Produced by Al Haines.
"Nan!" broke from her father's lips, in tones moreeloquent than a volume would have been. "Little Nan!" "I would I wereyour little Nan again," she said. "We were happy then, my Lord--atleast I was." P. 140.]
_Red and White_
_A Tale of The Wars of the Roses_
BY
EMILY SARAH HOLT
AUTHOR OF "THE WHITE ROSE OF LANGLEY," ETC.
"If loving hearts were never lonely, If all they wish might always be, Accepting what they look for only, They might be glad, but not in Thee." --ANNA L. WARING.
_NEW EDITION_
LONDON JOHN F. SHAW AND CO. 48 PATERNOSTER ROW 1882
*PREFACE.*
It is a proverbial truth that thunderstorms clear the air. And it wouldseem as though that eventful and terrible period of English history,known as the Wars of the Roses, had cleared the political air for thecoming Reformation. How little those who took part in it realised thetime to follow! To the men of that day it was either a wrestle forpersonal fame, or a passionate enthusiasm for the establishment ofRight. To the women with whom it was not the latter, it must have been ameaningless agony--a passion with no visible end, and with noconceivable moral purpose. Alas for him who loses his faith in theprovidence of God, for the key of the world has dropped out of his hand.And happy are they who can calmly walk on in the dark by the side of theFather, it may be feeling the atmosphere painfully oppressive, yetwilling to wait His time, and knowing that when they come forth into thelight of the Golden City, they will be satisfied with it.
*CONTENTS.*
CHAP.
I. THE FLEDGLINGS LEAVE THE NEST II. LILIES AMONG THE THORNS III. FLIGHT IV. SCENE-SHIFTING V. HIS LITTLE NAN VI. THE MIST ON EASTER DAY VII. THE LAST BATTLE OF THE RIVAL ROSES VIII. THE END OF A WEDDING-DAY IX. DRAWING NEARER X. AT THE PARCHMENT-MAKER'S XI. A LAST INTERVIEW XII. IDONIA UNDERSTANDS XIII. THE LAST OF THE SILVER RING
HISTORICAL APPENDIX
*RED AND WHITE.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*THE FLEDGLINGS LEAVE THE NEST.*
"Ah, God will never let us plant Our tent-poles in the sand, But ever, e'er the blossom buds, We hear the dread command,-- 'Arise and get thee hence away, Unto another land.'"
"Frid!" said little Dorathie in a whisper.
Frid held up a hushing finger with a smile.
"Frid!" came again; in a tone which showed that tears were not very farfrom Dorathie's blue eyes.
Frid's hand was held out in reply, and little Dorathie, understandingthe gesture, sidled along the window-seat until she reached her sisterin the opposite corner. There, nestled up close to Frideswide, and heldfast by her arm, Dorathie put the melancholy question which wastroubling her repose.
"Frid, be you going hence?--verily going?"
The answering nod was a decided affirmative.
"But both of you?--both thee and Agnes?"
Another silent, uncompromising nod from Frideswide.
"O Frid, I shall be all alone! Whatever must I do?"
And the tears came running from the blue eyes.
"Serve my Lady my grandmother," Frideswide whispered back.
"But that is--only--being useful," sobbed Dorathie, "and I--want to--behappy."
"Being useful is being happy," said her sister.
"I would being happy were being useful," was Dorathie's lugubriousanswer. "They never go together--not with me."
"So do they alway with me," replied Frideswide.
"Oh, thou! Thou art a woman grown," said Dorathie with a pout.
"Right an old woman," said Frideswide with a sparkle of fun in her eyes,for she was not quite twenty. Dorathie was only eight, and in herestimation Frideswide had attained a venerable age. "But list, Doll!My Lady calleth thee."
Dorathie's sobs had attracted the notice of one of the four grown-uppersons assembled round the fire. They were two ladies and twogentlemen, and the relations which they bore to Dorathie were father,mother, grandmother, and grand-uncle.
It was her grandmother who had called her--the handsome stately old ladywho sat in a carved oak chair on the further side of the fire. Her hairwas silvery white, but her eyes, though sunken, were lively, flashingdark eyes still.
Dorathie slipped down from the window-seat, crossed the large room, andstood before her grandmother with clasped hands and a deferential bob.She was not much afraid of a scolding, for she rarely had one from thatquarter: still, in the days when girls were expected to be silentstatues in the august presence of their elders, she might reasonablyhave feared for the result of her whispered colloquy with Frideswide.
"What ails my little Doll?" gently asked the old lady.
"An't please your good Ladyship, you said Frid and Annis[#] should bothgo away hence."
[#] Annis, or more correctly Anneyse, is the old French form of Agnes,and appears to have been used in the Middle Ages, in England, as anaffectionate diminutive. Some have supposed Annis to be a variety ofAnne, and have therefore concluded that Anne and Agnes were consideredthe same name. This, I think, is a mistake. Annas is the Scottishspelling.
"We did, my little maid. Is our Doll very sorry therefor?"
"I shall be all alone!" sobbed Dorathie.
"'All alone!'" repeated her grandmother with a smile, which was pityingand a little sympathetic. "Little Doll, there be fourteen in this housebeside Frideswide and Agnes."
"But they are none of them _them_!" said Dorathie.
"Aye. There is the rub," answered her grandmother. "But, little maid,we all have to come to that some time."
"'Tis as well to begin early, Doll," said her uncle.
"Please it you, Uncle Maurice," replied Dorathie, rubbing the tears outof her eyes with her small hands, "I'd rather begin late!"
Her father laughed. "Folks must needs go forth into the world, Doll,"said he. "Thou mayest have to do the like thine own self some day."
"Shall I so?" asked Dorathie, opening her eyes wide. "Then, an' it likeyour good Lordship, may I go where Frid and Annis shall be?"
"Thou wilt very like go with Frid or Annis, it we can compass it,"replied her father; "but they will not be together, Doll."
"Not together!" cried Dorathie in a tone of disappointed surprise.
"Nay: Frideswide goeth to my good Lady of Warwick at Middleham; andAgnes to London town, to serve my Lady's Grace of Exeter in herchamber."
"Then they'll be as unhappy as me!" said Dorathie, with a very sorrowfulshake of her head. "I thought they were going to be happy."
"They shall be merry as crickets!" answered her father. "My Lady ofWarwick hath two young ladies her daughters, and keepeth four maidens inher bower; and my Lady's Grace of Exeter hath likewise a daughter, andkeepeth other four maids to wait of her. They are little like to belonely."
Her grandmother understood the child's feeling, but her father did not.And Dorathie was dimly conscious that it was so. She dropped anothercourtesy, and crept back to Frideswide in the window-seat,--notcomforted at all. There they sat and listened to the conversation oftheir elders round the fire. Frideswide was sewing busily, butDorathie's hands were idle.
The season was ea
rly autumn, and the trees outside were just beginningto show the yellow leaf here and there. The window in which the twogirls sat, a wide oriel, opened on a narrow courtyard, in front of whichlay a garden of tolerable size, wherein pinks, late roses, and otherflowers were bowing their heads to the cool breeze of the Yorkshirewolds. The court-yard was paved with large round stones, not pleasantto walk on, and causing no small clatter from the hoofs of the horses.A low parapet wall divided it from the garden, which was approached bythree steps, thus making the court into a wide terrace. Beyond thegarden, a crenellated wall some twelve feet high shut out the prospect.
What it shut out beside the prospect was a great deal, of which littlewas known to Frideswide, and much less to Dorathie. They lived at aperiod of which we, sheltered in a country which has not known war fortwo hundred years, can barely form an adequate idea. For fourteenyears--namely, since Frideswide was five years old, and longer thanDorathie's life--England had been torn asunder by civil warfare. Norwas it over yet. The turbulent past had been sad enough, but the worstwas yet to come.
Never, since the cessation of the Heptarchy, had a more terrible timebeen seen than the Wars of the Roses. In this struggle above allothers, family convictions were divided, and family love rent asunder.Father and son, brother and brother, uncle and nephew, constantly tookopposite sides: and every warrior on each side was absolutely sure thatall shadow of right lay with his candidate, and that the "rebel andadversary" of his chosen monarch had not an inch of ground to stand on.
Nor was the question of right so clear and indisputable as in thisnineteenth century we are apt to think. To our eyes, regarding thematter in the light of modern law, it appears certain that Edward IV.was the rightful heir of the crown, and that there was no room fordispute in the matter. But the real point in dispute was the veryimportant one, what the law of succession really was. Was it any barthat Edward claimed through a female? The succession of all the kingsfrom the Empress Maud might be fairly held to settle this item inEdward's favour. But the real difficulty, which lay beyond, was not soeasily solved.
Very little understood at present is the law of non-representation, theold "custom of England," which was also the custom of Artois, andseveral other provinces. According to this law, if a son of the kingshould predecease his father, leaving issue, that issue was barred fromthe throne. They were not to be allowed to represent their dead father.The right of succession passed at once to the next son of the monarch.
Several of our kings tried to alter this law, but it was so dear to thehearts of the English people that up to 1377 they invariably failed.The most notable instance is that of Richard I., who tried hard tosecure the succession of Arthur, the son of his deceased brotherGeoffrey, in preference to his youngest brother John. But the "customof England" was too strong for him: and though John was personallyneither liked nor respected by any one, England preferred his rule tomaking a change in her laws.
It was Edward III. who succeeded in making the alteration. His eldestson, the famed Black Prince, had died leaving a son behind him, and theold King strongly desired to secure the peaceable succession of hisgrandson. He succeeded, partly because of the popularity of thedeceased Prince, partly on account of the unpopularity of the next heir,but chiefly because the next heir himself was willing to assist in thealteration. His reward for this self-abnegation is that modern writersare perpetually accusing him of unbridled ambition, and of a desire tosnatch the crown from that nephew who would assuredly never have worn ithad he withheld his consent.
But though John of Gaunt was perfectly willing to be subject instead ofsovereign, his son Henry did not share his feelings. He alwaysconsidered that he had been tricked out of his rights: and he neverforgave his father for consenting to the change. After sundry futileattempts to eject his cousin from the throne, he at last succeeded ineffecting his purpose. The succession returned to the right lineaccording to the old "custom of England"; and since King Richard II.,for whom it had been altered, left no issue, matters might have gone onquietly enough had it been suffered to remain there.
They were quiet enough until the death of Henry V. But a long minorityof the sovereign has nearly always been a misfortune to the country: andthe longest of all minorities was that of Henry VI., who was only eightmonths old when he came to the throne. Then began a restless and wearystruggle for power among the nobles, and especially the three uncles ofthe baby King. The details of the struggle itself belong to generalhistory: but there are one or two points concerning which it will bebest to make such remarks as are necessary at once, in order to saveexplanations which would otherwise be constantly recurring.
King Henry was remarkably devoid of relatives, and the nearest he hadwere not of his own rank. He was the only child of his father, and onthe father's side his only living connections beside distant cousinswere an uncle--Humphrey Duke of Gloucester--and a grand-uncle--CardinalBeaufort--both of whom were, though different from each other, equallydiverse from the King in temperament and aim. On the mother's side hehad two half-brothers and a sister, with whom he was scarcely allowed toassociate at all. He wanted a wife: and he took the means to obtain onewhich in his day princes usually took. He sent artists to the variouscourts of Europe, to bring to him portraits of the unmarried Princesses.King Henry's truth-loving nature comes out in the instructions given tothese artists. They were to be careful not to flatter any of the royalladies, but to draw their portraits just as they were. Of theminiatures thus brought to him, the King's fancy was attracted by thelovely face of a beautiful blonde of sixteen--the Princess Marguerite ofAnjou, second daughter of Rene, the dispossessed King of Naples. Anembassy, at the head of which was William Duke of Suffolk, was sent overto demand, and if accepted, to bring home the young Princess.
The girl-Queen found herself a very lonely creature, flung into themidst of discordant elements. She loved her husband, as she afterwardsshowed beyond question, and she must have felt deep respect for hispure, gentle, truthful, saintly soul. Yet, excellent as he was, he wasno adviser for her. It was simply impossible for her brilliant intellectand brave heart to lean upon his dulled brain and timid nature. Howcould he, with the uttermost will to aid her, help his young wife tokeep out of snares laid for her which he could not even see, or counselher to beware of false friends whose falsehood he never so much assuspected? Is it any wonder that Marguerite in this sore emergencyturned to Suffolk, her first friend, a man almost old enough to be hergrandfather, with a wise head and a tender heart, and thoroughlydesirous to do his duty? Poor, innocent girl! she paid dearly for it.One word of cruel, contemptuous surmise dropped from the lips of a youngnobleman,--who very possibly had wished the fair young Queen to make himher chief adviser--and all over the land, as with wings, the wickedfalsehood sped, till there was no possibility of undoing the evil, andMarguerite woke up in horror to find her name defamed, and her innocentfriendship with Suffolk believed to be criminal. She did not discoverfor some time who was the author of this cruel slander: but when shedid, she never forgave Warwick.
There is not the shadow of probability that it was true. Suffolk wasabout fifty years of age[#] when Marguerite was married, and he had beenfor nearly fifteen years the husband of one of the loveliest women inEngland, to whom he was passionately attached. His character is shownfurther by the farewell letter written to his son,[#] one of the mosttouching and pious farewell letters ever penned by man.
[#] He was born at Cotton, in Suffolk, and baptized in that church on"The Feast of St. Michael in Monte Tumba" [Oct. 16] 1396. (_Prob.AEtatit Willielmi Ducis Suffolk_, 5 H. V. 63.)
[#] Published among the Paston Letters.
But now another and a more serious complication was added to thosealready existing. The dispossessed heir of the elder branch, RichardDuke of York, had much to forgive the House of Lancaster. He had thememory of a murdered father and a long-imprisoned mother ever freshbefore him. His claim was only through the female line, as the son of adaughter of the son of a dau
ghter of Lionel Duke of Clarence, the secondson of Edward III. who attained manhood, and who had predeceased hisfather. In respect of the male line, he was descended from a youngerbrother[#] of the grandfather of Henry VI. It was therefore only as therepresentative of Duke Lionel that he could put forward any claim atall. But Richard was not good at forgiving. And when, as if for thepurpose of further entangling matters, and suggesting to Richard thevery idea which he afterwards carried into action, Henry VI. was seizedwith an attack of that temporary insanity which he inherited from hismaternal grandfather, Richard, as his next male relative, was placed inthe position of Regent: a state of things so entirely suited to hiswishes that when, the King having recovered, he was summoned to resignhis charge, Richard coolly expressed his perfect satisfaction with theposition of governor, and his intention to remain such, since heconsidered himself to be, as heir general of Duke Lionel, much morerightfully King of England than the cousin who had displaced him.
[#] Edmund Duke of York.
The first sensation of Henry VI., on hearing this calm assertion ofRichard, was simply one of unbounded amazement.
"My grandfather," said he, "held the crown for twelve years, and myfather for ten, and I have held it for twenty-three: and all that timeyou and your fathers have kept silence, and not one word of this have Iever heard before. What mean you, fair cousin, to prefer such a claimagainst the Lord's Anointed?"
It was not quite the fact that Richard's fathers had kept absolutesilence, since his uncle, Edmund Earl of March, had been put forward asa claimant for the throne, just fifty years before:[#] but in allprobability the King was entirely justified in stating that the idea wasnew to him. It is not likely that those about him from infancy wouldhave allowed him to become familiar with it, since his delicate sense ofright and justice was--in their eyes--the most tiresome thing about him.But the question was not in his hands for decision. Had it been so, noman would ever have heard of the Wars of the Roses. King Henry "had nosense of honour," which probably means that ambition, self-seeking, andaggressiveness were feelings utterly unknown to him. "Yea, let him takeall," would have been the language of his lips and heart, so long as hehad left to him a quiet home in some green nook of England, the wife andchild whom he dearly loved, a few books, and peace. At times God'sprovidence decrees peace as the lot of such men. At other rimes itseems to be the one thing with which they must not be trusted. They aretossed perpetually on the waves of this troublesome world, "emptied fromvessel to vessel," never suffered to rest. This last was the destiny ofHenry VI. For him, it was the way home to the Land of Peace, wherethere is no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying. For four hundredyears his spirit has dwelt in the eternal peace of Paradise; God hascomforted him for ever.
[#] A full account of this transaction will be found in "The White Roseof Langley."
It was an unfortunate thing for Richard of York that he had married awoman who acted toward his ambitious aspirations not as a bridle, but asa spur. Cicely Neville, surnamed from her great beauty The Rose of Raby,was a woman who, like two of her descendants, would have "died to-morrowto be a queen to-day," and would have preferred "to eat dry bread at aking's table, rather than feast at the board of an elector."[#] Of allmembers of the royal family of England, this lady is to my knowledge theonly one who ever styled herself in her own charters "the right high andright excellent Princesse." The Rose of Raby was not the only titlegiven her. To the vulgar in the neighbourhood where her youth was spentshe was also known as Proud Cis. And every act of her life tends toshow the truth of the title.
[#] The words first quoted were spoken by Anne Princess of Orange,eldest daughter of George II.; the latter by Elizabeth Queen of Bohemia,eldest daughter of James I.
It was at the battle of St. Albans--the first fought between the rivalRoses--that Dorathie's grandfather had been killed; the husband of thestately old lady who remained head of the household at Lovell Tower.His barony descended to his only daughter Margery, who, after a gooddeal of hesitation among rival suitors who greatly admired her title andfortune, had gradually awoke to the discovery that she liked nobodyquite so well as her old friend John Marston, though he was nearly twiceher age, and a widower with three children. So on him, with the fullconsent of her mother, she bestowed hand and heart, title and fortune;the former being in his eyes, alone of all her lovers, more valuablethan the latter. In her right he became Lord Marnell of Lymington, foruntil a comparatively recent period the title of a peeress in her ownright was held to become the property of her husband as absolutely asher goods, and was conferred by courtesy, as a matter of necessity, uponany second wife whom he might marry. Two more children--Dorathie andRalph--were added to the family: but only the former now survived. Itwill thus be seen that Frideswide and Agnes were half-sisters ofDorathie. The other member of the family not yet introduced was Walter,the eldest son. He was at present a young squire in the household ofQueen Marguerite.
Every soul at Lovell Tower was passionately Lancastrian. To them HenryVI. was The King, and Edward IV. was "the rebel." In the house of thenext knight, half a mile away, the conditions were reversed: and the twofamilies, who had been old and firm friends, now passed each other onthe road with no notice whatever. Very painful was this state of thingsto the Lady Idonia, the only sister of four brothers thus placed atvariance. Her two younger brothers, Maurice and William, were still ongood terms with her, for they were Lancastrians like herself. But theCarew family was one of those which the political earthquake hadshattered, and Hugh and Thomas were determined Yorkists. It was thesadder--or should have been,--since the younger Lady Marnell had beeneducated under the roof of her Uncle Hugh, during the prolongedresidence of her parents at the Court of Scotland. Fortunately orunfortunately, Uncle Hugh and Aunt Mabel had contrived to impressthemselves on the mind of young Margery in no other character than thatof live barricades against the accomplishment of all her wishes. To beotherwise than on speaking terms with them, therefore, was a muchsmaller calamity to Margery than to her mother. The Lady Idonia used tosigh heavily when their names were mentioned. Yet to keep up thefriendship would have been no easy matter. Hugh Carew was granite wherehis convictions were concerned; and not content with following themhimself, he insisted on imposing them on every body who came near him.It would have been in his eyes a matter of principle not to allow hissister or his niece to speak of "the King" or "the rebel," withoutletting them see that he wilfully misunderstood the allusion. Idoniamerely sighed ever this piece of perversity, while yet their intercourseremained unbroken: but Margery was apt to flare up and make an openbreach of the peace. It certainly was trying, when she spoke of theKing (meaning Henry VI.) as in Scotland, to be reminded in a cold,precise tone, slightly astonished, that she had unaccountably forgottenthat His Highness was at Westminster. It is not therefore to bewondered at, if Margery felt the open hostility rather a relief than aburden, while her mother grieved over it in secret.
"'Tis strange gear," the Lady Idonia would sometimes say, "that mencannot think alike."
"Nay, fair Sister, why should they so?" was her brother William'sanswer. "This were tame world if no man saw by his own eyes, but allafter a pattern."
"That were well, Ida," replied the graver Maurice, "could all men seethrough God's eyes."
"Aye, and who shall dare say how He looketh on these matters?" rejoinedWilliam.
"Know we not that?" said Maurice. "'The righteous Lord delighteth inrighteousness; His countenance beholdeth equity.'"[#]
[#] Psalm xi. 8.
"On which side is the equity?" asked his brother with a shrug of hisshoulders. "Somewhat scant on both, as methinks. My Lords of Warwickand Somerset are scarce they which, before giving battle, should lookthrough a speculation glass[#] to find the righteousness of the matter."
[#] Magnifier.
"Perhaps it were hardly so small as to need the same," was Maurice's dryanswer.
"Nay, fair Uncle William, but I cry you mercy!" broke in Margery
. "Itseems me you be but half-hearted toward our good King. Surely his, andnone other, is the cause of right and justice."
"Gramercy, Madge! I am well assured I never said they lay with thatrebel," returned her uncle, laughing.
"Methinks," said Maurice quietly, "that King David was the wisest, whichcommitted his cause unto God. Never, truly, had king so clear andperfect title as he. But we find not that he laid siege to King Saul,in order to come by it the sooner."
"Dear heart! prithee go tell that to the Queen," said William, stilllaughing. "Such reasoning were right after the King's heart."
"The Queen fights not for herself," responded Maurice. "It is easier totrust our own lot in God's hands, than the lot of them we love most. Butmind ye not, Will and Ida, what our Philip were wont to say--'They thatGod keepeth be the best kept'?"
William made no reply. He was silenced by the allusion to the deadbrother, on whom the Carews looked much as those around them did uponthe saints.
The interval between the battles of St. Albans and Wakefield--five yearsand a half--had changed most of the _dramatis personae_, but had not inany degree altered the sanguinary character of the struggle. RichardDuke of York was gone--killed at Wakefield: Suffolk was gone, a victimto popular fury. King Henry and Queen Marguerite were still theprominent figures on the Lancastrian side, joined now by their sonPrince Edward. On the York side were the three sons of DukeRichard,--Edward, George, and Richard, whose ages when the story openswere twenty-eight, nineteen, and seventeen. Which of these three youngmen possessed the worst character it is difficult to judge, though thatevil eminence is popularly assigned to Richard. Edward was anincorrigible libertine; not a bad organiser, nor devoid of personalbravery, though it usually appeared by fits and starts. He could do agenerous action, but he was irremediably lazy, and far weaker incharacter than either of his brothers. One redeeming point he had--hispersonal love for his blood relations. But it was not pure love, formuch selfishness was mixed with it. Perhaps really the worst of thethree was George, for he was not merely an ingrained self-seeker, butalso false to the heart's core. No atom of trust could ever be placedin him. The most solemn oath taken to-day was no guarantee whateveragainst his breaking through every engagement to-morrow. The Dutchman'smaxim, "Every man for mineself," was the motto of George's life. Eachof the brothers spent his life in sowing seeds of misery, and in eachcase the grain came to perfection: though most of the harvest of Georgeand Richard was reaped by themselves, while Edward's was left for hisinnocent sons to gather.
It may reasonably be asked why Warwick is counted among theLancastrians, when to a great extent Edward owed his throne to him, andhe had been a consistent Yorkist for years. It is because, at theperiod when the story opens, Warwick thought proper so to accounthimself. King Henry, never able to see through a schemer or a traitor,had complacently welcomed him back to his allegiance: Queen Marguerite,who saw through him to the furthest inch, and held him in unmitigatedabhorrence, felt that he was necessary at this moment to her husband'scause, and locking her own feelings hard within her, allowed it to besupposed that she was able to trust him, and kept sharp watch over everymovement.
It has already been said that the decision for peace or war was not leftin the hands of King Henry. The woman who sat by his side on the thronewas no longer the timid, lonely dove of their early married life.Marguerite of Anjou was now a woman of middle age, and a mother whosevery soul was wrapped around that bright-haired boy who alone shared herheart with his father. Could she but have looked forward a few years,and have seen that for that darling son war meant an early and bloodyend, she might have been more ready to acquiesce in King Henry'spreference for an obscure but peaceful life. What she saw was somethingvery different. How was she to know that the golden vision which roseso radiantly before her entranced eyes was but a mirage of the desert,and that the silver stream which seemed to spread so invitingly beforeher would only mock her parched lips with burning sand?
The fatal choice was made for war, and the war had now been raging forfourteen years. The wheel of Fortune had turned rapidly andcapriciously, but York had on the whole been uppermost. To the majorityof ordinary Englishmen who cared at least as much for peace andprosperity as politics, "the King" had meant Edward IV. since 1461.England at that weary hour cared more for rest than she cared to knowwho gave it to her. Edward, on his part, had "indulged himself in easeand pleasure"[#]--which was what he most valued--and might havecontinued to do so if he had kept on good terms with Warwick. For letEdward or Henry be termed the King, it was Warwick who "had all Englondat his bedyng," and the man who offended this master of kings was notlikely to be king much longer. Edward had sent Warwick to France tonegotiate for his marriage to Bona of Savoy, the Queen's sister, andwhile the envoy was away, the master fell into the toils of the fairface and golden hair and sweet purring ways of the Lady Grey of Groby.As Edward had passed his life on the easy principle of never denyinghimself any thing, he acted consistently in marrying the lady.Considering how few ever do so, he had probably not realised that thiseasy principle is apt to turn in later life into the sharpest ofscourges. Warwick came home in a furious passion, and carried hispower, influence, and army instantly over to the side of Lancaster. Noman likes being made to "look small," and least of all could it bebrooked by a man of Warwick's character and position. Edward paid verydearly for his golden-haired bride, and whether the purchase was worththe amount it cost may be considered extremely doubtful. Elizabeth Greywas not like Marguerite of Anjou, a far-seeing, self-less, large-heartedwoman. Her mental horizon was exceedingly minute. She was chieflyconcerned, like the creature she most resembled, to obtain the warmestspot of the hearthrug for herself. Very delightful to stroke and petwhen all goes well, such quadrupeds--and such women--are capable ofbecoming extremely uncomfortable companions in certain combinations ofcircumstances.
[#] Comines.
Edward was not the only person who paid that heavy bill which he ran upwith so light a heart. Only one small instalment of it was discharged byhim. A heavier one was due from Queen Elizabeth, wrung out through longyears of anguish and desolation: another from their innocent boys,discharged in their life's blood. The least amount, perhaps, wasexacted from the most undeserving sharer in the penalty--that youngWarwickshire girl who was Edward's real wife by canon law, and whosestrong love proved equal to the fiery ordeal of saving his honour andensuring what seemed his happiness at the cost of all her own. It costher life as well. Edward had the cruelty and baseness to call her intocourt to deny their marriage. He knew her well enough to dare to do it.And she came, calm and self-restrained, and perjured her soul becauseshe thought it would make him happier and save his good name. Hers wasof no moment. Then she passed out of sight, and the overstrained stringsnapped, and nothing was left to vex the triumphant monarch. Only Godsaw a nameless green grave in a country churchyard. And when He comesto make inquisition for blood, when every thing that was hidden shall beknown, I think it will be found that He did not forget Elizabeth Lucy.
Yet Edward did not escape quite without reproach. One person endeavouredto prevent this sin and shame, and it was a very unlikely person. Thevoice of Proud Cis was the only one raised against it, and herinterference, futile though it was, is the best action of her life.From the far north Edward received the passionate reproaches of hismother for this dastardly action. They did not deter him from itsaccomplishment: but let the fact be remembered to Cicely's honour.[#]
[#] Some writers have disputed, and more have ignored, these miserabletransactions. Surely the interference of Cicely, and the language ofComines, who was a personal acquaintance of the royal family, may fairlybe held to prove the point.
Two months before the story begins, Warwick had taken advantage of somequarrel between Edward and his brother George of Clarence to allure thelatter to the Lancastrian cause. He offered him an enormous bribe tocome over, being his elder daughter Isabel, with one half of hermother's vast inheritance
. It must not be forgotten that all Warwick'stitles were derived from females. He was Earl of Salisbury insuccession to his mother, and Earl of Warwick only by courtesy, in rightof his wife. His two daughters, Isabel and Anne, were his onlychildren, and the richest heiresses in the kingdom. They were bothextremely beautiful girls, but Isabel was considered the lovelier.Clarence, who kept neither a heart nor a conscience, was ready to do anything, good, bad, or indifferent, which promised to promote his ownadvancement in this world. He accepted Warwick's offer; and was nowtherefore in arms against his brother, and a member of Warwick'shousehold at Middleham Castle, of which household Frideswide Marston wasabout to form an item.