Rachel's council chamber was agog, every muscle in every body taut with anticipation. Lady Glamorgan was just back from Scotland and was due to give her report that morning. No one wanted to miss this first insight into the Lady Arabella's camp.
"Her Majesty Queen Rachel and His Highness the Prince Consort!"
At the herald's call, Rachel and David swept into the room arm in arm. The ladies of the Council sank into deep, obsequious curtsies, even deeper than they really needed to. Let Lady Arabella try to challenge the eldest Stewart-Howard daughter for the throne of Scotland. Just let her try. Here in England, they knew where their rightful allegiances lay.
Rachel seated herself and nodded to them to rise as David sat down beside her, leaning over to speak to Lady Pembroke.
"Has Lady Glamorgan returned?"
"Indeed she has, Madam. She's waiting outside, on Your Majesty's pleasure."
"Excellent. Bring her in. Let's see what my sister has to say."
Lady Pembroke signed to a waiting page and they scurried off. Moments later, Rachel's herald announced, "Lady Glamorgan!"
The woman who entered was a fine-boned woman of above-average height whose once chestnut hair was rapidly silvering, but whose green eyes still snapped with vitality.
She curtsied to Rachel and David, kissing both their hands in turn. Rachel beamed at her.
"Lady Glamorgan, welcome back to Court. I'm told you bring news from my sister, the Lady Arabella?"
"I do, My Lady Queen. But let me begin by saying that the Lady Arabella is nothing more than a prideful child, playing at grasping titles that are not really hers. Her temper is uncertain and she fairly bristles with overweening pride. She insists on being attended on bended knee at all times, and will not see or speak to anyone who does not address her with the deference due a Queen."
Discontent rippled through the room at Lady Glamorgan's words. How dare Arabella pretend such unlawful dignity? How dare she show such haughty pride? The late King and Queen must be fairly rolling in their graves!
Rachel, too, felt her hackles rise at the description of Arabella's bald pride, but she forced herself to remain calm. It wasn't Bella's fault, she reminded herself. She was only doing what Alexander and their Aunt Margaret had taught her.
"Be that as it may, Lady Glamorgan," she said coolly, cutting off the murmurs, "This report of yours doesn't help me yet. What of the terms I sent Arabella? Will she accept them or not?"
Lady Glamorgan opened her mouth, but before she could respond, the doors of the council chamber crashed open. A sweating messenger stood there.
"The Lady Arabella has had herself crowned at Scone!" she panted, "Her Highness has amassed a following and rides for Edinburgh to secure it with immediate effect. Word has it that if Edinburgh falls, she'll ride for the border after that."
"What do we do?" The doors had no sooner slammed behind Rachel, David and Nora than Rachel was turning anguished eyes upon her husband and half-sister, "I can't let this go. If Margaret and Alexander are pushing Arabella to invade England in a show of strength, then I have to be seen to respond. The nobles will stomach nothing less. But I can't order an army to muster against my own sister. God help me, but I can't."
Rachel sank into a chair, burying her head in her hands. David and Nora exchanged glances.
"No," David exhaled, "I don't think it's quite come to that yet. But you're right, you have to be seen to do something."
Pulling a piece of scrap parchment towards him, he made a few furious notes, then glanced up, "What do you think are the chances of Arabella listening to reason, if Bessie's the one to talk to her? With all due respect, darling, we all know Arabella was never particularly fond of you, but…"
"Bessie? She was certainly always around Arabella more than I was. I assumed Arabella was only trying to force me to take her seriously, that all she wanted was some of the real power that Mama and Papa never gave her. Given what we've just heard, perhaps I was wrong. Bessie might know her better, might know how to persuade her to come to terms."
"All right," David nodded, "As Duchess of Lancaster and Countess of Albany, it would make perfect sense to have Bessie negotiate on your behalf in the north. So, here's what I suggest. As Bessie and Beth are both currently in Lancashire, Bessie at Lancaster and Beth at Cockermouth, we'll send to Bessie, ask her to take Beth up into the borders, to Dunbar or Berwick or something. She can try and persuade Arabella to come to terms while she's up there."
Rachel's head snapped up, "You want to send our daughter into a country where our sister is in open rebellion against us, and by all the sounds of it, has amassed a sizeable following? Have you taken leave of your senses?!"
"Of course not!" David exclaimed, "I think sending Beth north makes perfect sense. She's the living proof that our parents' dream of a united Albion lives on. If she's tucked away in a castle in the Scottish borders, it might give some of the nobles who have yet to decide for Arabella pause for thought, perhaps even a cause to rally around. Meanwhile, you and I can go to Nottingham, so we can keep an eye on things and move easily depending upon where we end up being needed most. Or would you prefer Havering? I know how much you love that property."
Rachel didn't even hear David's question. She was too busy staring at him in utter shock.
"You're talking complete nonsense! Good God, did Mama and Papa teach you nothing of domestic security? Of course I'm not going to send my daughter into a country that's risen in rebellion against me. If anyone's going to go into Scotland, it's you! You're my Consort and High Steward of Albion. You're the one who should be negotiating with Arabella, not my cousin! As for our daughter, I'm writing to Bessie to ask her to bring Beth to London so I can invest her as Crown Princess of Albion as our parents did with me. And then I'm sending her to Wales. I don't want her anywhere near Scotland until we've sorted this mess out."
Before David could respond, Rachel whipped her head round to look at Nora.
"Nora. Your sister. Would she be willing to come to London and help me shore up the city's defences? Possibly even hold it in my name if need be?"
Nora's heart leaped at her half-sister's words. Without even pausing for breath, she flung herself at Rachel's feet.
"Oh, my Lady! You know she would!"
"Good. Send for her."
Already stung by Rachel's rebuke a few moments earlier, David couldn't restrain his horror at Rachel's suggestion that she rely on the elder of her Rose half-sisters to help her hold London.
"Rachel! Matilda's mother was a traitor to yours! How can you even suggest asking her to help you shore up London's defences, let alone countenance leaving it in her hands if you have to?"
If David hadn't been Prince Consort, Nora would have torn into him for that. Everyone knew the late Queen had forgiven her mother for the lapse in judgement that had occurred in the months preceding Rachel's birth – the lapse that had resulted in both Matilda and, about fifteen months later, Nora herself. True, her mother had never been welcomed at Court again, but Queen Anne had allowed Matilda to succeed to their father's subsidiary titles of Baron Blackheath and Chelsea and permitted Rachel to accept Nora into her household. Her Grace would never have done that if she'd been at all worried about the Rose loyalty to the Crown. And Mother had always emphasised how lucky they'd been; had raised both of them to know their duty to England and to the Howards in a way that she hadn't at seventeen. Neither Matilda nor Nora would ever have dreamed of putting so much as a toe out of line.
Yet David threw the circumstances of Nora's birth in her face at every chance he got. She knew why he did it as well. He'd always resented how close Nora was to her older half-sister. He was always trying to drive a wedge between them.
Fortunately, Rachel was in no mood to listen to him this time. She glared at her husband.
"You're the one who just suggested we send our daughter up into a country where loyalty to our banners has been compromised. I hardly think you have any right to question my decisions at the moment. Besides, Lady Rose knows only too well that she owes her title solely to my mother's good graces. She's the last person who would risk defying me. Moreover, as Baroness of Blackheath and Chelsea, she has clout in London that I, given my Welsh upbringing, simply do not yet have. You ought to know that."
Nora's heart leaped for joy as Rachel defended her older sister. She held her breath, only releasing it when Rachel glanced at her, "Go on, Nora. Go and write to your sister. I want her here as soon as possible so we can discuss matters."
Nora nodded, "Yes, Madam." She scurried to the door, but before she left, she turned back to Rachel and dropped into the deepest curtsy she could manage, holding it until her legs ached. Words simply weren't enough to express her gratitude.
Trumpets blared. Ponies whinnied, tossing their heads gaily. Wine flowed freely from every fountain in the city. Londoners crowded the streets in their thousands, all dressed in their best. On that glorious day in August 1536, it seemed as though every eye in the city was fixed on Matilda Rose, Baroness Rose of Blackheath and Chelsea as she knelt before Rachel on the steps of the Guildhall and placed her hands between the young Queen's in the age-old gesture of fealty.
"I, Lady Rose of Blackheath and Chelsea, do hereby pledge my allegiance to you, my sovereign lady, Queen Rachel of Albion, from this day until my last. May God and the Virgin strike me down if I so much as falter in my oath."
The clear young voice rang out over the heads of the crowd. Rachel nodded in acceptance, then released Matilda's hands and moved her own up to rest on Matilda's shoulders as she intoned the next part of the ceremony.
"By the power vested in me by Almighty God as the rightful Queen of Albion, I hereby name thee, Matilda Rose, Stewardess and Sheriff of the city of London, charging you to help me shore up the city's defences, and to hold it for me in my absence. To be my voice on the City Council, to lead the city according to my wishes, and, if necessary, and I should happen to be away, to defend it for me in a siege."
As the last words left her mouth, Rachel placed a heavy ring of keys in Matilda's hands. The ceremonial keys of London were usually in the Mayoress's keeping, but they were now to be Matilda's, as a symbol of her newly-created office.
Rachel then pulled her half-sister up and bestowed the kiss of peace upon her. As she did so, the late summer sunlight suddenly caught their heads, picking out the auburn lights in their hair. The two young women had never looked more like sisters than they did in that moment.
The Londoners cheered themselves hoarse, willing, just then, to forget their dubious thoughts over Matilda's heritage in favour of showing loyalty to their new Queen. They'd loved her mother throughout the two and half decades of her reign and now they would love her.
Two people, in particular, were watching the ceremony intently. Hidden in the depths of the crowd, Sarah Rose watched her eldest daughter kneel to Rachel with a heart so full she feared it might burst. This was what she'd always dreamed of. This was why she'd encouraged Nora to go to Ludlow all those years ago and earn the Crown Princess's trust. She'd always wanted her daughters to redeem the family honour that her teenage lapse in judgement had cost her over twenty years earlier. To see them take their places in their half-sister's household, serve her and work with her for the good of England. It was what Henry would have wanted, she told herself, as tears of pride began to well in her eyes. It was what Henry would have wanted.
On the other end of the spectrum, David watched the lavish ceremony from a place of honour at Rachel's side, but did so with severe misgivings. He still wasn't comfortable with his wife creating a position of such power for the young Baroness. He thought she'd only really done it to pander to Nora's vanity, despite what she'd said in public. Oh, it was one thing keeping Nora around for the sake of their dead father, but to actually give the Rose girls real power? When their very bloodline proved them frivolous and likely to listen to their hearts rather than their heads? He'd never understand her rationale there. Indeed, he'd protested it more than once, but Rachel, still smarting over his suggestion that they risk Beth's safety by sending her into Scotland, refused to listen to reason. Given her intransigence, all he'd been able to do was organise a glittering public ceremony for the event. Glittering public ceremonies were always a good way to shore up legitimacy. He'd learnt that much from their parents.
But now it was over and he was itching to get Rachel away. Despite their recent differences of opinion, she'd agreed to ride out of London with him to Havering and spend the night there in a public show of unity before he rode for Scotland and she returned to London to await Beth's arrival.
He leaned over to her, "It's time, darling."
Rachel gave an almost imperceptible nod and pulled away from Matilda. Her horse was brought round and she allowed David to boost her into the saddle.
As he mounted up himself, he flicked his eyes up to the banner that unfurled above his wife's head. Good. She'd followed his advice and quartered the Howard Griffin with the unicorn of Scotland as well as her own rising sun. In doing so, she was staking her own silent claim to Scotland. Let Arabella counter that gambit.
He flicked his hand to signal for their entourage to form up. Moments later, they were on their way, trotting down the street towards the gates of London.
"God Save and God Bless Queen Rachel!"
Matilda shouted it, impulsively, as her older sister and David rode away. David started. That hadn't been part of the plan. But, as first one voice, then two, then scores, took up the cry, he realised it ended the festivities on a perfect note. Glittering ceremony was one to underscore legitimacy, but popular acclaim was another. Rachel riding out of London amongst crowds screaming her name could only be good for her image.
Perhaps these Rose girls were good for something after all.