Georgette Heyer by My Lord John

my prisoner,’ the King said. Then, as my lord stood rooted, and my lady’s breath rattled in her throat, he said, as though he found the incident amusing: ‘I think this will be the better for both of us.’
    My lord’s eyes searched amongst the King’s retinue, but met only the eyes of his enemies. Dry-lipped, he said: ‘Very dread sire, I am unhale!’
    The King smiled.
    ‘Grace!’ my lord said, the word wrenched out of him. ‘Give me grace, my liege!’
    ‘Yea, such grace as was given to my tutor Sir Simon Burley, Bel oncle!’ the King said, still smiling.
    Then he went into the chapel, all following him; and when he had heard Mass he rode away to London, with his uncle in his train. But at Stratford he parted from him, with never a word or a backward look. My lord was surrounded by men in blue-and-tawny, with the White Lion of Mowbray on their sleeves; and he saw beyond them only the Crescent of the Percy badge embroidered on russet liveries. My lord of Nottingham had ridden on with the King, but Sir Thomas Percy’s hand was on Gloucester’s bridle. ‘Come, my lord!’ he said, the burr in his speech making his voice sound harsh. ‘We are for Calais!’
    5
    Within an hour of the King’s return to Westminster, M. de Guyenne swept into his presence. He was attended by an ominously large company: the King’s servants found Lancaster blue-and-white jostling royal scarlet, no man’s hand far from his basilard. But presently M. de Guyenne came out of the King’s closet with his nephew, and it was seen that the King’s arm was linked in his, and that the King was laughing.
    Edmund of York, arriving from King’s Langley, made, not for Westminster, but for the inn in quiet Holborn which M. de Guyenne rented from my lord Bishop of Ely. He found his brother in the herber, pacing under the trees with my lord of Derby, and broke in on their discourse, demanding to know what fate had befallen Thomas of Woodstock, their brother of Gloucester.
    ‘He is in ward, in Calais,’ M. de Guyenne answered.
    ‘I told you! I told you!’ Edmund cried, wringing his hands. ‘Christ have him in keeping! What does Richard mean to do with him?’
    ‘He says, no harm. He will bring him to trial when an end has been made of Arundel.’
    ‘He will have his head!’
    ‘He dare not.’
    ‘You will see.’ Edmund rounded on my lord of Derby. ‘Was this your doing, rashhead? Dog eats not dog, Harry of Bolingbroke!’
    ‘As God sees me, it was not done with my knowledge or by my counsel!’
    ‘I have seen the King,’ M. de Guyenne interposed.
    ‘What said he?’
    M. de Guyenne shrugged. ‘Fair words.’
    ‘God’s love, will you trust to them?’
    ‘No, but to my own power! Let Thomas repent him awhile that he dabbled in treason!’
    ‘He is steeped in treason!’ Edmund exclaimed. ‘Will you head Arundel, and spare Thomas? Will Richard?’
    ‘Richard will do as he must. I am Steward of England, and so he will find when Thomas is brought to his assize!’
    But Edmund shuddered, and said over and over again: ‘He is shent, I tell you! He is shent!’
    Before my lords of Arundel and Warwick were brought to trial, John was at Framlingham again, with his sisters to bear him company. Blanche, at five, reminded all who saw her of her mother. She was pretty, and had a gentle disposition, with none of the self-will that characterised Philippa, still tottering in leading-strings. The Countess Marshal took only a cursory interest in either, but she was glad to see John again. She shook her head over Gloucester’s arrest, but she refused to take it seriously. ‘Mark me if this windmill dwindles not into a nutcrack!’ she said. ‘Kings’ sons have nothing to do with doom’s carts; and as for Arundel, God shield you, my grandson of Nottingham is wedded to his daughter! Let it sleep! Wind blows chaff away, my child!’
    But in September, when my lord of Arundel was brought to his assize, the news that reached Framlingham was