To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York by Jean Plaidy Page B
Authors: Jean Plaidy
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Lambert Simnel, my dear. Now . . . let us to bed.”
The Death of
a Queen
n her nunnery at Bermondsey Elizabeth Woodville heard of her daughter Cecilia’s marriage and that the King had accepted it with a philosophical shrug of the shoulders.
This meant, Elizabeth knew, that he felt secure now Arthur was progressing well. Oh why should she be kept from her grandchild! Why should she be kept here? What an end to a career of such brilliance! But looking back there had been many times like this when she had had to remain shut away from the world as the only way to preserve her life. She was tired of it. If the Queen could persuade the King to accept Cecilia’s marriage why could she not bring her mother back to Court?
The answer was simple. The first did not affect the King one whit; the second might. Henry Tudor will always take care of Henry Tudor, thought Elizabeth bitterly.
Every day she expected to hear news of Scotland. That James would agree she had no doubt. She had at one time been reckoned to be the most beautiful woman in England and beauty such as hers did not disappear; it became a little faded—a little subdued sounded better—but she was still a very beautiful woman and with the right clothes and environment could toss aside the years as though they were tennis balls.
To Scotland! She had heard the climate was dour and the manners of the people not the most gracious in the world, but it would be better than remaining here, shut away from the Court, living in a kind of disgrace and with the knowledge that the King would always be suspicious of her if she went back to Court, and she could be sure that mother of his would never be far away.
Scotland was the best she could hope for, and why should she not make a success of her new role? She was not young, but nor was the King of Scotland. She calculated that he would be just under forty. Mature, very glad no doubt to have for his wife a beautiful woman who had been a Queen of England.
She would try to forget her family here. Elizabeth who had become the Queen; Cecilia who had married Lord Wells and now, she heard, had retired with him to the country; Anne who was just thirteen and who would soon be having a husband found for her; Catherine who was but eight years old and Bridget who was a year younger and destined for a nunnery. All girls left to her and two little boys lost forever. No, she must stop herself trying to solve that mystery. It would bring no good. All this she must forget. She must put the past behind her. She must think of the new life in Scotland.
It would be entirely new . . . a new world to conquer. Her spirits were lifted considerably. She felt almost as she had that day when she, the desperately impoverished widow, mother of two boys by the dead John Grey, had gone out to Whittlebury Forest and made a name for herself in history.
Now . . . here was another chance. Queen of Scotland. The more she thought of the past, the more she considered her prospects for the future, the more she felt that her salvation was in Scotland.
She read of Scotland; she studied the history of Scotland; and what a tumultuous history it had! The Scots seemed to be more warlike than the English and one noble house was for ever at odds with another.
It would be primitive of course. The Scottish castles were as drafty as the English ones and there was a colder climate with which to contend. She would need fur cloaks and rugs; she visualized great fires roaring in the rooms of the castles; she could bring a more gracious way of life to that unruly race.
Each day she became more and more eager to leave. She knew that the delay in receiving an answer from James was probably due to the fact that he was now engaged in a war.
She would try to teach them that diplomacy worked so much more effectively than bloodshed. She would introduce a little culture into the Court. She would have friends visiting her from England.
One afternoon a visitor called at the nunnery.
The Death of
a Queen
n her nunnery at Bermondsey Elizabeth Woodville heard of her daughter Cecilia’s marriage and that the King had accepted it with a philosophical shrug of the shoulders.
This meant, Elizabeth knew, that he felt secure now Arthur was progressing well. Oh why should she be kept from her grandchild! Why should she be kept here? What an end to a career of such brilliance! But looking back there had been many times like this when she had had to remain shut away from the world as the only way to preserve her life. She was tired of it. If the Queen could persuade the King to accept Cecilia’s marriage why could she not bring her mother back to Court?
The answer was simple. The first did not affect the King one whit; the second might. Henry Tudor will always take care of Henry Tudor, thought Elizabeth bitterly.
Every day she expected to hear news of Scotland. That James would agree she had no doubt. She had at one time been reckoned to be the most beautiful woman in England and beauty such as hers did not disappear; it became a little faded—a little subdued sounded better—but she was still a very beautiful woman and with the right clothes and environment could toss aside the years as though they were tennis balls.
To Scotland! She had heard the climate was dour and the manners of the people not the most gracious in the world, but it would be better than remaining here, shut away from the Court, living in a kind of disgrace and with the knowledge that the King would always be suspicious of her if she went back to Court, and she could be sure that mother of his would never be far away.
Scotland was the best she could hope for, and why should she not make a success of her new role? She was not young, but nor was the King of Scotland. She calculated that he would be just under forty. Mature, very glad no doubt to have for his wife a beautiful woman who had been a Queen of England.
She would try to forget her family here. Elizabeth who had become the Queen; Cecilia who had married Lord Wells and now, she heard, had retired with him to the country; Anne who was just thirteen and who would soon be having a husband found for her; Catherine who was but eight years old and Bridget who was a year younger and destined for a nunnery. All girls left to her and two little boys lost forever. No, she must stop herself trying to solve that mystery. It would bring no good. All this she must forget. She must put the past behind her. She must think of the new life in Scotland.
It would be entirely new . . . a new world to conquer. Her spirits were lifted considerably. She felt almost as she had that day when she, the desperately impoverished widow, mother of two boys by the dead John Grey, had gone out to Whittlebury Forest and made a name for herself in history.
Now . . . here was another chance. Queen of Scotland. The more she thought of the past, the more she considered her prospects for the future, the more she felt that her salvation was in Scotland.
She read of Scotland; she studied the history of Scotland; and what a tumultuous history it had! The Scots seemed to be more warlike than the English and one noble house was for ever at odds with another.
It would be primitive of course. The Scottish castles were as drafty as the English ones and there was a colder climate with which to contend. She would need fur cloaks and rugs; she visualized great fires roaring in the rooms of the castles; she could bring a more gracious way of life to that unruly race.
Each day she became more and more eager to leave. She knew that the delay in receiving an answer from James was probably due to the fact that he was now engaged in a war.
She would try to teach them that diplomacy worked so much more effectively than bloodshed. She would introduce a little culture into the Court. She would have friends visiting her from England.
One afternoon a visitor called at the nunnery.
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