Jean Plaidy - To Hold the Crown: The Story of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York

The King nodded, giving an approving look to his two advisers. He could trust them to come up with a tangible suggestion.

“Perhaps the time has come then for the Queen to have her coronation,” he said. “Her mother is a source of irritation. I never trusted that woman. People say it was sorcery which enabled her to ensnare the late King.”

“She has outstanding beauty,” commented Dudley. Again he looked at Empson.

“And not too old for marriage I dareswear,” he said.

Henry was alert. “Could you by any chance be thinking of the King of Scotland?”

“He has just lost his Queen.”

Henry gave one of his rare smiles. “There is nothing I would like better than to send my mother-in-law over the Border.”

“It would certainly rid us of the unpleasantness of having to keep her under restraint, which is another reason why the Yorkists might be restive,” commented Dudley.

“I shall send an ambassador to Scotland without delay,” said Henry.

“Perhaps we should also inform the Dowager Queen of the intention?”

Henry was silent. “She is an obstinate lady, I fear.”

“My lord, surely she would consider very favorably changing a prison for a crown.”

“’Tis scarcely a prison at Bermondsey. I’ll swear my lady mother-in-law reminds them every hour of the day of her rank and is treated there with the utmost respect.”

“Nevertheless the match could scarcely be made without her consent.”

Henry agreed and the two matters of importance were decided on. Elizabeth Woodville should be offered to the King of Scotland, and the Queen should have her coronation.

It was true that Elizabeth Woodville suffered no harm in Bermondsey. She had her own apartments and her own servants there and apart from the seclusion of the life she might have been in her own palace. It was tiresome, of course, to be shut away from the world; but no less frustrating than being at Court where she was continually finding the interference of the King’s mother so irksome.

When she heard that her daughter was to have a coronation she remarked that it was time she did; then she regretted that she would not be there. It was monstrous. The mother of the Queen and more or less in restraint because of that upstart Tudor!

If only Edward had lived. If only her fair sons were with her! It was at times like this that she thought of them and wondered again what had happened to them in the Tower. She longed to see her little grandson. Dear Arthur. Though what a ridiculous name! It should have been Edward of course. However she was glad it was not Henry.

She longed to see her girls. Not that Elizabeth had much time for her mother nowadays; she had been completely subjugated by those Tudors. It was right, of course, that a woman should cling to her husband, but when that husband showed himself the enemy of the mother who had cared for her through all the difficult years . . . it was cruel and unnatural.

Dear Cecilia had more spirit than Elizabeth. She fancied that Cecilia was very interested in Lord John Weils. She had intercepted glances between them. It had made her a little uneasy at the time for although John Wells was a worthy man, and quite a favorite of the King, he was not a suitable husband for Cecilia. He was twice her age to begin with.

Nothing would come of that. She could dismiss it from her mind. But she did remember a certain defiance in Cecilia, which had been lacking in her elder sister.

She often wondered why Henry had not found a husband for Cecilia. At one time she suspected he had planned to test out Elizabeth and if she did not produce the heir . . . or died . . . he would try for Cecilia. She suspected Henry of all sorts of devious scheming. One could be sure there would be some motive behind everything that he did.

One of her servants came to tell her that a nobleman saying he came from the King wished to see her.

Ah, she thought, he has come to tell me that I shall be released for the coronation. He will realize that the people will notice my absence. It is only right and fitting that the mother of the Queen should be present on such an occasion.

The nobleman was brought in. He bowed with all due deference.

“Pray be seated,” she said. “You come from the King?”

“I do, my lady. He wishes to have your views on a matter of some importance.”

“I am honored that the King should seek my opinion,” she replied with a hint of sarcasm.

“My lady, it concerns you deeply and it is for this reason. The King of Scotland has been recently bereaved. He is of a mind to remarry. The King thought that if you were of like mind, negotiations could begin to bring about a union.”

“Between myself and the King of Scotland? Why he is half my age!”

“It is always said that you have the looks of a lady half your age.”

She was pleased. She could not help it. She had not thought of marriage for herself. She had never wanted much from men except power. That was why she had made a success of her marriage with Edward. She had never shown any jealousy of his countless mistresses; she had never sought to restrain his activities with them; it was for that reason that he had loved and admired her and she had been able to keep her hold on him. But the King of Scotland! Well, to be a queen again . . . a reigning queen, that was a great consideration. And to exchange this . . . well, retreat one might say . . . for palaces and castles. It was rather a pleasant idea.

“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.”

“She was very unwise to receive that priest,” said the Queen severely. “The King reluctantly decided that she must be taught a lesson.”

“I could almost believe,” said Cecilia, “that it is the Countess of Richmond sitting there and not our sister.”

The Queen shrugged her shoulders impatiently. It was nearly time for the King to arrive and she could hear the tumult in the streets a little way off.

The King came into Bishopsgate and when he reached the Hospital of St. Mary he paused and looked up at the window at which the Queen sat with her sisters.

He gave Elizabeth one of his rare smiles, and she returned it with a look of genuine love, which delighted the crowd. He could trust Elizabeth to do what was expected of her.

The crowd roared its approval. Henry acknowledged the cheers and passed on.

He was thinking that Empson and Dudley were right. The coronation of the Queen was what the people wanted. Now they were going to have it. Moreover if he could bring off this marriage of Elizabeth Woodville with the King of Scotland he would have rid himself of that most tiresome woman.

The King conducted the Queen to Greenwich Palace leaving her there while he returned to the Tower of London. In accordance with tradition she must come without him to the capital for the ceremony of crowning and he must be at the Tower of London, waiting to welcome her when she arrived.

She must sail down the river with the most glorious pageantry which could be devised. It would be an expense, Empson had said, and he, no less than the King, deplored expense; but there were occasions when rules of economy must be waived and reasonable sums laid out if the result of spending money was to have the desired effect.

It was a misty November day when the Queen left Greenwich, but no one seemed to care very much about the weather. The people were determined to enjoy themselves and they set about doing so with gusto, for here was their handsome Queen at the center of one of the colorful pageants which they had grown accustomed to during the reign of that incomparable monarch King Edward the Fourth.