent for Mary to fetch me,” Jonet said.

“He learned I had family hereabouts and commanded one of the monks helping the sick in the village to find them. Mary did think she would be fetching a corpse, but that herb woman looked after me, and I lived to spite the old witch. Come in and sit, the pair o’ thee.

Mary boasts a proper parlor with a hearth, she does, and two bedchambers above. ”

They followed her along a narrow passageway to the door of the cozy parlor, where, having realized that Ian’s presence did not mean that Sir Nicholas or—clearly a more important factor to her—the giant Hugh had accompanied her darling, Jonet pressed Ian to take the second of the two stools in the room.

Only when he had reluctantly done so did she busy herself stirring up the tiny fire that crackled beneath the plaster hood, and demand that Alys explain how it was that they came to be in Doncaster.

Alys began obediently, but she did not get far.

“You are to be married?” Jonet’s eyes narrowed suspiciously when the news was broken, and she straightened, forgetting the fire. “And who would yon Tudor be a-choosing, if one might ask?”

“’Tis Lord Briarly, a connection of the Stanleys.”

“Och, nay!”

“That is what I thought myself,” Alys told her with a mischievous twinkle, “and so did I decide to leave London.”

“But why come to Doncaster? And who escorted you all this way, mistress? Surely, you never came with just him!” She gestured at Ian, who was perched on the edge of his stool as though he meant to bolt at the least hint of her displeasure.

Alys hesitated. She did not fear Jonet and was delighted beyond measure to find her alive and well, but she had had much experience with her temper and knew that if it were stirred Jonet could not be depended upon to remember her place.

And since Ian’s awe of Jonet was clear and his awe of his mistress had not survived the first of their three weeks with the players, during which he had frequently protested the foolishness of the venture, she knew he would not defend her if Jonet chose to scold.

Jonet glanced at Ian, saw that he was studiously regarding his boots, and looked back at Alys. “Mistress, surely you did not come all this way only to find old Jonet!”

“But we did,” Alys assured her. “Not, in truth, that that was our first intention, for I was nearly certain that you had died of the sweat, but once Ian had visited Wolveston Hazard, from Bawtry, and discovered you were not only alive but here in Doncaster with your sister, it seemed best for us to remain with … that is, to travel on, to … to find you, after all.” Alys glanced at Ian, but he avoided her eye, and Jonet’s.

“Remain with whom?” Jonet demanded. “Art saying you did travel all this way with none but Ian to protect you!”

“No, but I fear you will not approve of my other companions, though I was as safe as could be in their company,” Alys said ruefully. “The plain truth is we joined a band of players.”

“Players? Do you mean common minstrels and jongleurs?” Jonet was shocked. “Dancers and actors? You never!”

“But we did,” Alys said, grinning now. “Ian had met one of the dancers, and he convinced her—for he does have wondrous fine ways with the wenches—to smuggle us out of Westminster in their caravan. The chief jongleur of the troop, Master Bertrant, was as displeased as you are, so ’twas just as well he did not learn we had joined them until after we had passed through Uxbridge, or he might have taken us straightaway back to London. ”

“You never traveled all this way in such low company!”

“More than that, I learned to assist one of the jugglers, and Ian helped tend the animals, to earn our keep. ’Twas not what I am accustomed to, but in faith, it answered most excellent well.

Had anyone chanced to search for us, they must have been confounded, for we did not take the Great North Road but went first to Oxford, then to Coventry, Leicester, and Derby, before crossing the Trent at Nottingham.

” Alys kept to herself the fact that she had enjoyed her time with the players.

To be free of the restrictions that had surrounded her all her life, and to be with people who lived simply and enjoyed simple pleasures, had been blissful, but Jonet would not understand.

“When the players stayed two days at Bawtry, Ian rode to Wolveston to see what the situation was there. That is when he learned you were here.”

Jonet frowned. “So you have run from the Tudor, have you? God save us, that you do not bring his wrath down upon us all.”

“In faith, how should I? It is true that since the players mean to go on to York till Easter, I had hoped we might stop here and stay with you. Ian says there are still soldiers at Wolveston, so we cannot go there, but I confess I should like to enjoy again some of those comforts to which I was born.”

“I warrant you do.” Jonet smiled. “You shall stay here, the pair of you, though the house be small. I can sleep with Mary, and Ian can share the shed by the icehouse with our Davy.”

“Davy is here?”

“Aye, you did not know?”

“No. In faith, if I gave any thought to him at all, I must have assumed he was dead, or with Roger in London.”

“Davy said your brother was alive, but Wolveston had already left Nottinghamshire, or I would have sent a message with him to tell you I was well. You have seen him, though, I take it.”

“Aye, for all the good it did me. He would not lift a finger to help me. But why is Davy not with him? He was not hurt at Bosworth or afterward, was he?”

“Nay, mistress, but Lord Wolveston could not be certain our Davy would be pardoned, and so it was that he did leave him behind when he rode to London to swear fealty to the Tudor.”

Jonet’s tone was neutral, but Alys read her disapproval nonetheless.

She grimaced. “I cannot think why Roger submitted so tamely. To be sure, he did retain Wolveston thereby, and has kept his title. And many others have done the same, including Sir Lionel Everingham and Sir James Tyrell, who were said to be amongst the staunchest of Yorkists. But Lovell did not submit.”

“Nay, not he.” Jonet’s expression was revealing.

“You have seen him!” Alys exclaimed. “I was told that he lived, but Roger said he had taken sanctuary. Where is he?”

Looking obliquely at Ian, Jonet frowned and said nothing.

Alys laughed and said confidently, “Ian will not betray him. He is loyal to me, and thus to my friends, art thou not, Ian?”

“Aye, mistress.”

“His loyalty notwithstanding,” Jonet said in the firm way she had often taken with the child Alys, “I can tell thee nowt. Mayhap when our Davy comes in, he will see fit to say more. Ah now, ’tis a plain day, the day, wi’ the wind a-blowin’ so thin. I shall send for ale to warm thee.”

And though Alys tried several times to return to the subject of Lovell, no more would Jonet say about him, or about anything else of importance, except to bemoan Alys’s intended wedding. And since that subject was not one which Alys wished to discuss, their conversation languished.

Davy Hawkins, when he arrived at last to seek his supper, was more forthcoming, for not only did he readily admit that Lovell was nearby in Yorkshire, but he agreed to carry word to him of Alys’s desire to meet with him.

Davy, a wiry man with much of the practical look of his sister about him, did not waste words arguing but said he would inform Lovell at once.

“Do you think he will agree to see me?” Alys asked. “The matter is most urgent.”

“Dunno. Tha’ mun bide here till I speak wi’ the man.”

“When?”