Jack, Crispin thought with a curse. Crispin heard someone scrabbling across the floor and a shorter form tossed the arras aside, nearly revealing Crispin. Jack looked up at him with fear rounding his eyes.
Wonderful. This day was getting better and better.
“I wanted to discuss the move to Sheen for Advent, Uncle,” said Richard. “I favor arriving on the Feast of Saint Nicholas.” Crispin couldn’t help himself. He very carefully moved the arras aside just enough to spy the room beyond it. Richard sported a wispy beard and mustache, not quite fully formed on his seventeen-year-old chin. He moved to the chairs by the fire and, with sparkling rings, fingered the second cup of wine.
Damn.
An eyebrow rose and Richard lifted his face to his uncle, eyes darting about the room, but he said nothing. Crispin let the arras fall back just as Richard cast an eye to the alcove. He cringed behind it wondering what he should do now. He could fall on his own dagger, he supposed. Dash his head against the stone wall, perhaps?
“Mayhap it is too late in the evening to discuss this now,” said Richard. His voice was coming closer to Crispin’s alcove. Crispin braced himself even as Jack traced a cross over his own forehead, eyes firmly shut, lips moving silently.
“You seem to be otherwise occupied,” Richard continued. “And I thought your lady wife was elsewhere this night.”
“She is, your grace.”
“Oh?” By the sound of his voice, he was standing directly before the tapestry. Crispin expected it to be whisked open at any moment. He held his breath. He could not reach for his dagger as he itched to do. This was the king, after all. He would have to submit to anything Richard demanded.
The king made an impatient sound. “I do not approve,” he said quietly, “of that Swynford woman.”
Gaunt sputtered but said nothing. Crispin well knew why. It was an open secret that the duke had had an ongoing dalliance with Katherine Swynford for the past decade. She had been the governess to Gaunt’s daughters, and when her husband died they had grown close. Crispin had even talked with Lancaster once about it in disapproving tones. He could still feel the lump he received on his head for his trouble.
“The sanctity of the marriage bond must not be compromised,” said Richard in a courtly tenor. “The Lady Constance deserves better.”
“Forgive me, sire,” said Gaunt, his voice tight. “But this is not the crown’s affair.”
“Is it your affair, Uncle? Of course it is. But any form of scandal in my court cannot be tolerated. May I suggest,” he said walking away from the arras, “that she not accompany us to Sheen for Christmas.”
There was a long pause until Gaunt finally said, “As you wish, sire.”
“Well then.” Crispin heard Richard take a seat and settle in. God’s blood! Was he ever to get out of the palace this night?
“I want my barons there. But I do not wish to discuss any weighty matters while in residence, Uncle John. I rely on you to keep my counselors at bay. I want the queen to enjoy herself. And she cannot do so when my brow is furrowed. No, this is the season for joviality. And with God’s blessings, we might at last have an heir to look forward to. I’ve paid enough for that damnable Jewish physician. Let us hope he is worth his salt.”
Lancaster still said nothing. Richard must have gestured for his own wine, because Lancaster tugged at the arras, showing his reddened face to Crispin and Jack. “Boy, serve the wine.”
Jack gave Crispin a desperate look before he was dragged from the alcove by the duke. Crispin heard his stumbling steps as he retrieved the wine for the king.
“God’s wounds, Uncle John. Where by the blessed Mother did you get this wretched child to serve you? He looks like a beggar.”
“Hmpf,” said Lancaster. They fell silent as they drank.
“Come, boy,” said Richard. “More wine. And do try not to spill it on my shoes this time. I could have you skinned and made into my slippers.”
Crispin cringed when he heard wine splattering on the floor. Jack choked out a sob.
“Now, now, Nephew. You’re frightening the child. There, there. I’ll take that. Go back to your cot.”
Jack scurried around the tapestry, his hands over his face. He was trembling, and Crispin put his arm around his shoulders to calm him.
“An unusual locale for your beggar servant, Uncle John. I do not recall a cot being there before.”
“My lady wife often changes the arrangements in these lodgings, sire. I can barely keep up.”
“Hmm. Perhaps you should keep the tapestries open. After all, you rule your household, do you not?”
“I prefer them closed, sire.”
“Do you? Are there more servants you would shield from me, Uncle?”
“Not at all. I have no secrets from you, Nephew.”
“No? Then open that tapestry.”
Crispin flattened himself against the wall. He and Jack exchanged grim expressions.
Steps approached and the duke grasped the arras. Crispin held his breath. He stared at the flat, smooth nails on Gaunt’s fingers, the golden rings gleaming with a cold light.
Fingers tensed on the thick cloth, ready to throw it back when Richard said lightly, “Never mind.” The duke’s hand stayed. But Crispin saw the merest tremble in the cloth. “It’s late,” Richard went on in a satisfied tone. Did Richard never tire of games? thought Crispin. But even as the king scowled at the heavy drapery, he confirmed Crispin’s judgment of him when he said, “Unless you care for a game of chess?”
“Is the queen abed, then?” asked Lancaster, voice steady.
As expected, he heard Richard rise immediately. “Perhaps I should get back to her. She does hate these English winters. She is convinced there is a draft in her chamber. I can find no evidence of it. But women can be foolish.”
Lancaster remained silent.
The king’s steps retreated to the door. Lancaster walked in longer strides to head him off and opened it for him. Richard paused. “Good night, Uncle. And heed my advice. Do not soil your marriage bed with a momentary dalliance. Take heart from my example. I dote on my wife and she is ever loyal to me. Never give your spouse cause to betray you.”
“Yes, sire. That is good advice. God give you rest.”
The door whined wider for an instant before it closed with a solid thud.
Crispin waited. He knew Lancaster would need a moment to compose himself. With a racing heart, Crispin realized he needed a moment as well.
The arras was cast aside and Gaunt glowered down. “Get you and your miserable servant out of my sight!”
“Gladly, your grace. And what of my return?”
“Damn you, Crispin. Don’t you know when to surrender?”
He shuffled his feet. “The murders, my lord, of innocent children. They were found floating in the Thames. Defiled and mutilated. I cannot let it lie. I won’t.”
“Children? You never said anything about children. When? How?”
So now you ask. “I would have mentioned it before, my lord, but you seemed reluctant to talk to me.”
“And so I am. But this is a different matter. Children, you say?”
“Yes. Four since Michaelmas.”
“Four?” He seemed genuinely appalled. Crispin heartened. He knew he had won. “Why have I heard nothing of this?”
“I am . . . surprised you did not know.”
“These sheriffs keep their tongues cleaved to their mouths.” Lancaster stroked his mustache. His eyes wandered and landed on the tear-streaked Jack. “I suppose . . . you will need a way back in.”
Crispin stood before him, his hand still firmly pressed to Jack’s heaving shoulder as the boy tried to master his emotions.