Thwarted Queen Part 19

Chapter 21.

Fotheringhay Castle, Northamptons.h.i.+re March 1447 Richard held a special ceremony for Edmund to invest him with the t.i.tle Earl of Rutland, while Cecylee's son Edward was allowed only to style himself the Earl of March, there being no formal ceremony for him. Naturally, nothing came of the match that Queen Marguerite proposed between Edward and the French princess.

Cecylee was warned by these actions that Richard was seriously displeased. But he had yet to do his worst. Not more than a month pa.s.sed before he decreed that both children-then aged four and three-should be sent off to live at Ludlow Castle, deep in the Mortimer lands on the Welsh marches. They were to have their own household and learn the manly arts of war.

Then Richard wasted no time in arranging a marriage between the Duke of Exeter's heir and their eldest daughter Nan.

"Not Nan! She is a child! She has but six years."

"The match is a good one. The Hollands have royal blood flowing through their veins."

"But what kind of person is Henry Holland?" Cecylee bunched up the rich ruby fabric of her new velvet gown. "Though he's only sixteen, I like not what I hear of him. He's already gaining a reputation for cruelty, for riding his horses too hard, for tormenting his dogs. His people seem terrified of him."

Richard tightened his jaw.

She paced up and down, her skirts swis.h.i.+ng in the rushes. She stopped in front of Richard. "I cannot believe you would do this. It is the height of folly to put Nan in his mercy."

He took her by the shoulders. His fingers closed into a vise-like grip. "Cis: You are fond of gossip. Holland will become Duke of Exeter when his father dies. He is as close to the throne as I am. This is a splendid match."

"It is not a splendid match!" she said hotly, enunciating each word. "You are taking Nan away from me to folk she does not know. Holland's mother has been dead these fourteen years. His second wife has been dead for eight years. There will be no ladies to take care of her. And she will become a stranger to her brothers and sisters. You have encouraged those greedy Hollands, allowed them to talk you into this marriage. They will have the revenues from all the lands that Nan will bring as her dowry now."

A vein throbbed near his temple. He came closer and snapped, "How dare you lecture me on my duties as a father when you so forgot yourself as to lower yourself with an archer."

She backed away.

"You lied to me, Cis!" He thrust his face into hers. "You didn't tell me your son was a low-born b.a.s.t.a.r.d, now did you? I would have sent him away if I'd known, to be brought up by humble folk."

She clenched her hands. It had never occurred to her that Richard might think she'd deliberately tricked him. She took a step forward. "He was extremely well educated. He studied at university. He had pleasing manners."

"He was a peasant!" roared Richard. He took her by the shoulders and shook her. "Take hold of yourself, Cis, and stop making excuses. You slept with a peasant."

"But Our Lord and Savior was not ashamed to go amongst peasants, so why should I-"

Richard let go, went to the door of the chamber and turned. "I need Exeter's support," he spat. "I have plans for the House of York. Nan is to marry Holland now, and I'll have no more said against it."

Before Cecylee could open her mouth to reply, he stalked out.

For the marriage feast, she dressed Nan in a gown of green silk embroidered in silver thread, complete with matching cap, under which Nan's hair fell down in long brown waves. Cecylee embroidered Nan's gown herself, st.i.tching Anne, d.u.c.h.esse of Exeter around the hem, as if the monotony of the embroidery could somehow soothe her feelings.

At length, the feasting came to an end and it was time for Nan to leave. Cecylee held her hand as they took the stairs for the last time to the courtyard where grooms waited with the horses and a litter for Nan, for she was too young to ride so many miles on horseback.

"Goodbye, my sweetest child," she murmured, stooping to kiss Nan's upturned cheeks. She squeezed Nan's fingers gently. "May G.o.d bless and keep you."

Nan's eyes grew round. "Mama, where am I going?"

"You are going to Exeter, to be with your new husband."

"But you're coming with me, are you not, Mama?"

Cecylee slowly sank to her knees before the tiny form and took Nan into her arms. She clung tightly and wept. It was a foolish thing to do, but she could not help herself.

Nan started to wail. "Mama. Don't let them take me! I'll be good, I promise. I don't want to go."

Richard walked up, his face thunderous. "Cis!" he snapped. "What are you doing? Why are you upsetting the child?"

She rose shakily to her feet, fumbling for her handkerchief.

Exeter came up behind Richard and glared. "Come now, child," he said roughly. "Leave off your crying. Be a good girl and get into that litter."

Nan edged towards her mother.

Cecylee's hand instinctively curved around the tiny fingers.

"I won't," said Nan, and stamped her foot.

Cecylee's lips curved in agreement.

Richard clenched his jaw and without a word grabbed Nan. He hoisted her up and deposited her in the litter. The curtains closed.

"Mamaaaa!" she wailed, her voice m.u.f.fled by the curtains. "Mama! Mama!"

Exeter got onto his horse, followed by his son Henry Holland, Nan's new husband. He signaled, and the whole procession moved off, several knights riding alongside the closed litter.

"Mama! Mama! Mama!"

The wailing voice grew fainter and fainter as the entourage disappeared into the darkness of the oncoming night. Cecylee buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She did so right in front of the servants, it was beyond her power to do anything else.

At length, she felt herself being gently led away. She threw herself onto her bed and howled.

She came to with a throbbing headache and eyes that were sore from weeping.

"There now, my lady, this'll do you good." Jenet opened the bed curtains and handed her a potion of her own making. "It contains valerian root and chamomile flowers."

Cecylee rose from the bed. "I cannot go on. When will I see her again?"

"You are being sorely tried, my lady. But you must make your peace with it."

"Must?"

Jenet shrugged. "Well, you tell me, my lady. Do you have a choice?"

Cecylee sank onto the window seat. "I had little idea marriage would be like this."

"But you knew women lose their legal rights when they marry."

"It's so easy for you. You have more rights than I. You, at least, can choose your husband. I had no choice. Nan has no choice. I wish I were a peasant."

"Sip some of this my lady, please. It will do you a power of good. You must keep up your strength for the baby that's coming."

At those words, Cecylee drank some of the valerian and chamomile concoction. "Do I look dreadful?"

"Of course you do. Your husband has been cruel to you."

She drained the rest of the cup. "He's angry with me."

"I know, my lady. You've wounded his pride and his masculine vanity."

She grimaced as she leaned back against the window seat. Joan, Nan, Henry, Edward, Edmund, Beth, Margaret. She counted them like beads on a string. This baby was growing large and her back was beginning to feel its weight. If he was a son, she hoped that Richard would allow her to call him William after her brother Lord Fauconberg. "My marriage is past mending."

"I wouldn't say that, my lady. Duke Richard has not banished you. He spends a great deal of time in your company."

"But he sends my children away." Her eyelids started to droop. "I know I'm foolish about my children," she murmured. "But I cannot help myself."

"That is one of the best things about you, my lady," said Jenet taking the cup away and unlacing her gown. "How you love your children. 'Tis a pleasure to see."

Chapter 22.

Dublin, Ireland Late Summer 1450 "A messenger from London."

d.u.c.h.ess Cecylee and Duke Richard, in the middle of holding their daily audiences in the great hall of Dublin Castle, looked to the far side of the crowd. As the travel-stained figure wearily knelt before them, Cecylee straightened in her seat. It was nearly three years since Nan had been married off to Exeter, and during that time Cecylee hadn't seen or heard of her daughter. Her numerous pregnancies made it impossible to travel the two hundred and fifty miles between Fotheringhay and Exeter. Cecylee counted out her beads on a string: Joan, Nan, Henry, Edward, Edmund, Beth, Margaret, William, John, George. And so, Cecylee wrote to Nan. Her letters had been returned unopened. When Cecylee had begged Richard to allow Jenet to visit, he'd refused. He would never forgive her for having taken a lover. Ever since, Cecylee sought out anyone who could give her news of her daughter.

"How go affairs in France?" asked Richard, motioning the messenger to rise.

"Not well, my lord Duke," he replied bowing. "My lord of Somerset has handed Caen over to the French."

Richard recoiled. "What did you say?"

The messenger repeated it.

Richard shot out of his chair. "This is madness!" he stormed. "This means the end of English rule in Normandy!" He called for a scribe and dictated a letter to the King of England.

While Richard was preoccupied, Cecylee turned to the messenger: "Have you news of my daughter the d.u.c.h.ess of Exeter?"

The messenger shook his head.

"Find out what you can," whispered Cecylee, slipping him a sovereign.

A month later, he reappeared. "His Grace the King bowed to your wishes and summoned parliament," he began. "But after hearing Somerset's explanation, he decided to make him Constable of England."

Richard stared at him, the color draining out of his face.

Cecylee put her hand over Richard's. Turning to the messenger, she inquired, "What do the people say about this?"

The messenger bowed. "They murmur that Somerset must be the queen's lover, madam."

Cecylee flinched, but Richard laughed. "Small wonder they think that," he said. "Why else make Somerset Constable of England? I've never heard of rewarding someone for bad judgment. The queen must have made a special request. I must go home."

"My lord?" Cecylee looked searchingly into his face.

"Aye, 'tis time. While I struggle here to end the squabbles in Ireland, I see England spiral downwards into chaos. The people need me."

"But don't you need permission of the king?" said Cecylee, feeling the baby kick. In a few months, she would present Richard with another child.

Richard gave a harsh bark of laughter. "I fear matters have gone beyond that point. I must leave, and leave now," he replied, kissing her on the cheek.

And so, in the s.p.a.ce of a few hours, Richard saddled up and left, taking the messenger and many others with him. It was not until he'd left that Cecylee realized she'd not had a chance to ask him about Nan.

Several days later, the messenger returned and was ushered into the solar of Dublin Castle, where Cecylee was packing up her gowns and jewels, surrounded by her women and children, for Richard had instructed his wife to make all haste in leaving Ireland. Baby George was suckling his wet-nurse, four-year-old Margaret was playing with Jenet, while seven-year-old Beth kept close to her mother. Though Beth was now the same age as Nan had been at her marriage, thankfully her father had said nothing about marrying her off. Cecylee hoped that the deteriorating situation in England would keep him occupied for many moons to come. She motioned for the messenger to rise. "How is my lord?"

"In good health, and spirits, my lady," replied the messenger, bowing. "He successfully crossed to Wales and rode to Ludlow. There, he mustered a force of four thousand men and marched towards London. He is in London now, seeking an audience with the king."

Cecylee sighed and crossed herself, praying that common sense would prevail and that Richard would be safe. Nothing had gone right for him in recent years. The queen, fearing him, blocked all of his attempts to partic.i.p.ate in government. Instead of making use of his considerable talents, she'd appointed York to be the king's lieutenant in Ireland. The position sounded like a great honor, but Richard and Cecylee were both painfully aware that the queen had banished him from London.

"Have you news of my daughter, the d.u.c.h.ess of Exeter?"

The messenger hesitated and looked at the floor.

"You heard something?"

He coughed. "Yes, my lady. But nothing good, I am afraid."

"Tell me," said Cecylee, motioning Annette to take Beth and the other children away.

"I happened to have business in that part of the country, and so I rode over to Exeter Castle. It is a fine fortress, tucked into one corner of the City of Exeter, and the Duke of Exeter lives in a fine mansion within, so I am told."

"You did not go into the castle yourself?"

"Alas, no, madam. I was turned away at the gate. But it was nighttime, and there was a full moon, so I let my horse linger nearby and-" He ran his tongue over his lips.

Cecylee felt her unborn baby kick as she sank into her seat. "And what?" she whispered.

"I swear I could hear a cry coming from the castle."

"A cry? What do you mean?"

The messenger was silent.