Queen by Right (8 page)

Cecily was impressed, and she vowed to ask Raby’s master cook if he could attempt such magic.

“As I am certain Father has told you,”
Anne continued,
“Humphrey now sits in the regency council with him, and he is one of the most important people at court.”

Nay, Nan, Cecily thought, you are mistaken. Father has not thought to mention it.

“I miss the gentle countryside at Raby. Here there is naught but wild high hills, good for nothing but sheep, and many rivers, the biggest of which flows below the castle and town. Humphrey likes to fish all the time.”

Cecily paused and gazed at a thrush singing blithely on a brick wall. Aye, poor Nan must be most unhappy if she needed to tell me that. She pictured her sister at her window high up in the castle above a sheer drop into a swiftly flowing river, watching her new husband, equipped with rod and creel, ride off with his squires.
“But when he is here, he is all duty to me and denies me nothing, although, in truth, he looks on me as though I were a child, even though I am now his wife in all ways.”

Cecily’s mouth dropped open at Anne’s insinuation. She wished she could talk to her sister about such matters. What does happen in bed, she started to ponder. Then she heard her father’s stentorian voice calling her from the gatehouse.

Cecily folded the letter, stuffed it into a pocket, and flew along the paths to the iron gate that led out to the park. She saw her father waving impatiently.

“What is it, Father?” she asked when she reached him. “Is something amiss?”

Then she saw that Ralph was in his traveling clothes and his horse laden with double saddlebags. George and Edward waited beside Brown Baldric to bid their father good-bye and help him onto the huge horse’s back.

“Where are you going?” Cecily asked, her blue eyes filling with tears as she noted that several of his gentlemen had already mounted. Ralph had not left Raby all summer long, and she had forgotten that as one of the regency councillors he must return to court from time to time. “Is it London this time? And why will you not take Mother and me with you?”

“Only a few hours ago, I received a summons from your Uncle Beaufort, and I must go to the council at once,” Ralph explained, pulling on a pair of tooled leather gloves. “Duke Humphrey of Gloucester has gone abroad, which means that we must convene and govern in his absence, my child. With Bedford in France as well, we councillors must try to hold the throne safe for the young king. Do not look so downhearted, Cecily. You shall go to London soon, I
promise.” He tipped up her trembling chin and kissed her forehead. “George and Edward will take you hunting, have no fear. They have their instructions.”

“What about Dickon?” Cecily said anxiously. “Can he come with us too?”

Ralph looked sheepish. “I forgot to mention that he comes with me to London. ’Tis time he was formally presented to the council and the king. He is fourteen now and cannot while away much more of his time up here with us.” He wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Tears for Dickon, and you are not even wed yet? ’Tis very touching, but you must become accustomed to a husband’s frequent absences, my sweet girl.”

Cecily pouted. “I shall go with him wherever he goes, you see if I don’t,” she grumbled.

“Ah, there you are, York,” Ralph called to Dickon, who was hurrying toward the stables with a servant tagging along with his saddlebags. Dickon’s elaborate chaperon fitted him better these days, Cecily noted absently, but seeing him preparing to mount, she forgot about his hat and ran to him. She grasped his hand.

“Sweet Jesu, Cis,” he said, amused. “You almost bowled me over.” He carried her hand to his cheek. “Never fear, I shall write to you, and you will promise to write to me, will you not? I shall be back before you know it, I promise. Now farewell, and God keep you.”

Miserably Cecily watched as he was helped into his saddle while his servant mounted a sturdy rouncy and settled the baggage.

Ralph gave the signal to walk off. Cecily darted past the kitchen tower and along the length of the low curtain wall to see the meinie trot down the road to Staindrop. Infuriatingly, the men failed to notice her as she frantically brandished her colored kerchief, but she dared not cry out like a peasant to attract the attention of the two men she loved most in all the world lest Joan be watching. She kept on running and waving. Then just before the party disappeared down the hill and over the stream, she tripped on a large stone in her path, and the next thing she knew she was flat on her face in the coarse grass under the wall.

“Cock’s bones!” she exclaimed, much to the amusement of a mason nearby, who was patching a hole in the Bulmer tower. Her tears now unchecked—whether because her hands were grazed or because of frustration that Dickon had not seen her—she thumped the ground with her fist. “I wish I were a boy!” she complained. “I am left out of everything!”

3
Raby, Durham, 1425

T
he weeks came and went, and Yuletide was a less festive affair in the absence of the lord of the castle. On a snowy day during Advent, Cecily, George, and Edward accompanied some of the gardeners and woodsmen into the park to gather holly, ivy, and the mystical mistletoe and to cut down a tree for the traditional Yule log. Their horses slowed by the drifts to a walk, they made for the woods, and the servants, pulling sleds, tramped through the ankle-deep snow, trying to keep up. Bunches of mistletoe clung to the oaks’ bare brown branches, the poisonous white berries glistening among the yellow-green leaves. By standing in his stirrups, George was able to reach and cut down several sprigs of it.

“Have a care not to drop any, George!” Cecily cried anxiously. “’Twill bring bad luck to our house if it touches the ground before Candlemas.”

“Pah!” retorted George. “’Tis naught but an old wives’ tale,” he told her. Nevertheless he crossed himself for good measure. “For my part, I intend to hang some close by the buttery. There is a dairymaid . . .”

Edward moved forward and gave his brother a swift kick, making George’s horse skitter and George drop some of the mistletoe. Cecily gasped in horror, and all three siblings stared at the unmistakable green lodged in the snow. A nimble woodsman snatched up the sprig and added it to the boughs of pine on his sled before others saw.

Cecily gave George a withering look. “How foolish of you, brother,” she snapped. “I think I shall return to the castle, for now I am certain we shall have ill luck for the next twelvemonth. You see if we don’t.”

George leaned over and patted her hand. “Dearest Cis, I am heartily sorry for spoiling the day for you, but ’twas I who dropped the plant, and I shall be
the only one to pay, in truth. Now, I pray you, let me see a smile again on that sour face.”

Cecily sat unmoved, but George could always coax her out of a mood, he knew, and when he lifted her hand to his lips and winked at her, he was rewarded with the ghost of a smile.

“I will make it up to you if aught ill befalls the family,” he promised. “Now, come with us. We have yet to find a suitable Yule log.”

B
EFORE THE END
of January and a few days before Candlemas, it seemed that Cecily’s superstitious fears were unfounded. News came that Richard Neville had been made constable of Pontefract Castle, one of the crown’s important northern strongholds. And, more relevant to Cecily, word was sent to Raby that Dickon’s maternal uncle, Edmund Mortimer, earl of March and descendant of Lionel of Clarence, had died of plague in Ireland, leaving no children and thus bequeathing to the young duke of York vast tracts of land in England, Ireland, and Wales, as well as the Mortimer claim to the throne.

“This is excellent news, Cecily. Your betrothed will be one of the wealthiest men in England when he comes of age,” Joan exulted. “But for now, Duke Humphrey of Gloucester and my brother John have charge of his estates.”

Cecily tried to look pleased, but then she asked, “When will Dickon and my lord father come back to Raby?”

“While Duke Humphrey is selfishly blundering into his wife’s disputed lands in Burgundy and Bedford is succeeding in holding France for England, the regency council must keep close watch on King Henry’s interests. My two brothers and your father are well placed to guide and govern. Be patient with a noble’s obligations, Daughter, and proud of your family always.”

Joan saw Cecily stifle a yawn and paused. Aye, she is still only a girl of ten, despite her intelligence, Joan thought. She will have to learn the intricacies of politics soon enough. Why not let her enjoy this quiet life for a little longer? And in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection, she pulled Cecily into her arms and stroked the lovely blond head, just as she remembered her mother doing with her so many years ago.

Joan sighed. “The year has begun well for the house of Neville, my dear,” she murmured. “Be proud and pray for it to last.”

C
ECILY
’
S HEART NEARLY
stopped when she first saw her father again several months later. She came into her mother’s solar, situated on the second floor of Joan’s new tower, just as Ralph was being helped into a high-backed chair by two sturdy squires. She flew to his side and knelt before him, her eyes anxiously taking in the pasty face and dark circles under his eyes.

“My lord father,” she began. “Are you unwell?”

“Certes he is unwell, Cecily,” Joan snapped, as worried as her daughter. “You do not need to remind him with your tactless question. Now fetch a stool, sit down, and hold that runaway tongue of yours.” Her tone softened as she regarded her husband. “Would you prefer wine or ale, my dear lord?”

“Hell’s bells, ladies!” Ralph exclaimed. “I am not at death’s door. The heat and the journey have wearied me, ’tis all, and the many hours of wrangling at the council table. I am, after all, more than sixty years of age. My body may be weak, but my mind is still strong. Cease your fussing, I beg of you! Or I shall return to plague-ridden London.”

“Nay, you jest, husband.” Joan smiled and caressed his hand. “You would not return home carrying a pestilence. In truth, we are impatient to hear the news from London, but only when you are rested.”

Ralph regarded his wife with affection. “I have much to thank God for, my lady,” he said. “But most of all I thank Him every day for bringing you into my life. Never was a man more pleased with his wife.” Catching a glimpse of Cecily’s upturned face at his knee, he hastily added, “And his daughter. I trust you have been a good companion to your mother while I have been away.”

Cecily nodded vigorously. “I have done my best, truly I have,” she replied, looking to her mother for assurance, but Joan chose the moment to fetch ale for her husband. She did not believe in swelling a child’s head with praise. “I pray you, my lord, what word of Dickon?” Cecily asked.

“Has that boy not written to you, child? He swore to me that he had,” he growled, lowering his eyebrows again. “He is well and makes an impression at court with his courtesy and intelligence, but he is no popinjay, nor does he prate or swagger like some of the young lords.” He leaned over to Cecily and whispered, “Like Anne’s Humphrey Stafford.” Cecily giggled, reveling in her father’s closeness and his conspiratorial tone.

Joan handed her husband a cup of ale and sat down again. “How is the little king faring, husband? Do you see him at all, or does he spend all his time in the nursery?”

Ralph harrumphed. “As a result of the bad blood between your brother
Bishop Henry and Duke Humphrey, the council saw fit to insist the infant be present at all council meetings and even to set the Great Seal between his knees. In truth, I thought ’twas ridiculous. What did they expect? That the king would give his opinion on matters of state? He gave his opinion often, but it was more in the fashion of a loud yawn of boredom or, worse, a nap!”

Joan shook her head in disbelief. “What were they thinking? The boy is only four. And my brother sanctioned this addle-pated nonsense?”

“Aye. Bishop Beaufort is Chancellor—for now—my dear. Because Duke Humphrey, the derelict Regent, has returned ruined both in body and in purse from his reckless campaigning on behalf of his foreign wife, and we, the other councillors, have forbidden him to fight more with Burgundy.” He sighed. “How I wish Bedford could leave France. He is the only one to help us steer this difficult regency. He is the best of us. When I left, things were coming to a head between your brother and Humphrey. I was glad this little bout of sickness allowed me to come home.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Cecily, my child, I am weary. Pray leave your mother and me for now. Be a good girl and summon my valet in my office. You will find something there for you I carried with me from London.”

Cecily jumped up and clapped her hands, earning a disapproving frown from her mother. She hurriedly curtseyed to them both. “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, scurrying away before she could receive another rebuke.

“She is impossible,” she heard Joan say wearily.

“She will keep us young, Joanie,” Ralph replied. “Cecily is a clever girl, and your fine example will hold her steady throughout her life, I have no doubt.”