Dragon's Court. Joanna Makepeace
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is of father’s persuasion,” Ned said equably, “and when I am of age…”
“You will use more circumspection, I hope,” Anne said cuttingly.
Richard Allard moved away from the door.
“They appear to be leaving already.”
Anne could hear the men talking, but not their words. They did not sound in the least angry or put out, however, so she guessed they had been courteously received at the manor house. She waited impatiently until their horses were led out, the men mounted and she heard the clatter of their horses’ hooves upon the cobbles of the courtyard again.
“Well, Master Allard,” she snapped. “I trust we can now be released from our imprisonment.”
Ned laughed outright and waited until Richard Allard smilingly nodded his permission.
“Oh, come, Anne,” he reproved his sister. “Master Allard was only ensuring that neither of us said anything untoward in the presence of those King’s men. After all, that could have endangered Father.”
Anne knew he was right, but she only gave an angry shrug as Richard Allard opened the stable door now for them all to pass out.
Her relief at the men’s departure was short lived, however, when, entering the hall, she perceived her father was in one of his rare, uncontrollable furies. He was waving a parchment at her mother who was seated patiently by the hearth. His other hand pounded the trestle near to him.
“I will not do it,” Sir Guy shouted. “I cannot be forced to do it. I’ll not place Anne in a humiliating position. I’ll defy that usurper. He has no right…”
Lady Jarvis cautioned her husband to be circumspect when she saw Anne start anxiously at the sound of her name uttered with such an explosion of fury.
“Anne,” she said quietly, “we were wondering where you had hidden yourself, and Ned, I see you have found Master Allard.”
Sir Guy controlled his temper with difficulty and nodded to his friend.
“Ah, Dickon, I wasn’t sure where you were and also unsure whether you wished me to keep your presence here secret. Did you note our visitors from Westminster?”
“I did indeed, sir,” Richard said quietly. “I hope they brought you no disturbing news.”
“Disturbing enough.” Sir Guy indicated the parchment in his hand with disgust. “I am ordered, if you please, to present my daughter, Anne, to the Court at Westminster.”
“The letter is from the Queen, in actual fact,” Lady Jarvis interposed. “And it is more a request than a command, though, of course, it must be considered as such. She asks that Anne should come to Westminster to be a companion to Lady Philippa Telford, Lord Wroxeter’s daughter, who is to come from Burgundy to serve Her Majesty.
“Knowing Sir Guy’s past friendship with Lord Wroxeter, she thinks it would be desirable that the two girls share accommodation and duties at Court. Philippa, as you are no doubt aware, is only thirteen years old and Anne would act as a friend and chaperon.”
Sir Guy let out a pent-up gasp of pure fury.
“How can I believe this farrago of nonsense? Richard, can you believe that Wroxeter, the Tudor’s most bitter enemy, would consider the prospect of sending his daughter to Henry’s Court where she would be what amounted to a hostage to ensure Martyn Telford’s acceptance of Henry’s usurpation without further assistance to the Duchess Margaret’s attempts to unseat him?”
Richard Allard perched on a corner of the trestle. “Can I see the letter, sir?”
Sir Guy thrust it at him as if it were encrusted with filth.
Anne had been listening incredulously to this account of the contents of the letter and burst out, “But, Mother, you cannot refuse me this wonderful chance to…”
“Be silent, girl, while your betters are considering,” her father snapped. Ned shrugged uneasily and took himself some distance away out of reach of his father should an incautious word from him bring down on his head the full extent of his sire’s wrath.
Richard Allard pursed his lips and, while reading, ran his other hand through his thick brown hair in a gesture which Anne, watching, thought was probably habitual.
“It does appear strange, I grant you,” he said at last, “but reads genuine in tone. If I recall, my mother once said that Lady Wroxeter and the Queen had been close companions during the time of Queen Anne’s last illness. It could mean that Queen Elizabeth has now recollected that past friendship and wishes to offer her friend’s daughter a place at Court and the opportunity of a fair match.
“I hear Wroxeter was ailing the last time I was at Malines. They lost their second child, you know, a boy, so Lady Wroxeter must have had a hard time recently. If Wroxeter were to die, the Countess would be in straitened circumstances. Since Redmoor, Wroxeter’s lands were sequestered and their fortunes have been greatly strained as all of ours have been.
“Wroxeter may well have come to the conclusion that this offer would be in his daughter’s best interest as,” he added meaningly, “this invitation to you to send Mistress Anne to Court could be in hers.”
Sir Guy blew out his lips and, turning from them, began to pace the hall restlessly. Anne watched uneasily. She knew only too well that the haughty stride and proud, rigid set of the shoulders indicated that he was by no means satisfied with Richard Allard’s final assessment of the situation. Lady Jarvis caught their visitor’s eye and shrugged helplessly.
Anne, knowing it unwise, ventured an opinion though her mother shot her an angry glance.
“Father, I want to go. You cannot deny me this chance.”
He shot round instantly and stood regarding her, feet astride, hands clasped behind his back, his blue eyes cold with fury.
Richard Allard said quietly, “As I see it, sir, you have really no choice. The Queen’s request is a royal command, couched however kindly.”
“Then I must consent to my daughter becoming a hostage for my own compliant behaviour.”
Blue eyes met grey ones and, finally, Sir Guy’s drew away and he turned his back on them again. He gave a slight impotent movement of one hand and at length came back to the hearth and threw himself down in his chair.
He looked apologetically at his Margaret. “Forgive me, my dear. My feelings got the better of me. I cannot bear to think of Anne within the dragon’s lair.”
Anne made a little moue of concern as she recognised her father’s contemptuous reference to the King’s personal device of the Red Dragon.
Richard nodded in sympathy. “Mistress Anne is unlikely to be within the King’s presence often. She may not even be presented to him. I understand Henry frequents his wife’s apartments rarely these days. Not even those closest to the King can avoid acknowledging that he is not demonstrative.”
He gave a little bark of a laugh. “One of our spies reported that the King’s Majesty, as he insists on being referred to these days, appears to bestow his warmest caresses upon his pet monkey which disgusts and angers his councillors. The little beast is destructive, particularly to state documents, I hear.”
Sir Guy did not appear either amused or mollified by the information. He glared at his daughter who stood before him in an attitude of beseeching docility now that she had a glimmer of hope that her wildest dreams might be possible of attainment after all.
He sighed heavily. “As you say, it would be unwise to give Henry what amounted to an affront, and a refusal to comply with the Queen’s request would be received as such.”
Anne waited in an agony of suspense for his decision, her eyes modestly downcast.
“Anne has no suitable garments nor jewellery,” Sir Guy grunted at last, looking to his wife for support.
“We