Virgin Widow. Anne O'Brien
read it.
It was not difficult to obtain a copy wet from the clerk’s pen. It was an astonishing piece of reckless treason that finally buried even the slightest residue of hope of my being reunited with Richard. Its words were uncompromising. King Edward was guilty of poor government, wilfully ignoring the Princes of the Blood—the Nevilles, of course—who would advise him well, but guilty of giving ear and patronage to evil advisers named as the Woodvilles. They must be removed for the good of the realm. If the King did not comply with the wishes of his subjects, then he should suffer the penalty of other feckless monarchs who had brought their country low. Did he not deserve the same punishment as the ill-fated Edward II and Richard II? I had learned my lessons well. They had both been done to death by foul means in distant castles. Whilst Henry VI, also included in the list, ageing and mad, was a prisoner in the Tower.
All true men of England should rally to the Neville standard, to the Earl of Warwick, who would right the country’s wrongs.
Well! This was what the Earl had plotted in all these weeks I had remained in ignorance in Calais. The words I held between my hands were dangerously treasonous, a direct and open challenge to Edward’s authority, enough to put a price on my father’s head. It would brand us all traitors.
When I showed her the letter, all Isabel could see was the glitter of the Crown that would grace her brow. ‘We shall not be traitors! Don’t be stupid, Anne! I shall be Queen of England before the year is out when my father has removed King Edward and made Clarence King.’ She closed her ears to my anxieties.
I was not so sanguine
‘Is this a declaration of war?’ I demanded of the Countess when I could not bear the uncertainty longer. ‘Does he intend to depose Edward?’
I thought she looked as astounded as I felt at the lengths to which the Earl was prepared to go. ‘I can see no other outcome,’ the Countess confirmed. Her face had the sallow pallor of candlewax.
Neither could I. As daughter of a traitor, what hope was there now for me? Richard would surely hate me.
Chapter Five
ISABEL retched over the bowl held by the indomitably cheerful Margery. ‘I wish I could die,’ she gasped when she could.
‘No such thing,’ Margery soothed. ‘My lord of Clarence has performed more than well. Such a potent man beneath all that pretty gold hair.’ From my position at the far side of the room I smirked at her less-than-respectful observation. ‘An heir! And so soon!’ she continued. ‘Let us give thanks to the BlessedVirgin.’
Isabel pressed a square of linen to her mouth as another spasm gripped her. I might have escaped, but the Countess swept in, followed by a serving girl and a covered platter.
‘We will soon put you to rights. Drink this, Isabel.’
I had to admire her. As if she had no thought beyond Isabel’s ills, as if the Earl was not engaged in armed rebellion against the King, the Countess took my mewling sister in hand.
Isabel gulped, swallowed desperately. ‘I cannot—’
‘Don’t be stubborn.’ I could smell the infusion, the sharp, fresh aroma of mint steeped in boiling water that pervaded the whole room. When Isabel obeyed, the Countess nodded, satisfied. ‘Good! You are not ill, Isabel. Merely breeding. For which you should be grateful, within weeks of your marriage.’
‘I don’t want this…’ Isabel whined.
‘Why not?’ I could no longer keep silent as envy of my sister’s Plantagenet husband once more coated me in shameful malice. ‘It’s what you wanted, well enough, when we were at Calais! A husband and a Plantagenet heir. Now you have your wish! You have both.’
I might scowl at her, but I was not truly so heartless, merely troubled and un-bendingly hostile to the man who had put her in this situation and then, it seemed to me, unfeelingly abandoned her. Isabel had not set eyes on her royal husband since that brief interlude in Calais, now two months since. The bridal rejoicings had been cut short when the Earl and his fellow conspirators left immediately to return to England as an invading force, to raise men in Kent and march on London. From there the plan was to continue north to force Edward to come to terms. Meanwhile we were ensconced in Warwick Castle waiting for events to settle around us. At least Isabel’s condition took our minds off other more immediate concerns, such as the bloody penalty for treason—but Clarence could have come to see his wife.
‘Where’s Clarence?’ she asked as she had asked so often. ‘Why is he not here with me?’
‘He’s in London, trying to reassure the Lord Mayor and Aldermen that the government of the realm won’t disintegrate around their ears. He holds the reins of power there in the King’s name. He’ll come when he can.’ The Countess stroked the damp hair from her forehead. ‘Come and read to your sister, Anne. It will take her mind off her belly.’
And I did because I felt sorry for her, left alone. As my heart was sore for my mother who was able to do nothing but wait on events that shook the kingdom. I feared for the outcome.
We had not been short of news. There had been a battle, destroying much of the King’s army, and the Woodvilles had come to grief in the aftermath. Earl Rivers and his son Sir John Woodville had been summarily executed. Impossibly weakened, Edward against all expectation had become my father’s prisoner. Was not the whole world turned upside down, with the Earl, once the supreme champion of the Yorkist cause, now the arch-adversary of the anointed wearer of the crown? Planning to call a parliament in York, my father took Edward north with him to Middleham under restraint. I know that the Earl assured everyone that all his actions had the approval of the King, and that he had the King’s signature on all documents with no duress, but how would we know truth from lies? I did not think Edward would make so amenable a captive.
‘I wish we’d stayed in London,’ Isabel, revived and sitting up, interrupted my thoughts and the dolorous tale of the trials of St Ursula and the Thousand Virgins.
‘You would be just as sick in London as you are here,’ I muttered. ‘There are no Court festivities to entertain you with Edward a prisoner.’
‘But think of the merchants, Anne, with their cloth and jewels and fashionable wares. Would that not be entertaining? We are in need of new gowns. You are growing by the day.’
‘Yes,’ I admitted, aware of the restrictions of my bodice. ‘And so will you be!’
Isabel laughed. ‘So I shall. Tell me that you would not wish to be there.’
‘I cannot…’ For I wished it above anything.
‘And I would see Clarence…’
Her face drooped again. All I could do was hold her hand and continue to read for I had no words of comfort. I knew the Duke of Gloucester too was in London, at liberty but impotent whilst Edward remained under my father’s hand.
Yes, I too wished that we were in London.
I would have moped excessively except for an unexpected visitor to our gates. Francis Lovell arrived with a well-armed escort en route between London and Middleham. I had missed his arrival; I would not miss his departure. So I sat in the stable yard on a mounting block and kicked my heels, as windblown and dust-covered as any of the serving girls, rejoicing inwardly at seeing him again after almost a year. I longed to talk to someone other than Isabel, someone who would tell me what was happening outside the walls of this castle. Someone who had been in London as well as at my father’s side, had experience of this country being torn in two again, York against Lancaster.
I was considering the implication of that final thought when at last he turned in through the gateway from the inner courtyard.
‘Francis! Over here!’
I raised my hand and, seeing me, he changed direction. It gave me the chance to watch his athletic lope, to assess the changes wrought by the intervening