be doing here!’
But what are we doing here?
I had given up expecting a reply. As for Richard, I gleaned comments as a mouse would seek out and store ears of corn against a hard winter. He was at the King’s right hand. He was marching north with him. He was present in Edward’s councils with Earl Rivers and my lord Hastings. He had become an important man at Court. Did he ever give thought to me? The passing weeks did nothing to make me miss him less.
Finally, hopelessly, to make some contact, however ephemeral, I was driven to pen a letter that I passed to one of the couriers who frequently travelled back and forth across the Channel. I addressed it boldly to the Duke of Gloucester. It had taken a long time and much thought because I did not know what I wanted to say other than to forgive my ill temper and not to forget me when all around was new and exciting for him. Eventually it was done.
To my cousin Richard Plantagenet, We are settled here in Calais. I know that you are engaged with your brother the King in putting down the rebels in the north. I pray for your health and your safety.
Perhaps one day I shall return to London and we can meet again as friends.
I regret the nature of our parting. It was entirely my fault. Perhaps you could find it in you to forgive me,
Your cousin,
Anne Neville
Excruciatingly formal and not at all what I wished to say. That I missed him—I could not say that. That I loved him—I could hardly lay my sore heart at his feet. In the end, what had I said that was worth the sending? And I had no knowledge if it would ever reach its objective and of course I received no reply. If Richard was in the north facing a hostile army of rebels, what time would he have for a foolish letter such as mine? In my lowest moments I could see him in my mind’s eye, crushing it in his mailed fist with a grunt of impatience as he spurred his destrier into the thick of battle.
‘I shall never see him again, Margery,’ I sniffed.
‘Not for a little while at least, mistress,’ she admitted, reading the subject of my thoughts. She opened her mouth as if she would say more. Closed it.
‘What do you know that I don’t?’ I demanded sharply.
‘Nothing, lady.’
I didn’t believe her, but my hopes died with the flicker of a spent candle.
At last—at last!—there were sails on the horizon, and more than one vessel. Then they were arriving and disembarking, the Trinity at the forefront, so I went with the Countess and Isabel down to the quay, formally dressed and in celebratory mood. Immediately the Earl strode across to our little knot of welcomers, his smile lighting his whole countenance.
‘Is all well?’ The Countess accepted his salute, hands grasping his as if she would not release them.
‘Better than you could ever hope.’
‘And the dispensation?’ I heard her murmur as she raised his fingers to her lips.
‘I have it. It has all but beggared me, but it’s safe.’ He clapped their joined hands to his breast, as if to a document, smiling down at her. Then he looked across, his eyes all for my sister. ‘Isabel—’ He beckoned. ‘I bring your bridegroom at last. I think you will not be disappointed.’ The Earl stepped back to allow us a clear view of the man who came behind him.
The Duke of Clarence.
Isabel dimpled and curtsied, face pink with disbelieving joy. I simply stood and watched as Clarence approached, bowing with studied elegance. He lifted my sister to her feet, kissed her fingers and expressed his pleasure in a voice as slick as close-cut velvet. ‘Lady Isabel. It enchants me to be here. I have lived for this day for so long.’
I simply stood like a carved marble statue, denied of thought or movement. I know I did not curtsy as I ought. I could not believe it. Was this what my father had been plotting? Outright rebellion against the King by bringing Clarence to marry my sister against Edward’s express orders?
Edward would never forgive us.
Edward would never support this match and Richard, standing solidly beside his brother the King, would be divided from me for ever.
I wished that trivial, ridiculous letter unsent.
I wished it even more two days later. The day after Isabel’s marriage, celebrated with much pomp, the Earl and Clarence did not hunt with the rest of their guests, but took themselves to a private chamber. By the end of the day there was a document, written and copied by the clerks, openly distributed for all to read, and sent to England on the first ship to be proclaimed in London.
I 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
