Daughter of York

by Anne Easter Smith

  Margaret settled him back in his chair and poured them both some wine. She noticed Fortunata under the table, her arms around the dog, and touched Edward’s leg with her shoe, silently pointing to the scene. Edward relaxed and nodded, quaffing his drink in a single swallow.

  “Now, tell me how this came about, Ned. I promise I will not chide you further, at least not this evening.”

  “You are a born diplomat, Meg. I know I can count on you to be silent until the time comes to reveal all, which surely must be soon.”

  “Aye, how long have you been”—she swallowed hard—“married?”

  “Since May Day,” Edward said, grinning shamefacedly. “Elizabeth and I married at dawn on May Day at Rivers’ home in Grafton Regis, with only her mother and two ladies as witness. Oh, and a whey-faced lad who sang for the priest. Poor Bess, she has not seen much of me since then, I must confess. That is why she is here now.”

  “Who else knows, Ned? And why not Will? He is your best friend and councilor. Ah,” she thought out loud. “Perhaps he would have stopped you. Is that it?”

  “Only the elder Woodvilles and Anthony know. I could not tell Will, Meg, because there is bad blood between him and Anthony. I have to confess I am pleased with Scales. He has kept his peace honorably,” Edward said.

  “Anthony told me—sweet Jesu, now I realize he told me the day after your wedding day—that you might do this, but I thought he had lost his wits.” She caught herself. “Oh, sorry, Ned, I said I would not comment again. There are so many questions, the first of which is how will you face our cousin of Warwick? He has been negotiating for an alliance with Bona of Savoy, has he not? Certes, this could ruin your relationship with Louis.”

  “You know too much, little sister. Aye, Warwick will be angered, but he thinks he can use me like a cat’s paw.” He frowned. “Edward do this, Edward do that—God’s bones, but I am sick of his high-handed way with me! I care not what he thinks. I am the king, and he is not.”

  “Have a care, Ned. He is a powerful man. You do not want him as your enemy. In truth, this will challenge his reputation in France, and he will not take this news quietly.” She sighed and shook her head. Seeing him despondent, she changed the subject. “But what of Elizabeth? Shall I like her as well as I like her brother? And her family, I hear it is large.”

  “You will love Bess as soon as you see her, and, aye, Rivers and Jacquetta have enjoyed each other enough to have fifteen children, although two died as babes. In truth, they are more like lovers than husband and wife. Like mother, like daughter, I say! Bess and I—” He broke off, his hooded eyes unable to hide his desire, and a small secret smile played around his mouth. “But I talk too much. Pour me some more wine, Meg,” he said, holding out his cup. Before Margaret had time to gather her skirts, Fortunata had filled his goblet. “God’s nails, the woman must have read my mind,” he said, inclining his head in thanks. She bowed and disappeared behind Margaret’s chair.

  “When will you reveal this information, Ned? In truth, you are compromising Elizabeth, are you not?”

  Edward sighed and sipped his wine. “I know, I know, as she reminds me each time I see her. When I get her with child, I must own up, I suppose. But can you keep my secret, Meg?”

  “You know I can, Edward. But I will extract a promise as reward. You will not leave me to languish in Greenwich until my dotage, and you will please find me a good English husband! I am getting old, brother, and I dearly want children.” She leaned back disconsolately. “And to think I thought your cryptic letter meant you had found me a mate, not you!”

  “Pshaw! Old? You are but eighteen. I’m sorry I have disappointed you, Meg, and you have my word I will find a husband for you before the year is over. But I doubt he will be English, my dear.”

  Margaret’s heart sank. Her sisters had married Englishmen, why not her? She sat up straight as a thought occurred to her. “Now that you have raised Elizabeth to a royal state, Anthony would be eligible to woo me, would he not?” she asked eagerly.

  “You addle-pate. Anthony is married, as you well know. You cannot have him!” Edward chuckled. “And I think Warwick would be doubly displeased with me if I instigated a divorce and married you off to Anthony. Nay, Meggie, we must look higher for you.”

  “’Tis not fair, Ned!” Margaret pouted. “You may do as you please, but I may not.”

  “Life is not fair, little sister, have you not learned that by now? As compensation, you can sit back and watch gleefully whenever I am rebuked for my rash May Day act. But now I want to tell you why you are here. The marriage news was but a beginning. I want you to meet her. In a little while, we will be joined by my wife, her mother and father, and so that you feel comfortable, by Anthony. I fear Will will be much offended he is not included, but I cannot risk telling him yet. And though she may also be offended, I must ask Fortunata to leave the room before Elizabeth comes. She will not understand, Meg.”

  Margaret snapped her fingers, and Fortunata was at her feet in a second.

  “Did you hear his grace, pochina? You must go back to our apartments and wait for me there. Go now and say nothing to anyone of what you have heard.”

  Fortunata knew she had no choice and backed as gracefully as she could out of their presence, closing the door behind her.

  “Amusing little person, Meggie. She must be a comfort to you.” He rose and went to a smaller door at the other end of the chamber and knocked softly. A woman’s voice called, “Come,” and Edward opened the door. A vision in white taffeta trimmed with ermine stood on the threshold. Margaret noted the fur before the lady decked out in it. It was reserved for the royal family and nobles, and she knew at once Edward had indeed taken Elizabeth for his queen or Elizabeth would not have dared to wear it. She curtseyed as Elizabeth took Edward’s arm but was not willing to give her new sister-in-law more courtesy than was necessary. She rose and went to greet the lovely woman at whom Edward was gazing adoringly. Elizabeth was no coy maiden, Margaret noted. She was a few years older than Edward, and experience emanated from her, forming an invisible wall between her and any who approached her. Despite her royal blood, Margaret was intimidated.

  “Bess, this is Margaret, my dearly beloved sister. The two of you will become fast friends in no time, I am certain,” he said, eager to please both women.

  Elizabeth smiled and Margaret could see at once why Edward had been smitten by the English rose in front of her. She had porcelain skin, high cheekbones, a dainty nose, eyes the color of sky after rain and a cherubic mouth. An unkind person might have pointed out that her ears were too big, but that was the only flaw Margaret could see. She smiled in return and was relieved her first impression may have been wrong.

  Elizabeth was surprised by Margaret’s height; she found it disconcerting to have to look up to her younger sister-in-law. But she recognized the smile of greeting was genuine and relaxed.

  “Elizabeth—your grace,” Margaret corrected herself. “God’s greeting to you. Ned has been telling me all about you,” she lied, mentally crossing herself, and she was glad to see out of the corner of her eye that Edward was guiltily studying the floor.

  Elizabeth allowed herself to be embraced and responded, “God’s greeting, my lady. For my part, ’tis Anthony who has told me all about you.”

  Before Margaret could embarrass herself with a blush, a small, dynamic woman bustled into the room, followed by Lord Rivers. This must be Jacquetta, she guessed. Rivers bowed and kissed Margaret’s hand as the dowager duchess of Bedford, which was how Jacquetta was styled rather than mere Lady Rivers, made Margaret obeisance.

  “Rise, your grace, I pray you,” Margaret said. “Come, let us all sit.”

  Edward took pains to settle Elizabeth into his luxurious chair, while Richard Woodville saw to his wife’s comfort. Margaret took care of her-self, but not before being able to whisper to her brother, “So you promised me Anthony. Where is he?”

  Edward shrugged his shoulders and looked sheepish. When she rea
lized she had been duped, she scowled at him. But her face was all smiles when she turned back to the handsome trio who were now part of her family—they and twelve others.

  THE ROYAL BARGE left the pier of the sumptuous palace of Westminster early the next morning and, like a ghost, disappeared into the rising mist, followed by several others. The journey up the Thames to the fork where its tributary, the Kennet, began at Reading took several days. Autumn was in the air, although the September sun was still warm during the afternoon. Margaret loved traveling by water: It was peaceful, smooth and afforded beautiful aspects at every bend.

  By midmorning on the first day, the sun had burned off the haze and a dazzling blue sky put the royal party in a spirited mood. The leaves were beginning to lose their summer brilliance and a few were turning brown and gold. Blackbirds, thrushes and warblers sang out from the yellow willow branches that drooped gracefully onto the water, while moorhens and coots chugged upstream. When one of the many barges came too close, the terrified birds scooted towards the shore for safety. As the river narrowed, Margaret recognized the purple water mint, the yellow flower of fleabane (good for loose bowels, she remembered) and the abundant starry-flowered purple loosestrife growing on the banks. Once she saw an otter before it disappeared beneath the dark water; another time a pheasant flew from one side of the river to the other; often, jewel-colored kingfishers flashed from trees to spear unsuspecting fish; and a large herd of fallow deer lifted their heads from the mossy grass as the boats passed by.

  “Where is my bow when I need it,” shouted Edward, pointing at the deer, who were startled by his cry and bounded away on fragile legs.

  “He is still such a boy, is he not, Lady Margaret,” Elizabeth murmured in Margaret’s ear, startling her. It was the first time Elizabeth had spoken.

  The ladies of the company were in their own barge, which was decked with flowers and ribbons, and Elizabeth sat with Jacquetta, Margaret, Margaret’s elder sister the duchess of Suffolk, Lady Hastings and several other ladies of rank. Elizabeth was looked at askance when the party boarded, but Margaret, on Edward’s command, told them all airily that she had invited her to travel in their barge because her good friend Lord Scales had asked her particularly to look after his sister. The ladies had accepted the fact graciously. Despite earlier Lancastrian leanings, as one of the noblest ladies in England, Jacquetta had a right to ride with Margaret and her sister, but Elizabeth was another matter. Soon Jacquetta and Lady Hastings, who was sister to the earl of Warwick, were conversing happily, and Elizabeth was forgotten as she sat quietly next to Margaret, her aloofness mistaken by the others for shyness and awe at being with the king’s sister.

  “I have to take Elizabeth with me to Reading,” Ned had told Margaret the night before. “I fear I am to be pressured into accepting Louis’ match with the beautiful Bona. If so, I shall have no choice but to present Elizabeth. Having you there too will lend reasonableness to her presence among my retinue. ’Tis known by all that Anthony is a good friend to both of us, and it will not seem unnatural if you accompany Elizabeth as a favor to him. Say you will sit by her, Meggie, for my sake,” Edward had pleaded with her, his expression as earnest as a little boy’s. “I could command you, but I will not.”

  “Aye, he is still such a boy,” Margaret reiterated in a whisper to Ned’s new wife, chuckling. “Sometimes I think I am the older one!”

  Elizabeth smiled. “He thinks you are the most capable of his family, did you know that, Lady Margaret?”

  Margaret’s expression made Elizabeth laugh, a high, tinkling sound that wafted over the water and was picked up by Edward’s sharp ears. He stood up and waved at them, blowing a kiss their way. She waved back, glancing at Elizabeth, who must surely know the kiss was meant for her, but her lovely face was impassive. In another boat, she could see George, handsome and proud, seated under a canopy, surrounded by his gentlemen and enjoying his newfound importance at court. He had greeted Margaret exuberantly after her audience with Edward the night before, but she could tell he was not aware of the change in Ned’s marital status. She smiled inwardly, treasuring the confidence her oldest brother placed in her.

  Standing up, she searched the other boats for Fortunata and spotted her huddled in the back of the one behind George’s, staring longingly at the shore. She sighed, missing her pochina, but Ned had not thought Elizabeth would relish sharing anything she might say to Margaret with the little creature until she was used to Fortunata. Margaret felt a little ashamed that she had not stood up for herself and insisted Fortunata travel in her boat, but Edward was in one of his stubborn moods, and she had no wish to rile him again. However, she had seen the look of disdain on Elizabeth’s face when Elizabeth first saw the dwarf on the pier that morning. Margaret felt herself flush slightly with anger at the snub but decided to say nothing until the moment was right, and this was it, she decided.

  “My poor servant, Fortunata, is a little green around the gills in the next boat,” she said to Elizabeth as she sat down again. “She was violently ill on her voyage from Italy and ever since cannot bear being on the water.”

  “I am surprised you care so much about a servant, Lady Margaret. Which one is Fortunata?” Elizabeth glanced over at the boat in question.

  Margaret bristled. “You may have seen her earlier, Dame Grey,” she said, delighting in the use of Elizabeth’s former married name, agreed upon so not to arouse suspicion. “She had the misfortune to be born a dwarf, but I have the fortune to have the most devoted and dare I say cleverest servant a person could wish for.” Her expression and tone of voice brooked no rejection of her dear pochina, and Elizabeth wisely smiled and merely said, “Ah. I did see her.”

  THE WHARVES AT Reading teemed with people of all ranks: the urchin who ran filthy-footed in and out of the crowd, the rough-and-ready dockers who hauled on the lines thrown to them from the boats, the merchants haggling with ships’ masters, the tavern workers rolling tuns of wine and barrels of ale up the hill to the town, and the servants sporting their masters’ colors elbowing others aside to help their noble employers out of the arriving barges. But the people scurrying about their important business looked like so many ants beneath Reading Abbey, a mass of Caen limestone and English greystone climbing to a tower pinnacle that seemed to scrape the clouds.

  Reading Abbey had been home to a Benedictine order for three centuries, and the town had grown up around it once it became a regular site for important events and Great Council meetings. The abbey church, which was larger than Westminster’s, had been consecrated by Thomas à Becket himself and had seen the wedding of Edward III’s son John of Gaunt to his first wife, Blanche of Lancaster, beneath its soaring Gothic arches and slate roof. Gardens and cloisters, the community’s own mill, a hospitium for pilgrims and other guests as well as the chapter house, refectory and dormitory and the many other red-tiled buildings that housed this secluded order were set on thirty acres within a great stone wall.

  All activity on the wharves stopped when a fanfare from a barge of musicians announced the arrival of the king. A column of guards formed a barrier between the king and his subjects as more townspeople came running from their houses to watch the royal procession move past the lime-washed warehouses strung along the shore.

  The canopy over Edward, decorated with his Sun in Splendor insignia and the lions of England, was carried by four men as he walked, waving this way and that. His golden-brown hair was encircled by a simple crown, and his purple mantle sat on his broad shoulders magnificently as only it could on a man of his stature. His subjects gawped at him, a few shouting “God save the king,” and Margaret felt the familiar lifting of her chest as she took her place and processed through the enormous wooden gates and into the quiet of the abbey grounds beyond. How proud she was of Ned! How natural that he should be king, she thought.

  The abbot met the royal party at the gate and escorted them to their guest quarters. Margaret looked around her with interest. She noticed that the monks had s
ervants—townsfolk, who, she was told, toiled in the gardens, cooked and laundered for the order, as well as kept the account books and helped in the infirmary. Hers and Elizabeth’s escort, a tall, friendly monk named Brother Damian, told his charges that many of the order were employed in the scriptorium morning, noon and night, copying manuscripts, and that this work was of such importance that they had no time to spend on the running of the abbey. He promised to show Margaret some of the completed work, but as this was a silent order, the monks at their desks were not allowed to talk, and so visitors were discouraged. Margaret looked so disappointed that he offered to get her special permission from the abbot if he could.

  “My thanks, Brother Damian,” she cried. “I should like to see the work above anything.” She pulled out her book of hours from the bag she always carried at her waist. “I have a passion for books, you see.”

  Elizabeth looked on, amused, as the brother bowed, showing his shiny tonsure, and left them in their comfortable quarters. “I hope you will show as much passion for whomever Edward chooses for you, my dear,” she said. “The man will be very fortunate.” She looked over Margaret’s shoulder, and her eyes lit up as Anthony stepped onto the threshold. “Anthony! There you are. I now know why you find Lady Margaret so interesting. The two of you must bore each other to tears with your talk of books! That poor brother has had to promise to take her to see the scriptorium. She would brook no refusal!”

  Margaret spun round when she heard Elizabeth say Anthony’s name. She was happy that dusk was settling in and no one could see the blush that she could feel all over her.

  “Lord Scales, God’s greeting to you, sir,” she murmured, putting out her hand for him to kiss. “I had not seen you with so many on the river. I am happy to meet you again.”

  Anthony went along with her formality, kissed her hand and said that he, too, was glad of the meeting. Then he embraced his sister. He looked at the women quizzically. “Well?” was all he said.