Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York

by Samantha Wilcoxson

  “What? You will leave the castle?” Elizabeth couldn’t hide her surprise. Her mother had always enjoyed being in the center of politics and activity.

  “This is no longer my palace,” admitted the former queen with a shrug. “Your sisters and I will be only across the river, but away from painful reminders.”

  “I understand, and I respect your decision,” Elizabeth said. “I am sure that you will be quite happy there. It is a beautiful home. Thankfully, you will still be close at hand when I am in need of you.”

  Her mother waved the comment away. “There is little that you need me for anymore.”

  The evening continued on in family harmony, though Cecily continued to keep to herself. Elizabeth was shocked that the loss of her commoner husband had affected her so strongly. She would remember to pray for peace and emotional healing for her sister when she said her prayers that night. When her family members filed out of the room, Elizabeth prepared for bed with a light, happy heart.

  The next morning, Margaret ran into Elizabeth’s room without waiting for permission to enter. Tears streamed down her face and her hair fell in a tangle around her shoulders. Before one of her ladies could admonish her cousin, Elizabeth ran to her and held her close.

  “What is it, Margaret?”

  Margaret could hardly speak through her sobbing. “They’ve taken Edward!”

  “Taken him? Taken him where?”

  “The Tower.”

  ~~~~

  The Christmas festivities carried on, but the joyful feeling in Elizabeth’s heart was gone. She had not received any response to her note to Henry requesting an audience or information on her cousin. Margaret was crushed. The poor girl having already lost her mother and father was not prepared to be left without her younger brother. Elizabeth invited Margaret to share her rooms rather than staying in her own that seemed too empty, and they gave each other what comfort they could.

  Elizabeth did not dare to share her private fears with her young cousin, but she couldn’t dismiss the premonition of evil that filled her when she pictured innocent Edward sitting in a cell in the cold, dark Tower. She tried to tell herself that he would have royal rooms that would be comfortable and heated, but the vision of her brothers in similar rooms filled her with dread. Edward was the last in the direct male Plantagenet line. Would there be no more?

  January 1486

  “Elizabeth, you have been asking to speak to me.”

  Henry stood in the entrance to her rooms, and, though she had been hoping to have the opportunity to interrogate him about Edward for two weeks, she was flustered at his sudden appearance. She fell quickly and expertly into a low curtsey and her ladies followed suit.

  “Your grace, please come in,” she said, and a chair was placed for him near her own.

  He strode across the room with so much more confidence than he had seemed to have when she first met him at Coldharbour. Her hand was in his, and he placed a lingering kiss upon it. Elizabeth’s feelings were at war within her. She was touched by his affection but overwhelmed with concern for Edward. She could not go through what she had with her brothers again. She gestured toward the chair and waited for him to be seated before taking her own.

  “I apologize that I have not been attentive,” he began. “What concerns you, my lady?”

  Elizabeth could not open the conversation with an accusation. “I wanted to speak to you of our wedding plans.”

  Henry’s eyebrows rose, and she wasn’t surprised. Certainly, his mother was the one to speak to about such a thing.

  “I was under the impression that everything was well in hand,” Henry said, once again taking up her delicate fingers in a gentle hold. “Does something concern you, my love.”

  Heat rushed into her face at his choice of words. Did he love her truly? How could he when they hardly knew each other? He must be putting himself through the motions of their relationship, as she was. She prayed that as she accepted Henry as her husband that her feelings for him would grow.

  “I’m sure it is, your grace.” Seeing the look on his face, she corrected herself. “Henry, I’m sorry. I suppose I am nervous and wanted to spend time with you.”

  This was the right thing to say as evinced by the way Henry’s face lit up. “I am happy to oblige and only wish that I could have done so sooner.” His hand moved up her arm in a more intimate gesture, which sent feelings through Elizabeth that left her confused.

  “I do have one concern,” she added, knowing that she must speak before she lost her nerve.

  “What is it? Anything you need shall be yours.”

  She forced herself to look him directly in the eyes. “I am worried about my cousin, Edward.”

  He had the grace to appear embarrassed. “I am sorry about that, Elizabeth,” he said as he removed his hand from her arm. “Surely you know that some York supporters are not content that we are to be married. They would fight to see the York heir on the throne.”

  “But that would be John,” Elizabeth said without thinking. She hoped that she was not causing more of her cousins to be imprisoned.

  “Ah, some would say so,” Henry admitted. “But Edward is the last York of the male line, which is more important to some than the fact that your uncle named de la Pole as his heir.” He said ‘your uncle’ with venom and accusation that told Elizabeth that she must chose her next words carefully.

  “Henry, I mean no disrespect, of course. I am happy to be your future wife.” She attempted to look demure. “I am simply concerned about my young cousin. His sister is beside herself with grief. He is all she has.”

  Henry sighed and tilted his head as if he were contemplating a puzzle with no solution. “She may visit him,” he allowed. “But Edward must stay in the Tower for his own protection. What if the wrong people took custody of him?”

  Elizabeth’s insides twisted at his words that so closely mirrored those Richard used regarding her brothers, who had never been seen again.

  “Henry, have you discovered where Richard was keeping my brothers?”

  Henry stood and began to pace.

  “Leave us,” he said with a flourish that included everyone in the room except the two of them.

  Elizabeth nodded her consent to her ladies who looked to her for confirmation. It was a bold question, especially following up the inquiry about her cousin, but she felt that it may be her only chance. When all had left the room, Henry continued.

  “Elizabeth, surely you know the truth.” He knelt before her, taking both of her hands in his.

  She held her breath. “What truth?”

  “Your brothers were killed at least a year ago on your uncle’s command.”

  “No!” She pulled her hands away and found that it was not distance enough. She rose from her chair and ran to the window. It couldn’t be possible. Her trust had been placed in Richard. Her trust and her love had been placed in his hands, despite her mother’s harsh words. Had she been wrong all along?

  She sensed Henry stepping up behind, but not quite touching, her. She wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted him to. Did he speak the truth?

  “How do you know?”

  He seemed surprised by the question. “Everyone knows it to be true,” he said. “The boys have not been seen since shortly after your uncle’s coronation.”

  She turned to look at him with tears filling her eyes. It frustrated her to appear weak, and she tried to blink them away. “That is not proof.”

  Henry raised his hand as if to touch her, but it fell back to his side. “My men have found nothing of them. Elizabeth, I’m very sorry, but I did not realize that you held out hope for them.”

  Her tears could be held back no longer. She was ashamed by both her tears and her naivety. Had she been so infatuated with Richard that she had believed empty lies? What of Anne? Had she too been deceived or a deceiver? Her mother had warned her, but she had refused to listen. It was inconceivable. How could she accept that little Edward and Richard were gone?


  “I must go to my chapel,” she said before rushing out of the room. She knew that it was unacceptably rude, especially in the company of the king, but she needed the solace of God’s presence.

  Henry found her before the altar on her knees, her tears slowed but not ceasing. He crossed himself and lowered himself next to her with his head bowed.

  For a few moments, Elizabeth’s prayers were a wordless jumble racing through her head. Then she whispered, “Lord, I am lost. Have you taken my brothers into their heavenly home? Forgive me for my foolishness, Lord, and guide me in your truth. Help me to be a pleasing wife to this man, who prays with me rather than being offended by my thoughtless behavior. Amen.”

  She peeked at Henry and saw that he was deep in prayer as well. Could she trust him after having it proven that she was a poor judge of character? She must. God was placing them together, and it must be right.

  Henry opened his eyes to find Elizabeth studying him. They rose without speaking until they had crossed themselves and moved to a small bench.

  Visions of her brothers as she had last seen them flashed through her mind. Many times she had pictured them at play on the grounds of Middleham or one of Richard’s other estates, but now she felt certain that they had never been there. The entire time, had she been in love with their murderer? She remembered hearing the whispers about her father having Henry VI killed while he was a prisoner in the tower. Though she had told herself that it wasn’t true, deep inside she had always known that it was. It had been the only way to stop the bloody conflict. Richard must have looked at her brothers in the same way.

  “What would you have done if Richard had been captured at Bosworth rather than killed?”

  Henry’s eyes widened but he did not scold her. Instead, he placed his thin arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him. She did not object or pull away. When seconds continued to pass, she wondered if he was going to respond to her impetuous inquiry.

  “I would have had him executed,” he said so quickly that the words ran together, as if it were a horrid truth that he would have admitted to none but her, and her only this once.

  She only nodded, seeing that this was the way of her world. Thousands more would have died just as they had for more than twenty years before. Could Henry establish peace and unity for England with their marriage?

  “And my cousin of Warwick?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. “He is kept for his own safety. I have no desire to make war upon ten year old boys.”

  But her uncle had. Richard had been only ten years old and Edward thirteen when they disappeared. Elizabeth’s tears fell fresh again. They fell for her youngest brother who was so innocent, for Edward who had been raised to be king, and for her broken dreams and loss of innocence.

  Henry pulled her closer. She heard his heart beating within his narrow chest. He was not the muscle-bound soldier that she had grown up expecting to see on England’s throne. His voice still had a French lilt that was evidence of his exile, but she supposed that her own ancestors had spoken French at court as well. His hand brushed lightly up and down her arm, and she felt loved just for being herself for the first time since her father died.

  She looked up into his hazel eyes, so different than the blue eyes she was so used to seeing in most of her family and thankfully different from Richard’s startling green. He smiled slightly and hesitantly, he no more sure of the next move than she was. In that moment, in her private chapel before the altar of God, she decided that she could love this man. That is when he kissed her.

  ~~~~

  The gown was Lancaster red with the finest cloth-of-gold overlay and ermine trim at the cuffs and hem. It set off the red highlights in Elizabeth’s hair that flowed down her back like a river of gold. Cecily had taken over the styling of her hair and Elizabeth laughed at the idea that her pampered sister would have a better hand at it than the woman who had been twisting and piling noble hair her entire life. The finished project was simple and lovely with tiny red and white roses mingling with the golden tresses. Everything about this wedding would emphasize the union of Lancaster and York in love, harmony, and especially in peace.

  Margaret Stanley was sure to be supervising that all her arrangements were being carried out to perfection. Everything, from seating layout to the colors of her ladies’ gowns, was carefully accounted for. Henry would be wearing York white to complement Elizabeth’s gown. His mother had secured every diamond and ruby in London to bedeck her royal son. While Elizabeth was adorned simply and was a vision of beauty, Henry, in his white satin and cloth-of-gold with jewels glittering on every available surface, was almost gaudy. If Margaret had intended for him to outshine his bride, she would be disappointed.

  If some of the guests were having these thoughts, the bride and groom were not. Henry and Elizabeth saw beyond the Tudor roses that were freshly painted on the pews and pillars, past the carefully planned scattering of Tudor green, and had eyes only for each other as they said their vows and prayed that their marriage would bring lasting peace to their realm.

  The celebration following mass was as uninhibited as the ceremony had been subdued. Wine flowed freely and all seemed to share the happy couple’s hopes that the Tudor dynasty would be a blessing to England.

  Edward Stafford, the seven year old duke of Buckingham, was embarrassed by the attentions of his mother. Katherine had made her home with Jasper Tudor, the husband of Henry’s choosing for her, but she missed her little boy, who was now a ward in Margaret Stanley’s household. The boy was the spitting image of his father and had been dressed as gloriously as Harry would have hoped for. Despite his youth, noble woman across the country schemed to make him the husband of one of their daughters. When he came of age, he would be the largest landholder in England, and some would whisper that he also had a claim to the throne that was backed up by a few more drops of Plantagenet blood than ran through the current king’s veins.

  Others were in attendance whom Elizabeth had not spoken to since before her uncle’s death. She was determined to see each person through new eyes. No judgment would be based on how one had behaved during Richard’s reign. Could she blame the earl of Oxford, for instance, for not supporting Richard at Bosworth? How many had based their actions on what they felt was the truth about her brothers’ deaths? She had been too stubborn to accept it and still wasn’t sure of the truth, but was determined to move forward. She would not think of that today on this most happy occasion, but neither would she hold on to old opinions of the people surrounding her.

  Cecily looked happier than she had since the annulment of her marriage, and Elizabeth was glad that her heart was healing. Though she would never say so, she was also pleased that Cecily had not become pregnant during the brief marriage. It would have only made the incident more painful and difficult.

  “You are a gorgeous bride,” Cecily slurred as she handed Elizabeth a goblet of wine though she already held one.

  “Sister!” Elizabeth exclaimed, dismayed by the reason for Cecily’s lifted spirits. “Please, sit with me,” she begged and moved toward an alcove for relative privacy.

  Cecily twirled one last time before collapsing on the bench almost in her sister’s lap.

  “This is not like you, Cecily. Would you like to lie down in my room?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Cecily snapped. “I will not steal your spotlight, as if that were possible.”

  “Oh, Cecily, you cannot think that is what I meant,” Elizabeth said and put an arm around her sister’s shoulders, which were slumping as the false joy of the wine faded. “With whom were you dancing?” she asked in the hope that someone new had caught Cecily’s eye.

  “Your new husband, as a matter of fact.”

  Elizabeth was curious about the strange analysis Cecily had placed her under. “I am glad that you are making amends with Henry. He is doing his best to make good decisions for us all.”

  Cecily laugh held a cruel note in it. “Espe
cially for himself.” She began lifting her cup, only to realize that it was empty. “Oh, get that look off your face, Bess. He dated his reign from the day before Bosworth to keep all the noblemen in fear. Our cousin, Edward, is in prison though he is a ten year old simpleton. If our brothers weren’t dead before, they certainly are now. And I am to be the spare York princess until you prove fertile.”

  Cecily sobered instantly when she was faced with Elizabeth’s wide, unbelieving eyes. “What did you say?” Elizabeth whispered.

  Falling to her knees, Cecily begged Elizabeth’s forgiveness. “I did not know what I was saying, Bess! You said yourself that I have had too much wine. I should have accepted the invitation to your room.” She placed her head in Elizabeth’s lap. “Please, Bess. Forget all I have said.”

  Absently laying a hand on her sister’s head, Elizabeth was confronted with new doubts. How she had hoped to be happy and carefree for this one day, her wedding day. “I know the truth of most of what you have said. Why did you call yourself the spare York princess?”

  Sobbing shook Cecily’s shoulders and she swore that she would never imbibe again. “Bess, I am so thoughtless, on this of all days.”

  Elizabeth straightened her spine and demanded, “Tell me what you meant.”

  “It is not Henry’s plan, of that I am sure,” Cecily stuttered through her tears. Elizabeth’s hand stopped the comforting motion in her hair and began to clench. “It is his mother, that horrid, controlling Margaret Stanley. You must be careful around her,” Cecily warned her as she would if the devil were approaching.

  “This is ridiculous,” Elizabeth said, sure now that it was the wine that made Cecily speak foolishly. “We have known Lady Stanley our entire lives. She was a faithful lady-in-waiting to our mother.”

  “No,” Cecily insisted. She lifted her head and moved back to the bench. “She was simply biding her time, waiting for the moment when she could place her son on the throne.”