Kind hands gentled him away from Anne’s still form, and, as Anne’s women prepared her body for burial, he allowed himself to be led from the darkened room to his own chambers. There, Bess was waiting to greet him with soothing words and comforting arms. He saw his son John among the other councilors watching him anxiously, and Richard reached out a hand to him behind Bess’s back.

Taking the hand, the young man said, “Courage, Father. We are here to give you courage. The queen would have wanted that, and England needs you.”

Richard nodded. “Thank you, John.” But privately he thought, England can wait.

Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

1485

Anne Neville, daughter of the earl of Warwick and queen of England, was given a resplendent funeral and buried on the southern side of the high altar in Westminster Abbey. Richard’s spirits were so low in those weeks following Anne’s death that he could not bring himself to commission a tomb and effigy yet. He could not have known his procrastination would mean Anne’s grave was never marked.

“Have you lost your wits?” Richard spat at Catesby, who cringed at his king’s fury. “I shall do no such thing. Now leave me, all of you.”

All but Francis bowed and retreated. He put up his hand to stop Richard’s admonition and put his finger to his lips. “My lord, Your Grace, I beg of you hear me out. But first, I pray you lower your voice. These are dangerous times.”

Richard snorted. “You are telling me? What with the Tydder lusting for my throne and the news that Oxford has escaped from Hammes and has joined with him, and wondering who will betray me next, I am well aware of the danger, I thank you.” Richard had, Francis noted with relief, taken his advice and spoken more quietly. “But I will not believe that anyone thinks I poisoned Anne in order to wed my niece.” He shuddered at the word. “Why, ’tis monstrous. And the council wants me to make a public statement that I won’t commit what I consider to be incest? By denying it, I will surely give credence to it, will I not.” He calmed himself, but he was greatly perturbed by this turn of events. “Francis, how can anyone think I would plot to poison Anne? Poor lady, she suffered enough and for long enough to be able to rest in peace now. Tell me, whence comes this tale about Bess?”

Francis pulled a chair forward and encouraged the pacing Richard to sit. He noticed the dark rings under Richard’s eyes, and it seemed to Francis that the weight of Anne’s death had given his old friend an even more pronounced stoop. “I warned you before Christmas that people talked of your favor towards Bess. I know, I know,” he put up his hand, “you were just being kind to her, but vicious people love to gossip and her attraction to you was evident.” He drew a letter from his pocket, and Richard frowned. “Read this, Richard. It was written to Jack Howard and, dismissing it at first, Jack then decided to give it to me. I was not aware Bess and Jack were that much acquainted, but it seems she trusts him.”