Authors: Bertrice Small
Elsbeth immediately commandeered a serving man to find her a small trunk for the Countess of Stanton, who had fled her burning home with what she could carry in a cloth wrap. “Damned Lancastrians!” Elsbeth muttered to the man. With a sympathetic nod he found what she needed, and she thanked him with a tear in her eye.
Lady Margaret Beaufort watched Elsbeth’s dramatics, amused. The woman would prove useful to them all in time. She was clever and loyal, although her reference to the Lancastrians would have to be softened eventually. But then, it was unlikely that Elsbeth knew that Lady Margaret’s only child was the heir to Lancaster.
She would learn that fact in time, and guard her tongue once she did. But for now, unawares, Elsbeth un-wrapped the shawl in which Adair’s possessions were contained, and laid them carefully in the trunk.
In the days that followed, Adair’s life became quiet and orderly again. Each morning the little girls were wakened just before prime. They quickly washed and
dressed and went to the first Mass of the day. A breakfast of hot oats, bread, and cheese followed. Sometimes on feast days there was meat. Lessons followed the meal. Lady Margaret Beaufort had a deep passion for learning. Her charges learned to read, to write, and to do sums. A lady must know sums so she could be certain that her servants were not stealing from her, Lady Margaret said. Adair had never heard any language but English spoken in her short life. Now she learned to speak her mother tongue without a northern accent.
And she learned French as well, for highborn ladies must speak French, Lady Margaret said.
There were other lessons as well. Lessons in house-wifery. A lady must know how to do many things if she was to direct her servants properly. Adair was taught remedies for dosing and caring for the sick. She learned how to make soap and candles. She was taught how to salt meat and fish; how to make butter, cheese, jams, preserves, and comfits. She candied violets and rose petals. These were mostly tasks to be done by her servants, Lady Margaret said, but if she did not know how to do them herself, she would not know if her servants were doing them properly. Adair and Elizabeth of York found these tasks fascinating, but the princess called Mary did not.
The girls were taught to sew and to weave. They learned how to fashion tapestries. It took Adair three years, but she designed and made a tapestry of Stanton Hall from her memory of it. Lady Margaret complimented her greatly when she had finished it, and Adair was pleased, for a genuine compliment from Lady Margaret was rare.
And finally the day came some weeks after her arrival at Westminster when she met the king who had sired her on her mother’s body. Edward of York was tall, with deep blue eyes and golden hair. He was charming, and had the ability to remember the name of every man or woman he had ever met. It gave the illusion to 38
those who came in contact with him that he really cared, that he was warm and kind. He looked down at Adair and remembered the beautiful and reluctant Jane Radcliffe. He remembered how he had overcome her natural modesty and made her shriek with a passion that later embarrassed her.
“My child,” the king said, and he picked Adair up in his arms and held her there while he spoke with her.
“You know who I am, Adair Radcliffe? I am your father.”
“Nay,” Adair said boldly. “You are he who sired me, but my father was John Radcliffe, the Earl of Stanton.”
The king looked surprised, and then he laughed.
“Why, I believe you are right, Adair Radcliffe,” Edward said. “Still, I have an obligation to you, my lady Countess of Stanton, and I will not shirk my duty toward you.”
“I am grateful for your kindness, and that of the queen,” Adair told the king.
“You have been with us but a month and already have the tongue of a courtier,” the king noted with a grin. “I can see you will one day be of great use to me, Adair Radcliffe. Is there anything I might give you now for your pleasure?”
“If Your Highness would be so generous,” Adair said sweetly, “Nursie and I could use some cloth for new gowns. We are not really fit for the company of your court in our country garments, and we escaped Stanton with little. And perhaps some new shoes. Ours are quite worn, I fear. I do not wish to appear greedy, my lord, but Lady Margaret will attest that our need is an honest one.”
“Indeed, my liege, Adair is truthful as always,” Margaret Beaufort confirmed.
“You may have whatever you think is necessary for the care and well-being of this natural daughter of mine,” the king told the royal governess. “You need not ask again. For as long as Adair Radcliffe is in our custody she shall be provided for, even as are the children of my queen.”
Margaret Beaufort curtsied politely. “Thank you, my liege,” she said, and afterward she took Adair herself to the room where bolts of material were stored. Together they chose enough cloth for three gowns. The older woman was pleased to see Adair had an innate sense of what would be suitable for a girl of her station. It was a rare talent, and especially in one so young. The colors she chose were a violet, a dark green, and a deep red-orange.
“Nursie must have something too,” Adair told her companion. “She has but one gown, and it is difficult to keep it clean for daily wearing.”
Lady Margaret cut cloth from a dark gray-blue bolt, and another from a warm brown bolt. “I think these will suit,” she said. “And we will need some soft cotton for camises, and lawn and crepe for veils.”
“What of our footwear?” Adair wanted to know, loath to let Lady Margaret forget that the king had promised them new shoes.
“You and Elsbeth will visit the royal cobbler,” was her answer.
The new shoes were forthcoming once the cobbler had taken measurements of their feet; and Elsbeth sewed diligently for several weeks to come on the new gowns. Adair, however, did her part, hemming each garment as Elsbeth cut it, and sewing each together. She had been careful in her choosing, picking material that was relatively plain, for Adair knew it would not do to outshine her royal half sisters.
England had finally settled down to peace. With King Edward’s successful return after his brief forced absence, all pockets of resistance were cleared up. Henry VI had been returned to the Tower of London, and died shortly thereafter under murky circumstances. His queen, Margaret of Anjou, had been captured and brought to the Tower on the same day her husband had perished. It was rumored that she was forced to view his body as it was carried from his apartments. Their son
had died at the battle of Tewkesbury. Warwick the King-maker, whose allegiance to York had been withdrawn when Edward married Elizabeth Woodville, had died at the battle of Barnet, which preceded Tewkesbury. The king’s middle brother, George of Clarence, had begged his forgiveness, and it had been granted. But Clarence was unable to contain his ambitions, and was a constant source of trouble. Finally, in 1478 King Edward clapped him in the Tower, where it was said he drowned in a vat of malmsey wine.
On the frequently troubled borders of Scotland, Richard of Gloucester kept order. Adair looked forward to his visits to court. While he made a great deal of fuss over his brother’s growing family, it was Adair who received much of his free time. The queen’s children were a little wary of their father’s brother, for Elizabeth Woodville no longer bothered to hide her distain for Richard. Adair, however, felt no loyalty to the queen, and she adored Richard, or Uncle Dickon, as the children all called him.
The duke had married his childhood love, Anne Neville, the widow of Henry VI’s son, Edward, prince of Wales. A son, named Edward, was born to them at their home, Middleham Castle, Yorkshire, in December of 1473. He was a frail child, as was his mother, and the duke worried over both of them.
Adair rarely saw the king, for with stability and peace he was free to indulge himself with his many mistresses, of whom a goldsmith’s wife, Jane Shore, was his particular favorite. And yet he loved his queen. Their family grew in size to ten children, most of whom were daughters, although three were sons, two of whom survived infancy. Adair had been in the royal household four years when the king took an army ten thousand strong into France, where he was to be met by his brother-in-law, Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, and another ally, the Duke of Brittany. Edward meant to conquer France.
But neither Charles nor the Duke of Brittany appeared as they had promised to back up the ten thousand English. Fortunately King Louis XI was a shrewd man, and had no desire to squander his resources in a war. And Edward, without his allies, could do little more than cause damage to the French countryside. So when Louis offered to buy him off, Edward accepted, and returned home again to his life of feasting and women.
Three years later, when war between England and Scotland threatened, the king mounted a large army, but was unable to lead it, as he seemed to lose his strength. The authority was given to Richard of Gloucester, who kept the Scots at bay.
And afterward, when he visited court for the first time in several years, he was amazed to find that Adair was now verging on womanhood. Richard was a pious man who, like his mother, had a deep devotion to the church. Unlike his elder brother George, he was utterly loyal to the king. His own motto was “Loyalty binds me.” He adored his wife and son. He deplored drunken-ness and overindulgence, and if he kept a mistress it was not known who or where she was. Now he looked at the little girl he had rescued some ten years ago and found himself reminded of how much time had passed since that dreary day he had come upon Adair Radcliffe and Elsbeth and the great wolfhound, Beiste, wandering on the high road.
“How old are you?” he demanded to know as he detached her from around his neck. “My God, you are practically a woman, my lady Countess of Stanton.”
“I’ll be sixteen just after Lammas,” Adair told him.
“Do I really look grown-up, Uncle Dickon? Am I pretty? No one ever says it, if I am. Lady Margaret says a woman should not be prideful if God has made her beautiful.”
“You are beautiful,” he told her. “Why, you were all arms and legs the last time I saw you, Adair. Now, however, they must be considering which match would suit
you. You will bring your husband an earldom, so you are to be considered a prize.”
“I don’t want to marry yet,” Adair said. “Bessie and I have decided we will marry in the same year. And Lady Margaret seems content with that too. The queen doesn’t care, and neither does the king. They live their own lives, and we live ours. Now tell me, how is the Lady Anne? And little Neddie?”
“Both well at the moment, praise God and his blessed Mother,” the duke told her.
“Good! Now come and greet your other nieces and nephews, Uncle Dickon. They are quite jealous when you come, for it is obvious that I am your favorite,”
Adair said a trifle smugly.
The duke laughed aloud. “That is something I have always loved about you,” he told her. “You say what you are thinking, poppet.”
“Not always,” Adair said. “Only to you, for I know you understand me.”
The duke chuckled. “Aye, I believe I do understand you, my lady Countess of Stanton. And you are still a proper minx.”
Adair slipped her arm into his. “Come along now,”
she said. “The others are waiting for you.”
“Where is the queen?” he asked her.
Adair laughed. “Not waiting for you,” she told him.
“She likes you no better than you like her, my dear lord.”
“Are you as blunt with the others as you are with me?” he wanted to know.
“Certainly not!” Adair told him. “I am a paragon of exemplary breeding and good manners, according to Lady Margaret. It would distress her greatly to learn that all her hard work had gone for naught. No, Uncle, I am a perfect little courtier.”
“One day you may have to fly your true colors, Adair,” he warned her.
“And I will,” she promised him as they entered the section of the castle where the royal children lived.
Elizabeth, the eldest and now fully sixteen, came forward to greet the duke. Next to Adair she was his favorite. The others were lined up in order of their births. Next came Mary, almost fifteen now, but appearing frailer than the duke had ever seen her. Cicely, named after the king’s mother, was thirteen.
Edward, the first of the princes, nine. Richard, his brother, six. Anne, named after the duke’s wife, was four; Catherine, in her nurse’s arms, not quite a year; and the queen was enceinte with another child. Two children, George and Margaret, had died in their infancy.
The duke greeted each child by name, and drew forth from the pockets of his robe sweetmeats and small toys, which he distributed among his smaller nieces and nephews. To Mary he gave a rosary of small amber beads with a delicate silver crucifix. She smiled, pleased with the gift. And for Elizabeth and Adair he had pretty gold chains.
They all thanked him prettily, and he smiled. “I am a man of the world, and I know that ladies appreciate fine jewelry,” he told the girls. Then, looking to young Edward, he said, “I’ve brought you and your brother border ponies. They are very well trained, and my own son loves his. I hope they will please you. They await you in the courtyard.”
“Oh, go along,” Lady Margaret said. Then she turned to the duke. “You spoil them, my lord. But then, no one else does. It is not easy to be a king’s son.”
“I would not know,” the duke said, “for I was not a king’s son, but I know how lonely it is for a growing boy when he rarely sees his sire. The beasts I brought are gentle, Mags. The lads will be safe on them.”
She had flushed at his use of the sobriquet the queen had given her. “You are good to the children, my lord, and they love you for it. How is your son?”
“Frail, and Anne is not strong enough to bear another child, I fear,” the duke said.
“Come and have wine and biscuits,” the royal governess invited the duke.
The children had disappeared but for Elizabeth and Adair. A subtle nod from Lady Margaret told them that they were invited to join the duke for refreshments. The quartet sat talking for some time. Then Adair, curious as always, spoke up.