Page 70 of The Forgotten Boy

He couldn’t keep from showing interest, for Ismay rarely referred to anything from the past. His gaze shot up to his mother’s. “He died in battle.”

“Yes.”

“There were lots of battles, then,” he added. “But not anymore.”

“Sadly, Edmund, there have been battles this winter.” When he perked up with excitement, she said, “And the only thing you have to remember about battles is to stay far away from them.”

He sighed. “Which is why we live here.”

“Yes. But sometimes, no matter how hard we try, battles will find us. It is possible, Edmund, that Havencross might be visited by unfriendly men this spring. If that happens, I must be able to find you quickly—and you must be willing to do whatever I ask. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mother.” His eyes were round and wide, his chin stubborn. “But if the men come, I must defend you.”

So like his father. “If these men come, Edmund, the only thing that matters is that they not find you. They will not hurt me—armed men don’t threaten women.” Ismay prayed for forgiveness as she told her son that blatant lie, but she needed him to respond to her every command instantly in case the worst were to happen.

For the next three days, Edmund stayed near her, obedient and subdued, and she prayed that this would be the worst of it. She hated that Warwick had the power after all these years to affect a boy he probably didn’t even know existed.

Just in case it wasn’t, she sent all the servants away to York with her steward—except for Edmund’s tutor, whose help she would need in extremity. When the steward protested, Ismay said, “Have a holiday, buy supplies, go to church and pray. I don’t care what you all do. But you are not to return until I summon you. It shouldn’t be more than week.” After all, how long could Warwick linger at Middleham? He was attempting to take over a country—he would need to be everywhere at the same time.

Two days after the servants left Havencross, the last warning sounded late on a Thursday afternoon as the sun faded rapidly in the west. Ismay found Edmund with his tutor, James Ascham, in the schoolroom across from her bedroom. Keeping her voice light, she said, “Edmund, go and get your warmest cloak and boots, please.”

He paled. “They’re coming?”

“It will be all right,” she told him. “They think to catch us unawares, but they don’t know how clever your mother is.”

Edmund bit his lip, then tore out of the room to do as he was told.

“Time to go?” Ascham asked.

“You know what to do. Ride west to Carlisle and send a message to Scotland.”

“And when I return?”

“Go directly to the old icehouse, where I showed you, and make your way to Edmund in the tunnel. He will be about a quarter-mile along, in a hollowed-out space large enough for him to stand up and move about a little. You know where to take him?”

“Back to Carlisle.”

“But only for one day,” she reminded him. “If I have not reached you by tomorrow evening, take him across the border. My mother’s family will be waiting.

“Lady Ismay, are you sure about all this? It seems unnecessarily complicated to me. We could all ride hard for Scotland.”

“There is no such thing as too complicated when it comes to the Earl of Warwick. Don’t worry, I doubt it will come down to Scotland. I plan to meet you in Carlisle,” she said with forced confidence. “There’s no need to frighten Edmund more than necessary. I expect we’ll all be safely back at Havencross by nightfall tomorrow.”

She could see Ascham’s awareness of what she wouldn’t say—that with a woman and a small boy in the party, they couldn’t outride armed men to the border. Ismay was the delaying tactic, the bait giving her son time to disappear. She could also see that the tutor wanted to argue, to beg her to come with him. She’d known for some time of Ascham’s personal interest in her.

“I’ve made my decisions,” she said firmly.

Ascham did as he was told and rode off, and Ismay collected Edmund, who had a small scrip packed with whatever he thought necessary to take on this journey. She slipped Edward’s livery badge inside the scrip. She’d given the ring with the king’s seal to James Ascham in case he needed it. Even from Burgundy, she trusted that Edward would do what he could for his brother’s son.

Then she led Edmund to the old priory chapel, where she’d married his father. “We’ve done this before,” she reminded him. “It’s just an adventure. You have plenty of candles and the food we took to the cavern. Remember? Then you wait, for me or James to come and get you. As long as you have food and light, you are not to come out of the tunnel without one of us, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mother.” He hugged her and, at the last moment, clung to her hand. “Come hide with me,” he whispered, and Ismay’s heart broke wide open. Come hide with me, Edmund had urged her all those years ago at Ludlow Castle, before he’d kissed her for the first time.

“I can’t, Edmund. You have to be brave. And promise me that, no matter what, you won’t come out until either James or I come for you. Promise me.”

“I promise,” he said almost soundlessly.

As his fair head vanished with the lit candle and Ismay dragged the false grave slab over the tunnel’s opening, she prayed to the young man she had loved, the sweet boy who had left her with this gift: Keep your son safe, Edmund. Promise me.

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