Read Online A Song of Sixpence: The Story of Elizabeth of York and Perkin Warbeck by Judith Arnopp - Free Book Online
Authors: Judith Arnopp
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nothing you can say to him that he will not relay to me later.”
I allow myself a little giggle, feel Henry stiffen beside me.
“I hope there are some things that will remain just between ourselves … when we are married.” I manage to catch his eye and silently impress upon him that he should extricate us from her company. He hesitates, his teeth showing momentarily on his lip. He clears his throat.
“Perhaps we might permit the Lady Elizabeth just a few moments alone, Mother.”
Her lips tighten, the lines about them gathering into what my father would have termed a ‘pig’s arse.’
“Very well.” She stands and with a perfunctory curtsey to her son, glides past us, her head high, her servants scurrying in her wake. Before I can speak, Henry drops my hand.
“You’d do well, Elizabeth, not to make an enemy of my mother. She is a good and virtuous woman; one you should emulate.”
He has his back to me, fidgeting with the papers on the table. I jerk my head high.
“I have some news I thought you would prefer to hear for yourself first, considering how things have been between us.”
He stops fussing with the letters and turns slowly to face me, a dark red flush beneath his skin.
“And your news is?”
I step toward him, brazenly grasp his hands and bring them close to my face, rubbing them against my cheek, allowing my joy to show.
“I am with child.”
He becomes very still, the expression in his eye remaining unchanged. He takes a deep breath before he speaks. “That was quick. How very … convenient.”
I drop his hands, let him see my hurt. “Henry!”
He moves away, pours a cup of wine and drinks without offering a cup to me. I suddenly realise that in all the weeks I’ve known him I have yet to see him happy. I have never once heard him laugh aloud for pure joy; a sound I heard my father make every day of his life. This news should make him the most jubilant man alive, yet here he is, still full of doubt, riddled with suspicion.
“I had thought you’d be overjoyed, Henry. I could be carrying your son, your prince, your heir.”
He looks at the floor. “Or someone else’s.”
My breath breaks on a sob.
“Oh, you are cruel. You know I was a maid when you lay with me first. You know this is your child; a prince to link the houses of York and Lancaster and put an end to the wars. You know that! Why must you be so … so suspicious of everything, everyone?”
He shrugs. I turn away but his next words give me pause.
“I’d say it was my upbringing. Raised first by my enemies, your father’s liegemen, the Herberts, at Raglan. Then my teenage years overseas, exiled, on the run, never knowing who was a friend and who a paid assassin. Your people made me the man I am, Elizabeth. Your precious father; I cannot change that. I cannot be joyful.”
He speaks the word ‘joyful’ as if it is a flaw, a defect. I narrow my eyes, spit through my teeth.
“Then you have my pity, sir. I bring you the best news a man can have; tidings of the son your house craves, and still you see demons. For Heaven’s sake, why not look upon it as God’s blessing on our union? It is what the people want. They are crying out for you to make me your wife and now you should do so before I am shamed before the world.”
There is a long drawn silence. He turns and perches on the edge of the table, puts his cup beside him on a sheaf of papers. His eyes are sad.
“Oh, I will make you my wife, Elizabeth. I will not deny you that, but it will be a dark day in hell before I trust you.”
With one hand he gives what I have asked for, and takes from me with the other.
“How am I to rule alongside a man who can show me no trust?”
“You will not rule beside me. I will make you my wife; I might even be persuaded to let them crown you if I have to, but you will never rule. York shall have no more influence over the future of England than the colour of our son’s first shoes.”
Chapter
I allow myself a little giggle, feel Henry stiffen beside me.
“I hope there are some things that will remain just between ourselves … when we are married.” I manage to catch his eye and silently impress upon him that he should extricate us from her company. He hesitates, his teeth showing momentarily on his lip. He clears his throat.
“Perhaps we might permit the Lady Elizabeth just a few moments alone, Mother.”
Her lips tighten, the lines about them gathering into what my father would have termed a ‘pig’s arse.’
“Very well.” She stands and with a perfunctory curtsey to her son, glides past us, her head high, her servants scurrying in her wake. Before I can speak, Henry drops my hand.
“You’d do well, Elizabeth, not to make an enemy of my mother. She is a good and virtuous woman; one you should emulate.”
He has his back to me, fidgeting with the papers on the table. I jerk my head high.
“I have some news I thought you would prefer to hear for yourself first, considering how things have been between us.”
He stops fussing with the letters and turns slowly to face me, a dark red flush beneath his skin.
“And your news is?”
I step toward him, brazenly grasp his hands and bring them close to my face, rubbing them against my cheek, allowing my joy to show.
“I am with child.”
He becomes very still, the expression in his eye remaining unchanged. He takes a deep breath before he speaks. “That was quick. How very … convenient.”
I drop his hands, let him see my hurt. “Henry!”
He moves away, pours a cup of wine and drinks without offering a cup to me. I suddenly realise that in all the weeks I’ve known him I have yet to see him happy. I have never once heard him laugh aloud for pure joy; a sound I heard my father make every day of his life. This news should make him the most jubilant man alive, yet here he is, still full of doubt, riddled with suspicion.
“I had thought you’d be overjoyed, Henry. I could be carrying your son, your prince, your heir.”
He looks at the floor. “Or someone else’s.”
My breath breaks on a sob.
“Oh, you are cruel. You know I was a maid when you lay with me first. You know this is your child; a prince to link the houses of York and Lancaster and put an end to the wars. You know that! Why must you be so … so suspicious of everything, everyone?”
He shrugs. I turn away but his next words give me pause.
“I’d say it was my upbringing. Raised first by my enemies, your father’s liegemen, the Herberts, at Raglan. Then my teenage years overseas, exiled, on the run, never knowing who was a friend and who a paid assassin. Your people made me the man I am, Elizabeth. Your precious father; I cannot change that. I cannot be joyful.”
He speaks the word ‘joyful’ as if it is a flaw, a defect. I narrow my eyes, spit through my teeth.
“Then you have my pity, sir. I bring you the best news a man can have; tidings of the son your house craves, and still you see demons. For Heaven’s sake, why not look upon it as God’s blessing on our union? It is what the people want. They are crying out for you to make me your wife and now you should do so before I am shamed before the world.”
There is a long drawn silence. He turns and perches on the edge of the table, puts his cup beside him on a sheaf of papers. His eyes are sad.
“Oh, I will make you my wife, Elizabeth. I will not deny you that, but it will be a dark day in hell before I trust you.”
With one hand he gives what I have asked for, and takes from me with the other.
“How am I to rule alongside a man who can show me no trust?”
“You will not rule beside me. I will make you my wife; I might even be persuaded to let them crown you if I have to, but you will never rule. York shall have no more influence over the future of England than the colour of our son’s first shoes.”
Chapter
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