She said it with such confidence that the girls did not doubt her in the least and began gazing out the windows several times a day to watch for their father’s livery.
February 11, 1471
Little celebration would take place on this day despite the fact that it was Elizabeth’s fifth birthday. Her mother had seemed so certain three months ago that her father would be rescuing them, but here they were still in rooms that felt increasingly cramped with food that was nothing compared to that of the royal kitchens. To a five year old, “soon” meant long before three months had gone by. Where was her father?
She was disconsolately sitting at the window, no longer really watching, but sitting there as a course of habit. Maybe her father would surprise her for her birthday. She could not make herself excited over the possibility. After all, if he hadn’t shown up for tiny Edward, she doubted that he would show up for her. She had heard her mother talking to her grandmother, Jaquetta Woodville, Lady Rivers, about a host of people with names that were familiar without understanding the real reasons why her father could not come home.
She had heard that the Earl of Warwick was supporting old Henry VI as King now, but didn’t understand why. Had he not fought with her father? Were they not cousins? How could there be so much confusion over who was king? Elizabeth was confounded by the events swirling around her.
She was roused from her reverie by her two half-brothers, Thomas and Richard. They were all that remained of her mother’s first marriage to the Lancastrian knight, Sir John Grey. She could see that some of their darker coloring must have been inherited from their father, but both were just as handsome as any son of Elizabeth Woodville would be expected to be. The boys bounded up to her holding out a lumpy, poorly wrapped package.
“A present for you, Bess!” they exclaimed together.
Forgetting her depression, she wiggled down from the window seat to see what the boys, had managed to bring to her. Lavish gifts were no longer the norm for the royal family after the long months in sanctuary, and she wondered how they had come up with one.
She eagerly took the package from their hands, forgetting her manners in her excitement, and pulled at the twine bow holding the scrap of fabric in place. “Oh!” she said softly as two bright colored oranges rolled out of the wrapping. Elizabeth felt tears come to her eyes as she remembered just a few days earlier when a basket had arrived from a local merchant with a note encouraging them not to be dismayed. York supporters had not forgotten them. The children had torn into the fruit like starving animals. She had thought it gone, but her brothers had saved the last, and most precious, of the fruit for her.
“They look wonderful,” she said as she craned her neck to look up at each of them. “Thank you.”
Richard, who was ten years old, was a handsome, if mischievous boy, though he did not share her coloring. His hair was darker and eyes brown, apparently taking after his father. Sir John Grey had been killed in 1461 at the second Battle of St. Albans fighting for Henry VI. Woodvilles were all staunch Yorkists now that Elizabeth Woodville was Edward’s queen.
Thomas, at sixteen, was too old to be considered a child, but his mother had insisted that he, too, flee with the family to sanctuary when Edward was forced into exile by his former friend and ally, the Earl of Warwick. The rugged, blond haired boy was straining for self-control in the confined quarters and had enjoyed occupying himself with plans to entertain the girls this day.
“You are very welcome, my lady,” Thomas said as he bowed and extended his arm to her. “Now if you will come with me to enjoy the day’s festivities.”
Elizabeth giggled before composing herself to mimic her brother’s seriousness. “That sounds delightful, my lord.” She placed her small hand upon his arm and allowed him to escort her into the next room where her sisters were already sitting on pillows waiting for the show to be put on by Richard and Thomas. They clapped as the three of them entered, and Elizabeth realized that the boys must have been planning this for days, knowing that they could use some cheering up. She kissed them each on the cheek before taking her seat.
Richard set a circlet that had been fashioned out of twigs onto her head and one of his own cloaks on her shoulders. Then Thomas announced, “Let the tournament begin!”
Thomas and Richard retreated to opposite sides of the room where they hoisted their makeshift jousting equipment and climbed onto broomstick destriers. Elizabeth was touched that Thomas, who was certainly too old to play this way, was doing it solely for his half-sisters’ amusement. The girls cheered uproariously as the boys jousted and dueled enthusiastically before them. When, at last, the boys stepped forward to bow before their sisters, Elizabeth put on her most royal princess countenance and posture in place of a crown. She rose and complimented them on their knightly bravery and aptitude.
“Thank you so much for putting on this show for us today,” she added more informally.
She was enveloped in a group hug with her siblings. Though she was momentarily happy, she couldn’t help but wonder where they would be when her next birthday arrived.
April 1471
Elizabeth’s mother never tired of reveling in the plans that her father would be making when he returned. If he returned. As for the little girls, they only dreamed of running through fresh grass and picking wildflowers. The betrothals and alliances that might be made upon the return of the king were still quite beyond them.
Certainly a suitable match would be made for Elizabeth, but she thought little about it. The queen did not seem to have any doubts about Edward’s return to England and its throne, but as the months dragged by, Elizabeth began to wonder if she would ever see her father again. She often caught herself staring out the window, daydreaming about people whose lives were moving on as they sat in the same rooms day after day.
The reverie was broken when a flash of movement caught her eye. She sat in the same faithful window seat as she had every other day for months now. The adventures of her imagination flitted away like a shadow. She peered through the window, attempting to discern through the rain, the never ending rain, what had stolen her attention. It was a young man dressed as a page who looked vaguely familiar.
When he was given entrance, he announced that he was in the service of Cecily Neville, Duchess of York and Elizabeth’s grandmother. Excitement rose from deep within her. She was aware that her grandmother would only send a message to her mother if she absolutely had to. Even at only five years old, the snippets of speech and condescending looks her grandmother aimed at her mother had not gone unnoticed.
The queen hastily passed baby Edward to Matilda and grasped the note from the dripping messenger. She tore it open as though it contained the Holy Grail, and rightly so for it contained the message that Edward, with his brother Richard, had landed at Ravenspur two weeks earlier.
Hurriedly replacing her almost maniacal look with one more suited to a queen, Elizabeth’s mother formally thanked the young man and invited him to dry himself by the fire. Immediately forgetting him, she turned to her daughters and announced, “Your father will be here soon!” More quietly she added, “To reclaim his family and his kingdom.”
In the days following this momentous visit, the queen regained her zeal for life and applied that passion to ordering her children and servants to complete an endless list of tasks in preparation for Edward’s arrival. Rooms must be cleaned, trunks must be packed – for certainly they would not be remaining here for long, and the girls must be made presentable to stand before the king. Elizabeth did not even mind her mother’s short temper, for her father would arrive any day now!
Rumors came to them in the coming days, and it was more frustrating than ever before to be trapped in sanctuary. This place they had fled to for their safety felt like a prison, and they were never more anxious to leave it than when their rescue was close at hand. One day the boy who brought their bread from a faithful Yorkist baker whispered that Edward was headed for London with his army. George of Clarence
, Edward’s brother who had helped send him into exile when he joined Warwick, had defected back to Elizabeth’s father, putting the Lancastrians into a more difficult position. Would London welcome her father or close its gates to him as ordered by Warwick? The queen still seemed outwardly confident, but Elizabeth saw the fine lines racing away from her eyes and caught the slouch of her shoulders when she thought nobody was looking.
Would London hold for Henry VI or shove him aside for Edward IV?
It was Holy Week and Elizabeth spent much time on her knees, beseeching the Lord to be with her father and uncles. Her mother often found her in prayer and would join her briefly before returning to tasks that she found more practical in the preparation for the return of her king. On Maundy Thursday, Elizabeth heard cheering erupt out on the street. She ran to her window seat but could not ascertain if the praise was for her father.
“My sweet Elizabeth,” she heard a deep, masculine voice behind her say.
Fountains of joy burst within her, and she turned and jumped down from her ledge only to stop short. Her father was embracing her mother, and it was to her those precious words were directed. Struggling to control the blush she felt racing across her cheeks, she fell into a curtsey as she had been practicing since hearing of her father’s return to the country.
Soon, she felt his large, calloused hand on her chin. “Is this beautiful young lady truly my little princess?” her father asked.
She rose with the pressure of his hand and solemnly responded, “Yes, father.”
“Then come here and kiss your father,” he exclaimed, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her up into the air.
Elizabeth squealed happily and felt relief flood through her. Her father had returned and did indeed still love her. Her slender arms circled his neck and she held on as though she were afraid he may change his mind. “I missed you so,” she whispered in his ear.
“And I missed you, my darling Bess.”
She closed her eyes and drank deeply of the scent and feel of being in her father’s arms. Her mother would insist that he take a bath, but Elizabeth didn’t mind that he smelled like horses and sweat. He felt strong and solid as the Tower of London.
“And who are these lovely ladies?” he asked, and Elizabeth was dismayed that she was going to have to share him with her sisters.
“Oh, father, you know it is Mary and Cecily,” she said without releasing her grip upon him. When she peeked at her sisters, she saw that Mary looked in awe and uncertain while Cecily looked purely terrified.
“Surely, you remember our father,” she admonished her sisters.
Edward shifted her to one arm while reaching out with the other as he stooped down to the little girls’ level. “Their father has been gone a long time for ones so young,” he whispered to Elizabeth. “They are not yet as quick and mature as you.”
She grinned and was willing to allow her sisters to share in their father’s affection after hearing this.
“Good day, father,” little Mary said with a clumsy curtsy.
“Ah, that’s enough formality, isn’t it?” said Edward. “Come here, my Mary.”
Mary overcame her uncertainties and threw herself into Edward’s waiting arm. Cecily looked like she was struggling to decide whether or not to join her sisters with this man she did not remember.
“Father, you stink!” said Mary as she pulled back and wrinkled her freckled nose at him.
He laughed deeply and loudly. “I’m sure that I do,” Edward admitted unashamedly. “I’d be willing to wager that your mother has disappeared to order me a bath, and a well deserved one it is, too.” He kissed Mary on the forehead and released her. Elizabeth still clung to his other side with no plans of releasing him until she had to.
“Cecily….” He reached out to her as he said her name, but Cecily dissolved into tears.
“Cecily!” Elizabeth shouted. “How could you treat our darling father so?” She looked to him in apology for her small sister’s offense.
“There now, it’s quite alright,” he said as he detangled himself from her grasp. “She will be happy to be with her father in no time.” He looked to his wife standing in the doorway to the next room. “It appears that now I am to be bathed.” The queen smiled in a way that Elizabeth had not seen since they had taken up residence in the abbey.
“Mother, you must speak to Cecily,” Elizabeth commanded, but her mother motioned to Matilda to comfort Cecily before closing the door behind her and her husband.
Elizabeth approached Cecily and Matilda, who was attempting to wipe away her tears. “Now why would she let Cecily misbehave that way? Certainly father has servants to help him bathe.”
“Certainly, he does,” Matilda admitted with a smile, but she did not seem surprised that Cecily had not been reprimanded.
Later, an uncommon amount of time later for something as simple as a bath Elizabeth thought, Edward and his wife rejoined their cluster of girls. Elizabeth and Mary settled on his lap, while Cecily sat nearby. She had dried her tears but continued to look uncertain of this giant of a man, who everyone claimed was her father. The queen smiled at her husband as if they shared a secret as she slipped from the room. That is when it hit Elizabeth. The Prince! Her father had his little Edward and would no longer care that Elizabeth was his oldest child because she was a girl. Sure enough, her mother reentered the room with a small bundle and a satisfied smile.
“Here is your son,” she said.
Edward deposited the girls on the floor as he rose from his seat. Slowly, as if he was a little afraid – but that was silly, this man who had taken on armies from the age of sixteen could not be afraid of a newborn – he approached his son.
“My love, you have given me everything a man could desire,” he said as he gazed at the baby boy.
He wasn’t that remarkable, thought Elizabeth. Though she had to admit her baby brother was much more attractive now than he had been that first day. Her father would not be as impressed if he’d seen him then.
Edward kissed his son and his wife in turn before moving his eyes back to his daughters who seemed to be eagerly awaiting his judgment of their brother.
“What a blessed prince he is, too, with three lovely sisters,” he said happily as he put his hands out to them.
Elizabeth was the first to fling herself into his arms.
“You will be a wonderful help teaching our little prince how to behave, will you not, Elizabeth?” her father asked.
“Of course, father,” she responded, seriously adding, “But he does not do much besides cry and eat.”
Edward grinned. “I’m sure you are right. Please let me know when he acquires more notable skills.”
Elizabeth nodded and smiled as she laid her head on his shoulder. He understood, and he loved her.
As they all sat together as a family for the first time in six months, Elizabeth focused on the feel of her father’s strong, warm arms holding her while conversation swirled around the room.
Her brother, Thomas, had many questions about where Edward had been and what he was going to do next. Young Richard seemed in awe, not only of his step-father, but his older brother as well. It was overwhelming to Elizabeth, this talk of who would side with who and how they were all related. Reveling in the warm fire and feeling of security, her eyelids drooped and her chin slowly drifted down to her chest. She just hoped that her father would stay right where he was.
It was not to be as Elizabeth wished. The next day, servants hustled about moving the last of the queen’s and princesses’ things from the abbey to Grandmother Cecily’s London residence, Baynard’s Castle. Even more were scurrying in preparation for Edward’s army to move out to meet that of Margaret of Anjou, known to the Lancastrians as Queen of England.
~~~~
How Elizabeth longed for peace, not because she was aware enough to be concerned about the thousands of soldiers who would be barbarically throwing themselves at one another, but because it would mean more visitors a
nd freedom. The idea that men were out there preparing to die either for her father or in an attempt to steal his throne was still too far beyond her comprehension.
A line of wagons piled high with the queen’s and her children’s things made their way to the duchess of York’s castle nestled into place on the bank of the Thames. Elizabeth tilted her head back to see the top of the hexagonal towers and high turrets. The huge stone complex looked like it would stand forever and gave her a feeling of security that she had not felt in the months spent at the abbey. She closed her eyes as the sun warmed her face and wished that she could lie in the grass enjoying the contrast between the cool ground and the heat of the sun. The jolting of the carriage brought her from her reverie and she saw her grandmother’s servants lined up to assist with the family’s things.
Soon she was settled into a lovely set of rooms with her sisters. Baby Edward, of course, had his own private suite with a fleet of caregivers from wet-nurses to rockers to laundresses. Duchess Cecily had welcomed them kindly but formally. Elizabeth didn’t think her grandmother knew how to be informal and affectionate. She wondered how her father had learned to be warm and jovial. For the first time, she wondered what had happened to her father’s father whom she had never met.
Matilda came in with Mary and Cecily in tow. With their father back in London, they saw less of their mother. The joyous family reunion they had enjoyed when he first returned was a flash of familial harmony and togetherness that was quickly extinguished.
“Lady Elizabeth, are you practicing your lute?” Matilda asked.
Elizabeth slid the instrument off her lap and pushed it aside with disdain. “Not really,” she replied.
Faithful Traitor: The Story of Margaret Pole (Plantagenet Embers Book 2) Page 31