Jacquetta fingered the serpent’s device on the brooch she was wearing.
She was certain that her beautiful daughter would find a way out of her troubles. Of all her children, Elizabeth was the one who knew best how to take care of herself.
During the months that followed Elizabeth had plenty of time to brood on her fate. It seemed worse to her because she had planned it all so differently. Being exceptionally beautiful for as long as she could remember she had expected to reap benefits from her outstanding physical perfections. She had been aware of admiration from the cradle; and although she knew that her father was not one of the powerful nobles of England, she had expected a good marriage.
Perhaps she would have been wiser to have accepted Sir Hugh Johnes. He was, it was true, of no great significance but he had been under the patronage of the great Earl of Warwick and might have risen. But she had declined, and it was only now that this calamity had befallen her that she was wondering whether she should have taken him.
Elizabeth had always felt that some special fate was in store for her. Her mother had hinted at it more than once and whether Jacquetta really could see into the future was not certain, but like most people Elizabeth liked to believe auguries that were good and only doubted when they were not.
To have been born the daughter of a mesalliance was in itself dramatic. Of course they had been poor and there were so many brothers and sisters; Jacquetta had dominated the family for their father was away a great deal and in any case was completely under the spell of his exciting wife. Warm-hearted, lively Jacquetta, about whom there was an aura of mystery because of the serpent of Melusina, had formed close family ties and Elizabeth, in spite of the calculating streak in her nature, was one of them and could never forget that she was a Woodville.
Woodvilles stand together, Jacquetta had said. The good fortune of one of us is the good fortune of all and so shall it be if troubles are to come. It was the code of the family and none would ever forget it.
She remembered with excitement the day she left for Windsor there to play her part of lady of the bedchamber to the Queen.
Margaret of Anjou had liked her even though there could not have been two women less alike. Margaret was impulsive, fiercely vindictive to her enemies and as fiercely faithful to her friends. Elizabeth was cool, and rarely acted on impulse; she was always looking for the advantage to herself as she must, being born without the means to buy a rich and powerful husband. But marriages were rarely arranged by the young people concerned; they were not the result of demanding passion, devoted love. Oh no, lands, possession, titles came into it; and the least physically desirable parti had far greater chance if possessed of a fortune than the most beautiful woman on earth who was without one.
Such knowledge rankled; and Elizabeth was wary. If her father was a humble knight who had managed to get into the peerage for service to a cause which was now out of favour, her mother though disowned was of the reigning House of Luxembourg. Elizabeth had decided that she was not going to throw away her chances lightly.
Margaret had become quite fond of her. Elizabeth knew how to please her, and that was to listen to her tirades against the Duke of York, to murmur sympathetically, to admire the Prince of Wales as the most perfect baby that ever had been born, and to show an interest in Margaret’s gowns which was not difficult for Elizabeth herself liked splendour. We are of a kind in one way, she thought. We have both had impoverished childhoods, but she has become a queen. What a triumph – and yet now Margaret had lost her crown ... or not exactly lost it. Margaret would never agree to that. But she was in exile and the young godlike Edward, who had so caught the people’s fancy, was on the throne. To stay, some said.
And that brought her back to the ever recurring theme. And we are on the wrong side.
If only her father had sported the white rose instead of the red! He might have known that Henry was not going to prevail over York. York had had everything on his side. He was energetic while Henry was lethargic as far as war was concerned; Henry wanted to read his books, listen to music, plan buildings and pray. Oh those prayers! They went on interminably. Elizabeth was grateful that Margaret had become a little impatient with them. York was a ruler; he even declared he had a greater claim to the throne and some agreed with him. The usurpation of Henry’s grandfather was a constant topic, and York’s having descended from two branches of the royal tree was true enough. York had the greater claim; he was more fitted to be the king. Moreover he had the Earl of Warwick on his side. It should have been obvious to any that York was going to succeed. A clever man would have arranged something to enable him to change sides but her father had not done it; nor had her husband.
She sighed. Yes, perhaps it would have been wise to have taken Hugh Johnes.
She often thought of Hugh, though she had had no deep feelings for him; nor had she a great deal for John Grey. One must, she was sure, remain calm in these matters. Her mother had been so different. She had thrown away rank and power possibly for the sake of Richard Woodville, and never regretted it. But Jacquetta was different from others. She had been a member of the royal House of Luxembourg; she had made one brilliant marriage and had been the Duchess of Bedford, a member of the royal family, before she married Richard Woodville for love. Jacquetta had had a wonderful life, she always said. She may have had. But what of her poor penniless offspring?
Margaret had said when Elizabeth arrived to be a lady of her bedchamber: ‘Ah you are beautiful. I shall have no difficulty in finding a husband for you.’
Margaret’s matchmaking had been something of a joke at Court. She took time off from meddling in state matters to get her ladies as she said ‘settled’.
Nothing had pleased her more than to pair off people; to get them married, to watch for the children and bestow gifts on them. A strange trait in such an ambitious fiery little Queen.
It was of course not long before Hugh appeared and no sooner had he set eyes on Elizabeth than he had wanted to marry her. Elizabeth had known what was in his mind and had not been very excited. He was reputed to be a brave knight; he had distinguished himself in the service of the great Earl of Warwick, but he was without a fortune.
This had happened during one of the periods of Henry’s madness when the Duke of York – the present King’s father – was Protector of the Realm and there was peace – although an uneasy one – between the houses of York and Lancaster.
The Queen, being immersed in looking after her husband, had not noticed what was happening to her maid of honour. So it was that Elizabeth was made an offer of marriage. Not by Hugh himself. He was of a timid nature and he must have sensed that Elizabeth had a high opinion of herself for he arranged that others should seek her hand for him. And whom did he ask but the two most important men in the kingdom at that time – the Duke of York himself and one who was perhaps even greater: Warwick the Kingmaker.
She remembered now the letters she had had from those two men and she marvelled at their friendship for Hugh and that they should take time to plead for him.
‘He hath informed me that he hath great love and affection for your person ... I write to you at this time and pray you that you will (at this my request and prayer) condescend and apply you unto his lawful and honest desire ... and cause me to show you such good patronage as shall hold you content and pleased ...’
There was something about the letter which irritated her. He was telling her that he favoured her marriage with this poor knight as being worthy of her and offered his patronage in a lordly condescending manner. This was the great Warwick, friend of the Duke of York whom Margaret regarded as her great enemy.