The Other Elizabeth *OLD VERSION*

VI. February-April 1447 *EDITED*

VI

February-April 1447

Great Totham, Essex, England

Three more deaths mark our lives; all three of them seem fairly insignificant to me, although My Lady has taught me how to judge situations such as these. What does their death mean? Will their heirs be your friends? Could you marry one of your children to them? If they have no heir, who is the next-in-line to inherit? Yourself?

"Why must I learn all this?" I moaned to My Lady, exceedingly bored, lying by hearth in an ungainly position, which she has reproved me for many a time.

"This, Elizabeth, is how you make your way in life, especially if you are to be married to a man who is in the court circles," My Lady replied, looking up from where she was meticulously embroidering the edges of a new tapestry to hang in the Great Hall with the finest gold thread. A husband who could take me to court- everything I have ever desired! Oh, how I do hope to marry a man like that! I look at My Lady; she is still patient with me, still caring and kind, but a sadness lingers in her eyes, the sadness of losing one's child. Sometimes I will hear her crying in the solar or her bedchamber as I scurry to steal sweetmeats from the kitchens, when I rather should be sleeping.

The first death was of the Pope, in February, and I can only confess that I did not feel affected in the slightest, for although I go to church dutifully, I am not terribly devout, and think of the rosary beads that hang on my girdle as a pretty accessory.

The second, in March, was of the King's uncle, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and he was reported to be extremely grieved about this, or so I heard My Lord murmur to My Lady, while they were discussing what 'opening this would create', and 'where this would leave them' for those 'power hungry ravens at court'. I remember frowning, stepping away from the door, wondering what birds had to do with it. I was not listening purposely, I just heard a-whispering and was rather curious.

Lastly, yestereve we heard of the death of Cardinal Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester. This was slightly more interesting to me because he was the son of the most scandalous duchess, Dame Katherine de Swynford, who I have read and heard so much about!

"If only I could marry a man like the old Duke of Lancaster, who loved me for years," I say with a dreamy tone, gazing outside.

"You will not have a choice in your husband, Elizabeth," My Lady says gently.

"My Lady Mother impressed that fact on me long ago," I respond drily. I visited her briefly at Christmastide, and matters were rather strained, as I wittered on about how splendid my life was at the Bourchiers, despite her ignoring me, only for her to take to bed with a headache from my irritable chatter and send me back to My Lady the next day. Agnes and Kateren, her favourite maids, told me I had not been at fault, and that she had been in a sullen mood, since her courses had dried up. Thus, they explained to me some sort of procedure which a woman faces, that I have heard whispers about before. When I stared at them blankly, they nudged me.

"This means you will definitely become Baroness Scales one day; your Lady Mother is unable to bear any more children."

"Is that not pleasing to hear?"

"Oh," I said, and pretended to be merry, when Humphrey's words were swimming around in my head. Would my Lord Father now poison my Lady Mother? As much as I disliked her, I could not have that happening!

*****

The Bishop of Winchester had been the Duchess Cecily's (Richard, Duke of York's wife) uncle, so his death was slightly more personal, although I had to keep reproving myself, for I kept thinking of myself as one of the Bourchiers, especially since I spend such a great amount of time with William and Henry.

"When you are older, Henry, as his namesake, you will be the next Bishop of Winchester!" William says, ruffling his brother's hair. We are sitting lazily amongst the long rushes of grass, circled by daisies. I will most probably stain my gown, but I still have no care; the maids can scrub it out later- and with lavender water, to hide the grassy scent.

"Do not be silly, William! I am not his namesake, we happen to have the same name."

"And the same initials," I add in, nudging him. Henry flushes, pretending embarrassment. William and I glance at each other, knowing he is secretly pleased, for all three of us can imagine him in a gold swirly-patterned Bishop's cincture or a plain white alb with brown patterning. The image of him rushing, in his worldly clothes, hurrying to throw his maniple on his arm and pectoral cross about his neck, looking flustered, enters my head, and I burst into a peal of laughter.

"What?" Henry appears affronted. I whisper in William's ear, and he snorts, and whispers back.

"What?" Henry demands, his cheeks reddening as quickly as they usually do when we tease him.

"If you become a Bishop, you would have to wear jewellery like a lady!" I giggle.

"Do not be so childish, Elizabeth. You do great offence by mocking the church." Henry's eyebrows furrow. William and I continue to laugh, for he is so funny when he is vexed, as he looks like a sulky little girl, with his arms crossed and his sun-kissed curls and dimples!

"Henry's a girl!" I snort.

"Henry's-a-girl! Henry-wants-to-be-a-girl! Henry wants gi-rl-ls! Henry wants wh-ores!" William chants, capering around like a jester or mummer. Henry goes quite red, grits his teeth, and storms off.

"Henry, come back, look, I can dance like a whore! My dancing master plays with a bawdy lute and I cannot help myself!" I cry, pulling up my skirts and performing a little jig. He looks around, halfway up the hill back to the manor. We wave, laughing, regaining our breath.

"You forward little minx! Where have you been hearing things such as that?" William says, eyeing me.

"Oh, maids gossip," I say airily, winking, although in truth, I'm not entirely sure what it even does mean.

"Well, pull those skirts down before I pull them up!" I gasp, scandalised, wide-eyed. My heart beats- this charade happens often, and he will chase me until we are both lying in a heap breathless, but sometimes I see a dark glint in his eyes that makes me shiver inwardly. He is only jesting, he is always just jesting.

"You will have to catch me first!" I cry, and start to run up the hill homeward, my golden hair flying out behind me.