Virgin Widow

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘Nor would Richard want you!’ It was the only response I could come up with. And I prayed that it was so.

  I did not have to stoke my resentment and bad temper for longer than a day. There arrived at Middleham an imposing guest. All banners and gleaming horseflesh, more ostentatiously splendid than even the Earl when he travelled, George Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence, came to stay. Brother to Richard and Edward, his age somewhere between the two, I knew nothing of him. I would never have seen the family resemblance between him and Richard, but they greeted each other with an obvious affection of a shared childhood, a shared exile as I now knew, as the younger two brothers of the family. Tall and impressively built with waving fair hair, so fair as to shine almost gold in the morning light. His eyes were a pale blue when they darted over those who came to greet him. I heard Isabel sigh as she stood beside me to make her curtsy to this royal prince, far more imposing and eye-catching than Richard. Just like Sir Lancelot, I thought, on the instant I saw him.

  He was received with all honour. Wined and dined, given the best bedchamber with fine linen sheets and scented water to bathe in. He rode the estate with my father and with Richard at his side, freed from his lessons for the duration. He bowed over Isabel’s hand, which drove her into a flutter of delight, more or less ignored me as a young person below his condescension, and spoke imperiously to the henchmen. Terrifyingly handsome, he reduced me in that first instant to shocked and silent admiration.

  ‘Now why do you suppose the insufferable Clarence has graced us with his presence?’ Francis pursed his lips.

  ‘Don’t you like him?’ I asked.

  He slanted a glance. ‘Like? Not the issue. He’s arrogant and self-important. I don’t trust him, for sure.’

  ‘You know nothing about him,’ pronounced Isabel with a departing flounce. ‘I think he is magnificent!’

  ‘But why is he here?’ Francis repeated.

  Discovery came quickly. After supper in one of the private parlours rather than in the more public space of the Great Hall, the Earl unveiled his plans.

  ‘I have given thought to your marriages.’ He addressed Isabel and myself as we applied ourselves to the platters of fruit and sweetmeats. ‘Isabel. It is my wish that you marry George of Clarence. And Anne…you will wed Richard of Gloucester when you are a little older. What could be more appropriate than a Plantagenet prince, for both Neville heiresses? As the most powerful subject in England I can look as high as I choose. There is no one more suitable for you either in England or in Europe.’

  I dropped my spoon with a clatter on the table. If I had not been so astonished, my attention tightly bound up in my own shock at the news, I would have seen Isabel blush rosily and glance through her lashes at her betrothed. He appeared unconcerned, turning his knife over and over in slender fingers. But I was so taken aback at these plans for my future, I did not know where to look. I focused on the glowing ruby set in the chain around my father’s neck. Such a depth of colour. I was dragged into its heart as the thoughts rushed through my mind.

  Richard? I would wed Richard when I was older?

  Richard was looking at me. I could feel the silent stare of those unfathomable eyes. So, unable to prevent it, I stared back and would not drop my eyes even when my cheeks became hot and I was near overcome with the urge to blink. He saw what I was doing and smiled. I blinked. I felt even hotter.

  ‘Will it be soon?’ Isabel asked.

  ‘For you, yes.’ Obviously warmed by his success, the Earl was in the mood to be expansive. ‘The matter is already in hand. We have need of a papal dispensation because you are cousins in the second degree. I foresee no problem. The Pope is open to persuasion, of a monetary kind if no other.’

  Which I did not fully grasp, but if my father saw no difficulty then I need not concern myself. Could he not arrange everything to his liking?

  ‘One thing I would say.’ He spoke to the two Plantagenet brothers primarily, but his gaze also took in Isabel and myself. ‘Until it is arranged and until I have informed the King, you will not discuss this private matter beyond the walls of this room. It is a Neville family affair and should remain so until the marriage can proceed without hindrance.’

  So it was to be a secret. It appealed to me. But why must the King not know? Surely he would not disapprove of his brothers being united with the daughters of his chief counsellor. And would his permission not be needed for so critical an alliance?

  ‘It is equally a matter for the Plantagenets as well as Nevilles, my lord. Are you sure Edward will not object?’ The Countess had sat silently beside the Earl throughout the proceedings, but now echoed my own thoughts.

  ‘How can he?’ the Earl demanded. ‘He has left me no choice. Not one eligible match after the Woodville inundations! Where do I find a high-ranking husband for my daughters? Does he expect me to wed them to a common citizen? A landless labourer? Unless I look abroad—and I think he will not want the Neville lands and fortune handed to a foreign prince. No, my lady. These marriages will strengthen the English monarchy, with the Nevilles tied to the Plantagenets even more firmly than they are at present. How can he possibly object?’

  Her doubt continued to hover like a black cloud.

  ‘It is to our good fortune,’ the Earl assured, clasping her wrist in his. ‘Let us drink to it. And to the future stability of the realm.’

  ‘And you, my lord of Clarence?’ the Countess addressed herself to Richard’s gleaming brother. ‘What are your thoughts?’

  ‘I can think of no better union, my lady.’ He bowed over his platter, smiled with evident satisfaction. ‘Name any man in England who would not want to take a Neville heiress as his wife. I am grateful that you find me worthy.’ His expression was a masterpiece of self-deprecation. I did not believe him, but he knew how to apply charm.

  No one asked Richard.

  As we prepared to leave the room I saw my mother look across to the Earl. There was distress there; she did not approve of our good fortune. But she saw me watching her and fixed her face into a bright smile, rising to her feet to walk to my side and wrap her arm around me.

  ‘It will be a good marriage for you,’ she whispered against my hair. ‘You know Richard well. It is a good basis—friendship—for marriage.’

  I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t sure of anything other than my relief that Richard would not wed Isabel.

  Next day I climbed to the wall-walk where I found Richard propping up the battlements, looking out towards the low hills to the south, watching the distant cloud of dust where Clarence and his escort made speed towards York, as if he wished that he too were leaving. Perhaps he did, although from his expression it was not a happy thought. He did not at first react when I leaned at his side. I waited, impatiently.

  ‘Well? What do you think of the plans for our future?’ Richard asked at last, continuing to rest his arms against the stone parapet as he looked sideways at me. At that moment he seemed impressively adult. Still not tall, but taller than I, his eyes were uncomfortably direct. His forthright question made me feel foolishly young and ignorant of the ways of the world in making and breaking alliances. What would this stern young man have to say to me, a barely grown girl?

  ‘I think…’ I didn’t know how to reply to him. Only that I needed to know what he thought. It should not have been so very important. Girls of my status were so often married to men whom they had never met. But this was Richard, who had lived under the same roof for four years, who had competed with me at archery and, I suspected, allowed me to win. Who had ridden with me when I had gone hawking for the first time. Had let me hold his goshawk on my wrist and did not laugh or mock when I first flinched from her fierce beak and beating wings. This was Richard who had given me a little metal bird. What did he think? Would he hate to be married to me?

  Seeing me, for once, speechless, he grasped the fur border of my cloak and pulled me to sit on the top step of the stair that led back down to the courtyard, out of the sharp breeze.
r />   ‘Stuck for words? Remarkable!’

  I kicked him on the ankle and he laughed. That was better. I felt my nerves relax in my throat. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Do you want to know what I think?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t find the idea objectionable. Do you?’

  I thought. ‘No. Just strange.’

  ‘Marriage to a changeling, as you once so unkindly pointed out.’ But his smile was soft, kind. I blushed at the cruel memory. ‘It will be some years yet,’ he added, perhaps mistaking my pink cheeks for apprehension. ‘You’re only eleven—too young to be a bride.’

  ‘But I think you’ll leave soon.’ It saddened me.

  ‘Next year. When I am of age. I hope that Edward summons me to Court.’

  ‘So then I shall not see you for years.’

  ‘No. Not for a little time. But when you have grown up, when we are wed, we’ll live together.’

  ‘Yes. Will you like it?’ I slid a glance, hoping I did not see dismay.

  ‘I expect I shall. Especially if you stop asking questions.’

  ‘I could.’ It suddenly mattered desperately that he should like it.

  Richard put his arm around my shoulders, a warm hug. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t beat you.’

  ‘I should think not! I am a Neville.’ My sense of dignity returned rapidly. ‘And I promise I won’t tease you.’

  A sharp voice carried up from below, aimed in our direction. I could not hear the words, but knew its owner. Master Ellerby had come to discover the whereabouts of his absent pupil. Lady Masham, I suspected, would be on the look-out for me.

  ‘I am needed,’ Richard said. ‘I’ve neglected my duties in the stables too long. My betrothal means nothing to the horses I must groom!’ He stood and pulled me up, brushed a hand down my dustspeckled skirts. I still did not know what to say to him at this moment of parting. Somehow our relationship had changed in that one pronouncement from my father. He was still Richard. Still an intriguing mix of cousin and brother, of henchman and royal guest in our house. And yet he was now so much more.

  I think he saw my perplexity and demanded nothing from me as he set off down the steps in front of me, then stopped so quickly that I almost fell over his heels. He bent and picked up a tail feather from one of the cockerels in a moult. What it was doing on the battlements I do not know—I found my thoughts incongruously taken up with the thing of such little importance in comparison with the plans for my future. The feather was green and black, long and shining still, iridescent in the dim light.

  ‘I have given you a bird. And now a feather. As a promise of my regard.’ With a flamboyant gesture he reached up and stuck it in through the fillet that held my veil, so that it drooped ridiculously over my brow. Then with a chivalry he never showed to me unless it were a formal occasion in adult company, he took my cold fingers and kissed them.

  ‘Good day to you, Lady Anne Neville.’

  I can still remember, all these years after, the brush of his lips against my skin on those cold battlements, the complex weave of my feelings for him.

  Overnight my sister Isabel became impossible. She summoned Margery to help her dress with an arrogant gesture of her hand as if she were Queen Elizabeth herself. Looking down her narrow nose, she informed Lady Masham, always a colourless lady, that the days of her lessons were at an end—until the Countess heard and took a hand. The royal demeanour slipped somewhat when the Duchess-apparent was once more compelled to read the text of the day and practise her sewing of neat seams.

  Yet, when we were alone, still she was unquenchable.

  ‘Duchess of Clarence.’ She spun in a circle, her silk skirts brushing against the tapestries that decorated the walls in the corridor where we walked. ‘A royal brother for my husband. Wife of the male heir to the throne of England. Would you have believed it? I could be Queen of England. I could almost pray God that the Woodville woman only carries girls and not the son King Edward longs for. Am I, a Neville, not more worthy to rule than she?’

  ‘Isabel!’ Her vicious condemnation of the Queen shocked me.

  ‘What?’ She tossed her head so that her veiling shimmered in the light. ‘No one likes her. Why should I wish her well?’

  I could not argue against it, so did not. ‘But would you wish to be Queen?’

  ‘I would!’

  There was no talking to her. She looked at me as if I were the least of her subjects, as if she might insist that I kneel before her in reverence, as the Queen did at her churching after the birth of her daughters. I escaped before it crossed her mind.

  I knew which royal brother I preferred.

  Well, it did not last. My good fortune was of short duration, my betrothal and Isabel’s being cancelled as quickly as they had been implemented. Hardly had I become used to the prospect of being a Plantagenet bride than Richard was peremptorily summoned to London to present himself at Court before his brother, King Edward. The brief dictate contained no indication of its purpose. Nor did Chester Herald who delivered it, gloriously apparelled in his Plantagenet tabard. He waited, impatient and dust smeared, to escort his young charge back to Westminster with no explanation. Or if he knew, he was not saying.

  I existed in those following days in an uneasy agony of uncertainty. My first concern—would Richard ever return to Middleham? It was generally understood that he would take his place at Court eventually when he came of age, at least a year into the future. But would Edward demand his presence early? Never had the hills around Middleham when I rode out with Isabel and Francis seemed so empty, so lacking in colour and excitement.

  ‘When do you think he will return?’ I asked Francis once again.

  ‘Don’t ask me. You keep asking me and I know no more than you.’

  ‘Will the King have heard of the proposed marriages?’

  ‘If he hasn’t, he must be a fool. And a fool Edward is not! Our King has a network of spies second to none.’ Francis stared thoughtfully between his horse’s ears. ‘Apart from that, what in God’s name was the point in the Earl swearing Clarence to secrecy? That man has no knowledge of self-control or discretion. D’you think the Earl wanted the King to discover—to save time telling him?’

  I thought about this as the sharp breeze whipped my pony’s mane and my veiling into a thorough tangle. ‘Will the King allow it, d’you suppose, or will he forbid it?’ Isabel had cantered on ahead with a groom in attendance. I would never have raised the subject if she had been within hearing distance. The whole household was complicit in a silent campaign to distract her from either her outrageous dreams of grandeur or her immoderate fury that the King might indeed denounce her royal union.

  ‘He might forbid it.’ Francis’s reply, his bland expression, was entirely diplomatic. Until I caught the twitch of the muscle in his jaw as he hid the laughter. ‘Don’t fret, Anne. If you can’t have Gloucester, you can have me after all. You can be Lady Lovell and reign over all my establishments!’

  ‘Ha! As if I would want you!’

  ‘About as much as I would want you, sweettempered Anne!’

  I gave up, sighing. There was no sense or help here. I kicked the pony’s plump sides and followed my sister.

  Richard was not to stay at Westminster and immerse himself in the heady delights of power and politics as I had feared. He returned to Middleham within the month, without the Earl who, whatever his feelings on the matter, was sent to head another official embassy to the Courts of Europe.

  ‘The King! He won’t allow it, will he?’ I asked within minutes of Richard’s escaping from my mother’s presence.

  ‘No. He won’t. He said he wouldn’t countenance it, by God!’Well, that was blunt enough.

  Richard took my arm and pulled me along with him as he strode down the steps into the courtyard, round the buttress and into the enclosed garden between wall and keep.

  ‘What did the King say?’ I asked when he finally stopped and I could draw breath. I did not
know what was uppermost: disappointment at my un-betrothed state or relief that life would settle back into its normal routines.

  ‘What didn’t he say!’A ghost of a smile flittered for a moment as he leaned back against a rose-drenched wall and puffed out a breath. ‘I have never seen Edward so angry. Not so much with us—Clarence and myself—but with the Earl, I think for his presumption. Although Edward’s words were short and sharp enough when he summoned the two of us to hear his opinions.’ A harsh laugh. ‘Especially when Clarence had the temerity to inform him that he thought it was as good a match as any and what was the problem with it? Enough to say—Edward has forbidden it. And informed the Pope that there must be no dispensation on pain of England’s severe displeasure.’

  ‘So that’s an end to it?’

  ‘Yes. We are no longer betrothed.’

  I scowled my disapproval of what I could not change. ‘How did he find out?’

  ‘Clarence, of course.’ Richard’s mouth curled in disdain. ‘He couldn’t avoid bragging, over a surfeit of ale, his good fortune in snaring a wealthy Neville heiress!’

  Well, Francis had read that situation accurately enough. Away to our right, from the open window up above our heads, there was the sound of some commotion. Then a squawk of sheer outrage, from Isabel. Richard raised his brows and, as one, we withdrew further behind the overgrown roses.

  ‘Does Edward consider that we are not high enough for a Plantagenet match?’ I whispered.

  Richard shrugged, patently uncomfortable, but without reply, until I nudged him impatiently. ‘Anne—’ he turned to look at me, our heads close together under the perfumed overhang’—it’s not that Edward thinks you’re not high enough. It’s the direct opposite—that he would not want the Nevilles to be too close to the centre of power. If Elizabeth fails to bear a son, Clarence will become King if Edward dies before him. And Isabel would be Queen, putting your father the Earl far too close to the throne. Edward doesn’t want it. I understand it, I suppose. So instead of not being important enough, you are far too important to be taken lightly into an alliance.’