Daughter of York (24 page)

“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.

“Aye, brother, Lady Margaret is apprised. I felt certain Mother or Father would have told you of the meeting with her at Westminster the other evening. She and I have become friends, have we not, Margaret?” She kept hold of Anthony’s hand and picked up Margaret’s. “Let us all three be friends. Edward would like that.”

“Why, Elizabeth, Mar—Lady Margaret and I are already friends, and I shall be escorting her to the scriptorium with the good brother, if she will allow.” Anthony smiled at one and then the other, and Margaret felt him press her hand slightly. “But first, I must see to my wife, who seems to have lost her baggage. I told her she should not come, for such a journey takes a toll on her, but she insisted.” He looked mournfully at Margaret before loosing both their hands and turning to go.

“Eliza is a bore, Anthony. You should have made her stay at home! Now Lady Margaret and I will have to look after her.” Looking as though she had a nasty odor under her nose, she said to Margaret, “Wait until you meet her. You will wonder how Anthony spends more than an hour with her.”

“How unkind, Bessie,” Anthony responded, although without much
vehemence. “She is prone to sickness and not particularly interesting, I grant you, but in truth, she is a dutiful wife to me, and you have no right to deride her thus.” He murmured his farewells and left, leaving Elizabeth staring after him.

Margaret looked away to hide her dismay. Eliza Scales here? Aye, she knew Anthony was married. She had always known he was married. But it was quite another thing actually to see him with his wife. She walked to the window and fiddled with the casement latch.

“’Tis odd, Margaret—I may call you Margaret, may I not?” the queen asked and knowing Margaret could not refuse, did not wait for a reply. “Anthony has never cared for Eliza, although he is kind to her, more than she deserves, I am bold to say. They have no children, and he often tells me how he envies me my two boys. How he has longed to have a son.”

Margaret turned back, determined to show nonchalance. “’Tis odd, Elizabeth”—she matched Elizabeth’s disregard for politesse—“but in all our conversations, Lord Scales has never talked to me of his wife. We were always talking of other matters, such as books.” And we have kissed, she would love to have told the cool Elizabeth, but instead she changed the subject abruptly. “Where in heaven’s name is Fortunata? Jane!” she called out, and her lady-in-waiting hurried in. “Where is Fortunata? I need something for my headache.”

M
IARGARET AND
E
LIZABETH
listened spellbound as Edward recounted what happened at the Great Council. Ned loved telling stories and heaved his six-foot-three-inch frame from his chair to present the unfolding drama to his wife and sister.

“Warwick was already testy when several of my councilors, Anthony included, questioned Louis’ real intentions. It seems no one trusts the man”—he thumped his chest—“least of all
me.
Margaret of Anjou’s favorite, de Brézé, is still at Louis’ side, and I do not want a rift with Burgundy. Our wool trade depends on it. Warwick laughed at everyone and assured us Louis’ motives were pure. Ha! That spider weaves such a web, even the tiniest midge could not escape its sticky traces. But his words consoled the others, who decided to add Bona to the discussion, saying they were eager for me to make a great alliance with France. And would I not like to be married?”

Elizabeth chuckled, and Edward smiled his adoration. Margaret cleared her throat loudly. “So what did you say, Ned?”

Edward dragged his eyes from Elizabeth. “Ah, yes, what did I say? I said, ‘I will be glad to be married and hope you will be happy with my choice,’ and they looked mightily puzzled. ‘This sounds as though you have made one,’ Will said. And I said, ‘Indeed I have. In fact, I am already married.’”

The two women looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Just like that, Ned?” Margaret spluttered.

“Oh, Edward, you are brazen. Come here, my love, and let me kiss that mischievous mouth,” Elizabeth said, beckoning. Edward acquiesced without a moment’s hesitation, and Margaret interrupted them impatiently.

“I beg of you, Ned, save your affection for later. I need to know. What did Warwick say?”

“Nothing. He said nothing and nor did anyone else. They stood in silence staring at me like puny clodpoles, so I repeated my statement—politely, certes! ‘My lords and trusted councilors, I say again, I am already married.’ Warwick finally found his tongue, and he was cool, I’ll give him that.” Edward grinned as he remembered and struck a pose that might have come from the earl’s repertoire. “‘Your grace, my liege, I beg of you explain this nonsense. How can you be married without our permission,’” Edward imitated the earl’s stentorian baritone well. “I replied, ‘
Your
permission, my lord? Since when has a king needed permission from an earl?’”

“Ned, how could you?” Margaret bemoaned his immaturity. “He is our cousin, and he helped you to the throne.”

“He is a power-hungry pest, Margaret. He needs to learn his place!” Edward leveled his angry gaze at her, and she flushed.

Elizabeth patted her hand in the first sisterly gesture she had made. “Edward, do not speak to Margaret thus. She is quite right. You should not make an enemy of Warwick. He could spell trouble for you.”

Edward was at once contrite. Margaret was awed to see how Elizabeth calmed him. Perhaps this was not such a bad match after all, she thought. Ned needs a level head by him. Will Hastings was his closest friend and adviser, but he was not always circumspect and seemed to spend much of his time enjoying wine, food and women when the politics of the day were ended. Edward often went along for the ride, George had told her. And
George, trained as she and Richard had been in Cecily’s school of morals, did not approve.

“What did my lord of Warwick say then?” Elizabeth asked.

Margaret could imagine the man’s fury—everything he had worked for over the past year with the French seemingly in ruins. Louis was even now awaiting word from him, she knew. She shivered for her brother.

“He did not have the chance to respond,” Ned said. “Will stepped up and asked me who it was I had wed, and”—he paused and looked contrite—“I have to admit I felt guilty Will had been excluded from our secret, Bess. He is a good man and true. Why did you not allow me to tell him? He looked betrayed.”

Margaret was again astonished by Ned’s deference. ’Twas Elizabeth Grey who had forbidden the king to tell his closest adviser. Hers was a serious influence indeed. She fleetingly wondered if Jacquetta had bewitched Ned into falling in love with her daughter. After all, Jacquetta was descended from that siren Melusine, half woman, half sea serpent, and more than one rumor had circulated around the court that she was not above sorcery.

“Bah! He will get over it, Edward.” Elizabeth dismissed Will Hastings with a wave of her delicate hand. “Go on, my love, tell us what you said next.”

Edward’s expression changed to one of amusement. “I told them, ‘ ’Tis true, my friends, I have taken a wife. On May Day, I was married in all solemnity to Dame Elizabeth Grey—Woodville that was. And there is an end to it.’ Warwick had the gall to guffaw, and I was chagrined to see several others, including Howard, hiding laughter behind their hands. They did not believe me!”

Elizabeth was appalled. “Why ever not, by the sweet Virgin? Had not their king just told them so?”

How could Edward tell his wife that the greatest men in England had then upbraided him for his foolish choice? He turned away so that she could not see the truth in his eyes.

“Aye, Bess. And so I told them again in no uncertain terms. They believed me then.”

Elizabeth jumped up and ran into his arms. “You told them, you told them! You have made me your queen, Edward, and I am so happy.”

Edward was unprepared for this show of emotion, and Margaret decided she was redundant, so she curtseyed low and backed out of the room without saying another word. The lovers were oblivious, their lips locked in a kiss that bespoke a lust Margaret had not yet experienced. But the scene and its probable consequence again aroused her. How she longed to have such intimacy!

M
ARGARET STOOD BACK
from the squint in the Treasury wall that gave her full view of the choir of the church, including Edward’s throne, and took a deep breath. Then she bent forward again to peer through the holes in the wall, there for visiting ladies to participate in a Mass from which they were excluded. Today it was not a Mass but the meeting of the Great Council from which they were banned. Edward was to announce to the world that he had chosen a queen. The nave was full of nobles, prelates, gentry and county officers from all over the realm who were gathered for the meeting, all dwarfed by the massive stone columns that rose high above them to the glory of God.

Elizabeth had her eyes glued to the other set of holes, and Margaret took her hand to give her courage. Gratefully Elizabeth squeezed her sister-in-law’s fingers and held on tightly. She was dressed in sky-blue cloth of silver, a gown Edward had had made for her for such an occasion. Its motifs were intertwined letter Es and the Sun in Splendor, and the train, trimmed with fur, stretching eight feet behind her. Her steeple hennin was two feet high, sewn with freshwater pearls and trimmed with white fur. Around her neck was a collar of enameled white roses, the emblem of the house of York; at the center of each was a precious stone of a different color. Her fingers glittered with gold and gems, and huge pearls hung from her ears. Margaret had to admit that despite her lowly rank, Elizabeth looked every inch a queen. Her downy skin was tinged with excited pink, and her large blue eyes glittered with anticipation of this defining moment in her life.

In the abbey, many topics had been discussed, when at last the French alliance was brought up. Edward’s eyes flicked upward to where he knew Elizabeth was watching and sent her a tiny signal. They saw him rise and hold up his hand for silence.

“’Tis time, Margaret,” Elizabeth said, with a nervous smile. “I do not think I have ever been so frightened in my life.”

“Courage, Elizabeth. How can they fail to accept you? You will dazzle them, believe me!” Margaret picked up Elizabeth’s train, and together with Jacquetta they made their way down the stairs to the cloister and through the door to the chapel in the south transept of the church. The noise that greeted them was not for Elizabeth but a reaction to Edward’s pronouncement. Once inside the chapel, George and the earl of Warwick each took one of Elizabeth’s hands and with Margaret and Jacquetta bearing her train led her forward towards Edward, who received her and turned to the waiting company.

“I would present to you my wife, Elizabeth, now your queen,” he said simply. “May God bless Queen Elizabeth.”

His subjects managed a weak “God save the Queen” in response, which seemed to satisfy Edward.

Later Margaret was to describe the gaping assembly “like a stewpond of fish waiting for food to be thrown upon the waters.”

T
HE REFECTORY WAS
given over to a feast the abbey had not seen the like of since John of Gaunt’s marriage almost a century before. Edward and Elizabeth sat in splendor on a hastily expanded dais and were served by none other than the lords Rivers and Scales, Elizabeth’s father and brother, in a public gesture of acceptance of all the Woodville clan. Jacquetta, in her scarlet houppelande, refused to be left out and hovered all evening like a mother hen, making sure her daughter wanted for nothing. Margaret sat next to her sister at her table, and watched George across the room, who was deep in conversation with the earl of Warwick. She thought back to a moment earlier in the day when she was on her way to meet Anthony and Brother Damian for a visit to the scriptorium.

George had cornered Margaret as she came out into the sunshine from her guest quarters, her shadow the usual three paces behind her, and asked how long had she been in on the secret. Margaret pleaded innocence, but George took hold of her arm roughly, demanding to know.

“You must have known before the announcement, Meg, or you would not have been at the ready to carry Elizabeth’s train. Tell me, when did Ned tell you?” he growled. “He only told me minutes before I led Elizabeth down the aisle. I was the last to know!”

“Why is it of import to you, George? And you are hurting me,” Margaret exclaimed, pulling her arm from his grip.

“I’m sorry, Meg.” George was contrite but persistent. “Why did Ned not trust
me
with the secret? He told me a few minutes ago that Anthony knew. It seems he trusts his new brother-in-law more than he trusts me, his own brother. What is more, I am next in line to the throne!”

Margaret drew in her breath. Aye, so he is, she thought, not having dwelled on such a possibility until George mentioned it. But what a disastrous king he would make with his petty jealousies and black humors. The favoritism she had shown this handsome young brother may have been misplaced, although ’twas perhaps not his fault, she acknowledged. He had been spoiled by everyone for his charm and good looks. It had given him high-flown ideas about his own importance, and now he was looking at himself as the next king. Ah, now I see why he is angered! Edward has a wife, a beauty whom he obviously adores and who has already shown she is not barren, and a child must result ere long. A boy would displace George in line for the crown. Poor George. She felt sorry for him: The brother of the king could only secretly aspire to the crown while having no true place in the world but by the king’s side as a royal duke. Loyalty was not George’s strong point, she knew, but she did not wish to hurt the sulky boy in front of her by saying, “Perhaps Ned thought he could not trust you to keep his secret.” Her mind flashed back to Greenwich and to young Richard waiting patiently for his turn to enter court life. There is a boy who understands loyalty, she thought.