Page 65 of The Rose at Twilight

T HE HOUSE AT QUEENSHITHE occupied a whole block between Thames Street and the river.

From the street, one entered a walled court; from the river, one used the private landing terrace and went up through the garden.

The house itself, built of brick and timber, and boasting a tower, a large oak-paneled hall, four bay-windowed parlors overlooking the Thames, and vast expanses of glass and tiled floors, was extremely comfortable.

By comparison with other places Alys had lived, the house was modern and convenient, and Nicholas’s family made warm and pleasant company for her. But she missed her husband sorely.

Gwilym had already begun to chafe at being so long away from Wolveston, and decided to return.

The night before he left, Sir Walter Fenlord and his son came to call, with Madeline; and while Alys and Gwenyth entertained her near the fireplace in the great parlor, the men talked of hunting and politics some distance away.

The ladies paid little heed to them, although once, when Gwilym had drawn Sir Walter to one side and was talking earnestly with him, Alys saw Madeline stiffen, give them both a long look, and then turn away and put her nose in the air.

Alys did not see her again for several days.

Nicholas had not forbidden her the court altogether, but his parents were not people who believed life centered about the activities there.

They took part only when they were invited to attend a function, and since Madeline’s duties kept her in attendance on the queen, it was not until the following week, when the family were bidden to supper, that the two young women saw each other again.

“We are to take barges to Sheen tomorrow,” Madeline informed her, “and ’tis more than time, for I swear that not all the ashes in London can refresh the jakes at Westminster, the court has been here so long.

We did think the king would order the remove last week, but he did not.

He has been too much taken up with all the rumors regarding the young Earl of Warwick.

Have all the men at Queenshithe not been talking, like everyone else? ”

“Rhys and Dafydd ab Evan have spoken of them, to be sure,” Alys said. “Gwilym left for Wolveston the day after your visit. Did you not know?”

Madeline’s face fell, but she recovered at once and said airily, “I do not care what that man does. Marry, I had thought at one time he meant to join the host of others begging for my hand, but evidently he had the good sense to decide against it.”

“Marry you? Gwilym?” Though Alys had Nicholas’s assurance that that was Gwilym’s exact intention, she still had her doubts.

“I saw him talking to my father that night at Queenshithe,” Madeline said, “and I have seen other such conversations before, you know. In general, they do herald a request for my hand.”

“Did your father tell you Gwilym had made such a request?”

“No, but I think he would not believe him suitable. He must want a more indulgent man to marry me. Moreover, I do believe he is beginning at last to believe I want no part of marriage.”

Alys shook her head in amusement. “Madeline, I have seen how you flirt with Gwilym! And two minutes ago, when I said he had gone, you were upset. Confess now, you do care for him.”

Madeline lifted her chin. “He is different from other men, that is all—more exasperating, if you must know. Why, I never knew another who made no attempt to please me. Only look at the difference between him and the men of the court! I did think once that he cared, a little, but I must have been wrong, and now, when he has the opportunity to know me better, he leaves! So you must not think I have changed my mind about husbands, Alys. Only look at what happens to one! Here are you, in train with your husband’s family, and no husband. Where is he now?”

“Gone hunting those who would make mischief for Henry Tudor in Somerset,” Alys said.

“And when will he return?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, there you are.”

Alys could not debate the matter, for she missed Nicholas very much. He did not return to London for nearly three weeks, and when he did return, it was mid-February, the king’s great council was in session, and Alys was feeling unattractive and too fat for her clothes.

The rumors regarding the whereabouts of the young Earl of Warwick had multiplied so that one of the first decisions of the council had been to parade the boy before the populace, to prove that he was indeed still an inmate of the Tower.

Alys had not been allowed to view the procession because of her condition, and when it was over she wondered what purpose it could have served.

“How can it help?” she demanded of Nicholas at supper with his family afterward. “Scarcely anyone in the crowd can claim to know Neddie. They know only that the king says he is Warwick.”

“True enough, but the parade accomplished one thing we did not expect,” he said in a tone that warned her she would not like what he said next. “Lincoln has fled the city.”

His announcement startled everyone at the table.

“Where did he go?” Rhys demanded.

“ Why would he go?” Gwenyth asked.

“He goes to join rebels in Flanders, I believe,” Nicholas said, watching Alys.

“It is clear now that whatever they meant to accomplish with the rumors about Warwick, Lincoln is the true pretender. ’Tis thought he goes now to lead them, to claim the crown unto himself.

I should hate,” he added, looking at Alys grimly, “to think that you knew aught of these plans before now.”

“But how could she?” his mother asked gently. “The poor girl has scarce stirred from this house in a month’s time.”

Alys was shaking her head. “I cannot believe it,” she said. “Lincoln has never shown any interest in the crown.”

“He was Richard the Third’s heir,” Nicholas reminded her.

“Oh yes, named when Richard’s own son died, but no one, including Lincoln himself, expected him to inherit. Even the Tudor saw no need to lock him up. Lincoln is not a man to rally others or commit himself to causes. He … he sidesteps them.”

Nicholas shrugged. “He is not sidestepping this one. And, what is more, he seems to have some important backers. The queen dowager has this day forfeited her dower rights again and withdrawn across the Thames, to the abbey at Bermondsey.”

This announcement brought more cries of astonishment from his audience. Bewildered, Alys said, “Are you telling us the Tudor took back her dower lands and banished her from court?”

“Aye,” he said, adding pointedly, “and on the very eve of Lincoln’s flight.”

She shook her head again. “That makes no sense at all, sir. Elizabeth Woodville would never support her husband’s nephew’s claim against that of her own daughter and grandson!”

“Nevertheless, the dowager queen has been plotting. I do not know the details, except it is said she did receive letters from the conspirators—at Christmas.” His gaze was stern.

Alys flushed but was careful to hide her consternation from the rest of the family.

If Davy Hawkins had visited Westminster chiefly in order to deliver letters to the dowager queen, it was easier to understand why Lovell had made the effort then to write to her.

Had Davy been caught, he had only to say he had come to visit his sister and Alys, and they would have supported that declaration.

She said quietly, “I still cannot credit it, sir.”

“As to that, ’tis rumor only,” he replied in the same tone, “but not the part that took place today. Lincoln is headed for his father’s lands in East Anglia, where he can easily get a boat for Flanders.

His father, the Duke of Suffolk, is still loyal to the king, and Harry wants to keep it that way, so I go to East Anglia in two days’ time.

” He looked ruefully at Alys. “’Tis to be a show of force only; we won’t catch Lincoln.

Harry means to follow us soon—to begin a second spring progress at mid-Lent, like last year’s—but I’ll be back before the child is born. ”

His mother cried out in dismay, but Alys was silent.

She had lived her life watching men ride off to their duty while women remained at home to await their return.

Listening to Nicholas placate Gwenyth, then go on to discuss details of other news from court with his father and younger brother, she felt only sadness that he would leave again so soon.

She understood, she thought, her mother-in-law’s consternation, for Gwenyth’s husband and at least one son were content to remain at home with her, to oversee their farms and tenants, to look after their own.

Nicholas was different, a soldier first, a husband only because he had deserved reward for service to his liege lord.

Nicholas did not care for the land the way his father did, nor even the way that Gwilym did.

And, though he found pleasure in his wife’s company, he did not care for her the same way his father cared for Gwenyth.

She watched Dafydd ab Evan whenever he spoke to his wife, and she longed to see that same deeply tender look in Nicholas’s eyes when he looked at her.

She had seen kindness and laughter, exasperation and anger, and certainly lust, but never that same sweet unspoken tenderness.

There was naught she could complain of in his behavior while he remained at Queenshithe, for he was attentive and kind.

He even played his lute and sang to her when she could not sleep; but he showed no interest in bedding her after his first night home—for which she blamed her ballooning figure— and his kindness was casual and easygoing, rather than lovingly tender.