‘I reckon it’s time to see Alderman Hopton,’ the assistant constable muttered. ‘And I’m pleased for her, of course, as long as it’s all done right and proper. And when it comes to a choice of wedding a lord or taking a plain working man – well, there’s no comparison, and that’s clear. But it’s a disappointment – and a lesson to those who wait too long to speak their mind.’
The sheriff reached for his quill. ‘You’re a gudgeon, Robert Webb, and a fool into the bargain.’
‘When a grand lord like Feayton plans to wed a little widowed lass with no more to her name than a room-up-room-down in Whistle Alley,’ sniffed Robert Webb, ‘maybe he has improper thoughts on his mind, and it’s not marriage he’s offering. And if you ask me –’
‘I’m not asking you, Webb, so keep your mind on your business,’ said the other man. ‘In the meantime at least those Frenchies will keep their swords sheathed now the Protector’s got the country in hand.’
Andrew crossed the city on foot, heading west. He did not return to Crosby’s to inform the Lord Protector of the situation, nor did he follow his usual habit of seeking the duke’s ultimate authority to investigate as and where he wished. The sealed letter delivered to him the day before had explained, using the now-recognisable code of ambiguity, matters of the utmost urgency that would involve not only the duke himself, but all those of high office, the lords spiritual and temporal, and members of Council for many hours throughout the day. A vague and passing reference within the letter informed Mister Cobham immediately as to the cause of this urgency, and the principal subject the meeting would therefore address. Andrew would, naturally, keep this information entirely to himself. But meanwhile he was required to discover, in general terms, what was known amongst the populace, and with special reference to anyone carrying interesting information into and out of sanctuary. Yet for once these instructions, as far as Andrew was concerned, were of secondary importance. They would be fulfilled, but only while he continued his other search.
In the grand Council Chamber of Westminster Palace, the greatest dignitaries in the land were gathered, summoned by the Lord Protector for reasons unknown to most. Amongst those few fully aware of the subject in hand was the Bishop of Bath and Wells, Robert Stillington. Amongst those quite unaware of the meaning and motive but guarding an avid curiosity was William, Lord Hastings.
All curiosity was quickly satisfied as his grace the Duke of Gloucester called the meeting to order. It was then that the Bishop of Bath and Wells proceeded to explain the situation at considerable length. His fingers placed carefully and a little nervously over the golden cross about his neck, the bishop stood, gazing around at the many familiar faces seated about him. In his best ecclesiastical tones, echoes rising to the great vaulted ceiling, he began his story. He related how, during the spring of 1461, he had been the principal witness when summoned to officiate at a clandestine marriage between the young King Edward IV and the Lady Eleanor, eldest daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury’s second marriage and widow of Sir Thomas Butler. The marriage had taken place as a final result of the young king’s persistent wooing of the lady, and following her insistence that both her title and character made it quite impossible for her to become his mistress. Unwilling to admit failure, his highness finally proposed a more respectable union; how honourable and seriously intended this proposal, might have been guessed but remained obscure. A secret marriage was hurriedly arranged and took place that evening. It was consummated that night and the king promptly took his lady to a secret address, where he visited her as frequently as possible over the subsequent weeks.
Others within the council chamber now stood to speak, questioning or taking up the story from where their own knowledge began or overlapped. As was already obvious, the king had not then chosen to announce his new marital state to the nation. Without any ensuing conception of the required heir, the lady was deemed probably barren. His highness, conquest now turning to boredom, ceased to visit so often. His ardour cooled. The Lady Eleanor, unhappy with her young husband’s insistence on the continuing secrecy of their relationship, presented her royal groom with a carefully considered ultimatum. As a result of their subsequent agreement, the lady removed herself from her lord’s bed and settled for a life of contented anonymity, affiliating herself with the religious order she had always admired. She was protected from scrutiny, presented with property and other securities, and humbly agreed to make no public announcement of her marriage. The lady knew herself the unofficial queen of the realm, but, humiliated and even a little fearful, chose to inform no one beyond her immediate family. These comprised her sister Elizabeth, Duchess of Shrewsbury, and her brother Sir Humphrey Talbot, both now willing to substantiate the facts if required.
There were others who knew and there were many rumours, but his highness had fought hard for the throne, was young, remarkably handsome and much beloved by his people. He made great use of his assets and remained ostensibly unmarried, freely wooing any beautiful woman who attracted his eye. Few denied him and, impetuous and ardent, the king did not easily accept defeat. Sometimes he used inducements, occasionally force, more often he simply used charm. But even faced with the beguiling kisses of a monarch, there were those who refused. Whether his highness entered into other clandestine marriages carefully hidden and afterwards ignored, was unknown. Certainly a scattering of unacknowledged but recognisable infants soon appeared in the king’s image. But in the early summer of 1464, after an introduction by the Lord Hastings, the king was once again in love with fresh beauty, and promised anything should the Lady Grey, born Mistress Elizabeth Woodville and now widowed, willingly share his bed. As had the Lady Eleanor Butler before her, the lady would submit only if respectably married. Despite her comparative lack of title or status, a clandestine hand-fasting was quickly arranged. Such a thing had worked before, and with very little subsequent inconvenience to his highness. The nuptials then took place without any fanfare or calling of banns, and the marriage was immediately consummated.
At that time the Lady Eleanor still lived. This second marriage was undoubtedly bigamous. But the Lady Grey nee Woodville did not share the obedient, passive and religious nature of her predecessor. Her uncompromising mother threatened exposure, and the lady herself remained both delectable and enticing. Therefore some months later that year the king, deciding marriage was in his best interests after all and choosing a moment that amused him, finally submitted and openly announced the name of his wife. This was unpopular with both lords and commoners, but once committed his highness was stubborn. There were other concerns at that time, both political and domestic, and the consequences were eventually disastrous. But she remained queen, and bore her husband many living children, amongst them two fine sons. That these children were in truth illegitimate was known to very few.
The Lady Eleanor died in 1468, and it was at this time the king informed his bride that in fact their marriage had never been legal. She agreed to make no demur, as long as the shame of bigamy was kept secret. But the secrecy of man is a matter for his conscience, whereas the laws of God are not so easily set aside. In the eyes of the Almighty, the king’s bigamous second marriage could never be seen as legal, for it was conducted clandestinely, in wilful contravention of the Church’s holy decrees and no papal dispensation was ever sought. Over the years this secrecy was occasionally threatened, in particular by the king’s ambitious brother George, Duke of Clarence. In order to finally keep the peace, this led to Clarence’s execution.