The Sun in Splendour - Plaidy Jean - Страница 51

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Isabel sighed for peace. Often she remembered the days at Middleham when she and Anne with Richard and George used

to ride together and play games and gave no thought to the future. Or perhaps George did. He was always wanting to win in everything, to ride faster, to shoot his arrows farther ... it had always been the same with George. He had enjoyed showing his superiority over them all which he could do quite easily, being older and definitely taller and more handsome than Richard. George was boastful, exaggerating his successes, ignoring his failures. He was very different from Richard. People liked George better though. George was always the most handsome person present except in the company of his brother Edward, who outshone everyone. Isabel, who had come to know George very well after being married to him, realized that he hated his brother. Not Richard ... he had nothing to hate in Richard considering himself superior in every way, but Edward. She had seen his eyes change colour when his elder brother's name was mentioned; she had seen that clenching of his hands, that tensing of his muscles and she had known how the hatred rose within him, because sometimes in the privacy of their apartments he had let it loose in all its fury.

George could never forgive fate for making Edward the elder. But for that George would have been King; and what George wanted more than anything on earth was to be King. It was for that reason that he had sided with Isabel's father against his brother. Warwick must have promised him that he would be King, but she guessed her wily father would never have allowed that to happen. She herself had been very disconsolate when the feud had arisen between the King and her father. She knew that Warwick was called the Kingmaker and it was no empty title; but it had been his great mistake she was sure to part from Edward.

Poor George! Oddly enough she loved him, and what was perhaps stranger still, he loved her. Her weakness appealed to his strength perhaps, but he had always been tender with her, and she would listen to his grandiose schemes. She encouraged him. She wanted to know what was in his mind. He would talk to her sometimes about the wildest schemes and they were all tinged with his hatred of his brother and the goal in the plans led to that one thing—the crowning of George, no longer Duke of Clarence, but King of England—in the Abbey.

She often wondered what the outcome would be and in the last few days she had doubted whether she would be here to see it.

That was wrong. Women somerimes felt like this when they

dreaded a pregnancy. Her cough was worse and she had a pain in her chest. She and Anne had both caught cold easily. In Middleham Castle their mother had coddled them and at the least sign of a cough they were put to bed with hot fomentations on their chests. But her mother was with Anne now and they were in the North and she was here in Gloucestershire which was one of their favourite counties. George liked it, so she did.

She called to Ankarette who came at once.

'You are feeling unwell, my lady?'

'It is my chest. I have a pain there. Oh it is nothing. I have had it before . . . often.'

'My lady, I think perhaps you should go to bed. Will you allow me to call your women?'

Isabel nodded. 'I think perhaps, my lady, you should go into the new infirmary at Tewkesbury Abbey. You would be well attended there.'

'Yes, I believe these monasric infirmaries are very good.'

'My gracious lady the Queen has great faith in them, as you know.'

'Indeed, yes,' said Isabel. 'Perhaps I should go.'

'Shall I make the arrangements, my lady?' said Ankarette.

It was pleasant enough in the infirmary at Tewkesbury Abbey. Ankarette was with her for she had expressed her desire that the Queen's woman should attend her until the child was bom and Elizabeth had said that Ankarette was to stay as long as Isabel needed her.

George came to visit her at Tewkesbury. He was alarmed at the sight of her. She looked so pale. She was shortly to give birth to a child and she had never been strong but she certainly looked very ill. He was fond of Isabel, not only because she had brought him vast estates but she soothed him; she listened to his ramblings about his dreams and the glittering prizes he would have; she always seemed to believe him and he needed such an audience. He could not say to anyone else what he said to Isabel. It would be rank treason; but with his wife he felt safe. She would never betray him; she was always on his side. He needed Isabel.

Because he was worried he looked about to blame someone for her state.

'What woman is that who is always in attendance?' he demanded.

'You mean Ankarette? The Queen sent her to me. She is very

good and has been in the Queen's service for some time/

George grunted. 'I cannot see why the Woodvilles want to send us a woman.'

'It was only the Queen . . . from one woman to another. She knows I have not been well and she says that Ankarette is an excellent nurse. She insisted on my having her.'

George nodded and went on to ask about her heatlh. He was not satisfied with the place. It was cold and a monastery was no place for a confinement especially one of such importance.

George could not contemplate his children without seeing them as heirs to the throne.

'I am going to take you back to Warwick Castle/ he said. 'There we shall look after you as you should be looked after.'

Isabel smiled. She did not greatly care where she was.

It was November when they reached Warwick Castle. Her baby was due in the next few weeks and all was in readiness. But as the weeks passed Isabel's cough grew worse and Ankarette and the other women became gravely anxious.

Three days before Christmas the child was bom and it became clear that not only had the baby little chance of survival but Isabel was also in grave danger.

She did not recover from the birth. That was a gloomy Christmas at Warwick Castle. In his cradle the baby lay small and shrivelled, refusing nourishment, just lying quiet and still.

On the first of January he joined his mother.

George came to Warwick and was overcome with grief.

Isabel dead! He was desolate. He had wanted to tell her of his plans; he had been looking forward to greeting the new child. Dead, both of them!

Life was cruel to him. It had denied him a crown and now it had taken his wife and child.

He wept genuine tears. He would miss Isabel. There would never be anyone for whom he could care as he had cared for her.

He looked with narrowed eyes at the women of her bedchamber. He felt resentful towards them because they were alive and she was dead.

He went back to Court. The place was buzzing with the news of the Duke of Burgundy's death. George's sister Margaret was a widow now and the Duke's son had died before he did but he had a daughter, Mary, and she would be heiress to the vast estates of

Burgundy, surely the richest heiress in France, or the whole of Europe for that matter.

It was an interesting situation.

No one would replace Isabel in his heart, of course, but a man in his position was expected to marry and when he did he should marry in a way which would be advantageous not only to him but to his country.

It was perhaps too soon to be thinking of marrying again with Isabel scarcely cold in her grave, but matters such as this would not wait. The heiress of Burgundy would be snapped up with all speed. That was one thing they could be certain of.

He mentioned the possibility to Edward. 'It would be to England's advantage to get the Burgundian estates in English hands,'he said.

Edward was pensive. The last thing he would give his consent to would be a match between his brother and Mary of Burgundy. He knew that the Duke of Burgundy believed that he himself had a claim to the English throne ... a flimsy one admittedly. His mother Isabel of Portugal was a granddaughter of John of Gaunt. This claim, slight though it might be, would strengthen Clarence's. Certainly there should be no match between Clarence and Burgundy.

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