Elizabeth had remained in her rooms, saying it was because her knee was now much more painful, although whether this was true her daughters could not decide. Certainly their mother had not enjoyed her lesser position in the great hall the previous night.
Cicely was daunted by the enormous variety of food and the smell of rich spices that hung heavily in the air, and she ate only bread. She had eaten well at her father’s court, of course, but after so long at the abbey, with the plain fare that was provided there, this was all a little much.
Bess smiled, taking a huge piece of meat from a platter, and cutting it deftly with a knife. ‘Come on, Cissy, why do you not eat a little more? You cannot starve simply because your John is not here.’
‘You seem in a very good mood, considering our uncle is leaving today,’ Cicely observed, but before Bess could reply, the queen entered the hall and they all had to stand.
Accompanied by her ladies, Anne came directly to the sisters. She had donned a bright blue travelling cloak but her sweet face was ashen against the vivid colour. She motioned to everyone to be seated again, and then drew closer to Cicely and Bess. ‘It saddens me that I must leave London so soon after your return to us, but I hope to deepen our friendship when I return.’
Cicely smiled at the queen, whose gentleness touched her. ‘We are honoured, Your Grace.’
Bess smiled as well, but Cicely sensed her lack of spontaneity. Anne shared Richard’s bed, and that was something Bess, so suffused with unutterable jealousy, could not forget.
Anne did not seem to notice, however, for she was speaking of Middleham and Yorkshire and her only son, Edward, whom she so longed to see again. She pulled on her gloves at last. ‘I must leave you now, and bid you farewell until our return.’
Cicely stood in haste. ‘Your Grace, may I accompany you to the yard? I would very much like to.’ She was hoping to see John there, but Anne was delighted and they walked from the great hall together. Bess remained behind, because it was believed Richard would also come that way, and she hoped for a chance to speak to him. Be with him. Only for a moment, maybe, but it would be all she could have for weeks.
As they came out into the morning sunshine and paused at the top of the palace steps, Cicely gazed down at the bustle of waiting horses and baggage, and also a curtained litter bearing the queen’s arms. Anne looked sideways at her. ‘I suppose you cannot imagine having to forgo riding in favour of a cumbersome litter.’
Cicely laughed. ‘You did not see me yesterday, Your Grace. It was not edifying. I could scarce remember what it was like to be on a horse.’
Anne smiled. ‘A very diplomatic answer.’
At that moment someone emerged from the palace behind them, and they turned, thinking it might be Richard, but it was John. Cicely’s eyes began to shine, and her lips parted slightly with the happiness that suddenly leapt through her.
Anne noticed and leaned closer. ‘He is comely, is he not?’ she whispered.
John bowed low to his father’s queen and then to Cicely, but there was no way to read his face. Cicely’s spirits fell, not only because of this, but because by his clothes he was clearly to accompany his father on the journey.
Anne broke the awkward silence. ‘I . . . er, will proceed now, for I think the king approaches.’ She beckoned to her ladies, acknowledging the farewells of Cicely and John.
Alone with John for a moment, Cicely looked at him miserably. ‘Please forgive my foolishness last night.’ She had to bite her lip and stare hard at the stone steps, for she was afraid to see no welcome response in his eyes, but he took her cold hand and kissed it.
‘Sweet cousin Cicely, there is nothing to forgive, but if it gives you pleasure then I will say I forgive you.’
‘You jeer at me?’
‘No, never that, Cicely. Never.’ He kissed her hand again. ‘Please, I think too much of you to hurt you.’
She smiled, her fingers tightening against his. ‘You are going to the north as well?’
‘Yes. But I will return, of that you may be sure. Can I trust you not to find another in my absence?’
She gazed at him. ‘You know I will not.’
‘And you know that I will not play you false either. You do know that, do you not?’
She nodded. ‘Of course,’ she whispered, closing her eyes as he leaned forward to kiss her upon the cheek. His lips were cold from the March air, but so wonderful to her. ‘God be with you, John of Gloucester.’
‘And with you, Cicely Plantagenet.’
‘You are a Plantagenet as well,’ she reminded him.
He smiled and would have said more had not a herald announced the king. Richard emerged with his northern lords and gentlemen, who all wore his white boar badge. He was richly attired in mulberry velvet. Mulberry—murrey—was the colour of the House of York. There was a heavy cloak over his shoulders and the circlet of gold rested around his forehead, but before he could approach his son and younger niece, Bess emerged from the shadows nearby. They were just beyond Cicely’s hearing, but she could see the love on her sister’s face as she spoke to him. His followers continued politely down the steps, but Cicely was dismayed to notice their exchanged glances.
Richard put his hand to Bess’s cheek and smiled, and then left her to come quickly towards John and Cicely. His hair fluttered in the breeze from the river as he smiled at her. ‘It seems my brother’s daughters wish to bid me farewell in person this morning.’ He raised an eyebrow as he saw her hand, still tightly clasped in John’s, and he put a gauntleted finger to her chin, tilted her face up and kissed her cheek. The freshness of mint touched her. ‘I fear the time has come to part, Cicely,’ he said, ‘but know I will do all I can to ensure my son’s swift return.’
She blushed and felt foolish, but he smiled again and then was gone, descending the steps to the great dappled stallion as it was led forward. As he mounted, Cicely saw John’s dun horse being brought as well, and with great reluctance she released his hand. He paused, and then bent his head to kiss her fully upon the lips. It was a kiss that fluttered hesitantly upon her mouth, uncertain of its reception, but for a final second it grew strong as it was returned.
He gazed into her eyes for a moment and then hurried down to his horse. Some of his companions cheered and made comments, until Richard silenced them with a raised hand. Then he, John and various nobles who had been in the palace with him accompanied the queen’s litter out of the yard. They would soon join a much greater procession of lords waiting on the outskirts of the capital. With much noise and clatter, the slow baggage procession began to trundle out as well, but was soon left behind.
Cicely watched until the last packhorse had passed beneath the gateway and then walked slowly back into the palace, wondering how long it would be before she saw John again. His kiss still tingled on her lips, and she did not know if she was deliriously happy or wretched because it would not be repeated for weeks, maybe even months.
Bess barred her way. ‘My, how swiftly things progress, little sister.’
‘Not more teasing, please.’
‘Come on, it is a fine morning, so let us walk in the garden.’
Soon they were treading the grass in the walled garden, beneath the apple trees which were stirring with blossom at the approach of spring. Daffodils nodded against the stone wall, although they were yet to open in the chill March air. The sisters leaned against the parapet, where Cicely had leaned the day she overheard her mother and Thomas the Tub, and looked down into the eddying waters of the incoming Thames tide.
Their reflections swayed as Bess glanced at her sister. ‘Well, I most certainly did not imagine you would so soon face the futility of suppressing an emotion as fierce as love, but you feel a great deal for your John, do you not?’
‘Yes.’
Bess sighed. ‘Perhaps you begin to understand why I love Richard. Everything about him strikes an answering chord in me. When he failed to come to the hall after you had gone, I could no more have stopped myself
from waiting by the steps than I could have flown. I know my conduct is reprehensible, especially when Anne is so kind and friendly towards us. It is my shame to admit how much I resent her.’ She looked at Cicely. ‘Do you believe he lies only with her?’
‘I cannot answer that! Bess, you may be in love with him, but his private life remains none of your business. Perhaps the queen is too ill to be a wife in all the senses of the word, and perhaps he is forced to seek solace elsewhere. I could not blame him if he does. He deserves to be happy. I love him too, you know.’
‘And you have more of him than I,’ Bess replied sadly. ‘What can I do to stop this feeling? I do not care that he is so close in blood, that to lie with him would be wicked before God, because I would do so if I could.’
‘Oh, Bess . . .’
‘You have no notion of how fortunate you are to love John of Gloucester, because he is not beyond your reach. Nor would he wish to be.’
‘Bess, please . . . please do not ever be tempted to reveal your true feelings to Richard.’
Bess gave her a rueful glance. ‘Do not worry, Cissy, I will not be so foolish.’
‘And can you imagine how he would feel?’ Cicely asked softly, thinking of his kindness. ‘He would not only be dismayed because you are his niece, but also because he is not a man to heap blame solely upon you. He is so tactile and warm by nature that he would wonder if he had seemed to encourage you. Richard should not be burdened like that, Bess.’
‘His wife and heir are in poor health, Cicely. I could give him a healthy boy,’ Bess replied in a detached tone.
Cicely recoiled. ‘Sometimes I do not know you at all, Bess.’
‘Sometimes I do not know myself.’
The quiet of the garden was interrupted by the laughter and chatter of children as their three little sisters came out of the palace with their nurses. Bess hurried to dance around with them, and did not see Margaret, Lady Stanley, emerge as well, seeming almost to float across the grass, carrying her open prayer book in her hands. Her black skirts slithered silently as she approached Cicely. Her pinched face was sour and her thin lips pursed. Maybe she could no longer unpurse them, Cicely thought.
‘Good day to you, Lady Cicely.’
‘Good day, Lady Stanley.’ Cicely was careful to execute a respectful curtsey, but as she did so she wondered why on earth Richard had allowed such a bloodsucker back to his court. He should keep Henry Tudor’s scheming mother as far away as possible until she drew her final breath. And she would draw it very soon indeed if Cicely Plantagenet were Richard.
‘Lady Cicely, it has been noted that you are becoming acquainted with the king’s bastard, John of Gloucester,’ Margaret observed.
‘He is my cousin, my lady, why should I not become acquainted with him?’
‘Do not let your hopes run too high.’
Cicely met her gaze. ‘What do you mean?’
Margaret dissembled. ‘Oh, simply that the course of love is always difficult. I know, for I have had four husbands.’
God help them one and all, Cicely thought.
Margaret’s cold glance moved to Bess, who chased little Bridget around a nearby apple tree, making her squeal. ‘How very undignified,’ Henry Tudor’s mother murmured, watching.
A sudden cold hand touch Cicely’s heart, for she could see Margaret’s hatred for the young woman who in her eyes had committed a heinous crime by making it known she did not want Henry Tudor as her husband, by showing her preference for Richard’s protection. Margaret resented it greatly that her son needed Bess—or Cicely herself—if he ever overcame Richard and mounted the throne. To keep the peace, he needed to unite York and Lancaster, or constantly risk his own overthrow.
Gradually Bess became aware of her scrutiny, and came quietly to join them, her chin lifted with pride and defiance.
Margaret was all honey. ‘I bid you good morning, my lady.’
Bess inclined her head. ‘My lady,’ she replied.
‘It gladdens me to see you so happy, but no doubt you will miss the king during his absence.’
Cicely wondered if there was a double meaning in the query. Had Margaret too perceived the truth about Bess?
Bess smiled. ‘Of course, my lady. How could I not? He is my dearest uncle and I love him.’
‘Even though he has had you declared a bastard?’
‘Yes, even though,’ Bess responded immediately. ‘He can do no wrong in my eyes.’
‘So I am given to understand.’
Cicely was dismayed. Bess was definitely being whispered about at court.
Margaret’s eyes were hooded as she acknowledged them both and then moved away over the grass like a black shadow. The sisters shivered, and then Bess pulled a face. ‘Oh, Cissy, can you just imagine what her precious Henry must be like?’
‘And can you imagine four husbands having to bed such a spiteful bag of bones? What valour and determination they must have had. I gather Lord Stanley no longer does, because she has taken a vow of celibacy, or some such thing. How thankful he must be.’
They giggled together, but meeting Margaret again had been an unpleasant reminder of the threats Richard still faced if he was to keep the throne.
As Henry Tudor’s mother disappeared into the palace, a man who was just leaving had to stand aside for her. It was Francis Lovell, and he bowed to Margaret, although not with particular respect, but then he saw Richard’s two eldest nieces watching, and gave them a broad grin as he strolled across to them, past the younger girls still at their play. His stocky figure was very reassuring after the spectral Margaret.
He swept them a respectful bow. ‘I trust you are enjoying your freedom, my ladies?’
‘Oh yes,’ Cicely responded.
He gave her an arch look. ‘Yes, so I have noticed, Lady Cicely.’
She flushed and lowered her eyes. It was sometimes really horrible to be young, because everyone older seemed to think it was their right to tease.
‘You have not gone north as well, sir?’ Bess enquired.
‘Within days I will. The king gave me various tasks to complete here first.’
Cicely looked at him. ‘Why has our uncle allowed Lady Stanley to return?’
He spread his hands in disbelief. ‘I wish I knew. She is a rotten apple well able to spoil more in the barrel. I do not always know what is in the king’s mind.’
Bess curled her lip angrily. ‘After what she did, at the very least she should have been thrown into the Tower and left there to contemplate upon her actions. I would have had her evil head!’
‘So would I,’ Cicely added.
‘Such savage words from such dainty lips?’ Francis feigned horror, but then became serious. ‘You must realize that had Richard executed or even imprisoned Lady Stanley, then the same fate would necessarily have fallen upon your lady mother, for she was every bit as guilty in that conspiracy.’
Bess stiffened. ‘Sir, my mother has given her word that the king will have no cause to regret giving her his protection, and she will be true to that. There you see the difference between Dame Grey and Lady Stanley.’
He nodded. ‘I sincerely hope you are right, my lady.’
‘I am. My mother will not fail Richard, for I will see to it.’
Cicely could tell that he was not entirely convinced in Bess’s ability to control her mother, but where Richard was concerned, Bess had no equal as defender.
Chapter Eleven
Only weeks later, the bells of London tolled sorrowfully, their solemn booms resounding across the dark April skies and finding an answering echo in the ominous rumbling of thunder. The great stone tower by the river landing of the palace vibrated with the noise of its three giant bells, and across the courtyard at Westminster Hall still another bell shuddered through the still air. The heavy clouds crowded the heavens and the breathless air lay oppressively upon the land. The river was silent, not a boatman plied his trade, and craft wallowed idly on the dark waters lapping undisturbed against the whar
fs. The myriad white swans glided without a whisper on the moving waters, unconcerned that tragedy had befallen the king and queen.
Once again wearing black, Cicely stood by an open window that overlooked the courtyard, watching a slow procession approaching. It was a very different spectacle from the one that had left in March, because Richard and his queen returned to their capital in deep mourning for their ten-year-old son, Edward of Middleham. He rode alone at the head of the procession, his horse caparisoned in funereal black, his clothes of a like colour. His bowed head was bare, without hat or even circlet, and his dark chestnut hair fell forward to shadow his sorrowing face. His slight figure seemed remote, almost distant, yet he was there, bereft and grieving, not looking once at the silent crowds lining the way. The crisp clatter of the horses was overwhelmed by the resonance of the bells and growls of thunder.
Of poor Anne there was no sight, for she travelled in the litter, the curtains tightly drawn. Her anguish was so intense that Cicely was to learn she found it difficult to even walk without support. The loss of her only child was a mortal blow to this delicate, frail queen, who could not bear Richard another. He was now a king without an heir, and Anne knew there were many who would deem it her fault for being so feeble. Perhaps he did too. No one knew his thoughts.
Behind the clustering roofs and steeples of the city, a blaze of lightning illuminated the skies, glancing brightly off the river. The answering thunder broke overhead almost immediately, and the heaviness of the air seemed to press Cicely with its humid fingers. In an effort to bring some coolness to the room, she placed her hands on the embrasure and leaned out a little. A faint breath of wind arose and the first large drops of storm rain began to fall, their force whipping up the dust on the ground below.
The dust soon became mud in the ever-increasing downpour, and the bruised leaves of the herb garden filled the air with their newly released scent. Straining her eyes through the rain, she sought John among the riders behind the king, but it was Richard himself who claimed her attention as he at last looked up at the palace. He did not seem to notice the torrential rain, or indeed notice anything at all. He appeared to be looking directly at her, but she knew she was invisible to him. He was a father in the purgatory of his child’s death, and the queen had retreated from him, unable to offer him any consolation at all. His expression was stern and his lips hard, and he made no attempt to cover his head as the rain soaked his hair so that it clung to his face and neck. Cicely found it harrowing to see him thus, and wanted to go down to meet him, but knew she could not.
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