The Last White Rose, page 25
She was struck dumb, unable to grasp the fact that, for the second time in her life, she had been publicly jilted—this time, by a man who was supposed to love her and had pressed his suit. And—oh, the humiliation—she had shown herself eager for the match!
“I am to inform you,” the Captain continued, “that his Grace is pursuing a double marriage alliance with Portugal. He himself hopes to wed the Infanta Joana, and he has offered your hand, my lady, to Manuel, Duke of Beja, the nephew of the late King Alfonso.”
“How dare he!” Mother spluttered. “He promises my daughter a crown, then has the gall to reject her and offer her a mere duke with no hopes of the Portuguese throne. I knew it was wrong to trust him!”
“Madam, you must not speak of the King thus,” reproved Captain Nesfield. “I dare say there are many good reasons for his decision. The marriage was controversial and unpopular. I warn you not to give credence to any gossip you hear. People are saying that the King poisoned the Queen his wife, which is a gross calumny.”
“It may be untrue, but his own conduct has spawned such rumors,” Mother said coldly.
Elizabeth’s cheeks were burning. How could Richard shame her like this? He had said he loved her. Where was his honor? He had dangled the crown before her—the crown that was rightfully hers—and now he had cruelly deprived her of the chance to wear it. How, now, would she bring honor, prosperity, and security to her family? Anger surged in her.
She would not give up hope. She would fight for her right. She would refuse to go to Portugal. Her place was here in England, as its rightful Queen. And if these vile rumors lost Richard the hearts of the people, it was no more than he deserved.
Why had she been such a fool as to trust him? This was the man who had ruthlessly maneuvered his way to the throne, impugned her legitimacy—and his mother’s honor in the process—and committed acts of tyranny, justified by what many still regarded to be lies. The man who was widely reputed to have murdered his nephews—and she still had not managed to convince herself of his innocence, whatever he had told her and she had tried to tell herself.
Hopefully, time was on her side. Marriage negotiations could take months, even years. And Henry was planning to invade this year.
It was time, once again, to place all her hopes in Henry. She would not sit by passively, waiting for him to arrive. She would do everything in her power to speed him on his way—and be revenged on Richard.
Chapter 11
1485
Mother offered her unconditional support. “The sooner that villain is overthrown, the better,” she seethed.
“I must make contact with Henry,” Elizabeth declared. “But how?”
Mother was pensive. “His mother is still under house arrest.”
“Lord Stanley might help,” Elizabeth suggested hopefully.
“I wouldn’t count on it.” The Queen made a face.
“He said he would always be at my service.”
“He bends with the wind. And do you think Richard would let you visit him?”
“It’s worth a try, my lady.”
“Very well. But I would not trust him.”
Elizabeth wrote at once to Lord Stanley, saying that she was finding life in the country tedious and asking if he would obtain the King’s permission for her to visit him in London. If his loyalties did lie with his stepson Henry, then he would use every persuasion. And Richard would not want to antagonize so great and powerful a noble. He could not afford to lose the support of the likes of Stanley.
She waited for a reply in trepidation, wondering if she should have sent the letter to Lathom, Stanley’s country seat in Lancashire. She was itching to be on her way, sure that he would be willing to help her, hoping that he would have read between the lines. He must know that Richard had abandoned her, and he could surely guess how she felt. But how far would he go on her behalf? Would he be ready to commit treason?
Just when she was beginning to give up hope, a letter came. Lord Stanley would be honored to receive her, and the King had given his permission and had written to Captain Nesfield, requiring him to make the necessary arrangements. “Richard owes me this, at the very least,” Elizabeth observed scathingly.
The Captain had the litter made ready and provided an escort of men-at-arms. With Elizabeth went two of her mother’s maids to attend to her personal needs.
“Good luck, my brave Bessy,” Mother said, as she bade her farewell. “You will be a queen one day—I feel it in my bones.”
Elizabeth could not get to London fast enough. She was still smarting from Richard’s public rejection, still deeply distressed. When she arrived, and saw the broad, reassuring figure of Lord Stanley, she could not help breaking down.
“Why, Lady Bessy, what’s all this about?” he asked kindly.
“Oh, Father Stanley, I am so pleased to see you,” she wept.
“Come to the fireside and tell me all about it,” he invited.
They sat down by the great hearth in the parlor and the steward placed in Elizabeth’s hands a steaming goblet of spiced ale. Then Lord Stanley waved the servants away and sat quietly until she had composed herself.
“Help me, Father Stanley, I pray you!” she cried.
“Is this about the King changing his mind about marrying you?” he asked.
“Yes, it is! He told the world he never intended it, but he did! He proposed to me and led me on. He said he would have put away his Queen to have me. And I wrote this letter…” She could not, for shame, go on. “He said he would show me proofs of my father’s so-called secret marriage, but he never did. He told me that my brothers had disappeared while they were in the Tower, but now I fear he was lying and that he had them put to death.” She wrung her hands. “I beg of you, Father Stanley, help me to unseat him, lest more royal blood be spilled. I want my revenge on that traitor! I want to help Henry to win the crown. For if he becomes king, I shall be queen. In God’s eyes, it is my right to succeed my father, and England deserves a legitimate monarchy. Even though I have never seen Henry, I love him for what he can offer me and my realm.”
She paused, suddenly realizing that she had spoken rashly and treasonously, and that Stanley might not approve, having escaped Richard’s displeasure after Buckingham’s rebellion. Seeing him regarding her sternly, her blood ran cold.
“You will not help me!” she cried, tearing at her hair in panic, and then, suddenly, the world went black.
When she came to, she was lying on the floor, her head in Lord Stanley’s lap, and he was mopping her brow with a cloth. A servant was standing by with a bowl of water.
“You fainted, Bessy,” he said kindly, nodding to the servant to leave.
She struggled to a sitting position, her head muzzy, and burst into tears. “I will never be queen unless I marry Henry. I had thought you would help me.”
She paused, seeing him regarding her sympathetically and nodding sagely.
“Of course I will,” he said at length. “Whatever made you think that I would not? My sword is at your service, and not yours alone. My good wife’s dearest wish is that her son will be king. Alas, she is at Lathom, where Richard wishes her to remain for now. I wish she were here, for she would rejoice to hear your words. She had thought you lost to Henry. He too was dismayed to hear that Richard was minded to marry you.”
“You are in touch with him?” she asked, astonished. This was more than she could ever have hoped for.
“Yes, I and my wife have our chain of contacts,” he smiled. “I can tell you that he is busy preparing ships for his invasion. But he was pinched to the very stomach when he thought he had lost you and feared that his friends would forsake him, for no other bride could bring him the crown of England. He was even contemplating a marriage to Maud Herbert, the Earl of Pembroke’s daughter, thinking that might rally the Welsh to his cause.”
Elizabeth could not hide her dismay. “But—”
“But when Richard announced that he did not intend to marry you, my wife wrote to Henry, urging him to make good his vow to take you to wife, for it is crucial to his success in winning the crown. Now the King of France has recognized Henry as king of England. He has given him money, ships, and men for an invasion, with the just aim of depriving that homicidal and unnatural tyrant of the crown to which he has no right. And, Bessy, many Englishmen are hastening to France to join him.”
Elizabeth was thrilled to hear of these stirring developments. “I had not realized, Father Stanley, that you are so staunch in Henry’s cause.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Any man married to the Lady Margaret would support him, too, if not out of loyalty, then out of fear! But, Bessy, I will not show my hand until it is safe to do so, and my wife must be doubly careful. She got off lightly after supporting Buckingham in the late rebellion. You must know the penalty for women who commit treason.”
“Are they beheaded?” she asked.
“No. They are burned at the stake. The Lady Margaret dare not count on Richard’s leniency a second time. She takes pains to keep her dealings with her son as secret as possible.”
Elizabeth nodded, appalled to learn what a narrow escape Lady Stanley had had.
“And I should warn you,” Stanley continued, as he rose and stoked the fire, “that you too will be placing yourself in peril if you actively support Henry. No one will think the worse of you if you decide that you would rather not get involved, for you are very precious to all who love him.”
She did not hesitate. “I will not flinch from doing what I believe is right. I am fighting for my crown, too. And I wish to redeem myself in Henry’s eyes and make amends for what he must have seen as a betrayal. I hope he realizes that I felt it was the only choice for me at the time.”
“I am sure he does,” Stanley said, draining his goblet.
“I’m so glad I came to you,” she told him. “I remembered how my father, on his deathbed, asked you to govern and guide me.”
“And so I will,” he declared.
“I have been thinking of ways to overthrow Richard. How many men can you raise?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I never thought to see so fair a maiden become a general!”
She laughed. “I have read my histories and heard many tales of the late wars of York and Lancaster. I know that victory lies not just in numbers, but in strategy—and luck. But it would help to have a strong army, ready for when Henry comes.”
“My aim exactly. My brother, Sir William, can summon up five hundred men. My eldest son, Lord Strange, could support a thousand men for three months, and my younger sons could send soldiers, too. I know for a fact that my nephew, Sir John Savage, can raise fifteen hundred, and that old Shrewsbury’s son, Gilbert Talbot, could send a thousand. I can provide another thousand.”
Elizabeth was doing a quick reckoning. “That’s five thousand men at least!”
“Fifteen hundred more than we had when we were victorious at Tewkesbury,” Stanley said, grinning.
“Then you and your affinity can bring Henry over the sea!”
Stanley nodded slowly, his expression now serious. “I understand your enthusiasm, but, again, I must caution you. If Richard discovers what we are plotting, we will be undone, both of us, for he will see it as high treason. If anything goes wrong, he could send you to the fire, while I will lose my head and my lands. You do understand that?”
“I do,” she said, feeling tremulous, but still determined. At heart, she did not believe that Richard would ever go so far. Too many people regarded her as the rightful heir, and there would be an outcry. “I will be queen of England! I care not whether I hang, burn, or drown in the attempt, for otherwise my life is not worth living.”
She was surprised to see tears in Stanley’s eyes. “Then,” he said, “let us proceed, good Bessy—and carefully. Here in this room, there is no one but you and me, but be wary, for you can never tell who is listening, so say nothing of our plans to anyone until you are sure it is safe to do so. Now, I pray you, go to the bower I have prepared for you. Send away your maids, and I will come to you at nine o’clock tonight, when we will talk more of this matter. Ask the servants to bring you wine and spices, pens, ink, and paper.”
* * *
—
She was ready when he arrived. Paper, ink, and quill pens were arranged on the table below the latticed window, which looked out on the verdant greenery of the garden. Beside them, she had set out a ewer of wine and the two goblets of precious Venetian glass she had found in her bedchamber. Every sense alert, she had been pacing the floor, knowing that she had crossed a line and was doing a momentous thing, and that many a guiltless man might die in her cause.
It was not too late to back out. But she could never let might triumph over right. She owed it to her house, to the people of England. Richard was a usurper, a man of no honor—and a tyrant. He might well have murdered her brothers—he had certainly murdered her half-brother. She had always had reservations about his version of events, even when she felt at her warmest toward him. It was only the prospect of the crown that had drawn her in. She saw that now. What a fool she had been to trust in him! Even now, she felt the sting of humiliation.
When Stanley arrived, she quickly brushed the tears from her eyes and invited him to be seated. Then she poured the wine.
“Drink to me, Father Stanley,” she said, raising her glass. He did so, looking quite emotional himself.
“Ask me now, Bessy, whatever you wish, and I will grant it, if it is in my power,” he said.
“I want neither of gold nor money, but Henry,” she told him. “I wish to write a letter to him.”
“I would grant that, but there is no clerk I can trust to write to him on your behalf.”
“Father, there is no need,” she assured him. “I can be my own clerk.”
“Excellent!” He looked at her admiringly. “So, down to business. Will you first write to my brother, Sir William, at Holt Castle in Wales?”
“Of course.”
“Bid him join me here and bring seven yeomen with him. Ask him to stay in different inns from those he normally uses when he visits London, and to make sure that he sits facing away from other guests.”
When the letter was finished, Elizabeth wrote others, to Stanley’s three sons, Sir John Savage, and Gilbert Talbot, all with the same instructions. They, and Sir William, were to be with Stanley by 3 May.
Stanley affixed his seal, then paused. “Now who might be a trustworthy messenger?”
Elizabeth thought for a moment. “Isn’t Humphrey Brereton in your employ? He served my father loyally and I know he will be true to me. Let him take the letters.”
Stanley looked doubtful. “My squire? He seems a good man, but I have never put his loyalty to the test.”
“Why do you think he came to you and did not stay to serve the Usurper? Go to bed, Father, and sleep, and I shall work for us both. Tomorrow, by the rising of the sun, Humphrey Brereton shall be waiting here.”
After Stanley had gone, Elizabeth stayed up through the night, so fired up with plans that she could not sleep. Instead, she sat at the table, writing letters to all those she believed she could count on to give their allegiance to herself and Henry. It occurred to her that her letters could be used against her as incriminating evidence, but she would not think about that. Being able to take action at last had given her a new sense of courage.
Early the next morning, she emerged from her room before dawn, washed and wearing a fresh gown, and asked a servant where Humphrey Brereton lodged. His room was up a turret stair and she called his name through the door.
“Lady, who are you?” came a voice.
“King Edward’s daughter,” she told him. “You must come with all the haste you can to speak with Lord Stanley.”
“Of course, my lady!” came the startled reply. She waited a few moments and then Humphrey appeared in a night robe and slippers. He was just as she remembered, still the freckled-faced usher who had served her father so well. She had heard at court how he had been so grieved at the King’s death and Richard’s coup that he had left royal service and gone to Lady Stanley, begging for a position. Yes, she knew she could trust him.
He bowed to her, looking awestruck, then followed her to the chamber where Lord Stanley slept and received visitors. She knew he would forgive this intrusion on his rest.
He woke instantly and sat up.
“Brereton, you served King Edward,” he said, “and I am assured by the Lady Bessy that you are loyal to the rightful heirs of York.”
Brereton went down on one knee before Elizabeth. “My lord, my loyalty lies with our true Queen and those who love her.”
As Elizabeth smiled down at his earnest, honest face, Stanley regarded him shrewdly. “How far would you be prepared to go on her behalf?”
Brereton did not hesitate. “I would lay down my life for the Lady Bessy.”
“Then you will help her to her rightful crown?”
“It will be an honor, my lord.” There was no doubting the sincerity in him.
“Richmond will be invading this year,” Stanley said. “The Lady Bessy and I are raising support for him. We need a messenger we can trust.”
“I am your man, sir,” Brereton declared.
“Know this,” Stanley said sternly, “my trust, my life, my lands—all these, Humphrey, lie in you. You can make, and you can mar; if you are not careful, you can undo the Lady Bessy and me.”
“You can count on me,” Brereton declared.
Stanley nodded, satisfied. “Good man. Now, I wish you to deliver these letters to the people whose names are written on them.” He gave him those that Elizabeth had written the previous evening, and she handed him the ones she had dashed off in the night.
