The Other Elizabeth *OLD VERSION*

LIV. Spring 1464

LIV
Spring 1464
Scales Hall, Norfolk, England

"And if it were a boy, would we name it for its father, Anthony?"

"Or for my father, Richard? Or for your father, Thomas, God rest his soul? Does Thomas Wydeville hold a ring to it as much as Richard and Anthony Wydeville?" my husband suggests.

"Or Edward, for His Grace, the King. He is my uncle," little Margrete pipes up.

"If he holds onto his throne," Anthony mutters darkly, referring to the tumultuous events about us, which have begun with a greater force this spring.

It all started when Henry Beaufort, the Duke of Somerset, last year decided to repay the King's goodwill to the Lancaster traitor by becoming a turncoat, joining old mad King Henry at Bamburgh Castle. Unrest has ricocheted about the country, and we have felt it alike in Northamptonshire and Norfolk- the people are uneasy, they're quick to pick a fight. Somerset recently took advantage of the Lords and brothers Warwick and Montagu tarrying through the North, to conclude treaties with the Scots envoys. For England and Scotland, after the death of Mary of Gueldres at Christmastide, who aided Marguerite of Anjou with money for rebels, are to sign for peace with King Edward against their former Lancastrian allies. I do wonder how long it will last before enmity betwixt our two countries breaks out again.

"He will," I say staunchly, "he won Hedgley Moor," referring to the battle last month in April. The Yorkist lords, after hearing of Somerset's advancing force- I seriously question how deep in insanity folk must be to flock to his banner- recruited their own army, and clashed swords, all while I have been peacefully sitting here in the countryside, as if naught was happening. From the minute he claimed the throne at Towton, Edward has faced rebellion. Will the Lancaster faction ever be suppressed, even when their leaders fall? We anxiously wait to see what new events shall unfold, and if Anthony will be summoned again, away to fight. I do not want him to depart from me- our life here is almost idyllic, if we could block politics out.

We left Grafton for the cold Norfolk winds after Epiphany, and it was an overcast day that we trotted up to my old home. A sad part of me thought that it was once My Lord and Lady's home, but now we must make it our home, the home of the line of Wydeville Baron Scales, for every time my courses are late, we hope for our heir, and as we are presently discussing, although more for painful novelty on my part, the name of our said son. We do not try to disillusion ourselves with false hopes, but the greater amount of days they do not show, my heart begins to flutter, just as it did when I saw our newly complete manor house, passed down from generations of de Scales to another, in its new glory, and now passed down to us.

I had dismounted, sucking in my breath, as I had taken in my first steps along the new bridge. The portcullis of the gatehouse slid open beckoningly, a taper flickering in the bracket above the entrance. All three storeys were now complete, of the finest sandy red brick. Imposing octagonal turrets crowned the battlements from where a flagpole still ripples, even in the howling gales, with three of the Scales escallops emblazoned proudly upon it. The new building is joined to the old manor, and a new fishpond stands but a way off, in the new enclosed gardens. Everything is new; it is all indeed a fresh start, a new beginning. Why, you can hardly call it a manor or a hall, it looks more like a small castle!

"Thank you, Anthony," I had said, my arm snaking about his waist, "I cannot wait to go inside." I still cannot believe that he planned this all in such secrecy. A small part of me rather wishes that I had had a say in my own house, but I know that he has done everything to the exciting precision of my taste. For there were only archer's slits and meagre little windows on the top storey, which revealed naught of the splendour to see- oh, how I coveted Burgundy tapestries! I glanced up to see through the largest of the three panelled oriel windows, jutting out from the first storey, with diamond patterns on the brickwork, as I made my way under the archway. I faintly smiled; Anthony did not know who awaited him behind those windows.