by Anne O'Brien
Tell Edmund that I think of him. Ensure that he continues to apply himself to his reading and writing. Perhaps you should find him a tutor. He will neglect such skills if you do not watch him. Here at Tonbridge Meg continues to be a solemn witness of events in this world. George is noisy and Richard contemplative. They are children of whom you should be proud. Did I not instil them with honour and pride and a duty to the noble cause of York, that terrible day in Ludlow? I swear that their royal blood will shine through whatever trials we are called upon to face.
I have told Anne that I am considering repentance, of making a confession of my sins. She does not believe me.
Here I make my oath, my dear love.
I will never turn from you. I will never abandon what we have worked for. Our love will last for all time. I pray for your safekeeping and your swift return when affairs are more stable. Commissions of array have been given, to prevent any further rebellion by you or your allies. I doubt you will be surprised that our son by marriage, the diabolical Exeter, is one of those so blessed.
You know my love for you. I cannot write it here.
I would ask you to rescue me, but I know that I must withstand the storms and torrents of our ill fortune. When will you find the need to write to me, to tell me of how you go on? By the Blessed Virgin, Richard. Surely you can employ a clerk if your energies are demanded elsewhere. Do you not have a dozen scribes at your command? I dislike being encumbered by this abhorrent silence.
Your most loving wife,
Cecily
Richard, Duke of York, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Dublin Castle
My most-beloved wife,
I read your anger between the words – indeed you have not exactly made an attempt to mask it, which tells me that you are still in good heart and very much the woman I admire. I acknowledge my fault in this, that I have been lax in sending word to you. It has been too dangerous to commit my plans to pen and ink. I accept your reprimand. It is good to know that you have retained your spirit despite the attack on your dignity and your skirmishes with your sister. It means everything to me when the world I knew is shaking on its foundations.
I have little news for you, except that we are alive and safe in Dublin where I am made most welcome as Lord Lieutenant. It is a relief not to have every action and thought picked over for hidden motives. The Irish will never hand me over to the enemy. It is my intention to summon a parliament in Dublin in early February. I am promised that if we work together to allow Ireland autonomy from England, I will receive finance, protection and an army of archers. All I could hope for. My allies from the days when we lived here have proved most generous and accommodating.
I know it will be high in your mind, but I must not yet speak of the future. Nothing is written clearly, nor would I wish for any plans to fall into the wrong hands. I accept your advice and agree that all is not advantageous for my return. I must rely on your patience and good sense to keep your faith strong. Our history, my dearest Cis, is not yet complete. One day we will be together again. One day our inheritance will be returned to us, I swear it.
I cannot write what is in my heart, but I know that I do not need to do so. You are aware of all I am, all I have ever been, and all I hope to be.
Hoping this reaches you safely through Katherine’s kindness. When secrecy no longer matters, I will write more.
You may take satisfaction from the castle here in Dublin being as inconvenient and draughty as it was when we were in residence. The walls still drip with damp and every wooden panel grows its own species of mould. It will be my punishment, while you are in luxury in Tonbridge.
Your most loving husband, in spite of all appearances to the contrary,
Richard
Edmund, Earl of Rutland, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Dublin Castle
To my most revered Mother,
My father says that I must write and tell you how I spend my days, to set your mind at ease. I am in good health now that we are settled in Dublin. I did not enjoy the sea crossing.
It will please you to know that I have at last been installed as Chancellor of Ireland, a position that has been mine since I was eight years old.
Do not expect me to write too often. The hunting here is very good, with fast runs after the deer. I have received a gift of my own wolfhound, called Cuchulain after the Hound of Ulster, the proud Irish hero. I have read about him. I do not have time for much reading.
I do not know when we will return to England.
Your affectionate and obedient son,
Edmund
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk
Written from Tonbridge Castle
My dear Kat,
Here you have a letter from an aggrieved wife.
I am not sure what I expected from Richard. A plan of action? A letter expressing his undying love? Even the briefest comment to relieve my concerns over his good health? I received none of those. I know no more than before his letter arrived. For all the personal touches it could have been written by his clerk. I would say it had been, if it were not for Richard’s instantly recognisable scrawl.
Richard seems comfortable taking up the reins of Lieutenant. Edmund has been confirmed as Chancellor. Shall I say what worries me? That my husband might be tempted to remain there and carve out a new realm for himself. Do you suppose that he sees himself as King of Ireland?
Meanwhile, I live in hope of better things. The temperature here is as cold inside as it is out. My sister Anne has handed the Legenda Sanctorum to me. She has taken up a French translation of Lucan’s epic poem Bellum Civile. In the circumstances I would much rather enjoy the warlike exploits of Julius Caesar and Pompey than the endless prosing of saints but Anne thinks Caesar and Pompey unsuitable for calming my mind.
My embroidery is improving, Anne tells me.
Diccon wishes to write to Edmund, so I have included this. George has no inclination to write to anyone. Please send it on when you are next in communication.
What is Beaumont doing? Still working hard to remain a recipient of Queen Marguerite’s smiles?
To do justice to Richard, he left me in no doubt of his affections, and his desire to be reunited with me. It’s just that I cannot see when it can ever happen.
Your affectionate but thwarted sister,
Cecily
Richard, youngest son of the Duke of York, to Edmund, Earl of Rutland
Written from Tonbridge Castle
Brother!
I wish I were there in Dublin with you. We are at Tonbridge Castle which is all very well but we are kept closely confined.
I would like a wolfhound. Could you send me one? I don’t suppose that would be possible.
If I cannot be with you in Dublin, I would wish to be with our cousin of Warwick. His fleet is raiding along the south coast of England, stealing ships and ravaging towns. It sounds like a pirate’s life and very exciting.
Our Lady Mother has helped me to write this. She says that my hand with a pen is lamentable. She hopes I will be better with a sword.
Your envious brother,
Diccon
Anne, Duchess of Buckingham, to her sister Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk
Written from Tonbridge Castle
Sister,
I mislike that Cecily writes to you so frequently. I do not approve of the tally of correspondence and I have threatened to read the contents. Cecily challenged me to do it, but I could not, in the face of her utter disgust.
I could shake Cecily! Does she not realise that York’s bid for power is well and truly dead? Her temper grows shorter by the day.
By the by. Do you have our mother’s remedy for the ague? I am suffering.
Your affectionate sister,
Anne
Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, to her sister Anne, Duchess of Buckingham
Written from Folkingham Castle
Sister,
In God’s name, give Cecily something cheerful to read. Something that is not sermons and saintly encouragement. The never-ending virtues of the Saints can be quite overpowering, not to say lowering to the spirits. And something other than in Latin. It was never her strong point. She is very anxious, as you would be if you lost your husband. She worries that Richard might not return. Cecily will soon come round to the reality of life.
I have no remedy against the ague. Our mother never suffered an ague in her life. With ten children to raise to adulthood she had no time for agues. Neither have I suffered such an inconvenience.
As always, your affectionate and always honourable sister.
I still resent your accusations.
Katherine
Cecily says that you are in need of a method of making carp interesting. My cook says to try this. Substitute carp for tench if you have a taste for it. It is not one of my favourite recipes.
A Recipe of Joan, Countess of Westmorland, for Tench in Sauce
Take a tench, scald it and roast it.
Grind pepper and saffron, bread and ale, and mix it all together.
Take onions, chop them and fry them in oil and mix them in.
Serve it forth.
Better than the eels, I would say.
Chapter Seven
The House of York Begins to Stir Again
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk
Written from Tonbridge Castle, March 1460
My dearest Kat,
All I hear is rumour.
The Neville Earls in Calais are taking up arms.
Salisbury and March and Warwick are plotting a return.
There’ll be an invasion from Calais before the year’s out.
As far as I can tell, there is no proof that anyone plans to do anything, much less put to sea. What Richard might be doing is shrouded in impenetrable fog.
George is becoming an expert collector of gossip, informing me that Ned is coming home because Sim, one of the grooms in the stable here, tells him so.
Perhaps it is true. What are we coming to, when the grooms know more than me? And what if they returned and were met with strong resistance from a royal army under Sir Richard Woodville and his son who are proving fervent supporters of the King and Queen? Would you care to write to Richard and warn him that my spirits are fast descending into hell?
My main concern is for Meg, for I see where her thoughts are straying. Who will she marry? She is of an age to have a husband chosen for her. Were not her sisters much sought after?
The problem now is who will look to the disinherited House of York for a bride? No one. My heart weeps for her. As it is, Meg is destined to remain a spinster and I, through default, a widow.
Your anguished sister,
Cecily
Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Epworth
Stop that, Cis!
This is all a product of isolation and self-pity! There is more than rumour to all this, even here in Lincolnshire. Every house talks of it, a ripple of excitement from those with Yorkist sympathies, and fear of what it might threaten from those who wish the impending invasion would simply go away.
I hear from Beaumont that Somerset, empowered by the Queen, is building a fleet in Sandwich, to invade Calais, put down the rebels, and take the Captaincy of Calais for himself. Not much chance of that, I’d say. March and Warwick have already poked Somerset’s nose. They’ve raided the port of Sandwich, then escaped back to Calais without harm. My guess is they’ll wait until Somerset’s fleet is rebuilt. Then strike again. Somerset remains bullish, but he must be cursing Warwick to the heavens.
Ned would seem to be finding his feet at sea under his cousin Warwick’s command.
Of your errant Richard I hear nothing. I don’t see that my writing to him will have any effect. It looks as if he may in all truth be considering a permanent position as King of Ireland. Could you not be resigned to living out your days in Dublin with an Irish crown to wear?
I’ll see if I can get any truth out of our brother Salisbury.
Tell Meg not to worry. One day she will be a much-desired bride. Have not I managed three husbands? And I have no call on either intellect or beauty, whereas she has the promise of both. She is very much your daughter, Cis. I wager that one day she will make a fine marriage.
Your hopeful sister,
Katherine
I have included a nostrum for guarding against headaches and melancholia. I use it when Beaumont becomes too Lancastrian for my Yorkist principles, although I advise you to administer it sparingly. It can be very powerful in its after-effects. I speak from experience.
As for your late slur on my liking for the ‘antique’ houppelandes, they are comfortable. I am too old to be dealing with close-fitting bodices, high girdles and bared shoulders.
A Nostrum of Wild Valerian: A most potent herb of Mercury
Collect the root in summer in moonlight.
Hang it to dry in the Still Room.
Powder the dried root and stir into a cup of heated wine.
Drink morning and evening.
Excellent against the trembling and palpitations.
Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Calais, March 1460
Cis,
I write care of Katherine as she tells me I must. Our plans to return to England from Calais come on apace and I can promise that there will be an invasion before the year is out. Our feet will be back on English soil again. My son and nephew are already making life difficult for Somerset. It is Warwick’s pleasure to thwart his plans at every opportunity, destroying his ships almost before they are built.
Even better, my son has sailed along the west coast, avoiding Exeter, to make contact with York in Waterford where, so he says, plans for his return are being laid. Warwick says there is little sign of such preparations but we must trust in York’s ambitions. Unless there is truth in the talk that he sees himself as King of Ireland.
Be patient and sit tight, Cis. You always were the most restless of my sisters. There is nothing to be gained from worrying over things that you cannot change.
Your brother,
Salisbury
Edmund, Earl of Rutland, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Dublin Castle
To my Lady Mother,
My father is still mightily occupied and so am I. My appointment as Chancellor of Ireland takes much of my time. We are safe and have much support here. When William Overey arrived from the Queen with writs for our arrest following our attainder, he was arrested instead, tried by my father, found guilty of inciting rebellion and disobedience, and promptly executed for treason. It was the first execution I have seen. It was not pleasant but necessary, so my father said.
The Queen has no sway here. The Irish are keen on their independence and they hope my father will remain. Did you know that we have our own Great Seal?
Rest assured, my father says that we will take no action that will endanger you, since you are the only one under the Queen’s hand who can be punished for our actions.
We are enjoying the hunting in the forests around the city.
We are in no danger. Every man of property has now to keep a mounted archer within his household to ride at a moment’s notice to defend Ireland against any English invasion.
I can think of no more that will interest you.
Your obedient son,
Edmund
Cecily, Duchess of York, to Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk
Written from Tonbridge Castle
What an unsettling letter this is from Edmund. It gives me no comfort at all. It seems more and more possible that Richard will remain in Ireland, creating a kingdom. Perhaps there never was a plan for him to return.
What do I do? Wait here in vain, or try to escape this bleak confinement to follow him?
Ignominiously, it appears that I am his weak spot in his planning, as I am the one under the control of the English crown, and so can be used as a pawn against him.
Richard is being wretchedly silent about it all.
The Wild Valerian does not help either.
Your increasingly desperate sister,
Cecily
Katherine, Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Epworth
Well, you ask my opinion, Cis. Do you truly need it? Living in adversity with Anne has robbed you of your strength of will. How can you be so indecisive!
You know what you must do.
Ask him, Cecily. Ask him plainly. Tell him what it is that you fear. What have you got to lose? The letter might fall into the wrong hands, but it’s not going to say anything the political world is not chattering about. It is not some Court secret that you are divulging. All the world is wondering if Ireland will have a King Richard in the near future.
Do it!
Or no. I will. I will take him to task for you. How can he leave you in permanent ignorance? You should expect a fast reply from Richard.
Katherine
I regret the inefficacy of the Valerian. Try instead an infusion of the new-grown leaves of the Greater Periwinkle. It is excellent in warding off nightmares and hysteria. You sound to be much in need.
Richard, Duke of York, to Cecily, Duchess of York
Written from Dublin Castle