The unfortunate landlord trembled and was silent. He had been paid handsomely for taking on the useless wench. It was clear she had never washed a dish in her life nor cut open a fish, and it was only the promise of more reward for silence that had prevented him from turfing her out.

“Well?” Richard barked, forcing the man’s arm behind his back. “Answer me, you fool, or I will break your arm!”

Luckily for the landlord Rob’s excited voice broke in from below: “My lord, she is here!” Richard threw the man onto a bench and growled, “Don’t move,” before hurrying down to the kitchen, where the rest of the servants stood gaping.

Anne was huddled on a stool sobbing, Francis crouched beside her offering his kerchief. When she saw Richard, she ran into his arms. She reeked of onions and fish. Her long, light-brown hair was matted with grease, her hands raw from cold and lye, and her homespun gown stained with blood and gravy. No semblance of the noble lady remained in the waif, who clung to her savior with such desperation, her red, swollen eyes framed by dark hollows.

Richard stroked her face and whispered her name, trying to calm her. “Anne, Anne, hush, sweetheart. Never fear, I am here, and you are safe now.” He turned to the curious onlookers. “Away with you! All of you,” he commanded, and the servants scurried away.

Her sobs abating, Anne spied the landlord creeping up the stairs, and pulling away, she pointed at him: “George paid him to take me, and he has treated me abominably,” Warwick’s daughter cried, regaining her composure. “He beat me and threw me to the ground. I have bruises…”

The landlord was clearly terrified that the lazy girl’s accusation could get him arrested or worse, and he attempted to defend himself. “I was paid to take a servant who they said was soft in the head. They said she would pretend to be a lady.” He feigned bravado as a last resort: “Ha! look at her. Does she look like a lady to you?”

He was unprepared for the fist that hit him square on the jaw. “This is the Lady Anne Neville, widow of Prince Edouard,” Richard hissed over the pathetic figure on the ground, who spat out a bloody tooth. “Rob, send someone upstairs for the sheriff. This man should be in irons.”

The blubbering landlord crawled to Richard’s feet, begging for mercy, for which he received a swift kick. “You are no better than a dog!” Richard snapped. “Come, Anne. Let us away.”

Anne was too grateful to be shocked by Richard’s violent behavior, but she wondered later at the change in him. He was still her beloved Richard, although a black cloud seemed to hover about him, but perhaps her predicament had angered him, and she could only be secretly thrilled.