something so awful that you can't tell me here!"
She swept him into the schoolroom and shut the door.
"It's Edward!"
"Edward? Is he ill?"
"No 1 Scandal!"
"Oh," said Richard, relieved. Scandal and Edward were never far apart. "What is it? Has he a new mistress?"
"Much worse than that! Oh, much, much worse. He's married."
"Married?" said Richard, so unbelieving that he sounded calm. "He can't be."
"But he is. The news came from London an hour ago."
"He can't be married," Richard insisted. "For a King marriage is a long affair. A matter of contracts,
is and agreements. A matter for Parliament, even, I think. What made you think he had got married?"
"I don't think, " Anne said, out of patience at this sober reception of her broadside. "The whole family is raging together in the Great Hall over the affair."
"Anne! have you been listening at the door?"
"Oh, don't be so righteous. I didn't have to listen very hard, anyhow. You could hear them on the other side of the river. He has married Lady Grey!"
"Who is Lady Grey? Lady Grey of Groby?"
"Yes."
"But he can't. She has two children and she's quite old."
"She is five years older than Edward, and she is wonderfully beautiful —so I overhear."
"When did this happen?"
"They've been married five months. They got married in secret down in Northamptonshire."
"But I thought he was going to marry the King of France's sister."
"So," said Anne in a tone full of meaning, "did my father."
"Yes; yes, it makes things very awkward for him, doesn't it; after all the negotiating."
"According to the messenger from London he is throwing fits. It isn't only the making him look a fool. It seems she has cohorts of relations and he hates every one of them."
"Edward must be possessed." In Richard's hero-worshipping eyes everything Edward did had always been right. This folly, this undeniable, this inexcusable folly, could come only from possession.
"It will break my mother's heart," he said. He thought of his mother's courage when his father and Edmund had been killed, and the Lancastrian army was almost at the gates of London. She had not wept nor wrapped herself in protective veils of self-pity. She had arranged that he and George should go to Utrecht, as if she were arranging for them to go away to school. They might never see each other again, but she had busied herself about warm clothes for their winter voyage across the Channel with a calm and dry-eyed practicality.
How would she bear this; this further blow? This destructive folly. This shattering foolishness.
"Yes," said Anne, softening. "Poor Aunt Cicely. It is monstrous of Edward to hurt everyone so. Monstrous."
But Edward was still the infallible. If Edward had done wrong it was because he was ill, or possessed, or bewitched. Edward still had Richard's allegiance; his heart-whole and worshipping allegiance.
Nor in after years was that allegiance —an adult allegiance of recognition and acceptance—ever less than heart-whole.
And then the story went on to Cicely Nevill's tribulation, and her efforts to bring some kind of order into the relations between her son Edward, half-pleased, half-ashamed, and her nephew Warwick, wholly furious. There was also a long description of that indestructibly virtuous beauty with the famous "gilt" hair, who had succeeded where more complaisant beauties had failed; and of her enthroning at Reading Abbey (led to the throne by a silently protesting Warwick, who could not but note the large array of Woodvilles, come to see their sister Elizabeth acknowledged Queen of England).
The next time Richard turned up in the tale he was setting out from Lynn without a penny in his pocket, in a Dutch vessel that happened to be in the harbour when it was needed. Along with him was his brother Edward, Edward's friend Lord Hastings, and a few followers. None of them had anything except what they stood up in, and after some argument the ship's captain agreed to accept Edward's fur-lined cape ?s
She swept him into the schoolroom and shut the door.
"It's Edward!"
"Edward? Is he ill?"
"No 1 Scandal!"
"Oh," said Richard, relieved. Scandal and Edward were never far apart. "What is it? Has he a new mistress?"
"Much worse than that! Oh, much, much worse. He's married."
"Married?" said Richard, so unbelieving that he sounded calm. "He can't be."
"But he is. The news came from London an hour ago."
"He can't be married," Richard insisted. "For a King marriage is a long affair. A matter of contracts,
is and agreements. A matter for Parliament, even, I think. What made you think he had got married?"
"I don't think, " Anne said, out of patience at this sober reception of her broadside. "The whole family is raging together in the Great Hall over the affair."
"Anne! have you been listening at the door?"
"Oh, don't be so righteous. I didn't have to listen very hard, anyhow. You could hear them on the other side of the river. He has married Lady Grey!"
"Who is Lady Grey? Lady Grey of Groby?"
"Yes."
"But he can't. She has two children and she's quite old."
"She is five years older than Edward, and she is wonderfully beautiful —so I overhear."
"When did this happen?"
"They've been married five months. They got married in secret down in Northamptonshire."
"But I thought he was going to marry the King of France's sister."
"So," said Anne in a tone full of meaning, "did my father."
"Yes; yes, it makes things very awkward for him, doesn't it; after all the negotiating."
"According to the messenger from London he is throwing fits. It isn't only the making him look a fool. It seems she has cohorts of relations and he hates every one of them."
"Edward must be possessed." In Richard's hero-worshipping eyes everything Edward did had always been right. This folly, this undeniable, this inexcusable folly, could come only from possession.
"It will break my mother's heart," he said. He thought of his mother's courage when his father and Edmund had been killed, and the Lancastrian army was almost at the gates of London. She had not wept nor wrapped herself in protective veils of self-pity. She had arranged that he and George should go to Utrecht, as if she were arranging for them to go away to school. They might never see each other again, but she had busied herself about warm clothes for their winter voyage across the Channel with a calm and dry-eyed practicality.
How would she bear this; this further blow? This destructive folly. This shattering foolishness.
"Yes," said Anne, softening. "Poor Aunt Cicely. It is monstrous of Edward to hurt everyone so. Monstrous."
But Edward was still the infallible. If Edward had done wrong it was because he was ill, or possessed, or bewitched. Edward still had Richard's allegiance; his heart-whole and worshipping allegiance.
Nor in after years was that allegiance —an adult allegiance of recognition and acceptance—ever less than heart-whole.
And then the story went on to Cicely Nevill's tribulation, and her efforts to bring some kind of order into the relations between her son Edward, half-pleased, half-ashamed, and her nephew Warwick, wholly furious. There was also a long description of that indestructibly virtuous beauty with the famous "gilt" hair, who had succeeded where more complaisant beauties had failed; and of her enthroning at Reading Abbey (led to the throne by a silently protesting Warwick, who could not but note the large array of Woodvilles, come to see their sister Elizabeth acknowledged Queen of England).
The next time Richard turned up in the tale he was setting out from Lynn without a penny in his pocket, in a Dutch vessel that happened to be in the harbour when it was needed. Along with him was his brother Edward, Edward's friend Lord Hastings, and a few followers. None of them had anything except what they stood up in, and after some argument the ship's captain agreed to accept Edward's fur-lined cape ?s
Similar Books
