wainwright had fitted out the chariot with ample cushioning and heavy canvas sides that kept most of the weather out.
Young Edward of Warwick alleviated the boredom by changing his mode of transport every few hours. He alternately clambered into the girls’ crowded carriage and used a peashooter to drill dried peas through the small air slots at the escorts’ backs, sat atop a cart laden with household belongings and “helped” the driver with the reins or rode with Tom, safely tied to the front of Tom’s saddle. Dame Elizabeth had explained to Gracethat the boy was simple—touched in the head, she said. Certes, he did not have the understanding of a child of ten, Grace decided, looking at him now, but it seemed to her he preferred to see life in his own way and was the happier for it. Indeed, for the most part, she would describe Edward’s personality as sunny. In contrast, his sister Margaret’s expression appeared to announce that there was a bad smell permanently under her tiny, retroussé nose.
“In truth, ever since the queen—Aunt Anne—took them into her household when they were orphaned, Margaret has thought she was too good for us—especially now that we have been proclaimed, well, you know what,” Cecily whispered to Grace one evening at Vespers in the castle chapel. This earned her a frown from Lady Gower, and Cecily assumed a look of such piety that Grace choked back a laugh. She smiled now, remembering the scene, and was glad Margaret had chosen this day to ride with Lady Gower in the carriage behind.
Grace had been intrigued by Lady Gower’s litter: it was the size of a trestle table, with a canopied top and sides and long handles at each corner that were strapped to either side of a horse in front and a horse behind. Grace had ridden in it for an hour or so on the second day, but the swaying contraption caused her to relinquish her breakfast in a hedge. Cecily had laughed, but Bess had fussed over her and walked with her for a spell until Grace’s stomach had calmed down.
Her thoughts turned often to John. Just as Willoughby had hoped, no word had reached Sheriff Hutton from the king in response to the news of John’s taking, and he was relieved to leave all in Gower’s hands. There had been a tearful farewell on the morning of their departure, and John had been allowed to join them in the chapel for Mass.
“I shall escape from here—never fear, little wren,” he had whispered to Grace as he embraced her that final time. “Look for me in London ere long.” Grace had not breathed a word to anyone of the exchange, and her faith in him never wavered.
As the small cavalcade rode through the towns en route to the capital—Doncaster, Bawtry, Newark and Leicester—townsfolk stopped what they were doing to run and see who was approaching. Bess had the escort roll up the sides of the chariot so the people could see them.
In Leicester, when they recognized the king’s banners, people stoodand cheered—some less enthusiastically than others. The citizens of that city had not long finished the macabre business of burying the dead from Bosworth Field, and their recent memories of royalty were of Henry’s return to the city after the battle and his ignominious treatment of the slain King Richard that had not endeared him to his new subjects. But then the word was whispered that King Edward’s daughters were in the large carriage and they roared their approval. The cry “’Tis young Elizabeth!” was heard above the din, and people surged forward to get a better look at the gracious young woman whom they hoped would be their queen. Bess smiled and waved at their welcome, while Grace cringed behind the corner support, afraid the carriage would be toppled. Cecily was enjoying the limelight and laughed and threw farthings to some children staring openmouthed at the richly clad occupants of the vehicle. The fresh young faces in the brightly colored carriage with their sunny smiles and kind
Young Edward of Warwick alleviated the boredom by changing his mode of transport every few hours. He alternately clambered into the girls’ crowded carriage and used a peashooter to drill dried peas through the small air slots at the escorts’ backs, sat atop a cart laden with household belongings and “helped” the driver with the reins or rode with Tom, safely tied to the front of Tom’s saddle. Dame Elizabeth had explained to Gracethat the boy was simple—touched in the head, she said. Certes, he did not have the understanding of a child of ten, Grace decided, looking at him now, but it seemed to her he preferred to see life in his own way and was the happier for it. Indeed, for the most part, she would describe Edward’s personality as sunny. In contrast, his sister Margaret’s expression appeared to announce that there was a bad smell permanently under her tiny, retroussé nose.
“In truth, ever since the queen—Aunt Anne—took them into her household when they were orphaned, Margaret has thought she was too good for us—especially now that we have been proclaimed, well, you know what,” Cecily whispered to Grace one evening at Vespers in the castle chapel. This earned her a frown from Lady Gower, and Cecily assumed a look of such piety that Grace choked back a laugh. She smiled now, remembering the scene, and was glad Margaret had chosen this day to ride with Lady Gower in the carriage behind.
Grace had been intrigued by Lady Gower’s litter: it was the size of a trestle table, with a canopied top and sides and long handles at each corner that were strapped to either side of a horse in front and a horse behind. Grace had ridden in it for an hour or so on the second day, but the swaying contraption caused her to relinquish her breakfast in a hedge. Cecily had laughed, but Bess had fussed over her and walked with her for a spell until Grace’s stomach had calmed down.
Her thoughts turned often to John. Just as Willoughby had hoped, no word had reached Sheriff Hutton from the king in response to the news of John’s taking, and he was relieved to leave all in Gower’s hands. There had been a tearful farewell on the morning of their departure, and John had been allowed to join them in the chapel for Mass.
“I shall escape from here—never fear, little wren,” he had whispered to Grace as he embraced her that final time. “Look for me in London ere long.” Grace had not breathed a word to anyone of the exchange, and her faith in him never wavered.
As the small cavalcade rode through the towns en route to the capital—Doncaster, Bawtry, Newark and Leicester—townsfolk stopped what they were doing to run and see who was approaching. Bess had the escort roll up the sides of the chariot so the people could see them.
In Leicester, when they recognized the king’s banners, people stoodand cheered—some less enthusiastically than others. The citizens of that city had not long finished the macabre business of burying the dead from Bosworth Field, and their recent memories of royalty were of Henry’s return to the city after the battle and his ignominious treatment of the slain King Richard that had not endeared him to his new subjects. But then the word was whispered that King Edward’s daughters were in the large carriage and they roared their approval. The cry “’Tis young Elizabeth!” was heard above the din, and people surged forward to get a better look at the gracious young woman whom they hoped would be their queen. Bess smiled and waved at their welcome, while Grace cringed behind the corner support, afraid the carriage would be toppled. Cecily was enjoying the limelight and laughed and threw farthings to some children staring openmouthed at the richly clad occupants of the vehicle. The fresh young faces in the brightly colored carriage with their sunny smiles and kind
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