Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York

by Samantha Wilcoxson

  Elizabeth, too sweet, or maybe too naïve, to believe just how many people present were picturing her as England’s next queen, spent the next few moments daydreaming about who her uncle would match her to and whether she would get to remain in England or be married to a foreign noble. At least she would be saved from her mother’s proposed match for her to Henry Tudor.

  She decided to step outside despite the cold in order to clear her head of the competing thoughts racing around her brain and to walk privately where she would not feel so much on display. The gardens were desolate and frozen. No longer did the smell of wet earth and greenery permeate the air, but she still took pleasure in the quiet calmness of the bare branches and browned grasses. Taking a deep breath of cold, clear air, she looked up to the heavens and wondered what God’s plan for her life would be. She was too old to be at the court of her uncle with her mother and sisters. She needed to begin a family of her own and was anxious to hear her uncle’s plans to this end.

  With a sigh, she pulled her mantle tighter around her and allowed her mind to turn over her past broken betrothals. Her father had certainly had plans for her, but whatever his hopes had been had died with him almost two years ago.

  First he had promised her to George Neville when she was a small girl. Now that she was old enough to understand such things she marveled at her father’s confidence that he would eventually be presented with a son. Planning to marry his oldest daughter to a relative of Warwick’s was just one of the many moves made in an attempt to appease the ambitious earl. This plan had been disposed of, and George Neville had gone to God shortly thereafter.

  A second and more impressive betrothal had been made to Charles, Dauphin of France. More appropriate for the firstborn of the King of England, this planned marriage had been greatly celebrated by both of her parents. Elizabeth’s mother had dreamed of the day her daughter would become the Queen of France and required that all in the household refer to Elizabeth as Madame la Dauphine. Her father had insisted upon the best of schooling for her in English and in French to prepare her for the duties of queenship.

  When Charles was instead married to the daughter of Maxmilian, Holy Roman Emperor, in December 1482, it was a crushing blow. Followed so closely by the death of her father, it almost seemed that Elizabeth’s troubles had truly begun that day she was informed that she would hereafter be addressed as Lady Elizabeth.

  With her father dead and her brothers missing, she had only the marriage prospect proposed by her mother to consider. Thank God her uncle had thought of her!

  “Bess, what are you doing out in the cold?”

  Her sister’s voice broke her reverie and she gladly turned to walk arm in arm with her toward the palace.

  “I just needed some time to myself.”

  “It is rather loud and chaotic inside,” Cecily said with a smile that indicated she didn’t mind the noise or crowd at all. “Anne has retired for the evening.”

  Elizabeth took a slow, deliberate breath before speaking. “I fear for her health, sister, though I would not say it to any but you.”

  Cecily squeezed Elizabeth’s arm. “She did not look well this evening despite her ladies best efforts to put forth a painted countenance and padded dress.”

  “You knew her dress was padded?”

  “Surely you guessed as well.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Not until I embraced her and felt the thin bones beneath.”

  Cecily turned toward her and grasped both arms. “Bess, you are too innocent and optimistic! All see that the queen is dying. The only question remaining is if our uncle intends to have you replace her.”

  Elizabeth pulled away. “Not you, too, Cecily!”

  Not easily offended, Cecily took hold of her sister again. “Yes, me, too. Bess, you must look at things as they are. Think about them from Richard’s point of view. His wife is dying. He needs a son. He also happens to have a beautiful young woman of royal blood in need of a husband residing at court. Surely you are not so blind that you cannot see his love for you.”

  “He loves us as his brother’s children!”

  “As long as you keep convincing yourself of that, there is no point in us discussing it further,” Cecily said, releasing her.

  It was Elizabeth’s turn to reach for her sister. “I do not want to argue. You are my best friend, but you are allowing rumor and gossip to color your thinking.”

  “And you are allowing your better nature to veil yours.”

  “Why would Anne be such a good friend to me if any truth were in such tales?”

  “Because she wants you to know that she understands and does not blame you. She desires you to feel no guilt when she is gone. She would do anything for Richard.”

  Elizabeth stopped short and pulled her sister closer. In a harsh whisper she asked, “Do you truly believe that? You believe Richard intends to marry me?”

  Looking deep into her sister’s eyes, Cecily whispered back, “I do.”

  When she lay in bed that night after several more hours of merrymaking, Elizabeth was still sifting her sister’s words through her mind, recalling her look of intensity and absolute certainty. She knew that she should be offended by the idea of her father’s brother intending to take her to the marriage bed, but the idea was far from repulsive to her. As she drifted into sleep, her dreams were formed of images of her fingers in his dark hair and his firm arms wrapped around her.

  Elizabeth counted her blessings when the next few days did not bring her into close contact with Richard. She knew that she would not be able to hide or explain away the blush that rose to her cheeks when seeing him brought her nocturnal thoughts to the forefront of her mind in the light of day. Feeling guilty and ashamed, she sought out her sister’s company instead. They spent the afternoons walking in the gardens, examining fabrics to make choices for new gowns, and carefully avoiding mention of their Christmas conversation.

  February 1485

  Watching Anne’s health decline, Elizabeth couldn’t help but be reminded of others who had gone to God. Mary and her father especially invaded her thoughts at this time. She smiled as examples of Mary’s candor flitted through her memories.

  “Oh, Mary,” she sighed to herself. “If you were here, you would just march right up to our uncle and demand to know his intentions.” The picture of her sister, who would always be fourteen years old in Elizabeth’s mind, forcing the king to reveal his plans made her laugh out loud. The lonely sound echoed around her empty rooms. No one had a need to call on a bastard princess, and she was alone with her morbid thoughts.

  Her father, so strong and invincible. If only he had truly been so! If only he were here now. His musical laugh would cheer her, and his skill for putting all in order would relieve her fears for the future. Most likely she would be married by now if it weren’t for his untimely death. Then thoughts of marrying her uncle would not have ever occurred to her.

  Then there were the little ones, a sister named Margaret who had lived only a few months during Elizabeth’s sixth year and a brother George. George, named for her father’s brother, George of Clarence, had lived just two years before proving that the plague could not be held back by riches or royal status. Elizabeth’s parents had consoled themselves with the fact that they still had two sons, Edward and Richard. Elizabeth wondered if she would ever see them again or if they would live out their lives in hiding.

  Still she felt sympathy for Anne and frequently visited her. Anne now kept to her rooms with no pretending toward normalcy. Elizabeth provided a listening ear, her own stories when Anne tired of talking, and prayers when nothing else seemed to help. She loved Anne, though she would not object to replacing her in the king’s bed. Elizabeth knew that none besides Cecily would understand her conflicted feelings and confided them only to her, finding comfort in the fact that Cecily insisted that Anne knew and understood as well.

  A tentative knock sounded at the door.

  “Yes, come in,” Elizabeth said as she cleared
the ghosts from her mind.

  “Hello, sister,” Cecily smiled as she floated into the room. Elizabeth envied her lightheartedness that made her radiate beauty.

  “I’m happy you’re here to save me from my dreary thoughts,” Elizabeth admitted as she embraced her younger sister.

  “Ah, you worry about Anne.”

  “She seems too wasted to last much longer.”

  “True.” She took a breath before continuing. “Another issue is bothering me.”

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked, examining her sister for signs of distress. Never did Cecily’s concerns reach her face.

  “Have you had any letters from our brothers?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I have sent several, but have yet to receive a reply.”

  “Does this not worry you?”

  Standing and walking to the window, Elizabeth considered a moment before responding. “Both Richard and Anne have assured me of our brothers’ safety.” She turned back toward Cecily. “There is the difficulty of taking letters and supplies to and from them without it being made clear where they are residing.”

  “Yes,” Cecily said doubtfully. “But bringing a letter back should not be complex once one is delivered. Surely our Edward would write even if Richard is too occupied with more recreational pursuits.”

  Elizabeth knew her sister was correct, but also did not believe that the king and queen would lie to her. She shrugged. “I don’t know what else to say. Where do you believe they are kept?”

  “I’m wondering if their bodies do not reside beneath the Tower grounds,” Cecily whispered.

  A quick intake of breath was Elizabeth’s only response.

  “Do not be offended, Bess!” Cecily beseeched as she reached for her sister’s hands. “I have supported you in everything, but why does he hide the truth of our brothers from us?”

  Still slowly shaking her head, Elizabeth mumbled, “I do not know.”

  Cecily persisted. “Why did he declare us illegitimate, yet hide them away? And he is still willing to marry you for your claim to the throne!”

  “Cecily, no!”

  “I think you must carefully consider whether you should trust and accept this man.”

  “Do you not think that it is often at the forefront of my mind, Cecily? One moment, I believe myself in love – there I have said it – and the next, I wonder if he shouldn’t be my most despised enemy. I am surrounded by conflicting rumors, advice, and evidence!”

  Elizabeth had taken up pacing but now stopped short before the window and stared out at the cold, wintery landscape that did little to cheer her. It took only seconds for Cecily’s arms to find their way around Elizabeth’s waist. She held her tight with her head rested on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

  “I apologize, Bess. I only want what is best for you.”

  Elizabeth loosened Cecily’s arms just enough to turn and return the embrace. Tears had sprung to her eyes, so she buried her face in her sister’s hair.

  “Will nothing ever be certain for us? Are we to live our lives wondering what happened to our brothers, if our uncle is our savior or our nemesis? What if I am expected to marry him?”

  “Is it not your wish?” Cecily asked, shifting enough to see Elizabeth’s face.

  Elizabeth let out a long sigh. “Sometimes there is nothing I want more.” She gave her sister a stern look that told her this should go no further. “Other times, I believe that I am as naïve as our mother accuses me of being.”

  “And I have not made it easier on you. I am sorry, Bess.”

  Cecily loosened her hold on her sister to search within the folds of her dress for something. “I almost forgot. I have not heard from Edward or Richard, but I do have a letter from our brother, Thomas.”

  “From Brittany?” Elizabeth pulled Cecily to her bed where they pulled the hangings to further block out prying eyes. “What is his news?”

  “I know it only adds to the confusion that he has gone into exile with Henry Tudor.” Cecily glanced at Elizabeth to see her reaction to the mention of her betrothed, but she had been long trained to not allow her emotions to reach her face.

  “And?” Elizabeth prodded impatiently.

  “It seems that an invasion was attempted in October.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “An invasion that nobody felt fit to tell us about.”

  “They came on the heels of our uncle of Buckingham’s rebellion. Apparently the armies were supposed to have been coordinated. Henry could see that the plan had failed and decided not to land. Richard continues to attempt to convince those around him to turn him over.”

  “I still cannot see why Harry, of all people, turned against Richard. Were they not the closest of friends?”

  Cecily pressed her lips tightly together and wrinkles of thought lined her forehead. “I just don’t know, Bess. Sometimes I feel as though there is so much going on that nobody is telling us.”

  “And our only remaining brother has chosen to side with Tudor.”

  “Well, after Richard was executed with our uncle Anthony . . .” Cecily let the thought trail off. There was no need to continue. It was one of the events that still pierced Elizabeth whenever she started feeling too strongly for Richard. How could he have had them executed?

  “What else does Thomas write?”

  “Not much, of course,” Cecily continues. “He would not give away Tudor’s plans or name the many who have joined him. He expresses joy that you are to be joined to Henry.”

  Elizabeth forced herself not to roll her eyes. “Do you believe that I should be considering it, Cecily? Marriage to a man our father kept in exile over one he trusted with our lives?”

  “I do not believe that it will be your choice.”

  ~~~~

  On March 16, Anne died as an eclipse of the sun left Englishmen wondering if it were the sign of new beginnings or a curse upon their land. The official story released was that Anne had fallen asleep in her husband’s arms and peacefully slipped away. Elizabeth knew that it had been much more dramatic and less romantic with Richard shoved aside by physicians as they attempted to keep Anne from asphyxiating on the blood that she continuously coughed up.

  Tears slid down Elizabeth’s cheeks matching the pace of the rain running in rivulets down the thick, blurry glass of the window in her chamber. Forcing other consequences and decisions away for a few days of mourning, she thought only of the sweet, small girl who had been destined to be queen. First as the child-wife to the Lancastrian heir, then as beloved consort to an unexpected Yorkist king, Anne had lived briefly, but for greatness. Had she regretted any of it?

  She thought of Anne’s auburn hair, lustrous and thick when she first joyously married Richard, dull and thin the last time Elizabeth had spoken to her days before her death. Anne’s small hands had held her own, just as they had at Christmastime. Frail and aged compared to Elizabeth’s, yet it had been Anne’s hands patting hers in comfort and love. Her brown eyes had become watery with fever, but had never lost the glow of intelligence and awareness.

  Elizabeth would miss Anne as much as her siblings and father who had welcomed her to heaven.

  ~~~~

  In the days following Anne’s funeral, Elizabeth began to wonder if all the gossip had indeed been just that. Her uncle Richard had not sought her out and seemed devastated by the loss of his wife, though she had been withering away for close to a year. Cecily had not wished to speak of it since they still had no word from their brothers, no reassurance of any kind that the letters that they were writing were actually reaching the hands of the boys. Without being able to pour her heart out to her closest confidant, Elizabeth felt neglected and alone. In desperation she went to her mother.

  “Lady mother,” she said as she swept into a curtsey in front of the former queen.

  “Please rise, child,” said her mother in a tone that evinced more impatience than affection.

  “I have come to see how you fare since Anne’s death. I know you were fond of her,” El
izabeth said as she rose and moved to sit near her mother.

  “Of course I am fine. I have survived much deeper wounds than the loss of a sister-in-law.”

  Though her voice was harsh, Elizabeth detected softness in her mother’s eyes that indicated that she did mourn Anne Neville, despite her desire for people to think otherwise. Feeling somewhat guilty for not visiting her more often, Elizabeth grasped at her mother’s hand and attention.

  “I am truly glad that it is not too much of a burden for you to bear. You have been through too much already.”

  Elizabeth’s mother seemed taken aback by her daughter’s kindness. It took her a moment to form her next words.

  “Anne was a lovely girl. I do believe that she and Richard had always loved each other in some way.”

  “Mother! Even when she was married to Prince Edouard?”

  With a knowing smile on her face, her mother answered. “Maybe especially then. Lord knows that we are not usually blessed enough to marry for love. I am sure that Anne was thankful for her years with Richard.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t remember her mother ever speaking so positively about her uncle and decided that it was a good time to speak of her feelings.

  “I can understand how Anne felt.”

  Her mother sighed and patted her hand. She looked at her daughter who was as beautiful as she had been at that age. It did not seem vain to her to acknowledge her own beauty. The girl could have any man. Why would she choose Richard?

  “You are betrothed to Henry Tudor.”

  Pulling her hand from her mother’s grasp, Elizabeth stood and paced to the window, willing herself under control before speaking. “Must you continue to insist upon that nonsense?” Turning away with her hands reaching toward the heavens as though praying for divine intervention, Elizabeth took another moment before turning back to her mother. “Don’t you see? Henry Tudor will never be welcome in England. Will never amount to anything! Why would you have me chained to him when I could marry for love and be queen?”