The Other Elizabeth

Chapter XVI: Spring 1455

Chapter XVI: Spring 1455 

Worlington, Suffolk, England 

We received news that on Christmas Day, the King had finally awoken from his great sleep, gladly accepted the baby Prince Edward as his own, despite the rumours of his illegitimacy, and so the Duke of York had to end his own reign as Protector. We watched as over the course of this year, he has tried to reform the country and organize matters of state. He gave Henry's uncle Thomas the Archbishopric of Canterbury, which is very grand, seeing as one of his forebears was Thomas à Becket, the holy martyr!

He also appointed himself constable of Calais in place of Somerset, who cannot be trusted with foreign lands after his previous said disasters abroad. The post provides him with 2000 marks per annum, so he is able to earn some of the monies owed to him by the crown, Henry's mother wrote to him. She wrote to me as well once more, but I threw the letter in my fireplace. For I cannot forgive her for sending poor Florence to the abbey, nor can I comprehend why, and why she and Henry concealed the fact... Oh, how I detest her!

However, when the Duke reached Calais, he found himself barred by the Lieutenant there- one Richard Wydeville. Upon hearing this surname, I revisited the morning after my little brother's death, the name of Richard's daughter, Elizabeth, Elizabeth Wydeville chanting in my head, and my Mother's never-ending sobs. I was with her in Scales Hall in Middleton when we were informed of this news, in her very bedchamber where that scene had played, and my eyes became so haunted with scenes of the past I had to sit down, for I was shaking so very much, whilst my Mother was exclaiming joyously of this news.

It is hard for me, for my father-in-law the Viscount was given the task of delivering wages to Sir Richard's men, for they had not been paid by the King and stole the wools of merchants to compensate, Sir Richard supposedly powerless to stop them. I had Henry complaining of his forthright cheek, whilst on the other hand, I had my Mother praising Sir Richard's actions against him, knowing fully well the Duke was my uncle. It is now I truly understand what it means to be in a realm torn apart by Lancaster and York- for all families are divided, and so is mine own.

The reason I had journeyed to Norfolk the last summer was my Mother's idea of re-acquainting myself with my blood relatives, and to help her stow away all her goods and belongings, for my Father is refurbishing Scales Hall. It was indeed nice to return to my childhood home, and see my kinsmen and women. My 'father's sisters of the half-blood,' as my mother scathingly calls my Aunts Lizzy and Margret, for she now appears to hold them in complete disdain, came to dine with us. My Mother and I also visited John Howard, whom I had my childhood attentions on, and he remarked on how I had grown, and how I did not witter so much as I had as a child, causing me to blush. He is still remarkably charming. Both his wife Katty, as well as my Mother's niece the Lady Eleanor and her husband visited, and in Eleanor I found a very companionable friend, and we spent many walks together in the gardens.

I spent an uncomfortable evening with that old bore John Knyvett, and an equally awkward one with John Paston and his wife Margaret, my father's good friends. My said Father journeyed to be with us to enjoy the company of our cousins John, Earl of Oxford and his Howard Countess and the less-noble, rather shy youth of fifteen, William Tyndale.

"These people are to be the heirs to the barony if you do not provide an heir yourself," my Father had said after finishing dining with them.

"Oh," I had responded, swallowing. Why can I still not bring myself to create another child with Henry, and lie with him, after Isabel's death, although it was five years gone. Five years...? In truth, I am scared of the same fate befalling another child, of dying in childbirth, of miscarrying, of the child having some malformation, and coping of being nine months with child again, least of all being romantic toward the stranger that is my husband.