Well, she would soon see for herself, and at least the welcome was gratifying.
She was escorted to London and lodged in Cold Harbour, a house near the Tower and so close to the river that the water washed its walls. The family were there to greet her. Richard had come down from Middleham although his wife was not with him. Poor Anne Neville, she was a sickly creature Margaret believed yet Richard seemed content. There was one notable absence: her brother Clarence.
Edward was feeling a little uneasy. Margaret had expressed great sorrow and concern at the death of their brother, for oddly enough, he had been her favourite in the family. She had supported him whenever she could; although she had deplored his break with his brother and during that time when Clarence had gone over to Warwick against Edward she had done everything she could to bring them together. It had been unnatural, she had always said, that brothers should fight against each other and that they should be brothers of the House of York was quite unacceptable. Edward had always believed that it had been Margaret's continual pleading which had brought Clarence back to him.
And now Clarence was dead—ordered to be killed by his own brother! It would make a rift between them, Edward feared, for Margaret could never understand.
Margaret embraced her family with great affection. It gave her
great pleasure, she assured them all, to be among them. She congratulated Edward on what he had done for England; he had lifted the country out of the troublous state it had been in during the reign of poor weak Henry. It was a triumph for the House of York.
She obviously wished to speak to Edward in private and at length there came a time when this was possible. She mentioned Clarence at once.
'It was such a bitter blow when I heard,' she said. 'I could not believe it.'
'George was the most nrdsguided of men,' Edward replied. 'It was a great tragedy but inevitable, I fear.'
Margaret did understand; she could see that George wanted the crown and partisan as she was, even she must agree that he would never have ruled the country as Edward did. But it was hard to forget the little brother who had always seemed so charming.
It was no use talking about George. He had come to a most undignified end and there was nothing that could bring him back. He had been reckless and foolish and dangerous and it was because of this last that he had had to die.
She understood. This was a new Edward who stood before her. He had hardened a little. It was natural with the life he must lead, with so many responsibilihes. Not that they sat heavily on him. The same ease of manner, the same beguiling charm. He was over fat of course, which would have been unsightly but his great frame enabled him to carry it off. But it could not be good for him. She had gathered that though he worked hard for his country by day, he pursued his pleasures by night and there were countless mistresses to satisfy his voracious sexual appetite; moreover he was a great trencherman and doubtless needed to be to a certain extent to support that massive frame. He was a connoisseur of wines and could discover the best by a sip.
He was larger than life, this brother of hers. But perhaps he was what men thought a king should be.
First she discussed exports of which her country was in need. She wanted licences to export oxen and sheep to Flanders and she wished to export wool free of customs duty. Edward enjoyed these discussions; he knew exactly what he was talking about. He was as good a merchant as any of his subjects. And because of Clarence, because he wanted to placate her and because he
I
Death at V^estm ins ter 243
wished to kill that reproachhil look in her eyes which was always there when Clarence was mentioned, he granted the licences.
But this was not the main purpose of her visit. What she really wanted was help against the King of France.
'You know, Edward,' she said, 'Louis has one ambition. He wants to bring Burgundy back to the crown of France.'
'It is a worthy ambition, Margaret, and an understandable one. It has always seemed unnatural that Burgundy and France should be at war with each other.'
'Burgundy will not submit to France. There is too much enmity between us.'
Edward nodded. He was thinking: How can I help her? How can I go against Louis now? I have his pension. Moreover young Elizabeth is to marry the Dauphin. On the other hand it was to his advantage to keep Burgundy and France at each other's throats. It was this controversy between them which had been of such value to the English when they had been on the point of conquering France, and doubtless would have done so if a simple country maid had not risen to lead the French to the most miraculous victory ever known.
That was long ago. The picture had changed. Edward had no desire to fight in France. He liked things as they were. He had his pension from Louis—what could be better? As long as Louis went on paying that and kept Edward out of debt, Edward was content. Or would be when his daughter was the Dauphine of France.
'You cannot trust Louis,' insisted Margaret.
'One learns to trust no one, alas,' said Edward with a wry smile. He was wondering how he could refuse his sister without actually saying what he intended to do. He was certainly not going to help Burgundy fight its wars. He was at peace with the King of France and was paid well for it. He was going to let it stay like that. It was not easy to tell Margaret of course. She had come for help, expecting it from him as she had given it to him when he needed it. He would talk round the matter, not saying definitely that he would not help . . . but all the time not intending to.
'So, Edward, what say you?'
'My dear, it is a matter which I have to discuss with my ministers.'
'I seem to feel it is you who makes the decisions.'
'On a matter like this. . . .' He smiled at her ingratiatingly.
'You see, my dear, the country is at peace. It has known peace for some time. It has come to realize the value of peace. . . .'
'So you will not help Burgundy.'
'My dear, it is a matter I need to brood on. You see, I have an agreement with Louis. My young Elizabeth is betrothed to the Dauphin.'
'And you think Louis will honour his pledges?'
'So far . . . he has appeared to do so.'
'I see,' said Margaret with finality. 'You are making a mistake, Edward. You will see what happens if you trust the King of France.'
He lifted his shoulders and smiled at her.
She had turned despairing away. She knew her brother. He always wanted to please, which was why he had not given her a firm refusal; but he meant it all the same. He was too fond of the easy life; he liked his pension; he liked his growing trade, his prosperous country. He could have told her all this for he had said No to her request as clearly as if he had stated that he would not help, but being Edward he could not bring himself to say so directly. Yet none could be firmer than he when he had made up his mind and she would not be deceived by his smiles and smooth words.
She saw that her journey had been in vain.
She repeated: 'You are making a grave mistake to trust Louis.'
He was to remember her words later.
On a dark November day the Queen gave birth to a daughter. She was to be christened Bridget and the ceremony which was to take place in the Chapel at Eltham was as splendid as any that had been performed for her brothers and sisters. Five hundred torches were carried by knights and many of the nobles in the land were in attendance. For instance the Earl of Lincoln carried the salt. Lord Maltravers the basin and the Earl of Northumberland walked with them bearing an unlit taper. Lady Maltravers was beside the Countess of Richmond who carried the baby and on her left breast was pinned one of the most splendid chrysoms ever seen. The Marquess of Dorset, the Queen's eldest son by her first marriage, helped the Countess of Richmond with the baby; and the child's two godmothers were the King's mother, the old