Queen by Right (71 page)

“Have you forgotten that our son was killed by your husband and his friends at St. Albans and that my husband was disfigured?” Anne snapped back, while Humphrey played chess with his daughter. “And you ask for my compassion?” The shrill voice grated on Cecily’s nerves, but she bit her tongue. “You are wedded to a traitor, Cecily Neville! What would our mother and father think, if they were still alive? They were loyal Lancastrians, unlike you.”

Cecily bristled. “My dear Nan, Mother also taught us about bending to our husband’s will and supporting him in all things—as I am sure you do for your lord.”

“Check,” Humphrey murmured. “Nay, Daughter, I was not speaking to you.”

Cecily rose then and, gathering up her needlework, curtsied to both and said, “I see my company distresses you, Nan. I shall go and find my daughter and leave you in peace.”

As Anne stared after her sister, Humphrey snapped, “Why must you be so shrewish, my lady? She does not deserve your scorn.”

Cecily could not help but overhear his wife’s snide reply.

“You do not know my sister as well as I, Husband. Who is to know that she is not planning to murder both of us in our beds? I have seen them together, she and her precious York, as you have not. They are like two peas in a pod—obdurate and proud. Cecily was spoiled and always had her own way, pushing me out of my father’s affections. And,” she whined, “she turned Richard against me all those years ago. ’Tis insufferable that we have to house her here.” She had stamped her foot then, and Humphrey sternly admonished her for behaving like a child in front of their daughter.

“The king holds the duchess in much affection, my lady, or he would not have regranted her so many of her lands or given her a thousand marks for life. It is not wise to voice such angry thoughts abroad about your sister as you do. Now, I beg of you, try to be civil. Come, Daughter, let us enjoy some fresh air.”
And he left his wife to her sulks only just after a smug Cecily had slipped out of sight.

Despite the dressing-down, Anne did not alter her tone, and the friction between the two sisters persisted. So it was not surprising that Humphrey rejoiced when he was needed more and more at the king’s side. Young Somerset might have the queen’s ear, but it was Humphrey of Buckingham and Viscount Beaumont to whom the king turned for counsel. If truth were told, Humphrey had come to respect his sister-in-law’s intelligence, engaging her in political discussion and thus adding to Anne’s resentment. Cecily found herself liking him, for all he was her husband’s enemy, and through conversations with Humphrey, Cecily caught snippets of information about Richard’s activities throughout the winter and into spring. Richard had written to her from Wales when he had safely arrived at Denbigh, which letter the king had allowed Cecily to read. It was a letter full of affectionate phrases and concerns for the children, and Lord Beaumont, the disappointed censor, had reluctantly relinquished it to Buckingham to deliver to the duchess of York.

Humphrey told her that Richard had sailed for Ireland after Yuletide, which apparently had taken the court by surprise. Word had reached London in December that only the lords of Salisbury, Warwick, and March had arrived at Calais, and the speculation had been then that the duke of York was biding his time in Wales. Cecily knew now that Richard, safely in Ireland with Edmund, had called for a parliament at Drogheda not long after his arrival there in the new year.

Humphrey said, “Your husband has had the temerity to demand an act be passed that it is treasonable for any person to attempt any action against his life. It astonishes me those Irishmen agreed to such a preposterous thing.”

Cecily had given him a glimmer of a smile. “My lord, if you knew how the Irish took Richard to their hearts when he was lord lieutenant, you would understand. He appeased most of the warring chieftains and they love him still,” she said.

Not impressed, Humphrey merely frowned.

A
ND SO THE
months passed with only scant information reaching Cecily that cheered her and helped her weather the grief she still felt for Constance and for Piers. Not a waking minute of every day went by without her aching for Richard.

She never cried in front of Gresilde, but the kind attendant felt compassion
for her mistress when she would feel the damp pillow of a morning and know Cecily had wept well into the night. Gresilde and Beatrice did their best to minister to their mistress’s needs when Cecily had suffered with a bad cold in March, but they knew she missed the skills of her beloved Constance. Humphrey had put his own physician at her disposal, but the man was clumsy, had bad breath, and was so indecisive that Cecily had shooed him away on more than one occasion. And so she settled into melancholy, despairing of ever returning to her previous life with her husband and family together and healthy again.

When the daffodils and crocuses began to bloom, Cecily was cheered considerably by the news of a daring raid in January upon the port of Sandwich by a captain of Warwick’s from Calais. Despite his attainder, Warwick had refused to give up his captaincy. He held it by force, and even young Somerset had not been able to enter Calais harbor but had taken over the castle of Guisnes across the marshes, hoping to make a land assault. What brash young Somerset did not know was that more and more men from England, especially Kentishmen, who had developed a fondness for the dashing earl over the years, had found their way to Warwick’s stronghold and were building an army for York.

Anne herself told Cecily of the January raid on Sandwich—with a certain amount of relish, Cecily had noted, because the story involved Jacquetta Woodville. The sisters had discovered quite by chance that they did indeed have at least one thing in common: a scornful dislike of the dowager duchess of Bedford.

“It seems our friend Jacquetta’s husband, Lord Rivers, and his son—I forget his name—”

“Anthony Woodville,” Cecily supplied, remembering the handsome youth she had met at the start of Richard’s first protectorate.

“They were readying the king’s fleet to attack Calais so Somerset could take up his new captaincy and force Warwick to surrender. Suddenly a ship sailed out of nowhere in the early hours of the morning, and Warwick’s men landed at Sandwich unopposed. ’Tis hard to believe, is it not? But what is even harder to believe is that those few men were able to surprise Lord Rivers and Jacquetta in their bed”—and she giggled—“whom they seized along with . . . aye, Anthony, to ferry back to Calais. I hope at least those upstart Woodvilles were able to cover themselves decently.”

They both laughed heartily at the thought, and Cecily took advantage of Anne’s good humor to find out more.

“And the fleet? Did it not pursue the attackers?”

Anne adjusted her heavy headdress and pretended she had not heard. But Cecily eventually pried the information from her.

“It was disastrous for the king, Humphrey said. As so many of the mariners in the fleet were Kentishmen, Warwick’s captain had no trouble turning them to his side. Every ship but one of the king’s navy was taken back to Calais.” Anne shook her head. Her mood had sobered.

But Cecily’s heart soared. Here was proof that all was not lost. Her nephew was holding Calais firm. It was wonderful news.

Later Cecily regaled Meg, George, and Dickon with the story, and then hugged them with excitement. “All is not lost for your father, children. Pray hard for him and your brothers.”

“Will Ned be here soon, Mam?” Dickon asked, his earnest little face turned up to his mother, making it impossible for her not to kiss it. “I miss Ned.”

“I expect so, little one,” she replied, touched by the child’s devotion to Edward. It was good to see the bonds uniting her children, she thought, watching as George and Meg now went to finish their game of fox and geese, their golden heads bent over the board in mutual concentration.

This has been my only solace, Cecily mused, stroking Dickon’s dark curls as he sat by her knee, whittling a stick: the amount of time I have had to spend with my children. There were times when she worried about their future, fretted that she and Richard should have found suitable mates for them all by now, but mostly she took pride in their growth and accomplishments and thanked God every day that they had not been taken away from her.

“I
AM SORRY
for you, in truth, but the archbishop is adamant,” Humphrey told a stony-faced Cecily not a week later. “It seems he wishes to oversee the education of George and Richard, so I must send them to London.” In his letter to Buckingham, Archbishop Bourchier had explained that he was simply honoring an appeal from the boy’s elder brother, Edward of March, to continue with their education, and Cecily had seemed to accept the arrangement.

How much more can she endure? Buckingham wondered, watching his sister-in-law’s face. Her gaze never wavered from his, and he had to admire the stoicism of this beautiful woman.

“They will be in no danger, Cecily, if that worries you, and when we go to London later in the spring, you will most certainly be able to see them when you wish,” Humphrey assured her.

“I thank you for your concern, my lord,” Cecily told him quietly. “I shall go and arrange for their departure.” She gave him reverence, which he returned, and sedately left the room, followed by an anxious Gresilde. But out of the duke’s hearing and out of sight of everyone but her faithful attendant, her reserve broke down. Engulfed in Gresilde’s buxom embrace, Cecily let her tears flow.

“Not my boys too, Grizzy. What more can they take from me?” she sobbed.

“There, there, my dear lady,” Gresilde cooed in the dim light of a passageway between the ducal apartments and Cecily’s own. “They have each other and they are both strong boys. Besides, if none of this had happened, George would already be gone from you to some other household or to Ludlow to learn the knightly arts like his brothers, would he not? And besides, you will still have the Lady Margaret with you. It is not so bad.”

By the time George and Dickon were readied for their journey to Southwark, Cecily had recovered from her despondency enough to smile and wave them good-bye from the steps of the castle. She was astonished to feel her sister’s fingers find hers in the folds of her gown and give them a sympathetic squeeze.

O
N THE FIRST
day of June the duke and duchess of Buckingham, together with their detainees, arrived in London and lodged at their town house on College Hill, a stone’s throw from the Erber, lost to the Nevilles now through the attainder. Baynard’s had been stripped from Richard once again, and Cecily grew more melancholy that she remained at Henry’s mercy. The only bright spot on her horizon was that in London she would be reunited temporarily with George and Dickon. She longed to see how much they had grown.

As they rode past St. Paul’s, where Cecily looked wistfully down the narrow street that led to Baynard’s, a plump laundress stepped out of a group of women gossiping on the street, squinted to make sure, and pointed at Cecily.

“Look there, good dames, ’tis Richard of York’s lady. I saw her at Baynard’s once. God bless you, duchess,” she called, waving. “All of London is waiting for him and Warwick! When will they invade?”

Astonished, Cecily did not have time to ask a question of her own before Humphrey’s men shoved the woman back against the wall of the nearest house.
The woman complained loudly and her friends shook their fists and showered the guards with abuse. Cecily rode on, deep in thought but suddenly hopeful.

“The Devil take you, my lord duke, before York does!” a voice cried from a crowd around the stocks on Chepe as the Buckingham party trotted past. Coarse laughter followed, but Humphrey took no notice and rode on.

Cecily, riding her own horse with Margaret pillion, began to take a keen interest in the bustle of the streets. Past mercers’ houses they rode, the shutters on the ground floor propped open to display the wares, and past the great conduit, where children filled their buckets with water piped from outside the city wall. More sullen looks and disgruntled mutterings followed Buckingham. Then Anne cried out as a clod of dirt hit her litter.

Cecily sidled her horse closer to Humphrey. “The citizens appear in an ill humor, my lord.”

“They expect an invasion from France, my lady,” he said gruffly. “Our old enemies see a weakness in our government here, and with Henry looking over his shoulder for your husband, England is vulnerable.” He eyed her scornfully. “I hope you are satisfied that your husband has endangered his country. Now if you will excuse me,” and he urged his horse in front of her.

It was as clear as day to Cecily that he, or any king’s man, was not popular with the people. Londoners were afraid, she thought now, better understanding the reason for those glowers. But was it an invasion
by
France or
from
France that they anticipated, she did not know.

“M
Y MOST NOBLE
and beloved duchess and wife, we greet you well from Ireland,”
Richard began,
“where many of your old friends ask after you and our children.”

Cecily’s hand trembled as she read her husband’s untidy script for the first time in six months. The letter had arrived mysteriously that day tucked into the folds of a newly laundered chemise and discovered by Beatrice. Cecily surmised that it must have been smuggled into the Buckingham residence by someone highly trusted by Richard, because as she read on, she knew Richard could not have afforded that such information reach her host. How she had missed him, she thought, sighing deeply and hugging the letter. But it had not been until she had seen his handwriting that she had known how much.

George and Dickon had been given permission to visit the Buckingham residence for a few days, and she was enjoying time alone with her sons in the garden. The weather had been bad for a week, and she was determined to enjoy the sunshine. She had promised her sons a game of hide and go seek if
they diligently studied their Latin. She was grateful that the archbishop had seen to the boys’ studies during their time with him, and they appeared quite happy there.