Cicely's King Richard

by Sandra Heath Wilson

  Cicely studied Anne Neville, who did not look at all strong. Her dainty, very pretty face was the colour of parchment and her blue eyes had dark rings around them. She was gracious and friendly towards Elizabeth, who was finding the night very difficult indeed.

  When Elizabeth had been escorted to one of three chairs set out to one side of the dais, but not actually on it, Richard turned to Bess who, like Cicely, remained on her knees before him. He raised her, and Cicely saw how her fingers moved momentarily around his. He thought it was her nervousness, but her observant sister knew better. Bess managed to mask her feelings, and showed no other outward emotion as she too was conducted up to Anne, who received her with the same courtesy and favour as she had Elizabeth. As Bess was complimented upon her appearance, Cicely felt so sorry for Anne, whose primrose gown drained away what colour she had. Even her long, pale, almost strawberry-coloured hair, swept up beneath a rich, heavy headdress, was lacklustre. It was also shaven back from her forehead, a mode that Cicely knew Richard did not like. The gem-studded belt at the queen’s tiny waist showed how painfully thin she was. She looked as if he could snap her in two with one hand.

  As Bess went to sit with her mother, Richard turned to Cicely. ‘Come, sweet Cicely,’ he said with a smile, bending forward to take her hand. She managed to rise with what she prayed was sufficient elegance, but her hand shook and he felt it. ‘I fear this is all necessary, Cicely,’ he said quietly, that he would not be heard by everyone.

  ‘I am trying not to fall over myself.’

  He smiled. ‘You will not do that, for I am here to prevent it. Cicely, you will soon cease to be subject to such intense curiosity.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she answered honestly.

  He glanced around the silent, almost echoing hall, and with a sharp gesture signalled the minstrels to resume playing. The dancing recommenced, as did much of the merriment, but many eyes were still turned towards the king and his younger niece at the foot of the dais.

  Richard looked her from toe to head, and smiled. ‘You are becoming more beautiful by the day, Cicely.’

  ‘You tease me.’

  ‘No, I do not. Your loveliness is a match for your sister’s. It is . . . warmer.’

  ‘Now I know you are trying to make me feel better.’

  He smiled. ‘That is more like the Cicely I recall from the abbey. I was beginning to fear you had lost your spirit. You must think better of yourself, because in so many ways you put your sister in the shade. And before you suspect me of bolstering your courage again, let me add that I am not the only one to admire you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  He put a conspiratorial finger to his lips, but did not satisfy her curiosity. ‘Come, for my queen wishes to meet you.’

  He led her up to Anne, and to her relief, she managed to kneel with some semblance of elegance. Anne inclined her head and smiled. ‘Lady Cicely, you are truly welcome. You and your sister have become beautiful young ladies now, yet it seems not long since you were mere children.’

  Even her voice is pale and thin, thought Cicely as she kissed the skeletal hand. She was drawn to Richard’s kindly, hollow-eyed queen. ‘Your Grace, it is kind indeed of you to receive us so well and to have given us such magnificent wardrobes. We are very fortunate.’

  ‘Fortunate and fair.’ Anne smiled and raised her with a gentle hand. ‘You are my husband’s dear nieces, the children of his beloved brother. How else should we receive you but in kindness?’ Then she drew a long breath, clearly feeling unwell, and her eyes moved meaningfully to Richard, who took Cicely’s hand quickly.

  ‘Come, you were the first of my brother’s children with whom I spoke and so you shall be the first with whom I dance.’

  She was nervous as he led her to join the dancers. She and Bess had maintained their dancing lessons in the abbey, but was she good enough to tread a measure with a king? She was aware of Bess’s jealous gaze as she moved in time with Richard, twisting and turning, her hand ready when he had to take it. He moved with a light grace that belied the distortion of his back. He may not have been a giant as her father had been but, slender or not, his was a commanding figure, and in Cicely’s eyes he was by far the most handsome man in the room. But her eyes were that of a loving niece, not of a niece who would be his lover.

  As they performed the intricate steps, she saw how his eyes wandered continually towards the queen, who had begun to cough. One of her ladies was pouring her a goblet of wine, but still Anne coughed. Richard forgot the music and stood motionless as the dancing continued all around him. Cicely moved to his side. ‘Please go to her, Uncle.’

  His grey eyes swung to her. ‘Forgive me, for I mean you no discourtesy.’

  ‘I know that.’

  He caught her hand and squeezed appreciatively as he led her from the floor and up to the dais, where he left her in order to go to Anne, whose coughing had abated a little, although she looked like a wraith. Someone else was standing next to her now, John of Gloucester, leaning familiarly over to distract her by whispering something amusing in her ear. He was dressed in a mustard doublet and hose and a sleeveless, fur-trimmed jacket of russet velvet, and was already as tall as Richard. His silver-fair hair curled loosely to his shoulders, and as he looked kindly down at his father’s queen, Anne smiled up at him and patted his arm fondly.

  Then Richard was there, leaning down anxiously. ‘My lady? Anne?’

  ‘Please forgive me, my dearest lord, but I am feeling a little tired and would return to my rooms. It is nothing that cannot be soothed by a good rest. I will be well enough to travel in the morning.’ He took her thin hand and pressed it softly and lingeringly to his lips. It was not a mere gesture but an affirmation of love. But what sort of love? Cicely wondered, thinking of Anne’s first husband. The queen’s thin fingers closed momentarily around his and then he assisted her to stand. She bade Cicely and John a good night and then was gone with her ladies.

  Cicely felt sad as she watched the wraithlike figure move slowly towards the staircase. She knew—as did Richard—that the queen was not long for this world. But there had been something tepid in the way his wife had responded to him. Had it been because she was so unwell? Or was there some truth in the story that she had loved her first husband more?

  To Cicely it seemed there might have been unshed tears in Richard’s eyes as he turned quickly to his son. ‘John, she is more fragile with each day. I fear greatly for her.’

  ‘Perhaps now, with summer almost upon us, she will improve, Father.’ John’s hand moved out to him but then withdrew again.

  ‘I can only pray so.’ Richard mastered himself again, and spoke more briskly. ‘But now, I will present you to your sweet cousin.’ He drew her forward. ‘Cicely, this is my son, John of Gloucester.’

  All she saw were John’s grey eyes as he stepped forward and bowed low over her hand. ‘Cousin Cicely, I am your servant.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Richard clearly wished them both gone, for Anne was still on his mind. ‘John, I have just put up a lamentable performance in the dance — you must make it up to my niece, lest she believes all men of the north to be clumsy oafs.’

  As John conducted her down to join the dancing, she noticed how Ralph watched. His expression was set, and there was something on his face that conveyed he was now her implacable enemy.

  Of that dance she would remember but little, for she seemed to float on air. Her flesh quivered every time John’s hand touched hers. Never before had she experienced such emotion, and she needed all her strength and purpose to control the excitement that ruled each faltering step. But what of him? Did he even see her as a young woman, or was she merely a tiresome cousin with whom he must dance? His face betrayed nothing, and they spoke not a word.

  The stately dance came to its end and as the dancers bowed low to each other, Cicely’s attention was snatched away as Richard, still clearly worried about Anne, remembered his duty and approached Bess for the next dance. Bess came to life and light,
claiming everyone’s attention as she bent and turned to the music. She might have been formed of golden gossamer, and her shining gaze was turned so often to her king that Cicely was afraid she went too far. Please do not, Bess. Please.

  John spoke softly. ‘Cousin Cicely, shall we dance again? Or am I forgotten?’

  She turned with a start. He was leaning carelessly against the carved stonework of a pillar, an attitude so reminiscent of his father that she almost gasped. He was in the shadows, his fair hair dulled by the dim light, and he was curious. ‘What is it, Coz, do you see a ghost?’ Even his low laugh was Richard’s. He straightened and came closer, his hair restored to its silver-fair colour in the light from wall torches and the great wheel-rim candle holders suspended overhead.

  ‘I—I must apologize, sir,’ she managed to say, feeling gauche. ‘It is merely that you were so like your father just then that it quite startled me.’

  ‘It is no king you see before you, Cicely, only poor John of Gloucester, your devoted cousin and servant!’ He bowed extravagantly, and then hesitated. ‘Have I presumed by addressing you by name?’

  She looked into his eyes again. ‘No, sir, you do not.’ She felt hot, because she knew that was not the answer she should have given.

  ‘Will it be even more of a liberty if I beg you to call me John?’

  ‘I . . .’ These moments were far too forward. She should be aloof and pretend to be offended. But why be artful? She liked him very much, and was sure by his attitude that he liked her. ‘As I believe I was saying . . . John . . . your resemblance to the king is noteworthy.’

  ‘Why so? He is responsible for my existence on this earth and so I would expect to resemble him in some manner! Your resemblance to him is more remarkable. You seem more like father and daughter than uncle and niece—it has been com­mented upon.’

  His words touched a chord in her heart and she was back in time, her father’s arm slung carelessly around her. ‘Well, Richard, with that hair she is more your daughter than mine, eh?’

  ‘Cicely?’ John was awaiting a response.

  ‘My father once used those words, and so has yours since.’

  ‘He likes it that you resemble him. My father, that is. It amuses him that it has been wondered if he once coupled with your mother behind your father’s back.’

  ‘I know. He told me.’

  John was startled. ‘He did? That surprises me.’

  ‘I find it easy to talk to him, and he to me. I do not pretend anything to him, nor, I think, does he pretend to me.’

  ‘I am jealous that he is so deep in your confidence.’

  ‘Jealous?’ She smiled. ‘He is my uncle.’

  ‘True.’

  Their attention was drawn away because there was a stir as Richard conducted Bess back to her chair and then took his leave of the gathering. He was unable to stay away from Anne a moment more. ‘I do so feel for him, John,’ she whispered, tears pricking her eyes.

  John nodded. ‘He has much to bear. His son, my half-brother, is not at all well. It is the same with the queen.’

  ‘He and the queen love each other very much, do they not?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’ John looked at her.

  ‘Oh, nothing, it was just an observation.’

  He glanced at her a moment longer, and then lightened the moment. ‘I am truly glad you are King Edward’s daughter, because you otherwise would be my half-sister and I would blush to feel as I do.’

  She blushed. ‘Now you do presume, sir.’

  ‘And will presume even more. I find you most to my liking, sweet Cicely.’ He smiled, his eyes laughing.

  ‘You tease me.’ That was the second time she had been called sweet Cicely tonight, once by Richard, and once by his son. Other people had called her by that name as well, for the herb sweet cicely was common enough, but tonight it meant more.

  ‘No, upon my heart I do not.’ He placed his hand on his breast. Then he looked towards Ralph, who continued to watch from his place further along the hall. ‘Poor Ralph, he had great hopes of you.’

  ‘Does the whole of creation know about it?’ she demanded crossly. ‘He had no right to presume. I gave him no reason at all to think I would marry him.’

  John put his hand on her sleeve. ‘I do not for a moment imagine you did.’ He smiled. ‘After tonight I will no longer be in his confidence, I think.’

  ‘Did he really think I wished to marry him?’

  ‘Well, he gave my father cause to think it was a virtually settled matter, until you left no doubt it was not your wish. I am glad Ralph means nothing, because I mean to pursue you.’

  She laughed. ‘And what makes you think I will regard you with more favour than I did him?’

  ‘I know you do already,’ he answered quietly.

  ‘We have known each other for barely half an hour, and so you cannot possibly—’

  ‘But I do know, Cicely. And so do you.’ His eyes were serious, his voice soft.

  ‘That . . . is very forward,’ she whispered. Her heart was racing.

  ‘Is it not part of my irresistible charm?’ He spoke lightly, but drew her hand tenderly to his lips, dwelling over the moment.

  It could so easily have been art on his part, a knowing way that he had employed many times before with great success, but somehow she did not think so. ‘John, I—’ Something snatched her attention away to Bess, who was accepting Francis Lovell’s invitation to dance.

  John released her hand. ‘Your sister is very beautiful,’ he observed. ‘She has turned the heads of many men here tonight, and yet she notices no one. Is her heart given elsewhere?’

  She avoided his grey gaze. ‘I think she is a little shy, that is all.’

  ‘Shy?’ He snorted. ‘Cicely, please, she is most certainly not shy. She flirted outrageously with my father, testing her wiles, no doubt.’

  It was perilously close to the truth, and Cicely could not help drawing back. ‘Forgive me, I—I must go to my mother.’

  ‘Have I offended you?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then do not go.’

  ‘I must, John.’ She wished she had held her silly tongue, because she really wanted to stay. But it had been said, and she would look foolish if she changed her mind. She was angry with herself. If she could not remain calm when something, no matter how innocent, was said about Bess’s manner towards Richard, then she would do far more harm than good.

  For a moment his hand stayed her, but then he accepted. ‘Promise me we will speak again?’

  She smiled gladly. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I live until then,’ he said quietly. Again, it could so easily have been light flirtation, but she knew it was not. They looked at each other, silent exchanges between them, and then she hurried away. She still felt as if she lacked substance, and her heart pounded as it had never pounded before. She remembered what Bess had said, and knew that tonight she had met someone who would always mean a very great deal to her.

  She reached her mother, who was seated where she had been throughout. ‘Mother? I thought I would come to speak to you.’

  ‘Really? How very thoughtful,’ was Elizabeth’s dry response. ‘So, you flutter your doe eyes at Richard’s bastard?’

  Cicely did not reply. Could not her mother set sarcasm aside, just for once?

  Elizabeth’s critical glance moved over Cicely’s gown, and her lips pursed. ‘Hmm, you look well enough, I suppose. I would not have thought lavender was your colour.’ Then she gathered herself. ‘Well, as the king has departed, we will also. I have no wish to appear over-eager to enjoy the delights of court life once more.’ She stood, allowing no dissent from her dismayed daughter, who so regretted leaving John of Gloucester that she could have wept with the frustration.

  Bess was summoned from the floor, and Elizabeth led her daughters towards the steps up which Richard had gone only minutes before. Immeasurable pride carried Elizabeth, and she gave no intimation of the effort she had t
o make to disguise her hobble. She glared at her daughters when they moved to assist her.

  If Richard had still been present, Bess would not have left so willingly, but without him she had no interest in staying. As they reached the top of the staircase, Cicely turned, seeking but one face in that crowded hall. At last she saw John, still standing where she had left him, but accompanied now by Sir Robert Percy and Ralph Scrope, whose face was a study. He appeared to have just said something to John, and not received the response he required.

  For a fleeting moment she and John of Gloucester looked at each other again. He smiled, and she knew that she was already more than a little in love with Richard’s son.

  Chapter Ten

  Cicely awoke the next day to the sound of the royal cavalcade beginning to gather before the palace. She remembered that this was to be her first complete day free of the abbey, and with a flush of uncommon warmth she also recalled the moment Richard had presented his son to her, and then how they had danced together. Not that she could remember much about the dance, for she had been so excited, so swept away with happiness that she feared she would not even remember the steps. But after that, she remembered every word, every touch and every smile.

  Afterwards she had sent Biddy to ask discreet questions about him, and now knew that he had been born in 1468 in the great Yorkshire castle of Pontefract. That was his other name, John of Pontefract, but he was generally known as John of Gloucester. It was also known that he was very high in Richard’s favour. Of greater interest to Cicely was that Biddy had been unable to find any rumours of him having a sweetheart. There was one cloud upon her new horizon, however, because she did not know if he would accompany the king and queen when they set out for the north that morning.

  Later, after hearing Mass in the royal chapel, Cicely and Bess joined the great gathering in the hall for their breakfast, where Cicely was further disappointed by John’s continued absence. Indeed, none of the younger men in Richard’s household were there, because theirs was the task of preparing the uncompleted progress for the long journey.