The Stolen Crown: The Secret Marriage That Forever Changed the Fate of England (53 page)

“Yes, that is the excuse she gave,” said Elizabeth. “But I think she was being rude regardless. And the torches! They were old! I know it was supposed to be simple, but there could at least have been new torches.”

As Elizabeth fumed some more about my sister’s funeral, I listened absently, unable to share her indignation. Shabby as her burial might have been in some respects, my sister had been laid to rest beside the king as his lawful wife and his queen, not as the concubine Gloucester would have had the world believe her to be, and she had been buried as a pious Christian, not as the witch Gloucester had branded her so many years ago. And that, I thought, was really all that mattered.

“You got the last word, Bessie,” I said softly as I lit a candle for her that evening. “God keep you, my sweet sister.”

t h e s t o l e n C r o w n 3 6 5

On December 21, 1495, I became a widow for the second time. Jasper, whose health had been failing, caught a chill and died, aged five-and-sixty.

I sorely missed him. I cannot say that Jasper and I loved each other passionately—he had been too long accustomed to bachelorhood to truly know quite what to do with a wife outside of bed, and my heart remained in Harry’s keeping—but we got on well together, and until the last few months of his life we freely enjoyed the pleasures of each other’s bodies.

“Shall you marry again, Aunt Kate?” asked one of my nephew Dorset’s many daughters one day, as my ladies and I prepared to go out riding with Richard Wingfield as our escort. He was still in my household and had been knighted by Jasper not long before his death.

I shrugged. “As I am eight-and-thirty and past my prime, I suppose not, unless the king and his mother find some use for me as a bride.” I snickered.

“Besides, Perkin Warbeck has been taken.” Much to King Henry’s disgust, the pretender had been moving from court to court in the last few years and after an ignominious attempt to invade England had landed in Scotland, where King James IV, either because he believed in the young man or because he knew it would annoy our king, had not only greeted him warmly, but married him to James’s kinswoman, Lady Katherine Gordon.

“The fool will regret the day he was born if he ever falls into King Henry’s hands,” Richard said. “But you are not past your prime, my lady, if I may be so bold as to say so.”

It
was
rather bold, but Richard had been in my household for so long that I allowed him considerable license. I blushed modestly and said a little wistfully, “Well, too old to bear children, probably.” I had never quickened with child during my marriage to Jasper, and I rather missed my own children, all of whom were at court. Perhaps it was time I left Thornbury in Gloucestershire, where I was staying, and paid a visit to London where I could see some of them, as well as my niece the queen and her family. I was especially fond of lively little Henry, now the Duke of York.

“I think I shall go to London soon,” I said, following my thoughts instead of the conversation. “I need a change from here.”

3 6 6 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m

“My lady, may I see you privately?”

I had never seen Richard Wingfield look so peculiar, or speak so formally.

“Of course, Sir Richard,” I said, falling into formality myself. “I hope there is not bad news from one of your brothers or sisters?” I said when we were alone. I could think of no other news that would turn the man so pale.

“No, my lady. They are well.” He forestalled my next question. “There is nothing amiss with your kindred either, my lady.”

“Then speak, Richard, and as a friend. We have been friends for many years. What troubles you? I shall be only too glad to help you if I can. You know that.”

“My lady—” He bit his lip.

“Richard! It cannot be so bad. Perhaps you wish to leave my service now that the Duke of Bedford has died?” I asked, a little hurt. “I shall miss you greatly, but in the household of a great lord, I must admit that it is true that you will find better opportunities than in the household of a wid—”

“No! My lady, it is not that at all. I never want to leave you. In fact, I wish to marry you.”

I stared.

“Hear me out, please.” There was no need for him to say this. I was stricken dumb. “I love you. I have loved you since I was a boy in your household. When you married the Duke of Bedford, I was wretched.”

He swallowed. “I even hoped when Gloucester fell that you would never get your jointure, so that when I got older you would turn to me as your protector and I could marry you then. Forgive me, my lady, for hoping that. I was but a boy.”

“Of course,” I said blankly.

“Will you consider my suit? I know I am far your inferior in rank. I know I have no wealth or great position. I know it will displease the king and others—” He swallowed. “I know many things against the match, but I also know I love you dearly, and I do not care about those things. Please, my lady—Kate. Be my wife.”

t h e s t o l e n C r o w n 3 6 7

He dropped to his knees, and I stared down at him, amazed. I had suspected Richard Wingfield as a boy of loving me, but now? I had watched him grow into a man—a handsome one, I realized for the first time—and never guessed his secret. He had been honorable to keep it for so long, especially in those last weeks when Jasper had been sick and crotchety and I vulnerable to temptation. A woman could do far worse than to marry such a man.

Yet if I married Richard Wingfield, the court gossips would ridicule me as a pathetic, aging woman hoodwinked by a younger man obviously interested only in my wealth. My sons, especially Edward (who resembled his father more every day), would be scandalized. My daughters would titter as only daughters can. The king, who no doubt wished to keep me and my jointure in reserve for some exigency, would be furious. His mother would be disgusted. Clearly there was only one sensible answer I could give.

But since when had a Woodville made a conventional match? My father, a mere knight, had married a duchess. My brother John had married a duchess forty years his senior. I had married a duke. My sister had married a king. I owed my very existence to an unequal match. It was practically a family tradition—and thus, it was all the better that I, the last of the Woodvilles, uphold it.

I sat down beside Richard Wingfield and touched his face. “I would be honored to be your wife.”

In reply he kissed me gently, then passionately as I gave myself up to the pure pleasure of his embrace.

You can probably guess the rest.

Author’s Note

Katherine Woodville married Richard Wingfield by February 24, 1496, without royal license. Less than fourteen months later, on May 18, 1497, she died. The cause of her death, which occurred when she was about thirty-nine, is unknown. It is tempting to wonder if she died from a late-life pregnancy; however, there is no record of her having children by Wingfield. Richard Wingfield remarried and went on to have a distinguished career as a diplomat in Henry VIII’s service. While on an embassy to Charles V, he fell ill in Toledo and died on July 22, 1525. In his will, he asked that masses be said for the soul of his “singular good Lady Dame Katherine.”

Henry VII died in 1509, having outlived his queen, who died in 1503, nine days after giving birth to a short-lived girl. Their first son, Arthur, died in 1502; their only other surviving son, of course, became Henry VIII.

Margaret Beaufort died just two months after her beloved son, but lived long enough to see the coronation of her grandson Henry VIII and his new bride, Catherine of Aragon.

Edward Stafford, third Duke of Buckingham, fared far less well under Henry VIII than did his stepfather Richard Wingfield. Buckingham’s royal blood and pride in his lineage, Henry VIII’s notorious difficulties in siring a male heir, and Buckingham’s poor relations with Thomas Wolsey ultimately led to accusations that Buckingham himself aimed at the throne.

On May 17, 1521, he was executed on Tower Hill. Edward had married Alianore Percy, the eldest daughter of the Duke of Northumberland, and had four children.

t h e s t o l e n C r o w n 3 6 9

Henry Stafford, Katherine’s younger son, was made Earl of Wiltshire by Henry VIII. He married Cecily Bonville, the widow of Katherine’s nephew Dorset. Having managed to avoid Henry VIII’s displeasure after the execution of Edward Stafford, Henry Stafford died on April 6, 1523, without heirs. Cecily, nineteen years Henry’s senior and the mother of fifteen children by Dorset, outlived Henry.

Elizabeth Stafford married Robert Radcliffe, Lord Fitzwalter, in 1505, and died before May 11, 1532, having borne her husband at least four children. Her eldest son, Henry Radcliffe, second Earl of Sussex, was active in bringing Mary I to the throne.

In 1500 Anne Stafford married Sir Walter Herbert, the illegitimate son of William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, who had been executed in 1469 by Warwick. Following her first husband’s death, Anne married George, Lord Hastings, who later became Earl of Huntingdon. Hastings was a grandson of the Lord Hastings murdered by Richard III. The couple had eight children.

Anne survived her second husband, who died in 1544.

The date of Edward IV’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville is usually given as May 1, 1464, but as both Michael Hicks and David Baldwin have pointed out, there is some reason to suppose that the May 1 date found in some chronicles may owe more to its romantic associations than to historical fact.

Hicks notes that on August 10, 1464, William Hastings was granted the wardship of Elizabeth’s son Thomas Grey—an odd grant to make if Edward had married Elizabeth months before. Furthermore, as Hicks also points out, Edward IV granted the county of Chester to his brother the Duke of Clarence on August 30, 1464, apparently in recognition of Clarence’s status as the king’s heir apparent. Such a grant would seem unlikely if Edward IV

had married Elizabeth Woodville, who could be expected to give him an heir. David Baldwin has also noted that in the late summer of 1464, Edward IV was staying at Penley, halfway between London and Grafton; he was also staying there in early September 1464. Hence, I have departed from tradition and placed the couple’s wedding in early September, several weeks before it was announced at Reading.

3 7 0 s u s a n h i g g i n b o t h a m There is no proof that Richard, Duke of Gloucester, killed Henry VI, though Warkworth’s Chronicle pointedly notes his presence at the Tower at the time of the imprisoned king’s death. If Gloucester did indeed carry out the murder, it almost certainly would have been at the orders of Edward IV. The story that Henry VI predicted that young Henry Tudor would wear the crown appears in Vergil; though it can be regarded with a certain skepticism, it was too apt a topic of conversation for young Henry Tudor and young Buckingham to be left out.

All of the named characters in this novel actually lived, although in many cases, such as the lesser known Woodville siblings, their personalities are lost to us. One of the most elusive figures is Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham (who signed himself as “Harry,” which he spelled “Harre”).

We know little of him as a man, and what is conjectured about his personality depends largely on the reason assigned for his rebellion in 1483—a probably insolvable mystery. Most of Buckingham’s records were destroyed in 1483 when the Vaughans (not connected to the Thomas Vaughan executed by Richard III) raided Brecon Castle and in a later raid on the castle by Welsh rebels in 1485–86. Harry is recorded as being present at various public events—for example, the coronation of Elizabeth Woodville, the procession of Edward IV into London following his victory at Tewkesbury, the welcoming of Louis of Gruuthuse to England, the wedding of the Duke of York to little Anne Mowbray—but almost nothing is known about his private life. He and Richard, Duke of Gloucester, would have had numerous opportunities to encounter each other before 1483, but whether they were close friends is unknown.

What is certain is that once he came of age, Harry was an outsider at court, who held none of the high offices that a man of his rank, wealth, and royal connections might have expected to receive. It has been suggested variously that Edward IV disliked or distrusted Harry, that Edward IV was wary of Harry’s royal descent, that the king was cautious about giving too much power to the higher nobility, that Harry was inept or even mentally unstable, or that the Woodvilles contrived to squeeze Harry out

t h e s t o l e n C r o w n 3 7 1

of office. Both Michael Jones (in
Richard III: A Medieval Kingship
, edited by John Gillingham) and C. S. L. Davies (in the
Oxford Dictionary of National
Biography
) have speculated that the anticlimactic French expedition of 1475

might have had something to do with Harry’s alienation from the king, hence my scene where Harry remonstrates with Edward over the proposed treaty. Though the scene is fictional, Harry is recorded without explanation as having “returned home” from the expedition prematurely. He was not among the men who enjoyed pensions from Louis following the Treaty of Picquigny, about which Richard, Duke of Gloucester and unspecified English “men of quality” were said to be unhappy.

As noted by Michael Hicks in his biography of George, Duke of Clarence, Harry took supper with his uncle Henry Stafford, husband to Margaret Beaufort, on October 28, 1470. On that occasion he might well have encountered his kinsman Henry Tudor, who had met with Henry VI the previous day, according to a record cited by Michael Jones and Malcolm Underwood. Harry’s presence at Barnet and Tewkesbury is not recorded, though a report written by an observer, Gerhard von Wesel, indicates that he was among the men arrested by Warwick’s government in the spring of 1471. I have invented the incident where Harry begs Edward IV to spare his uncle Somerset’s life, but Harry was in Edward IV’s triumphant procession to London after the battle of Tewkesbury and might well have been at Tewkesbury to witness his uncle’s death.