way down the stairs to the hall where Cecily, Tom and Hugh were enjoying hot mulled wine. The two men scrambled to their feet as Alice advanced into the room, and Hugh walked to the fireplace to replenish his cup from the copper pot hanging over the flames. “Now, Tom, ’tis time to return these ladies to the castle. I am glad indeed that you came to bid me farewell, my dear boy, and your father will be disappointed to have missed you. Come, give me a kiss and receive your mother’s blessing. I beg of you, do not forget your humble home and family on the road to London. You will come back to see us, will you not? And, although I know it pains you to pick up a pen, you owe your parents the honor of a letter or two when your duties allow.” Used to his mother’s never-ending conversations, Tom waited a second to see if there were more parental demands, and true to form there was one: “Give your loyalty only where it is deserved, Tom Gower. You come from a proud York shire family, and I pray you never forget it.”
Three pairs of Yorkist eyes glanced quickly at the Lancastrian squire, but he was draining his cup and smacking his lips, and Tom hoped he had not heard. He embraced his mother and thanked her for taking care of Grace. Cecily rose and put on her riding gloves, and Hugh hurried to open the front door for her. She turned and bade Alice thanks and farewell before preceding William out to the courtyard. Grace bobbed a curtsy and began to thank her hostess, but Alice was flustered for the first time.
“Nay, my lady, ’tis I who should be thanking you, for gracing my home…” She was cut off by a grin from Tom and a giggle from Grace. Looking from one to the other, the light dawned and she clapped her hands in delight. “Ah, I see, gracing was the right word, was it not? Nevertheless, my dear child, ’tis I who should do you reverence.” And she sank into another awkward curtsy. “I wish you God speed on your road to London.”
“Mistress Gower, I am a person of no account, I can assure you,” Grace said, taking the older woman’s hands and raising her up. “Tom and I are good friends, and I would wish you to look upon me as simply Grace. You have been very kind to me today, kinder than anyone has ever been in my life, in truth. I am only too sorry I cannot thank Cat personally for the loan of her dress. It shall be returned on the morrow, pray tell her. But I can thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking in a stranger thus. I must also thank my special saint, Sibylline, that I met you, and I promise to make sure Tom stays out of trouble when we are in London.”
Tom stared at Grace in amazement. It was the longest speech he had ever heard from her, and judging from his mother’s expression, it had left her astonished as well. Alice stammered a few words of acknowledgment, squeezed Grace’s hands and then, regaining her composure, began to propel the pair out of the house, thrusting the bundle of wet clothes into Tom’s hands. “You must be on your way before it gets dark, children,” she said, wrapping her shawl around her in the sharp wind. “God bless you, Tom. I shall pray for you.”
“I think your mother is the nicest person I have ever met,” Grace announced once she had settled behind Tom on the horse, his warm cloak around her. “I am only sorry I shall probably never see her again.”
“Never say never,” Tom called over his shoulder, “as Mother would say!”
3
London
AUTUMN AND WINTER 1485–86
T he York family party spent nine days traveling to London. They left the north in pleasant autumn sunshine, but cold rain began to fall the farther south they traveled, and the dreary mist mirrored the feelings of dread they had for their uncertain future. Grace lost count of how many times they stopped to wrestle the carriage out of the ruts that seemed like innocuous puddles until a wheel discovered their deceptive depth. Sir Robert had kept his promise, however; the
Three pairs of Yorkist eyes glanced quickly at the Lancastrian squire, but he was draining his cup and smacking his lips, and Tom hoped he had not heard. He embraced his mother and thanked her for taking care of Grace. Cecily rose and put on her riding gloves, and Hugh hurried to open the front door for her. She turned and bade Alice thanks and farewell before preceding William out to the courtyard. Grace bobbed a curtsy and began to thank her hostess, but Alice was flustered for the first time.
“Nay, my lady, ’tis I who should be thanking you, for gracing my home…” She was cut off by a grin from Tom and a giggle from Grace. Looking from one to the other, the light dawned and she clapped her hands in delight. “Ah, I see, gracing was the right word, was it not? Nevertheless, my dear child, ’tis I who should do you reverence.” And she sank into another awkward curtsy. “I wish you God speed on your road to London.”
“Mistress Gower, I am a person of no account, I can assure you,” Grace said, taking the older woman’s hands and raising her up. “Tom and I are good friends, and I would wish you to look upon me as simply Grace. You have been very kind to me today, kinder than anyone has ever been in my life, in truth. I am only too sorry I cannot thank Cat personally for the loan of her dress. It shall be returned on the morrow, pray tell her. But I can thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking in a stranger thus. I must also thank my special saint, Sibylline, that I met you, and I promise to make sure Tom stays out of trouble when we are in London.”
Tom stared at Grace in amazement. It was the longest speech he had ever heard from her, and judging from his mother’s expression, it had left her astonished as well. Alice stammered a few words of acknowledgment, squeezed Grace’s hands and then, regaining her composure, began to propel the pair out of the house, thrusting the bundle of wet clothes into Tom’s hands. “You must be on your way before it gets dark, children,” she said, wrapping her shawl around her in the sharp wind. “God bless you, Tom. I shall pray for you.”
“I think your mother is the nicest person I have ever met,” Grace announced once she had settled behind Tom on the horse, his warm cloak around her. “I am only sorry I shall probably never see her again.”
“Never say never,” Tom called over his shoulder, “as Mother would say!”
3
London
AUTUMN AND WINTER 1485–86
T he York family party spent nine days traveling to London. They left the north in pleasant autumn sunshine, but cold rain began to fall the farther south they traveled, and the dreary mist mirrored the feelings of dread they had for their uncertain future. Grace lost count of how many times they stopped to wrestle the carriage out of the ruts that seemed like innocuous puddles until a wheel discovered their deceptive depth. Sir Robert had kept his promise, however; the
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