Cicely's King Richard (Cicely Plantagenet Trilogy) by Sandra Heath Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

followed by the cheers of the crowds. The choir music began in the great church and the cheering grew more rapturous, rising to a deafening roar as the royal procession entered the abbey itself. The singing and chanting seemed to go on forever, but after the passing of more than an hour, there was a pause in the music.
    Cicely closed her eyes, imagining it all, and then the joyful carols rang out once more. Outside the crowds sensed that the moment had come and renewed their wild cheering, this time with even more enthusiasm. At length those in the abbey knew the procession was returning to the great banquet at Westminster Hall, because the cheering became more distant until it blended with the air of excitement that had enveloped London for the past week.
    Bess wished to be alone, and so Cicely made her way to her mother’s apartment, there being no one else with whom to sit. It was not often she sought her mother’s company, but it seemed appropriate today. Elizabeth Woodville, now to be known as Dame Grey, as she had been on the death of her first husband, was alone, seated at her table, a quill hovering over a letter yet to be commenced.
    She looked up. ‘What brings you here, Cicely?’
    ‘Nothing really. Bess wants to be on her own, and—’
    ‘And I am better than nothing?’ There was a faint smile.
    ‘Yes,’ Cicely replied deliberately.
    Her mother chuckled. ‘Oh, what have we come to, Cicely? Not so very long ago we were the most important ladies in the land, along with Bess, of course, but now look at us. Your father has much to answer for.’
    Cicely sat on the window seat and poked idly at a cobweb that hung against the lattice.
    ‘Is Bess still eulogizing her confounded uncle?’ Dame Grey asked.
    Cicely did not answer.
    ‘We have spoken of it before, Cicely, but I have to ask you if you know any more now than you did then. Just how far does this go with her? I may not have been a warm mother, but I do not like to think of her in such pain.’
    Cicely could not hide her astonishment. Had her mother really just said something kind and thoughtful? She stood, wishing she had never come here. ‘Even though she was Father’s favourite, Bess does think more highly of Richard.’
    Elizabeth leaned back in the chair and picked up the quill again, to stroke the tip. ‘Why, of all men, did she have to pick him? If the wiles of Jane Shore leave him cold I cannot imagine that the inexperience of his own niece will have any effect. I fear Bess will discover him to be far less than she imagines, for he is completely and utterly devoted to Anne Neville. Although I suppose I should now call her Queen Anne.’
    ‘I have heard that he has a son and a daughter by other women.’
    ‘Ah, yes. The girl is named Katherine, but I know no more. The boy is John of Gloucester, and he was born shortly before you, Cicely. And before Richard of Gloucester married his Anne, should you wonder otherwise. I believe John of Gloucester is to be knighted in September, and our new king’s only legitimate son, Edward of Middleham, will become Prince of Wales at the same time.’ Elizabeth drew a long breath. ‘But this takes us away from the matter of Bess’s feelings for her uncle, and indeed, if they are reciprocated.’
    A voice from the door startled them. ‘Rest assured they are not, Mother. I am the evildoer, not him.’ Bess stood there, her face scarlet with humiliation and anger, and they knew that she had been listening to them. Then she left again, the heavy door swinging to behind her.
    Cicely ran after her, but once in the refuge of their own room, Bess turned on her like a tigress, and slapped her with all her might. The force made Cicely stumble back, her cheek marked red by Bess’s ring. She lost her balance and fell to the rushes. Bess stood over her, her hands clenching and unclenching with the violence of her emotion.
    ‘You little bitch! You little maggot!’
    ‘Bess . . .’ Cicely whispered through a haze