The Sunne in Splendour by Penman Sharon Kay

Author:Penman, Sharon Kay [Penman, Sharon Kay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical
ISBN: 031237593X
Google: lRFAngEACAAJ
Amazon: 031237593X
Goodreads: 1321064
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 1982-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

London

October 1471

Anne first noticed the man in the outer courtyard. He was lounging against the wall of the stables, watching her as she lowered her bucket into the well. When she emerged a little later to air out bedding, he was still there. There was an unnerving intensity in his stare, something more than the lustful looks she occasionally got from inn patrons, and when she saw him beckon to Cuthbert, the stable boy, her heart took up a quicker cadence. Cuthbert was now looking toward her, too; Anne saw him shake his head and shrug. There was little Cuthbert could tell him; he knew only that Anne and Véronique had come from some great household. But why was he questioning Cuthbert at all? Anne gathered up the bedding, fled back indoors. When she looked out the window again, the man had gone.

She couldn’t even ask Cuthbert what the man had wanted, had to keep up this damnable pretense of not speaking English. All she could do was to wait for Véronique to get back from the Leadenhall Market. Véronique could talk to Cuthbert, could reassure her that the stranger was only another lecher, was not in George’s pay. But where was Véronique? Why wasn’t she back by now?

She tried to put him from her mind, busied herself in helping Catherine clean the empty upper chambers. Following Catherine into a corner room, she set her lamp down upon a small table that, with the bed, was all the furniture the room contained. The lamp, a sputtering wick floating in a sea of vegetable oil, gave off some light but not much. Glancing about at this queer midday darkness, Anne found herself reluctantly remembering the burnished blaze of candelabras that shone in every chamber of the Herber, three dozen candles a night consumed from Martinmas to Candlemas, enough to last the Brownells for years.

She was helping Catherine strip the bed when they heard it, the clatter of hooves upon cobblestones. Horses being ridden at hard gallop. Anne tensed, but Catherine merely looked up and then shrugged-until it became apparent that the riders were not passing by. From the sounds echoing up through the open window, it was clear that they’d ridden into the stableyard. Dogs had begun to bark, gates banged, and suddenly the afternoon air was alive with a rising volume of noise that signaled the occurrence of something quite out of the ordinary.

Catherine was closest to the window, reached it first. Almost at once, she drew back inside. Her eyes were very wide.

“Yorkist lords! Why would-Oh, dear God! Veronica tried to tell us she thought Clarence might be vengeful enough to seek her out! And I didn’t believe her!”

She saw support for the conclusion she’d drawn in the fear that now showed in Anne’s face.

“Martha…Martha, listen. You stay here. Don’t let yourself be seen. You understand? Don’t come out. I’m going to get Stephen!” And with that, she whirled for the door.

Anne’s first thoughts weren’t thoughts at all, were sensations of pure physical panic.

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