Work Text:
Her heels dug into the soft carpet as she walked quickly through the gallery following the footman. The whole thing felt frightfully uneasy, the unsuspected note inviting her, nay, summoning her, to tea with the queen dowager. Tea, such a civilised façade. They had never been close during Elizabeth’s time as queen, and even less so now. Despite her husband’s appointment as Lord Steward she’d always been kept at arm’s length. Not maliciously so, but the queen had clearly had her guard up around her. She looked out through the diamond shaped windowpanes unto the foggy London streets. And rightfully so, of course. The fog had turned to droplets in her hair weighing it down like a veil. She shrugged, trying to cast off the cold and damp that seemed to muscle its way into every fibre in her body. The luscious carpet below her feet, garishly brand new, along with the void left in the fireplaces where fires would have roared, indicated that the house was used to a level of splendour that could no longer be sustained. The footman finally stopped in front of a pair of grand doors.
“The Right Honourable countess of Derby.”
The room had an odd informality about it, not at all what she had expected. More of a family living room than a formal drawing room. The door’s clicked shut behind her and she waited a moment for the queen dowager to turn to face her. She did, however, not seem inclined to turn away from the great window overlooking the garden so Margaret took a small step forwards, stepping over a model railway trailing across the floor. The sight left an unexpected weight on her chest, a small boy must have played here very recently. She pushed away the gruesome thought. Elizabeth took a whiff of her cigarette, the end glowing faintly against the glass, as if trying its best to warm up the cold room. She slowly exhaled, smoke the same colour as the fog embedding the once neatly trimmed evergreens, and finally spoke.
“They’re dead.”
Margaret, surprised by the lack of a formal greeting, dropped into a curtsey, even though the queen dowager could not see it.
“You Majesty, who-”
“My boys. My precious little boys.” Her hand shook as she brought the cigarette back to her lips.
“Ma’am, we all now the rumours of course, but isn’t that all they are? There is nothing conclusive to say that their royal highnesses are truly gone.”
“No, I know they are.” She turned around to face her guest, cigarette hovering millimetres from her cherry red lips. “He told me, he looked into my eyes, and told me. What man tells a mother such news and then-” the end of the sentence caught in her throat and she quickly turned back to the window. “What man confesses to such a crime and expects a mother to simply hand over her-, no, I beg your pardon. I should not burden you with this.” She turned back around, a smile plastered on her lips. “Pray tell, how is your son, how’s Richmond?”
“Ma’am, I wouldn’t know, I have very little correspondence with him. He’s in the army now, I believe.”
“My Lady, you disappoint me,” Elizabeth scoffed and put out the cigarette in a crystal ashtray on a small marble side table.
“Ma’am?”
“I have always credited you with the very highest intelligence, it had never crossed my mind you might actually have thought your little schemes surpassed my knowledge?” Margaret swallowed, but decided to answer the queen dowager with a courteous smile. “Come, have some tea.”
Elizabeth poured the tea with a surprisingly steady hand, her outburst of emotion moments earlier apparently neatly tucked away somewhere else. Having regained her composure, she performed the task of a hostess with the swiftness and assurance of someone who’s never done anything else. Margaret dropped a slice of lemon into her cup and took a sip before speaking.
“You flatter me, ma’am, but I must ask, in my defence, if you knew then why keep me at court? Why not have my husband banish me to the countryside?”
Elizabeth looked up and smiled.
“Oh, one never knows when one needs an enemy. Especially an intelligent and trusted one.”
“And why do you need one now? If I may say so, ma’am, don’t you have enough?”
Elizabeth didn’t answer, but placed her cup back at the saucer with a clink. They both sat silent, watching the steam coming from their respective cups.
“For once in my life I believe I have far too few. People tend to believe that a person without any enemies must have many friends, but I have come to understand that a lack of enemies is rather an indication of the opposite.”
“I see, but what I fail to see is why you suddenly have reached out to me. Since queen Anne’s untimely death I have no longer a place at court.”
“I know, and that is exactly why I have called for you. You see, it concern’s my daughter, Elizabeth.”
Margaret studied her husband through the mirror. He sat lounging on top of the bed covers, slippers still on, deeply immersed in a book.
“I saw queen Elizabeth today.” She removed an earring, letting it fall onto a seashell shaped disk on the vanity. He let out an affirmative huff. “I must say I was rather surprised, I would have thought she wanted to withdraw after all that has happened.” He finally looked up as she dropped the second earring.
“Yes, how is she?”
Margaret turned around on her stool.
“I’d say she’s coping rather well, considering.”
“Well, what did she want? I can’t recall the two of you ever being each other’s confidants.”
“We never were, aren’t, exactly.” She stood up and walked over to the bed. “She wanted to talk about Henry.”
“Oh.”
She climbed in under the covers as he slowly closed his book and kicked of his slippers. The subject of her son had always been a bit of a sore spot in all her marriages. Not out of malice, not from either of them, but it was complicated. In the end it had been easier with him at boarding school, sending him off to spend the holidays with his uncle.
“She asked me to pass on her support.”
“Margaret, please.” He turned to look at her, pleading in his eyes. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m sorry, Thomas, but what else would you have me do?” She reached out her hand and caressed his cheek. He turned his face and placed a kiss on her wrist.
“I know, but you also know I can’t, so please don’t ask more of me. Don’t make me choose side.”
She let her hand drop onto the covers.
“With the unrest caused by Gloucester this might be the best chance we’ll ever get. I won’t see it wasted.”
He nodded silently.
“I know, darling.” He turned to put out the bedside lamp. “I know you won’t.”
*
Heavy, wet snow had fallen all day and Margaret hurried across the sidewalk to reach the warm and dry comforts of her home. Well inside she wiped off some of the not-quite-snow from the fur collar before removing her gloves and hat. A maid appeared in the doorway as the footman helped her off with her coat.
“A telegram came for you while you were out, your ladyship.” Margaret ripped it open, quickly scanning its contents.
“Thomas!” She ran towards the study where she found her husband. “Sir Christopher has agreed to meet with you. Look,” she reached out the paper slip “I told him that you had finally agreed to join our cause and-” Her husband turned to look at her from his armchair. She promptly stopped, something wasn’t right, had he been crying? “My darling, has something happened?”
“I’m sorry, Margaret, but I can’t help you.”
“But, but you said, you said that the tyranny had gone for to long, yes, those were your exact words, the tyranny-” she trailed off, trying to collect her thoughts. For months had she carefully approached the subject, trying to get him to see her side, painfully biding her time. Her voice rose. “You cannot just-”
“Yes, yes I can.”
“Why?” She asked coldly, locking his gaze.
“George has been taken into royal custody.”
She dropped down on a chair.
“What?”
Thomas turned his eyes back to the fire.
“But why?” She breathed, this had come from nowhere, that sweet little boy, what could Richard want with him?
Thomas suddenly stood up, furious eyes turned to her.
“Oh, why do you think, you’re smart, I’m sure you can figure it out!” And with that he turned on his heel, exiting the room. Margaret stood up, following him.
“Thomas, I’m so sorry, I never could have imagined, you can’t let this, Thomas-”
He suddenly stopped, turning back.
“Margaret, sometimes you astound me. Not only are you asking me, nay, expecting me, to commit high treason for your sake, but you also seem to expect me to give up on my own flesh and blood!”
“And you’re asking me to give up on mine, always have!”
“Name one, one, instance when I have asked you to give up on Henry. For years I have looked through my fingers at your treachery, years! What else can you possibly ask from a husband?”
She could feel tears burning behind her eyes. He turned away quickly, shame in his eyes.
“Fine. I’ll meet with Sir Christopher, for your sake, but only to explain why I will not, cannot, help Richmond.” He took a step towards her, cupping her face in his hands. “You must see why I cannot.”
Margaret blinked away the tears, looking up at him.
“Of course, dear,” she answered coolly.
He sighed and let go of her face, looking down at his feet.
“I hate it when we quarrel, Margaret.”
“So do I.”
“Please don’t think ill of me, I couldn’t bare it.”
“I never would, you know that.” His eyes met hers again, but quickly looked away, the shame still lingering. He then straightened up, casting off the remains of his ill temper.
“I’m going out.”
*
It was a lovely day in late spring, bees and butterflies buzzing from flower to flower, fluttering about the flowerbeds. The young Elizabeth walked a couple of paces before them, every now and then stopping to prudently pick a flower to add to her bouquet. She snapped of a columbine, closely inspecting the cluster of small flowers, and then discarded it. Margaret had met the young Elizabeth a few times when the girl had visited her aunt, and had always thought she’d been a sweet girl, every inch the princess. Despite this she couldn’t help but to see the change that had clearly taken place. There was a sadness in her eyes that couldn’t be missed. Maybe the contemplation and reflection had always been there, but the events of the past year must have brought them out in her. Margaret couldn’t help but feel for her, weren’t these supposed to be her happiest years? Filled with balls and dances, youthful fancies, secret letters written by moonlight and stolen glances across the room. Instead this girl had been handed stately politics. Well, Margaret thought to herself, hadn’t her own youth been much the same? Did that matter? The memory of the dreadful phone call still stung in her heart. The cold of the receiver against her ear as the nurse explained that her darling Edmund wouldn’t be leaving the cholera ward, that he would be buried too far away. Mass grave. And the emptiness in her arms after she handed over her baby boy in order to try to forge a new life.
“It’s a shame.”
Margaret blinked and turned to the queen dowager.
“Pardon me, ma’am, I was miles away.”
“I said, it’s a shame your husband’s hands are tied.”
“Yes, yes it is. But I do not blame him.” She stopped and picked up the columbine stalk left discarded on the pathway. She couldn’t find a fault with any of the small flowers, and twirled the stalk between her fingers. “It can’t be helped, he’s a father too.” They walked in silence for another couple of minutes before Elizabeth spoke again.
“Without Lord Stanley’s men the battle will be hard won.”
“Ma’am, I am well aware of that, but not impossible.”
Elizabeth stopped and Margaret turned around.
“Yes?”
“My Lady, I have placed the life and honour of my most beloved daughter in the hands of this campaign. It cannot fail.”
Margaret tilted her head and watched the queen dowager carefully.
“Rest assured, ma’am, it won’t.” She continued down the pathway. “With or without my husband’s help.”
Margaret was just about to leave when the young Elizabeth peaked out into the hallway. She looked around, then entered.
“Lady Margaret, can I ask you a favour?”
“Yes, of course, your royal highness. What do you need?”
The girl sheepishly walked towards her, clutching a book in her hands.
“Well, you see, I didn’t want to ask you in front of mother, I know she’d thought it awfully silly.” She opened the book in her hands, it was a poetry book, something that surprised Margaret. She hadn’t pictured the girl as a romantic, she seemed too calm and collected for that, too resolute. The young Elizabeth retrieved a dried camellia from between the pages, which she handed over. “Can you send this with your next letter to him, to Richmond?”
Margaret took the fragile flower from the girl and smiled.
“Of course, your royal highness.”
The young Elizabeth blushed and looked down at the pages, but not before Margaret could see the twinkle leave the girl’s eyes, sadness taking its place.
“I so long to see him again, I can’t stop thinking of that night when we danced, it feels like a lifetime ago. I hope he remembers it as fondly as I do hm.” She covered her lips with the back of her hand as a giggle escaped her. Margaret dropped into a small curtsey and bid her adieu. Safely in the car she put the flower in an empty cigarette case as to not ruin it. Maybe the girl hadn’t been robbed of all her youthful fancies. Now it was just up to her boy to live up to them.
*
Margaret twisted and turned in her bed, the night impossibly hot. The windows had been left wide opened but let in nothing but the thick, sweet scent of summer night. She sat up, sweat trickling down her back. Looking to her side, the bed next to her was empty. Her gaze fell upon the bedside table, Thomas’ wristwatch and wedding band were gone from their usual place. Margaret flung her feet over the edge of the bed, leaving her robe on the footboard. Barefoot she made her way through the apartment. Thomas was standing in front of the hall mirror straightening his uniform. He noticed her in the reflection as she leaned on the doorframe.
“I wasn’t going to leave in the dark on night, so you needn’t worry. I just didn’t want to wake you unnecessarily early.”
She smiled at him.
“I know.”
He turned to face her.
“How do I look?”
“Dashing as ever.” Margaret walked the final few steps towards him, straightening his tie, even though there was no need. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”
“So do I.”
“Why?” Her furrowed her brow and tilted her head as she looked up at him. Her husband took great pride in his military campaigns, it wasn’t like him to hesitate the morning of a battle.
“I suppose I-” he sighed. “Every time I’ve gone into battle I have felt a, a conviction, I guess you can call it. I have known, or believed at least, that I am doing the right thing. Supported the right side. How can I lead my men when I know it’ll be snap decision whom they will have to fight?”
Margaret placed her hand on his heart, feeling the soft beating.
“You still haven’t made up your mind?” He didn’t answer, just shook his head and swallowed. “I am done trying to persuade you, Thomas. Just bring my boy back alive, would you?”
“Would that make you forgive me?”
“You needn’t ask my forgiveness.”
“I know, Margaret, but I still want it.” He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. She took a step back, her lips and eyes meeting in a pained smile as he took a final sharp breath before putting on his uniform cap, squared his shoulders and turned to the door. He turned around once before getting into the car, casting an eye up to Margaret who sat painfully still on the windowsill.
Now, the only thing left to do was wait.