The Last White Rose, page 19
“But not in England, I think. Since the Empress Matilda was overthrown for her arrogance and stupidity centuries ago, the English have been averse to female sovereigns. No, Dr. Lewis, if it is my fortune and grace to be queen, I need a husband, and my lord of Richmond represents my best chance of ridding myself of the stain of bastardy and attaining the crown that is rightfully mine.” She realized, as she said it, that she was acting as if her brothers were dead. And probably they were, although she wished desperately that it could be otherwise. But she must be strong now, if these plans were to succeed.
Cecily was staring at her in awe, the tears still wet on her cheeks. Dr. Lewis smiled. “This is a decision you will not regret,” he said. “Richmond is a fine, upstanding young man, versed in courtesy and courtly graces, virtuous and imbued with all the qualities of nobility and knighthood.”
Elizabeth could hear Lady Stanley saying those very words. Dr. Lewis had been well primed.
“You forget,” Mother’s voice was faltering, “that Richmond is no match for the Queen of England. He is not even entitled to call himself earl of Richmond, for the late King deprived him of that title; he is merely a landless exile.”
“But, my lady, he is our only hope,” Elizabeth declared. “He can help me to gain my throne. He can avenge the murder of my brothers. He is our way out of here!”
“The Princess is right,” Dr. Lewis declared. “And my lord of Richmond is ready to do all those things.”
Mother nodded. There was no fight in her, but there was a dawning light in her reddened eyes. “Very well, Dr. Lewis. Please tell the Countess that I agree to this venture and that I will do all in my power to persuade the late King’s friends to support Richmond.” She fixed her gaze on the doctor. “I am aware, of course, that we are all taking considerable risks, but it is necessary. My sons must be avenged—and Edward’s blood must wear the crown.”
* * *
—
Mother rallied, galvanized by the prospect of action. She did not take the Abbot into her confidence. She felt he was compromised enough by sheltering them in his house. But she wrote letter after letter to those friends of Father’s whom she felt she could trust, urging them to abandon the Usurper and support Richmond. These she gave to Dr. Lewis, who came regularly, ostensibly to check on his patient and lift her spirits. By virtue of his calling, he could act as a messenger without incurring any suspicion. Mother was indeed suffering palpitations, digestive congestion, and nightmares, all brought on by grief and anxiety, and Abbot Eastney had firmly informed Captain Nesfield that she was in need of Dr. Lewis’s ministrations. If he guessed that there was more to these consultations, he gave no sign of it.
Elizabeth felt guilty about deceiving the Abbot, but they were causing him enough headaches by remaining under his roof and trespassing on his charity, and it was safer for him if he was left in ignorance. He was sympathetic and had shown true kindness to Mother in her great grief, but she had sensed, since the abbey had been placed under siege, that he was very uncomfortable with the situation. She could understand it: she was uncomfortable, too. Yet to leave the protection of sanctuary might put them in grave danger. The Usurper must regard the very existence of the true Yorkist heiress as a threat to his crown.
Elizabeth helped to make copies of the letters for Mother to address and sign. Keeping busy took their minds off the tragedies that had engulfed them, but she couldn’t help fearing that they would be discovered. Richard might well see treason as sufficient grounds for breaking sanctuary. But it wasn’t really treason, was it? He was the traitor.
* * *
—
Dr. Lewis regularly informed them how matters were progressing. Fired up by Lady Stanley’s zeal, his personal mission was to ensure that their plans succeeded. One morning, he had momentous news for them.
“Things are moving, your Grace! My lord of Buckingham has sent word to Richmond, inviting him to hasten to England as fast as he can to take possession of the kingdom and marry my lady Princess as soon as possible. On St. Luke’s Day, the eighteenth of October, Buckingham will raise the men of Wales in rebellion. And there is news from Brittany. Duke Francis had offered Richmond the hand of his daughter and heiress, who could have brought him the duchy, but Richmond has rejected her, for he is resolved to wed you, my lady Princess, and gain a kingdom.”
“But he does mean for us to reign jointly?” Elizabeth stipulated.
“Assuredly he does! He knows that he will reign in your right.”
Things were moving quickly. All Elizabeth’s prayers were directed to one end, that Richmond—or Henry, as she now privately called this man who would soon, God willing, be her husband—would be victorious.
“He is planning to join Buckingham in Wales,” Dr. Lewis reported. “His mother has sent him a goodly sum of money to raise men for his cause, and many Yorkists have joined him, for they are outraged at the disinheriting of the late King’s children, and rejoice at the prospect of the marriage of York and Lancaster.”
Elizabeth and her mother smiled at each other. All that letter-writing had not been in vain.
The doctor had brought Elizabeth a book. “A gift from Lady Stanley,” he told her. “She thinks you will find it uplifting.”
After he had gone, she sat in the window with a goblet of wine and read avidly. The book was a romance, and related how Prince Blanchardin had fallen in love with Princess Eglantine. While he was fighting the Infidel, she devoutly said her prayers, had the city garrisoned, and planned their wedding, which was her heart’s desire. Elizabeth was relieved to read that Blanchardin passed unscathed through a series of adventures, disasters, and escapes, and was finally able to claim Eglantine as his wife. The parallels between their story and her own situation were remarkable, and she was grateful to Lady Stanley for trying to raise her morale and help her to while away the tedious, tense hours in sanctuary.
* * *
—
Mother was still beset by doubts that she was doing the right thing. “What if this whole scheme is just a color for Buckingham to seize the throne for himself?” she asked anxiously. “He has royal blood; he is descended from Edward the Third.”
“Yes, but from that King’s youngest son,” Elizabeth pointed out. “It is a weak claim. And, if Buckingham really intended that, why involve Henry?”
“To lure him to Wales and kill him?” Mother suggested.
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”
When Dr. Lewis next came, Mother asked him bluntly if it could be true.
“Madam,” he declared, “if I thought it was, I would not be supporting the rebellion, and I would warn off Lady Stanley.” He checked her pulse.
“Yet I cannot help but wonder what Buckingham hopes to gain from supporting Richmond. It is not as if he needs rewards. He has profited enough under the Usurper.”
“Power and influence, Madam, that is what all men want,” the doctor said sagely, feeling her brow. “At first, Buckingham’s plan was to restore the young King, so I believe him to be sincere in your cause.”
A look of pain laced the Queen’s pale features. “We shall see,” was all she would say, and she was still looking uneasy when Father Abbot joined them for dinner.
“I have received an intriguing letter from Bishop Russell,” he said, as soon as the lay brothers had served the food and departed. “He tells me that Sir James Tyrell, the King’s Master of Horse, left the court at York and rode south to the Tower to fetch necessities from the Royal Wardrobe for the investiture of King Richard’s son as Prince of Wales, which took place at York Minster earlier this month. It seems strange that he should mention such an inconsequential detail.”
Mother’s lip trembled. “Do you think he was trying to suggest that Tyrell was somehow connected with the murder of my sons?”
“I did wonder.”
Mother leaned forward. “Father, do you think there is any chance that they are still alive?”
Abbot Eastney looked at her with sadness. “Alas, Madam, I fear not.”
“But there is no proof that they are dead,” Elizabeth said. “When you boil it down, it is all just speculation.” She could not share Dr. Lewis’s report of what the Usurper had said to Buckingham, but there remained no evidence that he had carried out his threat to remove her brothers. She had thought about this endlessly. Was there still room for hope?
* * *
—
On his next visit, Dr. Lewis informed them that more disaffected Yorkists had joined the conspirators. “And Lord Stanley commands a private army, which he is placing at Richmond’s disposal.” So Father Stanley had kept his word. He had not let them down. “Buckingham has allowed Bishop Morton to escape from Brecknock, and the Bishop has gone to Ely to raise men in his diocese. Your Grace’s kinsmen, the Hautes, are planning a rising in Kent.”
Elizabeth was becoming increasingly confident that the uprising would succeed and she would soon be queen. She thought a lot about Henry Tudor, that unknown Welshman. What was he like, this man who had spent most of his life either as a fugitive or in exile? He was clearly ambitious, and had a dogged determination. But what did he look like? What character did he have? If only she could have some word from him, some indication that he saw her as a person rather than just a woman with a crown.
Dr. Lewis brought more news, all of it encouraging. Mother was overjoyed to hear that Dorset had emerged from hiding and was planning to rouse the men of Exeter. Uncle Lionel was planning to stir the men of Salisbury, his diocese. The Queen’s other brothers, Sir Edward and Sir Richard Wydeville, were poised to play their parts, and risings were to take place in Guildford and Newbury, while Buckingham was to raise Brecon and all south Wales. Shocked at the rumors about the princes, many members of the late King’s household had joined the conspirators. The net was spread far and wide. And soon, Dr. Lewis assured them, Henry would set sail from Brittany. Elizabeth felt a thrill just hearing it. Their champion and savior was coming!
As the days wore on, the news came to them little by little. The Hautes had risen in Maidstone, but had been crushed by the Duke of Norfolk.
“Do not be alarmed,” Dr. Lewis told them. “In a few days, Buckingham will move and all our friends will rise with him.”
Then the rain began. It poured and poured, and the Abbot told them there had been reports of flooding in some parts of the kingdom.
Elizabeth began praying that the awful weather would not impede Buckingham’s plans. The day of the rising would soon be upon them. They were all in a fever of agitation. There were so many involved now in the conspiracy; was it still possible that the Usurper was unaware of what was going on?
* * *
—
“This must be my last visit,” Dr. Lewis said, looking unusually nervous. “All is lost.”
“No!” Mother cried.
“What has happened?” Elizabeth asked sharply.
“I must be brief,” the doctor said. “I am known to serve Lady Stanley, and it will go ill for me if I attract suspicion. It seems that, by means of spies, the whole design of this plot became known to King Richard. Even before the day set for the rising, he had Buckingham proclaimed a rebel and offered free pardons to any who surrendered. In Wales, he set armed men in readiness to take the Duke. Buckingham left Brecon as planned, making for Hereford, but the storms and floods wrecked his plans. His army deserted him, and he was forced to flee to Shropshire, where he sought shelter in the cottage of one of his tenants, who betrayed him for a handsome reward.”
“Dear God, no,” Elizabeth faltered.
“Does the Usurper know of our involvement?” Mother demanded.
“In faith, Madam, I do not think so. I will not betray you, and I’m sure Lady Stanley will not either. As for my lord of Buckingham, he can say nothing. He was brought to Salisbury, where the Usurper had come with a great army, and, on All Souls’ Day, notwithstanding the fact that it was a Sunday, he was beheaded in the marketplace.”
There was a shocked silence. Mother crossed herself. She looked tragic, drained of hope, all her beauty gone. “God rest him.”
“What of Lady Stanley?” Elizabeth asked.
“The King has been merciful, given that she has committed treason.” Dr. Lewis’s voice shook. “She has been deprived of her title and placed under house arrest in the custody of her husband, who has been given her estates. When it came to it, Lord Stanley rallied to the King.”
“He was ever a weathercock,” Mother said bitterly. “The Stanleys have always blown with the prevailing wind.”
Elizabeth bit back tears. She had placed much reliance on Lord Stanley.
“My lady is being held in some secret place apart from her household,” Dr. Lewis said. “I dare not go near her.”
“What of my son Dorset and my brothers, and Bishop Morton?” Mother asked.
“The Usurper also extended clemency to them, and the offer of a pardon, but they have fled the kingdom to join Richmond.”
“Is he yet in Brittany?” Elizabeth asked. She was hoping that, somehow, he would still descend on England with an army and topple Richard.
“There is no news of him,” the doctor said. “And now I must leave you. It is dangerous for me to be seen here.” With a quick bow, he hastened away.
“Well,” Mother said flatly, “that’s put paid to our hopes.”
Elizabeth felt sick and frightened. From the Usurper’s point of view, they had committed treason. Would he move against them?
Chapter 9
1483–1484
They spent the next week or so in an agony of trepidation, expecting Captain Nesfield and his men to burst through the door at any moment. Elizabeth felt trapped. What did they do to women who committed treason? She did not know and did not want to find out.
They heard from the Abbot that Henry had attempted an invasion, but had been blown off course by the foul weather. “He got as far as Plymouth, but was driven back to Brittany. He must have heard of the collapse of the late rebellion.” The Abbot’s piercing gaze swept them all. He knows, Elizabeth realized. Yet she knew he would not betray them. He was on their side, after all.
She sought refuge in the prayers in her Book of Hours, but even there she found a reminder of her confounded hopes. Just three weeks ago, beneath where she had written “Elizabeth Plantagenet” on the flyleaf, she had added the name “Henry,” being so sure that she would soon be wed. Taking a quill pen, she scratched it out. No one should ever know that she had entertained sentimental thoughts about Henry.
* * *
—
Christmas was dismal. There were so many loved faces missing from the table. Father, Ned, York, Uncle Rivers, Dickon, Buckingham…all dead or disappeared. And Dorset, the other Wydeville uncles, Lady Stanley…all in custody or exile.
The Abbot did his best to cheer them. He provided a goose and a great plum pudding. He brought the choristers from the abbey to entertain them in the Jerusalem Chamber. They thanked him profusely, but it was hard to enter into the spirit of the season.
“We have been here eight months now, and I fear we shall never leave,” Elizabeth grumbled to Cecily as they watched their sisters playing with their poppets.
“At least the Usurper hasn’t dragged us out,” Cecily replied. “But, at this rate, I shall die an old maid.”
“Life is passing us by,” Elizabeth lamented. “When I think how it was this time last year—that splendid court Father held.”
“Don’t! I can’t bear to think about it.”
“If he knew what has happened to us all since his death, he would be horrified. He would never have placed his trust in Richard.”
“Do you think Henry will ever attempt to take the throne again?” Cecily asked.
“I pray he does. I have not given up hope.”
* * *
—
One cold day in January, as they huddled around the fire, the Abbot brought the Queen a letter. “This was enclosed in one addressed to me, your Grace.” He smiled and left her to read it.
“It’s from Dorset!” she cried, reading it avidly. “Oh, merciful God—some good news at last. Listen to this! On Christmas Day, Henry went to Rennes Cathedral and publicly, upon his oath, vowed that he would take the crown of England and marry you, Bessy, and unite the houses of Lancaster and York.” There were tears in her eyes.
Elizabeth thrilled to hear her words. They gave her such hope for the future.
“He writes also that four hundred Yorkists have now fled England and joined Henry in Brittany. This is tremendous news—it is a measure of the support the Usurper has lost because of those rumors about my sons. People will not tolerate the murder of innocents.”
Something struck Elizabeth. “Richard must have heard the rumors. Why has he never denied them?”
“Indeed!” Mother said grimly. “When Henry of Lancaster died, his body was put on public display.”
“But how would the Usurper explain the bodies of two children?” Cecily asked.
“He could have given out that they died of natural causes,” Elizabeth said. “But no one would believe it.”
“Maybe he does not want the people making a shrine to them,” Mother suggested. “Think of how Henry of Lancaster has become revered as a saint. The Usurper won’t have martyrs made of my sons. It would spark too many questions. No, he wants them dead and buried and forgotten.”
“But they won’t be,” Cecily declared. “Henry will come and avenge them. And then we will discover the truth.”
