Dragon's Court. Joanna Makepeace

      He decided to change a subject which could be embarrassing for his guest. He said quietly, “You saw this Warbeck at close quarters—often?”

      “Not often.” Richard Allard’s tone was wary as if he guessed at the other’s next question. “You are about to ask if I believe that his pretensions are genuine?”

      “Yes.”

      Richard shook his head. “I wish I could answer that squarely. I just do not know. I saw him quite close once or twice. Certainly he resembles both the late King Edward and Queen Elizabeth, his wife. That likeness is quite uncanny. Were it otherwise I would have dismissed his claims out of hand for, to be frank, sir, he does not appear to have that about his character that would make me accept him as a son of King Edward, for all my father has told me about that man, or a nephew of King Richard. He is charming, courtly, but without that steel core which was their inner strength. Of course, his life has been unfortunate and without that training which would have prepared him for intrigue and war…”

      “His confession?”

      Richard Allard’s grey eyes met those of his host quizzically. “If you or I had been in the hands of Henry’s officials, would we not have confessed to anything? I think we can dismiss the confession from our considerations.”

      “You have met with the Duchess Margaret?”

      “No. I have been in contact with Wroxeter, of course. He is her trusted man, as you know, and has been in attendance at Malines since Redmoor. He gave me no direct opinion on the man’s identity, only, naturally, that he was of use to Margaret in putting a burr beneath the Tudor’s saddle cloth. I know only that that slur on the late King’s reputation, regarding the murder of his nephews, is slanderous.

      “The boys survived Redmoor, as you know only too well. Where they are now, I cannot tell. It is just as well I do not know. Were I to fall into Henry’s hands it could be disastrous to their well being if I were to be questioned on such matters. I cannot be certain I would be able to hold out against divulging the facts were I subjected to torture.”

      Richard’s father had made him aware that, following King Richard’s coronation, Sir Guy Jarvis had escorted the elder of the young sons of King Edward IV north to Castle Barnard, while the younger prince, Richard, had been taken abroad, presumably to Burgundy. He did not know if Sir Guy was aware of the whereabouts of his former charge. It was clear from his question that he was as unsure as all of them were about the true identity of the latest pretender to claim King Henry’s throne.

      Was the man who now lay in the Tower the very prince who had been escorted to his Aunt Margaret’s palace in Burgundy? The man had confessed that he was an imposter, the son of a merchant named Warbeck who had been carefully groomed for his role but, as he himself had said to Sir Guy, who could be sure that such a confession had not been extracted under torture or even the threat of torture? Richard was well aware that such pressures on even the bravest of men could not always be overcome.

      Sir Guy appeared to have fallen into a reverie from which he drew himself up abruptly.

      “It is getting late, my friend. You must be wearied. You’ve been travelling some days. I’ll escort you to your chamber.”

      Richard rose willingly enough. At the door to the inner rooms of the house he stopped for a moment and looked directly at his host.

      “Sir, as I have said, I do not expect my business in London to engage me for too long a time, neither do I anticipate any particular—difficulties. When I complete the handling of my father’s affairs and—any other problem I might encounter, I would be grateful if I could break my return journey here at Rushton.”

      “You know you will be very welcome, Richard.”

      The other hesitated for only a moment then he said deliberately, “Should all go well, I will then request the hand of your daughter, Anne, in marriage, sir.”

      Sir Guy gave a faint hiss of breath and his blue eyes shone with an excited gleam.

      “That request will be received favourably, you can be assured of that, Dickon. However…” He paused and his lips curved a trifle sardonically “…though you will encounter no opposition from me, you may do so from the lady herself.”

      A crease appeared between Richard Allard’s brows. “You would not wish to force her hand?”

      Sir Guy looked away from him. He sighed heavily. “I would not wish to do so, but I am anxious to ensure her safety and happiness. Married to a man who would not hold my views, let us say, she could endanger the security not only of herself but of all of us. Ned’s future needs to be safeguarded. I do not wish to have to hold a discreet silence within the bounds of my own family. Anne is by no means docile nor easily silenced from stating her own candid views on such uncompromising matters as the running of a household, fashion—and more volatile subjects.

      “She would be safe from the pressures of State affairs in Yorkshire, and I know your lady mother would receive her joyfully.” His smile broadened. “I can recall your mother, Richard, when she and your father first met and I served him as squire.

      “I trod a difficult balancing act between them, unwilling to anger him but anxious not to upset your mother, who held different opinions then from his and those she holds now. She was then, as she is now, a very gracious and courageous lady. I would be happy to think of my child in her care. I know she would neither over-cosset nor browbeat her.”

      Richard Allard’s lips curved into an answering smile. He could well imagine the situation. Much of the tale of his parents’ stormy courtship and marriage had been told to him but, knowing his mother as he did, he was aware that there must have been many a skirmish between them before the state of wedded bliss had been established.

      “The only bar to a proposition of marriage being offered today, sir, is the fear that I may be unable to offer Mistress Anne the security you are so anxious to gain for her. I could wish for no more suitable bride or future mistress for my Yorkshire estates than Mistress Anne.”

      Sir Guy clapped him heartily upon the shoulder.

      “God go with you, Richard. I shall pray for you constantly. Yet swear to me that you will take every care.”

      Richard Allard threw back his head and laughed. “I am used to taking great care of my skin, sir. I shall not cease to do so when such a prize is there for me when this game is played through to its conclusion.”

      Chapter Two

      Anne found Richard Allard in the stables early next morning examining his horse’s new shoe. She stopped abruptly as he swung round to face her.

      “Good morning, Master Allard.” She sounded a trifle breathless as if she had been running. “I trust you slept well.”

      He was dressed as he had been yesterday in leather jack, warm hose and riding boots. She glanced at him hastily. “Are you planning to leave us this morning?”

      His grey eyes twinkled as he surveyed her. She was looking fresh and sparkling in a plain blue woollen gown, linen coif as yesterday, pattens for crossing the littered courtyard and warm cloak. She flushed under his scrutiny, as if realising she had been rude to question her father’s guest on the matter of his departure, and made to pass by him towards the back corner where the stable cat was energetically licking her kittens. He blocked her way.

      “Are you anxious to see me go, Mistress Anne?”

      The flush became darker and she stammered, “Of course not, sir. It was just that I saw you dressed for riding and thought….”

      “No, your father offered me his hospitality freely and I told him I would most probably leave tomorrow.”

      “Oh,” she said a little lamely. “He will be glad to have you stay longer and hear in more detail about your home and parents. Ned will be delighted. He longs to travel as you have done and will hang on your every word.”