A Song of Sixpence: The Story of Elizabeth of York and Perkin Warbeck by Judith Arnopp Read Free Book Online

holding. “I imagine Elizabeth is merely eager for some new clothes; she has always been fond of finery – like her father, King Edward. It is what she is used to.”
    Lady Margaret must be able to hear the latent derision in Mother’s words. Cecily and I exchange glances, and I know she is remembering the finery Mother had when she was queen; one room stuffed with velvets, the other piled high with shoes. Whenever we had the chance Cecily and I would rummage through her clothes, trying things on and parading about the chamber as if we were mummers in a courtly play. I remember one occasion when Cecily went to Mass forgetting she had pinned on one of Mother’s priceless brooches. The chamber women searched high and low for hours but when it was discovered, pinned to my sister’s bodice, we weren’t scolded. We were rarely reprimanded; we were kissed and tickled instead and, as a result, we never questioned our position or our place in the world.
    But those were carefree days, when the rules laid down for us were far more lax than those we must follow today. Even had Henry Tudor been raised in his mother’s house I am sure he’d never have known the carefree romp through childhood that we enjoyed. There was nothing better than gathering my brothers and sisters close for a story of King Arthur and his knights. Often, on hearing us, Father would join in too; throw himself on the cushions among us and listen as avidly as the children. Those former days of royal domesticity, when the royal privy chamber vibrated with laughter, are gone now and I miss them. There is only stiff formality now and only Henry to rule over us. Henry the king and, if he ever bothers to tie the bonds, I will become his stifled consort.
    “I hear the king has ordered new coins to be struck, showing the mark of both our houses.” At Cecily’s words, all faces turn to the king’s mother. She closes her eyes, like a nun laying a blessing upon a novice.
    “He has indeed, my dear. And therefore we must surmise that his intention to join our houses will be soon.”
    She goes on to tell us of the new regiment of guard Henry has established. Fifty yeomen to follow him about the palace, dressed in lavish uniforms in a resplendent reflection of his majesty. I see it as a vast intrusion of privacy and we all know it is for Henry’s peace of mind, his protection. He cannot hide his fear of an assassin, not in this court.
    “How lovely,” I hear myself murmur as she describes how many lengths of braid were used on the coats. “I daresay we will see them at the Christmas court. I expect the king is busy with preparations for the festivities, and I hear His Majesty is planning a progress too before long.”
    Lady Margaret enlightens us further as to Henry’s plan to show himself to the people of the north. None of us gathered think this wise. The northern populace loved Uncle Richard dearly, and their love increased once he was their king. They will not give a warm reception to the slayer of the man they prized.
    “We will pray for clement weather,” I say, plucking at the most innocuous words I can think of.
    “The sun shines on the righteous.” My mother’s face is empty of irony but I can hear it in her tone. I pray God Margaret Beaufort is too full of self-congratulation to perceive it.
    Before she takes leave of us, I ask the king’s mother to pass on my remembrance to Henry. Perhaps if she speaks of me he will be shamed into action. Before we know it, Christmas will be upon us. I should be wed by then. People are beginning to talk.
    She squeezes my hand and says that she will indeed pass on my greeting and we all hold our breath as she leaves. As soon as I can I send my women away, and Cecily and I settle in the parlour alone with Mother.
    When they have gone she sinks into a chair and emits a small explosion of ire.
    “That woman!” With both hands she thumps the arms of her chair. “You’d think she was the only lady to ever birth a