The tightness in her stomach eased. The scowl was impatience only. There was nothing to fear.
‘I know it is not an easy thing and I thank you for that,’ she said. ‘I know Edward and Joan will, too.’
‘Speak of other things,’ he said, abruptly. ‘What did you do today?’ Today. She had waited by the window, as unmoving as a stone.
‘I skipped about Canterbury’s outer wall, then danced in a ring with the pilgrims waiting at the church’s door.’
Shock appeared on his face at her words. They were bitter words she would never have used around Joan. But she had let resentment steal her tongue. What could she do? Nothing without help. Instead, she had thought of all she wanted to do, to have, to be. Things she would never have, no more than she would be able to skip or dance.
He shook his head. ‘A thoughtless question.’
‘A rude answer. What I did in truth was finish a piece of needlework that will be part of the hangings in my lady’s new bedchamber.’ She held it up, at once proud of the lush, green stitches and wistful that it would grace a marital bed.
He nodded, without really looking at it. ‘Don’t feel as if you have to say only what would please me.’
She smiled. ‘It must be evident that I don’t.’
‘And you have heard me say things that...’
‘That you are glad I have not shared with my lady?’
The ease of his smile warmed her. ‘We have both, I think, had many years of minding our words.’
Oh, yes. Years and more until she had thought she would never, never be able to share herself with anyone. Even now, to reveal even a sliver of all she hid from the world day after day was a gift beyond measure, so precious that she could almost forget that earning his trust had been a duty to her lady.
‘And I’m afraid,’ he said, not waiting for her to answer, ‘that I let my temper slip in front of the Archbishop today. But I knew little more than he did about the events surrounding Lady Joan’s first dispensation from the Pope.’
She murmured something intended to sound sympathetic. Outside, the Cathedral’s bells sounded, sparing her the need to speak in the silence that followed.
His gaze returned to her, as if he had discovered an idea. ‘Do you?’
She was silent for too long.
‘Do you, Anne?’
She rushed into speech, so she would not have to answer the question. ‘What about the man who carried the petition to the Pope as you just did? That man would know something.’
‘Who even remembers that man?’ A foolish question, but it seemed as if he were saying who will remember me? ‘Do you know who he was?’
Safe to answer, since she did not. She shook her head.
She could almost see his thoughts as he explored other possibilities, other paths. ‘But there must be someone. Who wrote the documents that were sent? Who talked to Lady Joan and Sir Thomas?’
She wanted to help him. No, to help her lady. To put all this quickly aside. ‘I was but a child.’ Only half the truth. She was twelve by then. She was as old as Joan had been when she and Holland first....
An impossible, sceptical frown now. ‘Anne, it would help me, it would help your lady, if you could tell me anything else about all this. Obviously the Pope granted the petition, with the full support of the King and Queen. I know all was in order, I just need to find the pieces and put them together. The Prince said you have been with her for many years. Do you remember when Holland returned? Do you remember anything about that time?’
‘I...’ She swallowed. ‘I was not in the household during most of it. I was with my lady.’
Surprise on his face. ‘And where was she?’
‘In the tower.’
Some combination of shock, confusion and comprehension mingled in his expression. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Salisbury...locked her there.’
‘His own wife?’
‘Or was she the wife of Thomas Holland?’ Salisbury’s wife, yes, who now wanted to leave him, now that the strong warrior Holland had come back into her life. But Salisbury was young, knighted less than a year, still foolish and hot-headed. He thought if he kept her away from Holland, she’d forget the man.
As she had once before.
‘So did her counsel visit her there? To take her statement so he could represent her before the Pope?’
She shook her head. ‘Salisbury would not allow it. She was kept under guard...’ The memory of that year made her shudder. She had been her lady’s sole companion for months. It had nearly driven them both mad.
‘But the church requires that she testify, have counsel...’
She shrugged. She had said too much already. And she knew little of what had gone on beyond the tower walls while they waited together.
‘How long?’ His question, sharp. ‘How long did this go on?’
The time had seemed endless then. ‘I don’t remember. A year?’
‘But Salisbury let her speak, finally.’
‘Yes.’ She should have said nothing at all. To answer even one question would lead to more, to all the ones she must not answer.
‘Why? Did the Archbishop intervene? Or the King?’
To answer would tell him too much. The King, the Queen, Joan’s mother, all of them had supported Salisbury. But Holland, relentless, sent another plea to the Pope, and another and another... ‘Such matters are beyond the knowledge of a maiden.’
She must end this. Now.
So she pushed herself to her feet and Nicholas immediately rose, reaching out to steady her, and she at once craved and feared to have him so near again. Now she was beginning to understand the hunger that drew Edward and Joan, the hunger that ignored everything that stood between them, the hunger that meant they would do anything, anything, to be together.
‘And so, Sir Nicholas, I have reached Canterbury. While the Archbishop searches his files and his memory, may I visit the tomb of St Thomas?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. You will have your pilgrimage, Anne.’
The hopeless, dishonest pilgrimage that she did not want.
The road leading to the Cathedral stretched before them, lined with pilgrims. Very few walked. The rest crawled, hobbled, crept forward on their knees. It was as if the very ground moved.
Hoping. Every one of them hoping for a miracle.
Anne did not hope.
Nicholas, beside her, touched her arm, his support stronger than the crutch that held her upright. He nodded to the road ahead. ‘Do you want to...?’
‘Crawl?’ To get on hands and knees like a dog? Not in front of Nicholas. Not in front of anyone. ‘No. God allows me the grace to stand upright. I shall keep my head high.’
He lifted his arms, as if uncertain whether she needed, or wanted, his help. ‘What can I do?’
His question humbled her. Had anyone ever asked that of her? In that way? Not as if she must be pitied or hidden, but as if her wishes deserved to be honoured and her pain witnessed.
‘I would be grateful,’ she