Queen by Right (58 page)

“Pish, husband!” Cecily retorted, picking up the spurs and carrying them to the chest where Richard kept his finest suit of armor. “’Tis my father you should thank, not God. Now, I will go and find my clerk and you should rest. I will send in the children in an hour to greet you.” She kissed his cheek and slapped away the hand that caressed her breast. “Nay, that will have to wait,” she said firmly.

“Killjoy,” Richard said. He sighed, but fell back gratefully on the soft bed. Cecily’s letter to Margaret took her an hour to compose. The poor clerk started it no fewer than six times before Cecily was satisfied with the greeting alone.

Your lowly obedient servant and bedewoman, Cecily, duchess of York, beseeches you with all humbleness and reverence possible that, in the wealth of your good and benign grace, it pleased you to suffer the coming of my simple person . . .

Cecily halted, loathing herself for the ingratiating language that fell from her lips but knowing it was expected. She was reminded of the pompous prior of Walsingham, and she had the grace to smile. She went on to praise God and the Lady of Walsingham for the child Margaret was carrying, describing the gift in glowing terms:
“the most precious, most joyful and the most comfortable earthly treasure that might come into this land and to our people.”

Then she asked for the queen’s intercession with the council on Richard’s behalf and shuddered at her own groveling. She prayed it would have the desired effect, however.

When the clerk had finished transcribing, Cecily dismissed him and
contemplated her words. She pressed her hand into her side and sighed. The pilgrimage had not cured her infirmity, and indeed she had been in excruciating pain for several weeks following, but she had to admit it had eased over the summer. She truly believed the Virgin had interceded for her as a reward for her pilgrimage. However, Constance had been studying Galen and had learned about stones that lodged in the kidneys and blocked the passage of piss. So she insisted Cecily eat dark leafy vegetables, more nuts, and even the occasional plateful of beetroot, which Cecily detested. “This tincture of goldenrod may also be beneficial,” Constance told her, dropping some of the not unpleasant liquid into Cecily’s cider. Every day the doctor examined the contents of Cecily’s jakes and was certain her mistress’s problem was causing their strong odor, corroborating Galen’s theory. Constance assured her mistress that her preparations would eliminate her pain. “Then ply me with your remedies, dear Constance, I beg of you,” Cecily told the good doctor. But she still prayed daily for divine intervention as well.

She made sure her letter was signed, sealed, and put into the hands of a trusted messenger before she returned to Richard. He was curled up on the bed, snoring gently, and she had not the heart to wake him. She knew he would not be pleased that she had sent the letter before showing it to him, but she wanted the words to be hers—and she had confidence that the queen would recognize Cecily’s own voice, despite the overwrought phrases.

She knelt by the bed and put her hands together, observing that sleep took some of the careworn lines from Richard’s face. Dear Mother of God, she prayed, let the king recover soon, let my letter please Margaret and thus help Richard, and—Cecily smiled sardonically—let life return to normal.

H
ENRY’S ILLNESS PERSISTED
, and when Queen Margaret gave birth to a son on the thirteenth day of October, the king was oblivious to the event. He never moved a muscle when first shown his heir, causing rumors to fly that little Edouard, as Margaret pronounced his name, was perhaps not Henry’s.

“I do not believe it, Cecily,” Richard retorted, as they sat before the fire after a supper of pigeon pie. Bess and Margaret played a game of checkers and George pranced around the chamber on a wooden hobby horse under Anne of Caux’s watchful eye. “A proud woman like that would not give herself to anyone beneath her rank. Nay, she would never cuckold the king—not even with Somerset. Where did you hear such an evil rumor?”

Cecily was holding one-year-old Dickon’s hands while he tried to take
a few steps away from her on his unsteady legs, and she marveled at the strength in his fingers and his grim determination. “Gresilde heard it from her husband. I, too, think ’tis absurd. I do not think even Margaret would be foolish enough to have named Somerset little Edward’s godfather if he had been her lover. That would be blasphemous, in truth, hypocrisy notwithstanding. Besides, the earl is old enough to be her grandfather.”

“Hardly, Cis!” Richard laughed. “And when, pray, has that stopped a man before. He is only five years older than I. And I do not expect to be a grandfather for a while.” He got up and took over walking Dickon, praising his youngest at every step.

“It will not be long, my dear. Anne is of age now.” Cecily frowned. When Alice and Cecily had visited Anne at Coldharbour, Cecily had remarked upon the dark circles under her daughter’s eyes and that her gown hung shapelessly on her. Granted, Anne was still only fourteen, but Cecily remembered her tendency to plumpness as a child and she had imagined the girl would have a few womanly curves by now. The young duchess had been ecstatic at the visit of her mother and aunt—a little too excited, Alice had said upon their return to the Erber. “I pray her husband treats her well,” she had remarked. I must write to her on the morrow, Cecily thought now and, snapping out of her reverie, she upbraided George for deliberately interfering in Dickon’s progress.

“That was not kind, George,” Cecily admonished the tow-headed child with the winning smile. “Instead of taunting your brother, come and tell me what you did today.”

C
ECILY HAD ONLY
just signed her name on a letter to Anne the next morning when the sound of horsemen entering the courtyard caught her attention. Leaning out of the window, she saw three strangers, obviously well born, judging by their velvet mantles and the quality of their coursers, dismounting with the help of Fotheringhay pages. Instructing her clerk to hurry with the sealing of her missive, she pressed her signet ring with its falcon insignia into the sticky wax and left the room with Constance to find Richard.

“I did not recognize the men,” she told her attendant, “but they appear to have ridden hard.”

Richard welcomed her into his privy chamber a few minutes later and presented her to Sir Thomas Tyrell and two other courtiers, who looked askance at the intrusion. However, they had heard about the duchess and were therefore not too surprised when Richard grinned and assured them, “Her grace
and I have no secrets from each other, sirs. I pray you, keep us waiting no longer.”

Sir Thomas was a big man with iron-gray hair showing under his floppy hat, and he was clearly awed by the ducal couple now standing together. He bowed low again and discharged his mission.

“The king’s council has requested your presence at the next meeting, your grace,” he began, too intimidated to use the word “summoned” as instructed. “You are requested to proceed from here to London—peaceably and measurably accompanied.”

“Peaceably and measurably?” Richard reiterated. “What can that mean, Sir Thomas?”

Sir Thomas inclined his head and looked sheepish. “They did recall the last time you came to London . . . ’tis all, your grace.” And he stepped back, waiting for a harsh reprimand for his boldness.

But Richard took pity on the messenger. “Ah, I understand, sir.” He turned to Cecily, taking her arm. “Perhaps I had a few too many at my back last time, my lady. What think you?”

“I think you should listen to Sir Thomas, my lord, and hear him out,” Cecily said.

Richard nodded. “Is there more, sir?”

“I have to report that the lord chancellor and my lord of Somerset will not be present,” Tyrell said quickly, shooting Richard a guarded look. Cecily felt Richard’s fingers grip her arm through her sarcenet sleeve, but his expression never changed. “The council seeks to find the right path to take in view of the birth of the prince of Wales. I am instructed to tell you that the council is to meet to set to rest and make union among
all
the lords of this land . . . including your grace and . . .” He stopped, seeing Richard’s tacit understanding.

Cecily gulped, for she had realized that with this cryptic message the council was giving Richard permission to bring charges against Somerset. It was a daring move, Cecily thought, longing to discuss it with Richard later, as the duke of Somerset had never been more powerful than he was now, despite the news that Bordeaux had finally surrendered, leaving only Calais and its pale as English possessions in France.

“I shall gladly obey the summons of the council. And I thank you for a message so faithfully tendered,” Richard said, acknowledging Tyrell’s diplomacy with a nod.

“Sir Thomas, I pray you tell us how fares our sovereign king Henry?” Cecily asked, again astonishing Tyrell with such unaccustomed lack of deference to her husband. Ladies did not usually ask questions with a husband present. He stared at the beautiful duchess with respect. “We have such little news here at Fotheringhay,” Cecily continued, “although, certes, we gave thanks for the safe delivery of England’s heir. I trust her grace, the queen, and the prince of Wales are in good health.”

It was a masterful stroke, Richard recognized proudly, and showed the three men that the duke and duchess of York were not only loyal subjects, full of concern for their sovereign majesties, but also that they recognized Margaret’s son as true heir and prince of Wales. Richard could have kissed his wife on the spot.

The king’s condition had not changed, Tyrell told them, but the new prince was healthy, as was his mother, who was still confined to her apartments. He also mentioned that Somerset was with the king, who had been moved to Windsor Castle.

Richard let go of Cecily’s arm and gave the courtiers a warm smile. “Again we thank you for your good services. Certes, you will all lodge with us, will you not?”

“S
OMERSET IS IN
the Tower at last, Cecily!” Richard told his wife triumphantly one day in November upon returning from a council meeting in Westminster’s Star Chamber. They were staying in a house borrowed from the bishop of Salisbury outside the city wall and hard by Fleet Street. “Norfolk accused him of treason for bringing about the loss of our territories in France and demanded he be arrested and imprisoned. Praise be to God, the council agreed.”

Cecily felt her knees go weak. This was a momentous decision for the council to make, and she never thought Richard would find enough support to bring the arrest about.

“Who was there, my lord?” she asked. “Surely not the king’s men—men like Kemp, Buckingham, Worcester, Tudor?”

Richard rubbed his hands with relish. “Aye, they were and nearly everyone agreed. We have all now taken an oath to uphold Henry’s government in his illness. They are allowing Devon to be freed from Wallingford to join the council, and they have granted me leave to bring back my own councillors. Aye, Sir William is among them, you will be pleased to hear.”

“Sweet Mother of God,” Cecily interjected on a long exhale. She chose her next words carefully. “Are you . . . are you in charge? Someone has to be.”

“I know not at this moment, Cis.” Richard shrugged and eased himself into his chair, first slapping at a flea on the cushioned seat. “But what I can tell you is that I have been re-granted Baynard’s and we can leave this house, send for the children, and celebrate a very festive Christmas there. Does that meet with your approval?”

“Oh, Richard,” Cecily cried, rising and draping herself on his lap, “it most assuredly does. Can we have the boys leave Ludlow too?” She nuzzled into his neck as a child might, but the words she now whispered in his ear were those of a confidante and lover.

Richard felt his passion well up as their kiss reminded both of them of their younger bliss. It was as though the tension of the past two years had been miraculously loosed, and for the first time since returning from Ireland, they sent their attendants away and gave themselves up to a night of such carefree lovemaking that they fell asleep, exhausted, just as the cock crowed.

C
ECILY WAS NEVER
happier than at that Yuletide season with all of her children around her and Richard wreathed in smiles as his position on the council became firmer. As Richard promised, they returned to Baynard’s Castle. Cecily loved the south-facing apartments that looked out over the Thames. This was one of the few fortified London town residences, and Cecily could not have felt more secure behind its walls.

“You never know what is waiting around the bend,” she told Constance a few days after Epiphany, as Meggie practiced on her lute and Gresilde showed Bess a new dance step. “We are safe today, but if the king recovers and releases Somerset, I fear my cousin will think nothing of threatening us.”

“You worry too much, your grace,” Constance soothed her, and changed the subject. “Have you received news of your sons at Ludlow? I wonder how tall the earl of March is now.
Il sera très beau,
” she said quietly. She did not tell the duchess that she had heard tell Edward was already causing a stir among the girls of Ludlow town.

“Aye, he will be a handsome man,” Cecily replied proudly. “I fear he may break many hearts. But not as many as George, perhaps. Just look at those curls and blue eyes.”

She was about to speak of her beloved Edmund when a knock on the door interrupted them, and Cecily called, “Come!”

The usher announced: “Her grace, Anne, duchess of Exeter.”

The children stared with curiosity at the veiled figure who stepped into the room. The girls had not seen their sister for four years, and George and Richard did not even know her. Anne first curtsied before going to kneel at Cecily’s feet for her mother’s blessing.

“Dear child,” Cecily cried delightedly and raised her eldest to her feet. “We did not expect you.” She put out her hand to lift Anne’s veil, but Anne neatly stepped away. “Why the mystery, Nan? I pray you, let me look at you.” She motioned for the others to gather round. “And see how your brothers and sisters would greet you too.”