The king, his magnificent army intact, returned to England. He must have been feeling very pleased with himself. As far as I was concerned, I thought he had managed a very clever stroke of statesmanship, to have brought about peace without fighting, as well as making arrangements for trading and having acquired a pension.
But there were many who did not see it as I did Richard for one.
But during the next months he seemed to forget his disappointment.
The northern marches claimed his attention and that was where his heart was. He was happy to be away from the court; he loved to ride with the children and to watch our little one grow. There were times when he was called away to various parts of the northern territories, but he was never away for long and when he returned there were always happy reunions.
I was glad of my mother's company. We often spoke of our regret that Isabel was so far away. She wrote to us from time to time, as we did to her, and we would anxiously await news of little Margaret and Edward.
We heard that she was once more pregnant. I felt envious. I yearned to have another child. I continued to worry about my Edward's health, particularly as his half-brother and -sister seemed to grow every day. Edward was so small and thin; he tired far more easily than John who with his sister made such a healthy pair that they continually drew my attention to Edward's frailty.
Isabel wrote that she had not been well. That irritating cough had come back, as it did periodically. Perhaps she would be better when the baby was born. George was eager to have another boy, but to her it was of little importance: all she wanted was a healthy child.
"The queen has been most gracious," she wrote.
"She seems determined to be friendly. She has sent Ankarette Twynyho back to me. She said that Ankarette was so good with children and for ladies in my condition, so she would thank me for lending her and would send her back to be with me at such a time. I am pleased to have Ankarette with me. She is full of gossip and regales me with talk of the court and Madam Elizabeth herself who, it seems, is more regal than the king ever was. Ankarette says the Woodvilles run the court and the queen is always seeking higher and higher places even for the most insignificant members of her clan."
My mother said: "The queen is very clever. Any woman who has managed to keep Edward all these years must be. I know how she does it, of course. It is by closing her eyes to his many amours. I do not think I could have done that if I had been in her place and I thank God I was never called upon to do it in mine. I was lucky in my marriage."
"My father was lucky, too. Where would he have been without you?"
"Your father would have been a great man. It just happened that the wealth and titles I brought to him helped him to get what he wanted a little earlier."
"And brought him to his end," I said sadly.
"Yes, that is true. But most men of influence end up either on the battlefield or the block."
"Would it not be better to have no influence and die peacefully in bed after having lived a long life?"
"I feel sure they would not agree with you, Anne. And what a morbid subject! Do you think we should make some garments for Isabel's baby? I should like to try that new embroidery stitch I learned the other day."
So we stitched and we talked and we often spoke of Isabel.
We were stunned when the news came. I helped my mother to her bed. I had never seen her so stricken.
Isabel was dead. She had died after her little boy was born and he soon followed his mother to the grave.
I could not believe it. Isabel ... dead! There were so many memories of her. She had been so much a part of my childhood. She was too young to die.
My mother wept in silence at night. By day she was withdrawn. I had never seen a face so sad as hers.
As for myself, I was equally desolate. It was inconceivable. Never to see Isabel again! Never to receive a letter from her.
I thought of those little ones: Margaret and Edward. Poor motherless children. And George? He had loved her, I believe, in his way, although I could not believe he would ever love anyone but himself, I
had never heard that he was unfaithful. At least he was not like the king in that respect.
How hard it was to believe that Isabel was dead, and for a long time afterwards I would find myself thinking: I will write and tell Isabel that.
Death was in the air. Isabel had died in December just before Christmas a sad time to die and in January there was another death.
Isabel's was of little importance in court circles, but that of Charles the Rash was another matter.
The Duke of Burgundy dead meant that the heiress to his vast estates was a woman his daughter Mary. So Mary of Burgundy had become the most desirable parti in Europe. Richard was thoughtful. He talked to me of it. He said: "I wonder what Edward is thinking now. Louis paid him to keep away because Burgundy was Edward's ally and Louis feared Burgundy more than he feared England. But what will happen now that Burgundy is no more?" There is, of course, Mary."
"A woman!" said Richard.
"Whom will she take for her husband? That is what everyone will be watching. She will need a strong man to stand beside and hold what she has inherited. You will see now, there will be a rush to marry her from all the most ambitious men in Europe."
"Poor Mary." I said.
"She will be married for her estates."
"I believe her to be a strong-minded young woman," said Richard.
"She might insist on making up her own mind as to which man she will marry. It will be interesting. Her stepmother -our sister Margaret, as you know may have some influence with her. If she had an English husband, that would do us no harm. Margaret will surely think of that."
It soon became clear that the demise of the Duke of Burgundy was going to have a big effect on a number of people.
In the first place, Edward called a council and Richard was summoned to London. As always he was loth to leave Middleham and the family life which he loved. "Why should you not come with me, Anne?" he said.
I was pleased, although I hated the thought of leaving Middleham and the children. Yet I felt that on this occasion Richard particularly wanted to have me with him. Always at the back of his mind was the question of what George might do next. Isabel was dead and George would be free to many. I believe some premonition of what would happen was in Richard's mind. It might have been that he needed someone with him to whom he could talk freely, someone in whom he could have complete trust. I was that one.
The journey will be hard going," he said, "for we shall have to travel with all speed if we are to get there in time for the first day of the council meeting."
I knew I could leave the children in the care of their nurses and attendants and Richard and I left for the south.
I felt uneasy to be at court. Clarence was there. He met me with an absolute nonchalance, as though the cookshop incident had never happened. He talked sentimentally of Isabel and said he was heart-broken; but his expressions of pleasure at seeing me and his recollections of his dear Isabel struck me as somewhat false. As with his brother Edward, when one saw them after an absence, one was always aware of their outstanding good looks -the height, the splendid physique, the clean-cut features, the almost perfectly masculine beauty. But I fancied Clarence looked a little bloated: his complexion was more florid. I knew of his fondness for good malmsey. Isabel used to say she often chided him for drinking too much: and when he drank he went into realms of fancy, seeing himself as the all-powerful one the king, no less.
When we arrived in London the council was already sitting. Edward, I knew, would be delighted to have Richard's support. He would be very wary of Clarence. I wondered that he allowed him to come to the council after his past record. Edward seemed to wave all that aside simply because he would not let himself believe that he had a brother who would betray him if he had a chance to do so.