“I can see that the idea is not repulsive to you, my lady.”
“These proposed marriages often come to nothing,” she said. “My daughter was to have married into Scotland. How strange that the offer should now be made to me.”
“The King feels sure that James of Scotland will be overjoyed at the prospect.”
“We shall see,” said the Queen, and graciously inclined her head to indicate that the interview was at an end.
She wanted to be alone to consider the suggestion. She had not really committed herself. She could always abandon the project if she had a mind to. At the moment it added a certain spice to life. Queen of Scotland! She was amused to contemplate the trouble she could bring to the King of England if she were ever in that position.
Elizabeth the Queen came riding into London with her sisters Cecilia and Anne. They were all excited because Elizabeth was about to be crowned.
“A queen is not a real queen until she is crowned,” said Anne. “You will be a real queen now, Elizabeth.”
“I wonder why it has been delayed so long,” added Cecilia.
“The King has his reasons,” replied the Queen serenely.
That is the answer her mother-in-law has taught her, thought Cecilia, and it applies every time the King’s conduct is questioned. Since her marriage Elizabeth has become a shadow of the King and his mother. I should never allow that to happen to me.
No indeed she would not. She was thinking of John Wells. She knew that he was a good deal older than she was, but she did not care. In his company she felt elated yet at peace; she felt contented and had a great desire to be with him. Was that love? She believed it was. She had explained her feelings to him and he had confirmed this. Moreover he felt the same contentment with her.
She knew that he was the husband she wanted. Her mother had often said that the King would soon be marrying her off and she would not be surprised if Cecilia was soon making some alliance which the King thought would be good for him. I won’t be, thought Cecilia. Elizabeth married him. That is enough. Elizabeth doesn’t mind being married to him. She is ready to agree that everything he does is right. That is good enough; she has done the family duty toward him. I will marry where I will.
She shuddered to think that she might now be miles away from John Wells. She might be in Scotland for they had once wanted to marry her to little Prince James of Scotland. And now there was rumor that her mother was being offered to that little Prince’s father. We are bandied about like a parcel of goods with no thought for our feelings, she thought. We are unimportant. . . . Well, some of us are. They will find the Princess Cecilia different.
They were to stay first of all at the Hospital of St. Mary in Bishopsgate from where, the Queen told them, they would watch the King’s entry into the capital.
“It will be a triumphant march,” said Anne, “because the King has defeated the scullion boy. Shall we ever see him, do you think, Elizabeth? I should very much like to see him.”
“It seems hardly likely that you will,” replied the Queen. “And if you did you would find he looked exactly like every other little scullion.”
“I think he would look a little different,” said Cecilia. “After all he must have had something about him for them to decide to use him in the first place.”
“Let us not discuss the silly boy,” said the Queen. “I find it all most distasteful. The King has shown his contempt for him and was it not benevolent of him to let him go free?”
Cecilia was silent. She was thinking: I shall marry John. What will the King say then? Whatever it is, Elizabeth will tell me it is right. I shall not care if we are banished. I am sure John will not either.
“After the coronation,” said Elizabeth, “I shall be more often in the company of the King.”
“Rendered worthy by the act of crowning,” added Cecilia. “Yet you are the daughter of a King whereas he . . .”
“He is descended from the great kings Arthur and Cadwallader. Do not forget that.”
Dear Elizabeth, thought Cecilia. She is bemused. Not by love of the King I’d swear. By a love of peace. A desire that everything shall go smoothly around her. That is good enough when one has everything one wants. Perhaps I shall be like that when I am married to John.
“I have heard it whispered,” Anne was saying, “that the House of York is not treated with the same respect as that of Lancaster.”
“You should not listen to whispers,” the Queen told her.
The people of London were growing vociferous in their welcome of Elizabeth. She made a charming picture riding with her two sisters who were as good-looking as she was herself, and the cheers were prolonged. The Queen bore a striking resemblance to her dead father. Her long golden hair hung loose about her shoulders in the style which showed it to its best advantage; her oval face was a little on the plump side, which with her pink and white complexion gave her a look of glowing health; her forehead was high like her father’s; if she was not quite as beautiful as her mother had been she lacked Elizabeth Woodville’s arrogance and that gentle rather self-deprecating smile appealed to them. There was more warmth in it than her husband could ever show them. The fact was the people were pleased with Elizabeth of York. “Long live the Queen!” they cried.
They liked her sisters too—beautiful girls both, with the same high foreheads and long flowing golden hair. Their beloved King Edward had indeed passed on his handsome looks to his family. It was to be hoped that the children of this noble lady would take after her family rather than that of the Tudor.
Not that they were against their King. By no means. He appeared to be strong, and they knew a strong king was what the country needed. He had settled this unfortunate rebellion of Lambert Simnel and had amused them by making the leader of the insurrection a scullion in his kitchens. In fact the story provoked laughter whenever it was mentioned. They merely liked the rosy handsome looks of York rather than the dour ones of Lancaster. And this was a great occasion. The crowning of their Queen.
Seated at a window of St. Mary’s Hospital the Queen, with her two sisters beside her, watched the King’s entry into the city. He came as the victor of the battle of Stoke where he had annihilated the rebels, and his triumphant procession through the capital was meant to tell the people that they could hope for peace in his time. He was going to be a strong ruler; he was going to put an end to wars; and although this last little fracas was a contemptible effort to break the peace, he had quickly suppressed it. Moreover he had not wanted revenge. He would be a strong but benevolent king; they would realize that when they considered his treatment of Lambert Simnel.
“It is sad that our mother is not here,” murmured Anne. “I wonder what she is thinking in Bermondsey.”
“That she was foolish to plot against the King, I doubt not,” said Elizabeth.
Cecilia thought: She is no longer like our sister. She has become merely the King’s wife. They shall never mold me as they have her. I will do as I please. I will marry John.
“The King has taken her estates from her,” she said. “She will be so sad for they meant a lot to her. And it was only last year that the lordships and manors were granted to her.”
Anne murmured softly: “Waltham, Magna, Badewe, Mashbury . . .”
“Dunmow, Lighe and Farnham,” finished Cecilia. “I remember how elated she was when they were granted to her. She kept repeating them over and over again as though to learn them by heart . . . which we did too.”