‘Not necessary,’ he murmured, preoccupied as his teeth nipped lightly along my jaw, sending tremors of pleasure down to my feet.
‘But I wish to.’
Edmund stopped kissing me, and instead framed my face with his hands. His eyes sparkled and his face lit with some deviousness.
‘Then so you shall, Queen Kat. We will beard Uncle Henry in his den, and you will weep piteously and beautifully over his feet. And then, with my esteemed uncle unable to refuse you your heart’s desire, we will cry failure to Protector Gloucester. It will all come to pass, my lovely girl, all your hopes and dreams fulfilled.’
My heart was still as I leaned on Edmund’s reassurance.
‘You took your time, boy. How long does it take to get yourself to Westminster?’
‘Forgive me, sir. I regret the delay, but now I am here, to answer for my sins.’
Bishop Henry, seated behind a vast desk, was not in a good mood, but master of diplomacy as he was, after this first brisk exchange, he welcomed me urbanely and waved us to take softly cushioned seats, which we did. A servant poured wine and was dismissed.
Upon which the urbanity vanished.
‘This marriage, Edmund. You’ve stirred up a damned pot of eels, by God.’
Hands clenched into fists on his thighs, Edmund still kept his reply as smooth as new-churned butter. ‘I don’t see the difficulty, sir. What matter if we wed? Katherine is free to do so, as am I. There can be no church ban, as we are not related to any degree.’
‘Don’t be obtuse, boy,’ Bishop Henry drawled. ‘You know the reasons as well as I.’
‘What are you saying?’ High colour crept along Edmund’s cheekbones. ‘So do you suggest I withdraw? That I break my vow to Katherine, that I reject her as my wife?’
My breath caught in my throat.
But Bishop Henry smiled. There was something unnervingly reptilian about it. ‘Did I say that?’
‘To be frank, sir, I don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘You have much to learn about political manoeuvring, my boy. I am saying that there are ways and means.’
I did not understand where this was leading, but Bishop Henry’s assurance stirred a nugget of hope where there had been none. ‘Are you saying, my lord, that Gloucester can be persuaded to withdraw his objection?’ I asked. I could not see how.
‘No, my lady.’ His smile became broader. ‘He will definitely try to stop you attempting to wed. But I know of a way to bring a halt to his ambitions. It will please me immeasurably to chop the rungs of the ladder from under Gloucester’s feet.’
So I did not need to weep over his feet after all. Bishop Henry was suddenly all politician, and out for blood.
‘I don’t see how,’ Edmund interjected.
‘Of course you don’t. But I will show you. Am I not Lord Chancellor? I am not without powers, whatever Gloucester might like to think. My associates in the Council, always eager to snap at Gloucester’s heels, will ensure that I have my way.’
‘But Gloucester has a loud voice in the Royal Council.’
‘I have Bedford’s ear too. Bedford needs money to pursue the French wars. When the Council cannot raise enough gold, who is it that gets them out of difficulties and provides the loans?’ He smiled serenely in answer to his own question. ‘I do. The Council is very grateful to me.’
Edmund bowed his head, for the first time since we had arrived a smile lighting his countenance. ‘I underestimated you, Uncle.’
‘It is never wise to do so. You may get your lovely French wife yet.’
‘You’ll see. I’ll make you my wife before the year’s out,’ Edmund said, all his enthusiasm restored as he escorted me to the door. He cradled my face so that he could kiss my lips in farewell. ‘Gloucester’s not a match for my wily uncle. I’ll wed you and we’ll prove Gloucester and the Council wrong. What a couple we will make.’
I left them to their plotting with their heads bent over a manuscript. They were two of a Beaufort kind. Bishop Henry was on our side. What could go wrong?
There it was: a clever piece of sleight of hand, worthy of Bishop Henry at his most scheming. News of it reached Eltham, where Young Henry’s court had moved on its annual progress from one royal palace to the next, by the usual convoluted route of gossip and legalistic assertion. I refused to rejoice until my Chancellor, John Wodehouse, could read the document and pronounce on it with certainty. He did so, with some bafflement as to its cause.
‘I simply don’t see the need,’ he stated more than once.
For it transpired that when Parliament had met in Leicester, a member of the Commons had presented a petition, from the goodness of his heart and in the name of his fellow Commoners, all loyal subjects to a man. Would it not be an act of kindness to allow royal widows to marry again if they so wished? Upon payment of an appropriate fine, of course, to the royal coffers. Perhaps the Lord Chancellor would give the matter his expertise and consideration, based on his vast experience?
Bishop Henry, Lord Chancellor, had expressed his interest and his concern over the plight of royal widows in general, and would give the matter some thought.
