The Other Elizabeth

Chapter XXVII: June-July 1460

Chapter XXVII: June-July 1460 

Scales Hall, Norfolk, England

We are in what used to be the glorious days of June. Although the sun in glistening against the window, splintering into diamond incandescent droplets, and in the gardens, every single blade of green grass ripples in the breeze, the skies are overcast with a turbulent blue. 'Tis almost too hot and bright, too ominous as though thunder would suddenly roll across the Norfolk hills, and the breeze is whispering, hushed, waiting in anticipation, as a messenger races up the road through the deserted moors. I place down the book I am reading to my Lady Mother, excuse myself with her permission, and run down into the courtyard, gathering my skirts as I run to meet Bessie, holding the latest news and fate of the kingdom. She looks up with widened eyes as the messenger canters away as quickly as he had come.

"Bessie?" I cry, out of breath, running forward, loose wisps of hair tangling on my cheeks. She looks at me, all a-bustle and crunching in the new gown I bought for the Midsummer's Day revels but a few days ago. A bright orange beacon of hope, with flowers sprayed in my tresses, and all over my skirts with borders of white lace, hoped to cheer the people on their quarter day, and muddy by the end of the day from haggling from door-to-door. Alas, many failed to pay their due rents, and my fingers are ink-stained from hunching over account books, and writing to my many correspondences on how best to deal with their lack of despair, their unrest. The nearby Pastons, for one, who now dine with us regularly, providing witty commentary on political intrigues, and my Mother's Moleyns kinsfolk, and the Howards, and the de Veres- oh how Elizabel suffers cruelly by William- to name a few. I am a little maiden no longer. I am a woman; I, Elizabeth de Scales, am making my mark in the kingdom, and am suddenly finding myself a most eligible heiress! I have Lancastrians and Yorkists and those wavering in between sending me proposals of marriage and questions into my most delectable dowry, but judging by Bessie's expression, this latest roll of parchment bears no words of wooing, or good news of Anthony, whom I long to see.

She hands me the letter, mutely. Dame Elizabeth Bourchier, it reads, duly reminding me that the past is always present. I shall be ever so glad to marry Anthony and change my name. I wonder what life we shall lead together, and how it shall be to become his wife? Lady Rivers writes of her hope for such a union. My heart is heavy as I unfurl the letter. What if this is bad news of Anthony- what if he is dead? Nay, this is the Lord my Father's most illegible hand. Most of the letters he sends are to me now- we are genuinely establishing a working, business-like partnership betwixt us, in which he recognises me as an equal and not his strange little daughter. My Mother can barely read and write anyhow. The enclosed message must be the longest he has ever sent to me, for he is a man of short words, as I have discovered from the brusque commands of a few lines over the recent months as I engage with his contacts. I draw in my breath.

Ten years since did I fight against Jack Cade (alias Mortimer) in his uprising- Ten years? I blink. Ten years since my child Isabel lived and died? Ten years, and I have not born a living child? –and now I must meet again with those unruly Kentishmen who Cade rallied to his cause, for those damned whoresons, Warwick, Salisbury and March are in England gathering a band of them.- I let out a gasp, and not so at my Father's improper language imparted for his daughter to read- but, but they are here! The Yorkists are invading... If they have left Calais, have they released Anthony and his father; can we be reunited together so soon? What will happen upon his arrival- will our marriage truly go through? Indeed, what will happen upon the Yorkists' arrival? What do they intend to do? Jacquetta must be beside herself wondering at their whereabouts in regard to her family. Unless, the Yorkists desire to keep them prisoner in England too? Why, oh how could they, and Edward, who I once regarded as my friend?