The pale spring sunshine spilled honey-coloured pools of light on to the floor, and the scent of early flowers gently reminded Margaret of her childhood days at Bletsoe. She sighed softly, and Elizabeth looked up from her sewing.
“Are you troubled about something, Margaret?” she said at once.
Margaret shook her head. “Just thinking of old times, when I was a child at Bletsoe. Do you remember the collar of gold and rubies I was made to wear because the Duke of Suffolk had given it to me? How I hated it.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You were such a pretty child; and still your cheeks are as fine-boned and unlined as they were then.” It was true. Margaret had the glow of good health in her skin and her hair was as glossy as a young girl’s.
“You pay a pretty compliment, Elizabeth, but I assure you I do not feel young.” Margaret went to the window and leaned on the sill. “My son is a grown man now; in his twenty-seventh year. I am in my fortieth year. Time flies so quickly, I can hardly believe it.”
“You were so young to be a bride – a mere child.” Elizabeth’s eyes were moist. “And then to have your husband taken from you so suddenly, and following that, the birth of your son. There will never be a year like your thirteenth summer.”
“It is all a long time ago,” Margaret said. “But I still remember Edmund as if it happened yesterday.”
Elizabeth put down her needlework. “Shall I bring in some refreshments before we grow too maudlin?” she asked with a glimmer of humour.
“That is a sensible suggestion, Elizabeth,” Margaret laughed. “I must be older than I thought to be reminiscing about old times, this way.”
Elizabeth went to the door and Margaret heard her speak sharply to Cecile. The girl had been sent to Margaret by King Richard and no doubt she had orders to report anything unusual that might take place.
“Lazy child! She does nothing but sit outside doors listening.” Elizabeth’s plump face was red with exertion. “I’d be quicker going to the kitchens myself, but I don’t see why she shouldn’t be made to work.”
“It’s not her fault if Richard chooses to send her here. I expect she would much rather be back in the gaiety of the Court.”
Margaret smiled tolerantly. Just at that moment, Cecile returned with a tray of marchpane, a sullen, angry look on her young face.
“Have you heard the latest gossip about King Richard?”
Elizabeth leaned forward and Margaret’s heart skipped a beat.
“It is wise to keep a still tongue in your head, don’t you think so?” she said quickly.
But Elizabeth was determined to have her way. “It seems he wishes to marry his niece, Elizabeth of York. I expect the Pope will grant dispensation to the King.”
Cecile took a deep breath, her face flooded with colour as she placed the tray before Margaret.
“The King is not himself lately,” she said defensively. “He has lost first his son and then his dear wife, and I just don’t think you should repeat stupid gossip, Lady Elizabeth.”
Cecile finished speaking and stood trembling, waiting to spring to the King’s defence again if necessary.
Margaret waved her hand. “Take no notice, Cecile. I think Elizabeth is making sport of you.”
Cecile shook her head. “I have heard the rumours too, Countess, and they should be stamped out. Richard would not do such a thing. He has declared the Woodvilles illegitimate, so I hardly think he would marry one of them.”
Elizabeth trilled with laughter. “You think that Richard is so holier than thou? Didn’t he snatch the throne from his brother’s children? And where are those little innocent boys now?”
Cecile clenched her fists. “I have heard that the Princess Elizabeth is being forced to marry Henry, Earl of Richmond, who has been banished from England this many long year!” She stopped and clapped her hand over her lips, realising she had gone too far.
Margaret rose to her feet and stood in dignified silence for a moment, her face drained of colour. “You may leave us now, Cecile,” she said at last, moving across to the warmth of the fire.
“I’m sorry, Margaret.” Elizabeth put her arm contritely around Margaret’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have tormented the girl. It was all my fault.”
“The day will come when everyone will look up to my son.” Margaret spoke quietly. “All his life he has been punished for deeds others have committed, but soon, now, England will know that Henry Richmond is a force to be reckoned with.”
The long shadows of evening cast strange shapes across the chamber and Margaret stirred, distracted from her prayers by a gentle knocking on the door.
“Please come in,” she said quickly, imagining it was Elizabeth coming to remonstrate with her for spending too much time at her devotions.
It was Cecile, her head bent and her eyes avoiding Margaret’s gaze.
“It is a bishop, my Lady Margaret. Bishop Morton. He wishes to speak with you.”
“I will see him in the other chamber. Are the tapers lit? It is growing dark in here!”
Margaret forced herself to be calm, though her heart was beating so quickly she could scarcely breathe. The Bishop must have brought news of Henry, there was no other reason for his visit.
She moved towards the outer chamber, her hands clasped together as she attempted to appear calm.
“Lady Margaret, how good of you to receive me. I trust you are well?”
Margaret smiled politely, noticing the strong line of the Bishop’s face, and his dark piercing eyes.
She dismissed Cecile and waited until the door was closed behind the girl before speaking.
“You have news of my son, my Lord Bishop?” she said hopefully, her voice scarcely obeying her.
He sat down near to her. “The Earl of Richmond is well. He sends his affectionate regard and asks me to tell you that he will return some time in August.”
“So soon? Oh, my Lord Bishop, how I long to see Henry again. Will everything go well this time, do you think?”
He nodded. “I believe so; it is the will of God, Countess. The last attempt was merely a trial run. If you look at it that way, it doesn’t seem so bad.”
Tears came to Margaret’s eyes. “Was he hurt when he attempted to land in England? I have heard nothing except small snippets of gossip.”
Bishop Morton shook his head. “Your son forced his way as far as Poole, and when he realised there was no army to meet him, he returned to the coast and then to France.”
Margaret felt almost light-headed with relief. She sank back into her chair and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to imagine her son as a fully grown man. All she could conjure up in her mind’s eye was her husband Edmund, his bright hair shining in the sun.
“This must have been a very trying time for you, my lady.”
Margaret became aware that the Bishop was talking to her. Reluctantly she brought her mind back to the present.
“I’m sorry, my lord, you were saying?”
“We have heard how you were attainted and your estates taken from you. No doubt they will be returned to you when your son is king.”
He looked about him, aware that here in England the words he spoke were treason.
Margaret went to the door and opened it quietly and there stood Cecile, her eyes wide and her lips trembling.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” she murmured. “I did not wish to spy on you.”
Margaret drew her inside. “Now please don’t start crying. That will do no good at all.”
Bishop Morton looked askance at Margaret as she led the weeping girl into the chamber.
“Richard sent her to me,” Margaret explained. “He deprived me of my companions and my servants, and placed only his loyal subjects in my household.”
“Let her run back to Richard,” Morton said forcefully. “She has heard nothing that would do him the slightest good.”
Cecile began to cry out loud and Margaret put her arm around the girl’s shaking shoulder.
“Please, Cecile, do not distress yourself. No one is going to hurt you.” She handed the girl a kerchief and sat her down near the blazing logs. “You must calm yourself, Cecile. Why are you crying so much?”
“I do not know what to think or feel,” the girl gulped noisily. “When I came here to serve you, I imagined that you would be hateful and a true enemy of King Richard. But now, my lady, I don’t know what I must do.”
Margaret looked at her sympathetically. “You heard what my Lord Bishop was saying?”
The girl nodded. “I know that the Earl of Richmond is going to land on English shores in August; but I do not wish to betray you to the King, my lady, and yet it clearly is my duty.”
Morton’s eyes glinted. “Tell the King, my dear young lady. You will not be thought any the worse of because of your conflicting loyalties.”
Cecile looked up at Margaret, her moist eyes begging for forgiveness. She rose timidly from her chair.
“I’m sorry, Lady Margaret,” she said humbly. “I would do anything rather than hurt you, but my first loyalty is towards the King.” She started towards the door. “Perhaps you could call off the invasion of England, and then your son would be safe.”
Margaret opened her mouth to speak, but the Bishop took Cecile’s arm and accompanied her to the door.
“Don’t worry your little head over problems that do not concern you, my dear.”
Cecile threw a last agonised glance at Margaret, but then the Bishop was closing the door, and she was forced to turn away.
“Why do you allow her to return to the King, my Lord Bishop?” Margaret said slowly. “Is it that you want him to be misinformed about the place my son will land?”
“Of course!” Morton smiled, his dark eyes lighting up in triumph. “The King will guard the English coast, but he will not think of Henry landing on the shores of Wales.” He took her fingers and held them to his lips. “Remember, Lady Margaret, when your son reaches the throne of England, he will bring with him peace and prosperity. It is God’s will.”
Margaret bowed her head, and with eyes closed she prayed that Henry would be kept safe from all his enemies.
Whispers were spreading all over England, turning the blood of good citizens into water as they listened to horrifying tales of the King’s wrong-doing.
Margaret sat at home in Derby House stricken to the heart with pity for the Dowager-Queen Elizabeth.
“I don’t believe that even Richard could do away with two innocent young boys.” Elizabeth stabbed her tapestry work violently with her needle, venting her anger on the nearest object to hand.
“It is true enough,” Margaret said gently, “though I can’t believe that Richard did the deed with his own hand. My Lord Stanley believes that one of the King’s ministers thought it politic to be rid of the princes. And now it seems that questions are being asked all over the countryside.” She sighed. “The only way Richard could clear his name would be to bring young Edward and Richard forth from the Tower, and it seems that he will not, or cannot, do that.”
“They are dead then, poor little mites. How I pity the Queen. She must be eating her heart out for her sons.” Margaret looked down unseeingly at her tapestry. “Yet Cecile told me that Richard had ordered suits of armour for the boys. I cannot believe he would wish them dead.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It may be that we will never know the truth of the mystery, but without a doubt, the boys have disappeared as if from the face of the earth.”
“I’ve heard that their sister, the young Princess Elizabeth, weeps unceasingly for them, and more because her beloved uncle is accused of the double murder.”
There was a sudden knocking on the closed door of Margaret’s chamber which startled her so much that she dropped her tapestry on to the floor.
Elizabeth rose to her feet, the colour leaving her cheeks as she looked uncertainly at Margaret.
In the silence, the knock was repeated, and Margaret made a visible effort to gather her wits about her.
“Open it, Elizabeth,” she said a little shakily, half expecting to see a battalion of the King’s guards waiting outside.
“Oh, Lady Margaret, please forgive me for arriving like this!”
Cecile almost stumbled into the room and Margaret helped the distraught girl to a chair.
“What on earth are you playing at?” Elizabeth said quickly. “We all thought you were back at Court with the King.”
Cecile drew a deep breath. “I know. I did return to Richard, and I told him, my lady, about the Earl’s intention to land in England some time during August.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I had to tell him. Please believe me, it was my duty.”
Margaret nodded. “I understand that, but what brings you here now in such a state?”
“It’s about Lord Stanley, Lady Margaret.” Cecile loosened her cloak as if unable to breathe. “King Richard does not trust him any longer. He means to demand that Lord Stanley returns to his side or else send his son, Lord Strange, in his place.”
Margaret attempted to hide her fear. “But why has the King lost faith in my husband? He has spoken no treason, or committed any act that could be held disloyal to Richard.”
“There are rumours that Lord Stanley is inclined to come over to the side of the Earl of Richmond, and the King has repeatedly asked for his return to Court without success.” Cecile’s words spilled over each other in her anxiety to have them said.
“It was brave of you to come, but are you not placing yourself in danger?” Margaret said quietly.
“I had to come, my lady. Lord Stanley was always kind to me, and I thought I might be able to help in some small way.”
Margaret nodded her head. She knew what Cecile was too polite to say, that there had been no conspiracy on Stanley’s part. It was only between Margaret and Bishop Morton that the treasonable conversation had taken place.
“Rest here for a little while, and then I will have someone take you back to Court before your absence is noticed.” Margaret spoke kindly, aware that Cecile had taken a great risk in returning to her household.
Elizabeth came close to Margaret. “Can we not warn Lord Stanley about the King’s intentions?”
Margaret smiled. “Do you think my husband does not know? He is called the wily fox, remember! He probably knows the King’s thoughts before they are uttered.”
“What do you think he will do? Will he return to Richard’s Court, do you think?”
Margaret shook her head. “That I cannot answer. My husband is a closed book. No one knows which course he will take. I do know this; he will not endanger the life of his eldest son, and I would not expect or wish him to do that.” Margaret felt a thrill of excitement move through her. “It is beginning, Elizabeth. The wheels are set in motion. Soon my son will be here on this very soil. How I’ve missed him!” Tears blurred her eyes and she smoothed them away with shaking hands.
“Do not upset yourself, Margaret. That silly child has stirred us all up, and maybe it is all false. She probably didn’t understand half of what the King said.”
Margaret shook her head. “You underestimate her,” she said quietly. “Cecile may be young and sometimes foolish, but she has intelligence of mind far beyond her years, and a conscience that drives her mercilessly.” Margaret returned to the girl. “Come, Cecile, drink a little wine. You will feel better soon.”
Cecile drew herself up and pulled her cloak around her shoulders once more. “Perhaps I was wrong to come here like this, my lady,” she said tiredly. “I don’t know where my loyalties lie any longer; but I know I must return to King Richard’s Court.” She attempted a smile. “May God and all the saints go with you, my lady.”
She moved towards the door, pulling her hood over her bright hair, and left the room without once turning back.
“Poor girl!” Elizabeth was moved almost to tears. “I have misjudged her, believing her to be an empty-headed child.” Margaret smiled sadly. “It is easy to misjudge people. In these troubled times it is difficult for anyone to know who is right and who is wrong.” She moved slowly across the chamber and stood looking into the bright blaze of the fire. “Sometimes it occurs to me that I might be wrong in wishing my son to be King of England.”
She looked so dispirited that Elizabeth put her arm around Margaret’s shoulder.
“His destiny was fixed a long time ago, Margaret. Remember the old woman who took us in near London Bridge? She told you even then that your son would wear the crown of England.” She smiled reassuringly at Margaret. “King Henry the Sixth himself called the Earl the hope of England. No, you are not wrong, Margaret, your son was meant to be the last of the Lancastrian line. It is the will of God.”
“Of course you are right, Elizabeth. I must not lose heart now when the end is so near.” She put a hand to her aching head. “It is so easy to become confused and doubtful when people are suffering on every side.”
“Keep up your courage, Margaret, it will all turn out as you hope, because it was meant to be.”
Margaret smiled. “Your words give me fresh courage, Elizabeth.”
She went slowly to her chamber and sank down on the bed, a feeling of utter weariness dulling her senses. She loosened her hair from the tight braids, and it hung loose, still as shining as it had been when she was a girl.
What would her son think of her now? Would she seem very old and changed to his young eyes?
Slowly she lay down, her eyes closing almost against her will. She would sleep for a little while and then she would be fresh to face whatever was to come. Soon now, the long loneliness would be over. Her son would return to take his place at her side. She smiled softly. This time, she knew it in her bones, he would return as a victor!