Daughter of York

by Anne Easter Smith

  “Who goes there?” he asked in a low voice.

  Margaret gasped and crossed herself. Her May Day vision stood in front of her. What sort of an omen was this? She bent her head, hoping he could not see her face in the faint light. She was momentarily stunned by the coincidence.

  Anthony walked towards the group, one hand on his short sword. Before he could accost them, the squire leaped in front of Margaret and reached for his dagger, which, dressed as he was as a groom, he did not have. More embarrassing, he was holding flowers. He quickly hid them behind his back.

  Thankfully, Anthony had not recognized Margaret, but knowing Fortunata might give them away, Margaret pulled the dwarf behind her and held her there. Fortunata had the sense not to move or make a sound.

  “You are trespassing, sirrah,” Anthony said to Henry, just making out the figures of two women behind the young man in the predawn light. “Do you know you are on the grounds of the royal Wardrobe, and the king would have you arrested if he knew you were here?”

  Margaret bit her tongue. She knew he would surely recognize her voice if she said anything more, although she dearly wanted to point out that he, too, was trespassing. She bent her head to make herself seem smaller and allowed Henry to answer.

  “We be sorry, master, it be my fault. I thought we were in St. Andrew’s churchyard.” Margaret was impressed. Dickon has a clever squire, she thought. But Henry hadn’t finished. He brought out the flowers from behind his back. “My sister and me come to lay these on our mother’s grave. ’Twas her special day today.”

  Margaret heard Jane gasp at this lie, and she sent a prayer heavenward that Henry would be forgiven. The sky was brightening, and she knew that if they were there much longer, Anthony would discover the lie, so she pretended to weep.

  “Forgive us, your lordship, we meant no harm,” she sobbed in a voice Anthony could never know. “We be on our way to the churchyard and then the maypole at Smithfield and in the dark we lost our way. I beg of you, let us go now.”

  Anthony grunted an assent. “Get you gone! And close the gate behind you. St. Andrew’s is down towards the river.”

  He watched as the trio, with what looked to be a child, gratefully scurried down the path to the garden door. He then took his own posy of flowers from behind his back and walked through the arch into the main courtyard, hoping for a meeting with Margaret. He heard laughter coming from behind the high garden wall and frowned. He hoped he had not been duped by those peasants, but why would they laugh on their way to put flowers on a grave? But his preoccupation with his own thoughts overtook his instinct to follow them. His journey to London was something of an escape, and he could think of nothing else.

  Edward was pursuing Elizabeth still, and he would not take no for an answer. It was flattering, of course, but how honorable his intentions were Anthony could not be sure. His sense of honor railed at Edward bedding his sister for lust, but being newly enfolded in the Yorkist camp, his family could not afford to offend the king. And surely the king would not be interested in a mere Woodville for wife? Anthony had finally confided his anger to his mother, Jacquetta, who had merely smiled and shrugged. “Why should he not wed Bess, Anthony?” was all she would offer. “If he wants her badly enough.” Anthony could think of many reasons, the strongest of which was that a king of England needed to make a strong alliance with a foreign power. No, Mother must be daydreaming, he decided. Edward only wants Elizabeth’s body. Afraid he might say something to Edward that he would regret, he chose to absent himself from the family and so made an excuse that he had urgent business at The Mote, his manor in Kent, and would catch up with Edward in the north in a few days. On his way to London, he concluded that the one sympathetic ear he could count on was Margaret’s and so resolved to pay her his respects on the way to Kent.

  He had ridden hard the day before and arrived at the Newgate after curfew. He spent the night in a tavern near the prison and had been unable to sleep for the noise and the smell of the place. Just before dawn, he left his sleeping squires and waited by the gate into the city. Forgetting it was May Day, he was surprised by the number of young people who flocked past him on their way out of London to gather branches and flowers for the holiday. He made his way to the Wardrobe on Carter Lane but surmising he was somewhat early, chose to avoid the guards at the main entrance and, finding the garden door unlocked, slipped in unseen to gather a few gillyflowers for Margaret at the bottom of the garden. He had been so engrossed in his task and contemplating his meeting with Margaret that he did not hear the ivy-covered hidden door open to discharge the would-be revelers from the house. He only knew he was not alone when he had heard the sotto voce question.

  He mounted the stone steps to the Wardrobe’s weighty door and commanded a sentry to announce him.

  ONCE SAFELY OUTSIDE the garden gate, Margaret could not contain herself. She was bent double and shaking with mirth. Jane giggled nervously and Henry stood by, grinning. Fortunata had not really understood the exchange in the garden from her hiding place in the thick folds of Margaret’s coarse kersey gown. But she saw that her mistress was happy and so she was happy too. She let loose a peal of laughter that Margaret immediately silenced with a hand over her servant’s mouth.

  “Ssh! We do not want to arouse Lord Anthony’s suspicions. Be quiet, Fortunata. And let us away from this place before he changes his mind about us.”

  Soon they were mingling with hundreds of other excited merrymakers singing and dancing their way towards the Smithfield marketplace, where the permanent maypole stood. Fortunata was used to pushing her way through crowds, and she suggested Margaret take hold of her belt and Jane take hold of Margaret’s, so they would not lose each other. Then she barreled in among the young men’s brawny legs and the drab linen skirts of the women and pulled Margaret and Jane behind her. Henry kept up as best he could and lent an elbow or a fist to protect Margaret when necessary.

  The music of pipes and tabors accompanied the sounds of the throng, and Margaret was more exhilarated than she could ever remember. Soon she found herself swept into a ring of young girls holding onto ribbons from the maypole. The men took the alternate strands facing the women, and the human chain began to wind its way around the tall tree, making a braid of brightly colored ribbons as they wove in and out, up and down. When the knot was formed and the ribbon ran out, each man gave the woman standing in front of him a kiss.

  Jane was in front of a giant of a man with a hairy face and merry eyes. He picked her up and swung her round before planting a wet kiss on her button mouth. She found herself set down again and blushing before she had time to object. She turned to express her indignation to Margaret and was astonished to see her mistress, her golden hair sweeping the ground, bent backwards and half hidden under a bold apprentice, who had straddled her and was taking his time with a kiss.

  “My lady!” Jane exclaimed, and then clapped her hand over her mouth. Too late, she groaned to herself, for the youth heard her cry of dismay and lifted his handsome face from Margaret’s, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “Lady?” he asked, looking down at Margaret trapped in his embrace. “Then you shall have two kisses!” And without more ado, he set his lips on Margaret’s open mouth before she could say a word. This time she struggled and was beginning to make headway with the lad when a small whirlwind came flying out of nowhere and landed on his back. He promptly let go of Margaret to deal with the flailing fists and sharp heels of the fiend that clung to him like a limpet.

  “Bastardo, figlio di puttana! Basta!” Fortunata screamed in his ear, forgetting her English. “Lascia la stare. Leave her alone!”

  The youth’s friends ran to help him and succeeded in prying Fortunata from his back, still kicking and shouting Italian obscenities. Seeing the crowd staring curiously and the assaulted youth looking angrily at the dwarf, Margaret stepped forward and took his arm.

  “That was thirsty work, by all that is holy,” she said in the coarsest tone she could. “Be kin
d enough to find me a cup of ale. Fortunata, you silly girl, follow me!”

  The young man bowed awkwardly, giving her a lopsided grin. “Wiv pleasure, my lady,” he said sarcastically. “You bain’t really a lady, be you?”

  Margaret went off into loud laughter. “Me, a lady. Whatever gave you that idea? My name is Meg. But you can call me Lady Meg!”

  She turned and glared at Jane, who hung her head and looked to Henry for sympathy.

  “I’ll meet you back home, Jane. I’m going for some ale. Henry, tell Mother that Fortunata and I’ll be late.”

  Margaret had the satisfaction of seeing Henry’s jaw drop before she stalked off with her new beau. Fortunata trailed behind, shaking her head. Now how was her mistress to find her way back without Henry to escort them? She looked about her, and deciding that fiestas were fiestas wherever you were, she thought Margaret was probably in no more danger among these people than she would have been in Padua on May Day.

  BACK IN HER own chamber that night, the damask curtains drawn around her, Margaret gloried in her escapade. She had been among the common people and had been happy to be thought of as one of them for a few hours.

  Always curious, she had asked many questions of Tom, her companion, and listened to complaints about life as a dyer in the largest city in England. There was an unpleasant odor of piss about him, not surprising from his trade. She had wrinkled her nose when he told her, “Woad is a delicate dye, Meg, and it needs the strongest piss to make it fast. One of my jobs is to collect the fullers’ jars—piss buckets, in truth—on street corners to use on our cloth.”

  Margaret had affected nonchalance, but inwardly she cringed. She had never had to handle a piss pot or jakes in her life, and at the Wardrobe, she had a privy with a padded seat. She never thought much about how the waste was disposed of, even though she had heard about the gong farmers, who raked the muck from the streets and privies and carted it outside the city walls, but she never dreamed some of it ended up in her clothes. She pulled the damask to her and sniffed it deeply. It smelled of lavender and sage, she was relieved to discover.

  As she snuggled down in her feather bed, Jane fast asleep next to her, she dared to think back on her early morning encounter with Anthony. She was certain he had not known her, for which she was grateful. She was convinced he would not have approved of such wanton behavior, and she resolved never to breathe a word of her day to anyone, not even to George. Certes, Jane would gossip with Ann and the other ladies, she knew, but she hoped she could trust them not to allow it to get back to Ned or—heaven help her—Cecily.

  Why had Anthony come? She had not thought much about it during the fun-filled morning. She and Fortunata had made their way back to the Wardrobe without incident and let themselves in through the secret door. Jane and Ann were waiting for her in the chamber, and true to her word, Ann had let it be known that Margaret was unwell and did not require her ladies that day.

  “My lady, Lord Scales requested an audience early this morning,” Ann had told her. “He left these flowers.” She indicated the white and pink gillyflowers in a pewter jug on the table next to the bed.

  Now Margaret pulled aside the curtain to touch them lovingly. That must have been why he was in the garden, she surmised, and she hugged herself. But it still did not explain his visit. She knew Anthony had been with Edward when the king had left London to go north not four days since. Perhaps he brought her news of George. Could it be that he had come because he longed to see her? She could not guess, and she did not much care. He had come!

  The question of most significance was what conclusion should she draw from the vision she had while washing in the dew and seeing that same beloved face in the flesh immediately afterwards. We are destined for each other, she hoped. But he had a wife. That could not be denied. And why would Edward give his royal sister to a nobody in marriage, even if Anthony were free? Her questions turned into prayers to the Virgin, to St. Anthony of Padua, to St. Valentine, the patron saint of lovers, until she finally fell asleep.

  “’TIS WHY you came?” Margaret exclaimed, her face a picture of dismay. She had still hoped when she saw him that he had come because of her. Her heart had leapt when he was announced, but when he was admitted to her presence, he was all business, and the kiss at Greenwich seemingly a figment of her imagination. “To tell me that Edward is wooing Elizabeth? You told me this at Greenwich. I am sorry for you that he still has his eye on your sister, and I know he is reprehensible when it comes to his lusty conquests, but I do not think I can deter him. Is that what you were thinking?” she asked, her laugh sounding bitter.

  “What I did not tell you, Marguerite, is that my mother is determined your brother will marry Bess. And for all I know, ’tis done already,” Anthony said quietly, twirling the silver stem of his goblet between his strong fingers. He glanced over his shoulder again to make sure no one was within earshot. “I do not think you know my mother, madam, but she is perhaps more ambitious than your own—nay, I mean that in a good way,” he assured her as she turned to frown at him. “That our mothers have their children’s best interests at heart is all I am saying.”

  Margaret nodded her acknowledgment of this truth. Her mind was reeling. Edward marry the beautiful widow, eldest child of Jacquetta and her handsome knight, Richard Woodville? It was unthinkable!

  “I cannot believe he would do this, Anthony. When you left Grafton—two days ago, you say—your mother and Elizabeth were only talking of the possibility of marriage. You are certain a contract had not been made?”

  Anthony shook his head. “’Tis true, I was only visiting on estate business for a few days and was supposed to join Edward on his way to Northumberland. Somerset is gaining ground with the other Lancastrian lords, and the king must halt them,” he explained as an aside. “I do not know why I felt I must come to you, Marguerite, but I fear that if Edward’s council—Warwick in particular—was made aware of Edward’s desire, my family will be ridiculed in the end. I hoped you might see a way out of this, that you might deter him.”

  Margaret was disappointed. She wanted to hear that he had come to her because of his feelings for her. Now she knew it was only because of her influence with Ned. She was peeved. “Why would you not rejoice in the marriage? You will have so much more influence at court. Your family would be elevated to the highest level in the land.” Despite her burgeoning feelings for him, she was wary. She was well versed in the ways of ambitious men. She had been surrounded by them her whole life.

  Anthony was taken aback by her sharp rebuke and mistook it for a question about his motives. He thought carefully before he spoke. “I do not believe Edward will marry Elizabeth, but if she does not capitulate, I fear it will not go well for us. Certes, if he married her, I would be foolish not to rejoice for my family.” He walked to the window and stared out on the knot garden below. “In truth, I would like to believe you know I do not seek power and glory. I am content the way I am. His grace, the king, has shown me a friendship I never dared to hope for, and my father is on his council. My mother and my siblings have more than enough ambition for the family. I want to serve my king, read my books, write my poetry and occasionally show off my jousting skills.” He paused, looking round to see if she was accepting this. “Certes, a good joust has not been seen in London these many moons. Edward has been away from the city more than he has been here in the past six months. And most of that time, it appears, he has spent wooing my sister!”

  “Hush, Anthony, someone may hear,” Margaret admonished him, putting her finger to her lips. It was her turn to pause. She wanted to believe him and had watched him closely during his speech. She saw no signs of dissembling and so decided she would trust him. After all, he was the only one with anything to lose if he were lying. “Let us imagine that Ned has come to his senses. Besides, Mother told me there are negotiations with Louis for a match with his sister-in-law, Bona. My lord of Warwick was meeting with emissaries here in London not a fortnight ago. He, too, has gon
e north, so we know nothing of the outcome of the negotiations. But I cannot think Edward would offend the king of France or Warwick by marrying Elizabeth. If Mother ever found out …” She shook her wrist and clucked her tongue.

  “I expect you are right.” Anthony nodded, somewhat mollified by her friendlier attitude. He took a chance. “To change the subject, may I say that you look the picture of health today. ’Twould seem the indisposition of yesterday was quickly healed.”

  Margaret had the grace to blush. Her spirits lifted. “Aye, thank you. And thank you for the flowers, they cheered me greatly. Shall we walk, Anthony? Look!” she cried, pointing above them where a red-winged kite hung as if suspended in the sky, ready to pounce on some unsuspecting rodent. They watched the bird with admiration as it soared and glided on currents of air until it disappeared behind St. Andrew’s church spire.

  MARGARET DID NOT see Anthony privately again for many months. Her eighteenth birthday came and went with only Richard to raise a cup and toast it. She missed George, who would have called for dancing to celebrate, unlike Richard, who suggested a game of chess. She indulged him that day and was taken aback when he beat her three times.

  “Certes, Dickon, is this all you do to while away your time here? Play chess with your gentlemen? I have seen you in the courtyard tilting and learning swordplay. What else do you do?” she asked him, as they settled back into their cushions while servants ran in and out preparing a private supper for the two of them. It had poured with rain all day, and Margaret had ordered that the windows of the solar covered with heavy tapestries to keep out the damp. She even had a fire made up, and after Mass, she and her ladies spent the day reading to each other, playing music and trying new dance steps.