Queen by Right (61 page)

Richard returned to her side, visibly relieved that the little ceremony was over. “I am sorry I was secretive, my dear, but I thought it best not to raise your expectations. I very nearly could not bring myself to do it. Seeing you there gave me courage, and having all see that Ned also acknowledged the new heir to the throne might placate a suspicious council.”

“Suspicious? But those we spoke with seemed friendly enough, Richard.”

“Aye, but will they all support me when I am Protector? I am not so sure.”

Cecily leaned forward. “We can talk later at Baynard’s. The queen has asked me to attend her in her chambers, so I must go.”

Richard’s puzzled frown followed her from the room.

C
ECILY WAS TAKEN
aback to see the queen in tears not five minutes after making her reverence in the luxury of the royal solar. She thought of Joan’s admonishment, which only recently she had passed along to Meggie when the girl had burst into tears and run off.

“Never cry in front of anyone but your family, my dear. You never want to appear weak.”

But it was not her place to remind Queen Margaret. It appeared the queen’s ladies, Lady Ismania Scales, Anne of Buckingham, and Jacquetta of Bedford, must be accustomed to such a scene, for they continued to ply their needles and speak among themselves. She knelt quietly and waited for the weeping to subside.

“Forgive me, duchess, but I have suffered much these past few months,” Margaret said finally, after blowing her nose into a silk kerchief and motioning to Cecily to rise. “You have not seen my husband since . . . since his illness, I believe?”

“I have not, your grace, but I have heard—”

Margaret cut her off. She lowered her voice, fidgeted with her kerchief, and said bitterly, “He is naught but a vegetable, as weak and wilted as a boiled leek, as pale as a turnip.” She leaned over to Cecily and confided in a whisper, “He
cannot speak, he cannot walk, he must be carried from place to place, he must be fed like a baby, and he soils himself many times a day. It is unspeakable. And his eyes—those eyes that once looked at me with love—they are dead. Staring and dead. It is terrifying.”

Cecily was at once stunned to be taken into the queen’s confidence and dismayed to see her display of emotion. Breaking with etiquette, she took the nervous hands into her own. “It is but temporary, your grace,” she murmured. “He will recover with the help of his physicians and all our prayers. His subjects pray for him every day. May I lend you my book of the writings of St. Brigid? They have comforted me in my times of distress.”

Her kindness seemed to make the younger woman cry more. “He did not even know our son,” she whispered, her shoulders heaving. “I thought it would cure him to see his heir, but he did not even know him.”

Cecily glanced at the attendants, but only her sister was watching her, the others being engaged in quiet conversation. She sent an imploring look at Anne, who ignored her and only worked her needle more diligently.

Bewildered, Cecily quickly sought to pacify the queen again. “Soft, your grace. You must stay strong for Edouard.” She used the French pronunciation that she knew Margaret preferred. “Your son needs you.”

Margaret looked up then, wiped her eyes, and shocked Cecily with a sudden change in demeanor. Cecily wondered whether the tears had been a sham.

“If you understand that, my lady, then why does your husband oppose my regency?” the queen asked in a measured voice, slowly but deliberately disengaging her hands from Cecily’s. “Now that I know you understand my dilemma, I am counting on your support. Perhaps you can influence him in my favor.”

Cecily gulped and stood back. Dear Virgin Mother, help me find the right answer, she pleaded. She realized then how like a fox Queen Margaret was. She had entrapped Cecily and now sat there cold and silent awaiting a response. Cecily hoped Anne might have come to her aid, but it was Jacquetta who came forward to stand next to Margaret’s chair, the pair reminding Cecily of a beautiful witch and her familiar.

“I am your grace’s loyal subject,” Cecily said, her voice faltering in the face of these two intimidating females, “and I assure you I will always work for the good of the realm.” She took a breath and, looking Margaret straight in the eye, resorted to the truth. “Your infant son needs his mother, your grace. Surely as Regent, the affairs of state would keep you from his side. I swear I meant
no disrespect to your grace in my efforts to console you, and I beg your pardon most humbly.” She watched for any softening of the queen’s expression, and seeing an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment, she was encouraged to finish with a lie. “I cannot speak for my lord, your grace, for I do not know what is on his mind.”

After a long silence, in which Cecily was furious to find her knees trembling, Margaret inclined her head graciously. “I believe you are a good woman, duchess, and you speak as a good mother. I pray you are also the king’s loyal subject.” She turned to where Anne was watching the little scene anxiously. “As loyal as I know your sister is, madame.”

Anne fell to her knees. “As God is my witness, your grace,” she vowed, crossing herself and avoiding Cecily’s gaze.

Then Margaret turned back to Cecily with an enigmatic smile. “It is curious, is it not, how my request of you now is the same one you made of me at Walsingham. How is it you say in England? Favor for favor,
madame?”
Her smile faded and she rose, holding out her hand. “You may leave me, now, duchess Cecily, and I thank you for your . . . your understanding.”

Once outside the door, where Gresilde was patiently waiting, Cecily took hold of her attendant’s hand and, with her heart still pounding, she propelled Gresilde along the passageway as fast as she could away from the stultifying atmosphere of the queen’s apartments. She resolved not to tell Richard the topic of this uncomfortable meeting; he had enough to deal with.

N
OT A WEEK
later, in his seventy-fifth year, Cardinal Kemp, archbishop of Canterbury and Chancellor of England, died suddenly. The council resolved to send several members to Windsor to inform the king and see for themselves if Henry were recovered enough to take back the reins, choose another chancellor, and appoint a new archbishop of Canterbury.

“Bourchier and Warwick were among them, as was your brother William,” Richard told Cecily after the lords had returned. “Henry did not recognize any of them or understand what they were saying. He merely stared. It was pitiful, our nephew told me.”

“So what means this, Richard? Someone must appoint a chancellor. Margaret?”

Richard went to the window and polished one of the panes with his sleeve. “It would seem the council is looking to me to begin a protectorate, my love,” he said so quietly that Cecily had to approach him to hear. “I shall be Protector
and defender of England until Henry recovers his senses or young Edouard is old enough to assume the crown.” He sighed. “If I ever had an ambition to be king, I could not have imagined it happening thus. But I shall do my duty by King Henry and my countrymen, as God is my witness, and I shall insist that the responsibility for this decision rests with the lords who appointed me. And for agreeing, I shall expect them to give me their support. It will not be easy, Cis. Many do not like me, but it seems they have no other choice.”

“I pray you remember,” Cecily said, putting her arms around her husband and laying her head upon his back, “you are not usurping anyone’s right to the regency. It is your right and no one else’s.”

I should rejoice in Richard’s success, she thought, but upon recalling her audience with Margaret, she knew for a certainty that his acceptance of the protectorate would make the queen and her adherents hate her husband even more, and she sighed. How long have we imagined this moment? she asked herself. Is this truly what I have worked toward all these years? It did not feel at all like the glorious moment of her dreams.

“I shall pray for your safety and for God to give you the strength and wisdom to perform this sacred duty,” was all she could say now. “I am so proud of you.”

C
ECILY WAS IN
London when Richard’s appointment was made formal on Wednesday, April 3, 1454, and when, a day earlier, her eldest brother, Richard, earl of Salisbury, was appointed Chancellor of England. It was a controversial appointment, Richard told her, proud of his choice. For the past five decades, the Great Seal had been in the hands of churchmen.

Cecily made the decision to move back to Fotheringhay in late May, as soon as she heard that Richard was hurrying north to put down one of the most persistent and violent family feuds that had plagued the country for the past two years. It perturbed her that one faction was her own Neville family, the younger sons of Salisbury, who fought to keep their northern inheritance away from the long-time foes of Neville, the Percys of Northumberland. More disturbing was that Henry Holland, duke of Exeter—Nan’s violent husband—had sided with Percy, and riots and uprisings were occurring as far south as York.

“We might as well be comfortable at Fotheringhay,” she told Constance, while she engaged in one of her favorite activities—tending to Meg’s golden tresses. For some reason the mundane task took her mind off the tedious
duties of running the castle in Richard’s absence. She dipped the comb in rosemary water before stroking it through the shoulder-length hair. Meg had come down with a case of head lice during the winter, and so Cecily had ordered the beautiful waist-long hair to be cut off so that Meg’s young attendant could better remove the pests. Now it was growing back thicker and glossier than before. Cecily appraised her youngest daughter in the polished silver mirror. Young Margaret of York promised to be attractive, and Cecily was glad that the girl’s front teeth had recently appeared and were straight. Richard was always quick to point out those large, gray, intelligent eyes that did not miss anything. “’Tis what makes you notice her,” he told Cecily. “But I confess, for beauty, none of our daughters can hold a candle to you, my love.”

“Oh, pish,” Cecily remembered answering, and she smiled over Meg’s head into the mirror and resumed her ruminations.

Here it was late June and Richard was still north chasing Nevilles, Percys, and most importantly, Henry Holland, duke of Exeter. Cecily had been horrified to learn of the attempted assassination plot in York against Richard, instigated by Exeter, and her heart was hardened even more against the man who had abused her daughter so violently.

What had Richard written?

The plot came to naught, but it was revealed that Exeter was not merely attempting to oust me from the protectorate, but to place himself upon the throne. It seems his arrogance has no bounds, although his common sense has, for when I succeeded in sending the Percys packing back to Northumberland, his grace of Exeter chose to flee south, where he cannot hide from me, I promise you. If he presumes to cower behind the queen’s skirts at Windsor, I think he will be surprised by his lack of welcome. She wishes nothing more to do with him, and I cannot blame her. Moreover, his only friend, Somerset, lies moldering in the Tower, awaiting trial.

I miss you, my sweet lady, and our children. Speaking of whom, I received a report from Ludlow that Edward and Edmund have misbehaved on several occasions, according to their tutor. After I had chastised them in a letter, they wrote me a most humble response full of flourishing phrases about their diligence in their studies and then had the gall to ask me for money for new clothes. I wonder from whom they inherited such impertinence!

Cecily had chuckled when she read this. Now she sighed. She put down the ivory comb, kissed the top of Meg’s head, and gestured to the young attendant to ready her mistress for bed. How she missed her two big boys, she thought. Perhaps we can be together again as a family at Yuletide, and yet who knows where Richard might be then.

I
T BECAME APPARENT
that if Cecily wished to see more of her busy husband, she had to move the family south to Hunsdon. Richard gave his permission for the move, so preparations were made, and the October weather smiled on the cavalcade as it set out from Fotheringhay with the best of the York furnishings and an armed escort of four score men to guard the duchess and her young children. Other than a skirmish with some outlaws upon the second day, the journey was uneventful.

Richard joined his family a few days later following a session of oyer and terminer in Derby.

“A date has been set for Somerset’s trial at last,” he told Cecily, after they had made love in their big tester bed, around which were drawn Cecily’s favorite curtains brought from Fotheringhay. “’Tis later this month, and unless the king recovers suddenly, I cannot believe Somerset will not be attainted and exiled. And with Exeter secure in Pontefract, we should know some peaceful times.”

“And the Percys? Are they content to remain on their estates now?”

Richard harrumphed, stroking her back. “Time will tell, Cis. I do not trust your Percy nephew Egremont, I regret to say. He and Exeter were a deadly combination, each egging on the other.”

Cecily turned over and looked at him in the guttering candlelight. It was late, she guessed, but she had no sense of time when she was with Richard. He was staring at the canopy overhead, at the white roses mingled with the falcon and fetterlock. “I pray daily for you, Richard,” she whispered. “I fear you may have angered God by snatching Exeter from sanctuary to imprison him at Pontefract. I trust you have done penance for the sin.”

Richard yawned again. “Over and over, my dear. Over and over. And yet when I heard what the brute had done to our little Nan, a dark cloud settled over me, and I could not emerge from under it until I had punished the whoreson.”

“Aye, ’twas as well you had support for his abduction for reasons other than the mistreatment of your daughter. Anne is safe here with us now, and you shall see your granddaughter on the morrow.”

“Granddaughter.” Richard said the word slowly, a grin breaking across his face, and for the first time in a long time Cecily saw the crinkling around his eyes. “’Tis hard to believe we are grandparents, Cis. Where has the time gone?”