Elizabeth moved slowly through the garden, bright with spring flowers. At her side was young Charles of Somerset. His thin form had begun to fill out, his shoulders broadened, giving him a manly appearance in spite of his tender years.
“Why is the Lady Margaret crying?” he asked abruptly.
Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. “There’s not much misses your eyes my lad,” she smiled at him reassuringly. “There’s nothing that you need concern yourself with.”
He stopped walking. “I heard the servant talking about some ladies who have died. They were sorry for Margaret, because it is not very long ago that Uncle Henry was laid to rest.”
Elizabeth clucked her tongue. “You had no business listening to gossip, but since you’ve asked I supposed I’d better tell you.” She drew him to the low wall that bordered the garden, and sat down awkwardly. “I’m growing so stout these days I can’t bear to stand still for too long.” She patted the wall. “Come, sit next to me. It’s lovely here in the sun.” She waited until he was seated. “Now, the ladies you talked about are the Duchess of Somerset, Margaret’s mother, and the Duchess of Buckingham.”
“Uncle Henry’s mother?” Charles asked in surprise. “I didn’t know his mother was still alive even?”
Elizabeth smiled. “I know what you mean. She was very old, of course, but Margaret is naturally upset at the double loss.”
Charles, his curiosity satisfied, rose impatiently from the wall. “I’ll race you back, Elizabeth,” he said playfully, and set out with long strides across the garden.
Elizabeth watched him a little sadly. He was already being called the Somerset bastard in Court circles, and was fast coming to an age when such names would cause him hurt. All the same, he had a good protector in Margaret. She would ensure that he was treated with respect – at least in her presence.
She followed Charles more slowly, and as she rounded a curve in the garden, she saw that Charles had collided with Margaret, who had taken him in her arms to prevent them both from falling.
“Where does the boy get his energy?” she smiled ruefully at Elizabeth, straightening her headdress. “Go along to your studies, Charles. I would like to speak to Elizabeth for a moment in private.”
He made them both a stiff bow and set off at a run once more, his hair flying behind him.
“He is a charming boy,” Elizabeth said fondly. “He will make someone a good husband, one day.”
Margaret smiled. “He is every inch a Somerset,” she said sadly. “What a pity he wasn’t born in wedlock. He would have a great future before him.”
Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed. “Bless you, Margaret, that one would charm the birds from the trees. He will always land on his feet, believe me.”
“Perhaps you are right.” Margaret walked on in silence for a moment and Elizabeth could see she had something on her mind.
“Try not to brood on the sadness of the past months,” Elizabeth said. “It is spring again. The flowers are growing and the sun shines. You should look to the future.”
“That is just what I am doing,” Margaret said, and smiled a little sadly. “I am having a visitor this evening.”
Elizabeth looked at her in surprise. “A visitor? Well, why all the secrecy? This is the first I have heard of it?”
“Do I have to ask your permission to have a gentleman pay me court?” Margaret raised her eyebrows and regarded Elizabeth steadily.
“Come on,” Elizabeth said impatiently, “tell me who it is. Don’t keep me in suspense any longer.”
“Thomas Stanley. There, now you know.” Margaret stopped underneath the blossoming apple tree. “I can’t say what will come of the meeting; perhaps nothing at all, but as you say, I must look to the future, mine and that of my son.”
Elizabeth stared at her in amazement. “But Margaret, Lord Stanley has so many children. You don’t know what you’re taking on!”
“I do know.” Margaret counted on her fingers. “There are the twins, John and George; then Richard, Edward, James, Thomas and William. And the girls, Anne, Alice, Catherine and Agnes. Eleven of them in all! He must have been running out of names!”
Elizabeth lifted her hands in the air. “Saints preserve us! They won’t all come to live here, will they?”
She couldn’t see what Margaret would gain from such a match. It certainly wouldn’t be peace and quiet.
Margaret looked directly at her. “He is called the wily fox, and not for nothing! He changed his allegiance from Henry to King Edward in a twinkling of an eye. He now holds the position of the King’s privy councillor.” She sank down wearily on to the soft grass, her gown billowing around her, like a purple flower. “He can offer me his protection in exchange for some of my estates, and those I can well afford to do without.” She smoothed back a strand of hair that hung over her forehead. “Who knows, he may be persuaded to change his coat again when the time comes.”
“I don’t know what nonsense this is you are talking, but I don’t think you can be in your right senses to even think of such a thing.”
Margaret lifted her face to the bright bowl of the sky and the sun was like a Benediction bathing her in brightness and warmth.
“The saints will watch over me and over my son. As for Lord Stanley, I am quite able to take care of him,” she said with a secret smile.
“Please, my lord, help yourself to a little more meat.” Margaret leaned across the table, smiling warmly at Thomas Stanley. “The peacock is delicious; and the fish has been cooked in a wine brought especially from France.”
“Both dishes look so appetising, I think I shall sample a little of each.” He speared some food on the blade of his knife and smiled amiably at Margaret. “I think we can dispense with the formalities now. Please do me the honour of calling me Thomas.”
Margaret inclined her head. “Willingly, if you will call me Margaret.”
He took her fingers and kissed them elegantly. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
She hid a smile, knowing full well that his compliments had no substance to them. It came easily to him to flatter any woman he happened to find himself with.
He had brought a few of his younger children with him and it had not escaped Margaret’s notice that among their attendants was a beautiful young girl with pink skin and corn-coloured hair who had eyes for no one but Thomas Stanley. Margaret had summed up their relationship very quickly, and was quite pleased by her findings.
When the preliminaries were over, Margaret rose from the table and Thomas followed her into the small chamber. He stood over her, a tall figure of a man, with a square jaw and small eyes that were full of humour.
“Well, Margaret, have you thought about my proposal yet? I am impatient for a reply.”
“My answer is yes,” Margaret said at once. “But there are certain conditions.”
“Naturally, my dear,” Thomas said affably, “there always are to any bargain.”
He would have put out his arms to embrace her, but she moved away out of reach.
“I would like to be honest with you, Thomas,” she said calmly. “My reasons for wanting a husband are many-fold, but affection or desire are not numbered among them.”
He looked at her with surprise.
“I do not wish for more children,” Margaret said quickly, “and in any event I am too old to risk a confinement.” She smiled at him. “Fortunately you are adequately endowed with heirs. The Lady Eleanor was a good wife in that respect, for which fact I feel sure you are most grateful.”
“Just a minute, Margaret,” he said suddenly. “Am I to understand that you do not wish the marriage to be consummated?”
“I’m glad you understand, my lord,” she said sweetly. “Please accept these gifts from me as a mark of my good faith.”
He took the documents from her hand, still looking a little bewildered.
“Read them, Thomas,” she said. “I have made over to you for life, the manors of Bedehampton, Woking, Sutton, Tydhurst, the hundreds of Lyghtfeld, oh! and several others. But please read for yourself.”
“My dear Margaret, you are most generous; the list is endless.”
She smiled. “Not quite, but perhaps the sum of eight hundred marks every year will prove useful to you.”
He held out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.
“I will arrange a suitable settlement for you, my dear. I’m sure we will have a good arrangement between us.” He coughed delicately. “I would like to keep one or two of my favourite attendants near me. I trust you would have no objections?” He smiled suavely, and Margaret smiled in spite of herself.
“Your own comforts shall remain your concern, Thomas. I shall not interfere. You may be sure of that.”
He nodded, well pleased. “Now that our business is concluded to our mutual satisfaction, it might be a good idea to show our happy smiling faces to the public.” He winked and placed his arm around her shoulders.
She allowed the embrace, smiling at him respectfully. Thomas was indeed a wily fox, and if their marriage was to be one of convenience, he had decided that no one but themselves should be allowed to know it.
Derby House overlooked Saint Benet’s hill, and Margaret was delighted with the tall stately rooms and the gracious gardens of her new London home.
“I think you will be happy here,” Thomas smiled. “I have always loved this house, and the children would be upset if I were to suggest making a move.”
Margaret seated herself near the window. “It is wonderful to hear the sound of children laughing once more,” she said a little wistfully, and Thomas moved immediately to her side.
“That is a problem I can be relied upon to solve!” He smiled mischievously at her, and she felt her colour rise.
“I have told you my views on that score,” she said firmly. “You confine yourself to your already existing family. I should think there are enough of them to satisfy the most exacting of men!”
She could not suppress the smile that curved her lips and Thomas threw back his head and laughed.
“I think we are both missing out by your sternness, Margaret, but we made a bargain and I won’t be the one to break it.” He seated himself beside her and took her hand, his expression suddenly serious. “Indeed, fortune is on your side. I am to be sent to Scotland to aid the Duke of Gloucester at Berwick. I know I can trust you to be kind to my children while I am away.”
“You can indeed, Thomas. They will brighten my days, and as you can see, Charles has already acquainted himself with some of your sons.”
Across the sunlit garden, she heard his young voice raised in excitement.
“Let us go to the butts, I declare I can outshoot any of you. I’ll put a mark on it.”
The boys streaked across the green, and Margaret smiled proudly.
“I imagine he means what he says. He is fiercely proud of his skill.”
“You are kind to the boy,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “I suppose he makes up a little for the absence of your son.”
“Nothing could do that, but I love Charles very much indeed. I mean to see that in spite of the stigma of his birth, he has every possible advantage.”
Thomas got to his feet. “It may be that I can be of some small help in that direction. At any rate, I will drop a word in all the right places.”
“Thank you, Thomas. My regard for you becomes stronger every day. It seems I have been more than fortunate in my choice of a husband.”
He patted her arm. “I may convince you to fall in love with me yet.” He moved to the door. “I will be leaving London some time in the next few days, but I will try to return before too long. After all, we are still newlyweds!”
Margaret leaned back in her chair after he had gone. The sun was warm on her face and hands, and the shouts of the children in the garden sounded pleasant on the warm air.
She took up the primer that Henry Stafford’s mother, the Duchess of Buckingham, had left her, handling it lovingly. It was covered in purple velvet with clasps of silver gilt and it was heavy against her knees.
Unexpectedly, tears came to Margaret’s eyes. She thought of Henry, gentle and kind. She had been happy with him in spite of everything, and missed him sorely now that he was gone.
Carefully, she opened the book. In its pages she would find some comfort and help. Reading had always been one of her greatest joys, and now she needed an occupation that would take her mind off the difficulties her new situation would inevitably bring.
“The King is on his death bed!” Thomas Stanley stood at the door of Margaret’s chamber, his clothes dusty and travel-stained and his face grey with fatigue.
In an instant Margaret was at his side, leading him to a chair.
“Elizabeth, have someone bring wine for my Lord Stanley. And some broth with plenty of meat.” Icy fingers of fear were making her hands shake. “But the King is still in the prime of his life. What could have brought him to this?” Thomas shrugged broad shoulders. “Some are saying he caught a lung fever by riding out at night to his latest mistress. No one seems very charitable now that the King lies so near to death.”
“He was so kind to me,” Margaret whispered. “Even though he was a Yorkist King and could have taken everything from me if he had so wished.”
“Yes, he was a good King, though the people won’t realise it until he is gone. It is always the way.”
“What will happen now?” Margaret asked through stiff lips, her hand clutching the cross that hung from her waist. “Edward’s young son will be King in truth, but you know the old saying: ‘Woe to thee oh! land when thy king is a child.’ It is my belief that if the King dies, his brother, Richard of Gloucester, will take the crown.” He took the cup that Elizabeth held towards him, and thankfully drank deep. “He has no love for you, Margaret, or for me if it comes to that! So unless I can do something about it, our future doesn’t look too bright.”
Margaret sat down, her legs were trembling so much they would not support her. “Do you think it could be a lie? Maybe the King is just down with a slight chill after all.”
Thomas shook his head. “I heard it from Mistress Shore herself. She was weeping and almost faint with distress because the Queen will not allow her at the King’s side now when he needs her most.”
“Poor girl. What will become of her?” Margaret pitied Jane Shore with all her heart. Queen Elizabeth was capable of turning her away without a rag to her back.
“I believe my old friend Lord Hastings intends to take her under his protection. She will be all right, don’t fret yourself about her.”
Margaret walked across the room and stood before the window. “A moment before you came in, I didn’t have a care in the world.” She stared out into the softness of the day. “And now my thoughts fly about like pollen on the breeze.”
Thomas moved towards her, awkwardly putting his arm around her shoulders. “Trust me,” he said slowly. “They don’t call me the wily fox for nothing.”
The bells tolled dismally across the silent streets of London. King Edward the Fourth was dead, and his people mourned him. Margaret sat alone in her chamber, the summer rain outside the window reflecting her feelings.
“I’ve brought you a soothing balm, Margaret,” Elizabeth said, and carried an overflowing cup, handing it carefully to Margaret. “It will ease the ache that plagues you.”
Margaret grimaced at the bitterness of the drink. “Nothing could do that except the release of Lord Stanley from prison.”
“He is such a brave man.” Elizabeth’s voice was tinged with envy. She was more than half in love with Thomas Stanley herself.
“He stood by his friend, Lord Hastings, who took on Jane Shore when the King died.”
“Yes,” Margaret said wryly. “He fought for Hastings but earned himself a crack on the head with a halbert from one of Richard’s men.”
“What will happen now, I wonder?” Elizabeth settled herself beside Margaret, waiting hopefully for an answer to her question.
“It very much looks as if Richard means to be King. He has put young Edward and his brother in the tower; poor little boys, my heart aches for them.” Margaret’s brow was furrowed as she thought of her own son far away in exile across the sea. Perhaps even he was better off than the two young princes.
“Will we be in danger if Richard does become King?” Elizabeth’s voice shook a little.
“Oh, no, not actual danger, though no doubt I will be attainted and deprived of my estates.” She looked troubled. “I would not mind for myself, but my son will have a difficult time of it without my money to secure his position in France.”
“No doubt that hook-backed Richard of Gloucester believes you are too considerate of the Earl of Richmond,” Elizabeth said drily. “He fears King Henry’s words might yet come true, that your son will unite the red rose and the white, and bring peace to England.”
Margaret leaned back wearily in her chair. “I think your potion is beginning to work. I feel pleasantly drowsy.”
“Try to sleep then. I will help you to your bed,” Elizabeth smiled. “Sleep is the best remedy for all ills, I always say.”
Margaret thankfully climbed between the covers and closed her eyes with the strangest feeling that everything was slipping away from between her fingers.
“Well, my sweet Margaret, are you happy to see me returned from prison?” Thomas strode into the room, his face wreathed in smiles, and Margaret struggled to sit up in bed.
“Thomas, how wonderful. But what has happened?” She held out her hand and he took it warmly.
“Richard has decided I am more use to him alive than dead! I am to go to London. Indeed we are both to go and attend him at his coronation!” He kissed her cheek. “Did I not tell you I would sort everything out?”
“I can’t believe it. He surely doesn’t want me at his coronation!” Margaret said in disbelief.
“Wait until you see the present he has made you!” Thomas waved his hand to the servant to bring in the gifts and Margaret pushed aside the covers excitedly.
“Oh, just look at that dress. There must be a full ten yards of scarlet velvet here in the skirt alone,” Elizabeth said, holding the gown up for Margaret to see it better. “Just look at the cloth of gold! Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Margaret was suddenly reminded of the ruby and gold collar presented to her by the Duke of Suffolk, and the thought was like a nasty taste in her mouth.
“Why does Richard of Gloucester send me such a gown?” she asked, looking up at Thomas in bewilderment. “And there in the chest are more gifts. I don’t understand.”
“You, my dear wife, are to bear the Queen’s train.” His eyes shone with triumph. “You are to take precedence before all other countesses, and even before the Duchess of Suffolk and Norfolk. You are the most honoured lady in the whole of England.” He took her hand, kissing her fingers gently, his gaze meeting hers. “It seems that the reign of Richard the Third is going to be a profitable one for us.”