The Neville Sisters - Lady Anne Neville
16th June 1465
'Isabel has elegance and wit and beauty' said a sulky nine-year old Anne putting emphasis on each 'and' as if to make the three descriptors seem like a dozen 'what is left for me lady mother?'
The white summer sun was beating off the translucent wings of the dragonflies in fleeting flashes glimmering red, blue and yellow through the stained glass of the castle window. Anne watched in awe as they were gracefully dancing around the surface of the clear pond like a group of dancers creating ripples with every inclination of their wings. Everything in Wensleydale appeared dazzlingly bright today, even yesterday's jade grass now neared celadon while the sky was a warm celeste. In the solar of Middleham castle, Anne was sat on her mother's lap while she was diligently braiding her youngest's whispy long hair.
'You have a great gift for piety and loyalty...' started the Countess. The child did not act impressed. All nine year old girls were interested in was being Felices rescued by a Guy of Warwick, just like all boys at that age wanted to be Sir Gawain.
The Countess wanted to box the ears of the nurses that have indoctrinated the impressionable children so. Isabel and Anne's fanaticism began when their father, recently returned from the court of Louis XI, brought a manuscript of John Lydgate's 'Guy of Warwick' for his two girls. Anne had to admit that the illuminations were beautiful down to the gilded details on the Lady Felice's hair and the outline of every capital letter at the start of the page. But Richard knew that such stories would not beguile his cynical wife and he himself only saw the book valuable in so far as it served to further distinguish the nobility of the Beauchamp line and make his daughters smile. Isabel and Anne were predictably over-joyous to have such phantasmagoric legends run through their blood especially as in England, Guy of Warwick was considered St George's son.
'Piety and loyalty are not values to be sneered at, Anne' cautioned the Countess. Her husband, now also Earl of Salisbury, had instructed the household to foster a spirit of loyalty between the Neville girls and the York boys. Anne knew that her mother must have noted her rapport towards the youngest: Richard Duke of of Gloucester.
Anne was now peering out of the window, beyond the glassy pond, towards Isabel. Her honey-coloured hair had now darkened to a long ebony mane even darker than the chestnut brown of their father's. Today the strands peaking beneath her turquoise henin appeared to absorb all the sun's rays in their magnificence. Not yet fourteen, she had the tall willowy silhouette of a nymph. Elegant and dainty whereas Anne appeared fragile and childlike.
The Earl in his ornate scarlet doublet appeared in the tableaux. He was laughing, taking Isabel in his arms before cupping her cheeks and looking down at her adoringly while she dazzlingly smiled back like the sycophant she is.
When he goes to court, Father always takes his leave from her last and separately. Look how long his smile lingers when he takes her hands. His favourite daughter the beautiful Isabel, the intelligent Isabel, the vain Isabel. I never wanted to know anything more than the details of their conversation.
As the countess was finishing Anne's braided crown she began noticing that her daughter was still not appeased. She took on a lighter tone and pointed out that Isabel did not have hair like hers.
Anne peared into the looking glass by the vanity and a slender fair face framed by a sea of coppery waves the colour of a fox's tail peered back at her. A colour far brighter than her mother's auburn. Isabel may be impossibly graceful but my hair is more similar to the new Queen's.
All her father's men hated the woman who claimed the place beside the handsome York king. As soon as news of her father's humiliation over not knowing of the match became the talk of the kingdom as did talk of the Woodville Queen's beauty. They say she is the most beautiful woman in the british isles with the heavy-lidded eyes of a dragon. But, I also hear she is near her thirtieth year with already two sons from her previous husband: a knight. She was nothing like the blue-eyed virgin princesses in Anne's fairytales who were all closer to Isabel's age. Father also told me that she had large black eyes like drops of tar. A witch's eyes.
'What do you think?' Smiled her mother beckoning Anne to look in the mirror once more. Anne's hair was coifed in an elaborate braided coronet encircling her small head in thin serpentine plaits culminating in a voluminous halo at her crown. A hairstyle befitting a lady mere months before being considered old enough to wear a headress. A hairstyle also appropriate for what was becoming the hottest summer afternoon in years.
'Tis beautiful lady mother. Thank you so so much' Anne thanked with a wide satisfied grin.
'Now off with you. Your Richard must be wandering where you are- ' began the Countess. Anne, the impatient little girl that she was rushed off before Anne could add '-and your cousin Clarence shall also be visiting us in a fortnight. I will fetch Bridget so you can practice your greeting courtesies'
Any other day her mother would call after her and chide her for her impertinence. Today, however, the aerial glide of the enamoured singing swallows waltzing above the field of blanche ramsons, alternating in their emissions of white flashes with the pond may have soothed even the heart of the most proprietous woman in England, which was witnessing this beautiful display from her seat at the edge of the heavy-coloured solar.
It had been years since Middleham Castle saw George of Clarence. While the shy thirteen year old pup Richard would remain at Wensleydale to complete his training in the art of chivalry, George, now a man of sixteen was summoned to court to assume his princely status and enthral those who in him saw the purest of the white roses of York.
Little do they know that he needed those two more years at Middleham like a sword needed a scabbard. He has all my father's skill but none of his humility. Anne had just began to remember George's incessant interruption of Mr Guffryn's apparent 'lack of flourish in his pronounciation' as he was trying to teach them latin conjugations.
Isabel's constant tittering could not have been particularly dissuasive.
As the palfrey's canter dropped to a trot, Anne started to see the wicked smile etched onto George's lips. With thirty attendants trailing after him in emerald livery, the whole spectacle resembled more a snake than a princely procession.
The five of them were stood in front of the keep like a set of lead painted dolls, their jewels and silks glittering in the hot June sun even in the cold shadow of the ashen battlement. A silkened hand squeezed the Duke of Gloucester's.
'I think he will scare Lovell. I do not want that' whispered Anne
'He is not here to stay' smiled Richard squeezing her hand comfortingly 'What have you truly against him Anne?'
Richard always knows what I mean to say and when I conceal it. He was born with the sageness of Aunt Cecily. Why was none imparted to me? Perhaps it only works if you are directly descended...
'He will steal Issy from me. Then you will go when the king wants you for battle and I will be all alone up here with mother making shirts for the peasantry...'
'There will be no wars.' interjected Richard curtly
Anne was taken aback by the silent force of that response. It took her a moment of contemplation to realise how no matter how brightly the sunne in splendour shone in London, it was still obscured by the darkness of the shadow cast by Sandal Castle. Richard lost the only parent that resembled him and the brother that proved an adequate figure upon whom he could heap all his hopes and ideals onto. I merely lost an uncle and grandfather that I was far too young to know.
'No there will not' replied Anne gently 'Father will not allow it'
Isabel was beginning to take notice of their whispering, but before she had time to admonish the pesky little pair or nosily demand to be told the subject matter George's retinue passed the Barbican and were entering the Bailey - close enough for George to notice if Isabel's face were twisted in pettiness. Anne noticed her sister's statuesque composure and drew her own hand from Richard's hold letting the rose-coloured sleeve slip back past her palm.
Let George see that I am now nearly a woman grown who no longer needs to wear soft soles on her pouline to feel when the hem of the skirt overruns her pace.
As the palfrey's gait came to a halt Anne could not help but notice the resemblance between its mane and Isabel's own hair. With the grace of a York, the rider dropped from the saddle as if in a controlled slide. Anne noticed that he barely grew since last year and was still hovering below her father's height. So Edward has the lion's share of height in this family while Richard: the wisdom. I wonder what George has...
He was beaming like Anne had never seen him before. She knew that she did not need to turn her head to see if Isabel was blushing.
'Waarrrwick' he bellowed as he let the Earl
grab him into the gruff hug of men familiarised by the strongest of glues - kinship during times of partisanship.
'Your grace we are honoured to have you here after such a long absence' declared the Countess gracefully 'Isabel, Anne and of course- your brother Richard'
The Duke of Clarence merely tousled the younger's ebony curls as if he had not indeed come to visit his younger brother. He flashed the women a smile each rising in brightness saving Isabel's for last. He stunned all save for her father for whom he queerly displayed a sobre knowing simper. The Earl returned the look like a looking glass.
The girls were being dressed for dinner in their finest gowns. Isabel's new Burgundian gown was made of an indigo velvet poached from her Despencer ancestress' dresses. The fall of Byzantium having deprived the west of the luxuries of such a dye, made the colour's unattainability all the more attractive to Isabel.
After constant badgering Anne was finally permitted to wear her first and only henin to dinner - its lincoln green contrasting the girlish hue of her carnation gown. She liked it well enough, but its flower-pot shape only served to emphasise how short she was compared to Isabel who was enveloped in the sea of pearly silk emanating from her butterfly henin.
Isabel shakily sat on the side of the bed, the woven scarlett damask's artichoke pattern scrunching under the weight of the heavy silk of her gown and nearly enfolding her from the sides. She looked lost in thought. Like a maiden in a sea of blood.
'My Isabel! if I had a room like this I would gladly languish here until the end of my days' exclaimed Anne
Isabel was not listening.
George as an honoured guest was given the Earl's grand room displacing all the assigned sleeping arrangements leading to Richard of Gloucester having to sleep in Anne's room and Anne with Isabel. I must have been a babe the last time I shared a bed with Isabel. How the years pass.
'I wonder if George still likes me. I thought he had come here to see us and Richard, but just after all the niceties were dispensed with, he appeared to have come here for father only' Isabel said in a hushed tone.
Anne knew that she was not the ideal recipient of Isabel's ruminations, but with Margaret swiftly married off at their mother's behest, she had to learn to make-do with the Anne's companionship.
Is she really talking to me? Awaiting an answer from me? Well firstly I do not remember George particularly liking her-. No I have to say something quickly and now or she will never confide in me again.
'Oh Issy, he had not seen you properly in more than a year and is still not used to the woman you have become' Anne started 'Besides there is so much for him and father to discuss, what with all the news at court and the new queen... I hear she is a witch and has used dark magic to make King Edward besotted with her'
'This is possibly why father has not arranged for us to be her ladies. He fears for us' said Isabel pensively
'Because he loves us' finished Anne
To her delight she saw Isabel starting to smile. She never understood why this gave her so much peace. Perhaps because I am rarely their cause, she reserves them all for father. The half-a-decade difference had been used as a reason for Isabel to disregard this child of a sister who having not even bled yet, could hardly understand the woes of a 'grown woman' like her.
'Can you keep a secret Anne?' Asked Isabel
Anne eagerly nodded, her doe eyes widening into two brown conkers.
'Mother said that father will persuade the king to give me George and you Richard'
announced Isabel hopefully 'But you must not breathe a word of this to anyone'
Richard? I like him well - he stood up for me when Rob Percy mocked me for crying when father shot the deer for whom I was bringing berries from the kitchen everyday. He brings me bellflowers to press in my books. But quiet and dark, he seemed the farthest thing from the adventurous gallant Ferrex - he was rather a sombre King Arthur. This would not have vexed her so much had she not known that the princeliest of the three sons of York had been snapped up for Isabel.
Anne nodded her head vacantly as the differing strands of emotions tangled in her head in a web of thoughts irreconcilable for a girl of her youth. Perhaps if I continue shaking my head they will somehow rearrange themselves into neat rows like father's battlefield arrangements.
Isabel now looked to the looking glass that tonight was polished to shine as clearly as the steel of a shield. Her hand reached for the sandalwood scent and dabbed the last drops of the scent on her wrists and rosy declitage.
'As much as father loves us, his eyes only see the good that being royal duchesses would do us. His hogging of George leaves me with no chances of having him fall in love with me' asserted Isabel
'But Issy, even I know that his feelings are of little consequence. He will marry you because father put King Edward on the throne and so he must do as he says' said Anne
'But Annie I do not want that. I want to be loved like the King does the queen' Isabel said pleadingly 'She is a common-born widow so surely I deserve the same if not better'
Before Anne could say anything, Agnes' pinched face peered through the door to announce that the Neville sisters' attendance at dinner was now sought.
Centuries upon centuries have amassed the Beauchamp and Neville clans a lofty collection of wall-hangings. From the dainty cane-coloured silk tapestries of the orient to the magnificent arrases of the Low Countries portraying courtly love jux-ta-posed with French tapestries depicting noblemen at hunt for the unicorn. I have never seen so odd an arrangement before. Perchance father just desired to display his wealth to Clarence and nothing more. Perchance, it could be more.
The great hall was a whirl of flashes of jewelled colours so intoxicating that Anne thought she would go cross-eyed. The spanish-grey walls that were peering through the fabrics, and the faded clay tiles that lay unnoticed on the floor seemed so dull and dark in comparison that so far her girlhood years were passed in a dungeon.
Anne made sure to take notice of George's face when her and Isabel walked in to gauge her new brother-in-law's feelings for her sister. To her disappointment he looked at Isabel but despite the gallant smile his eyes did not seem to match it nor discount it nor did the gracious words that he spoke when he warmly greeted them.
'There is a seat here if you would like it, Isabel' gestured George as the party advanced to the painted long table.
With a rustle of her indigo skirts, Isabel biddably claimed her seat besides her secret betrothed. Anne was sat across them.
'How do you like Warwick castle, my lord?' asked Isabel channelling their mother.
'I am liking it very well Isabel - it is good to be back' replied George as he clasped her hand between his under the table. Anne peered at him eyes widened, shocked by this physical act of affection that was by no means meant as a display for father. She tried to discern his face - George's eyes of hazel and honey were wide and the light within flashed and shifted like quick-sand. They tell me nothing. His eyes are generally very large. The largest I know, and for this he appears perpetually fixated and perplexed.
Isabel was laughing now clearly entranced by her dinner companion. Anne could not blame her, for all his eccentricities, he was one of the comeliest men she had ever seen with shoulder-length tawny hair that fell in curls framing a fair visage outlined by sharp cheekbones.
But I shall have Richard. Anne thought emptily. No. She corrected herself. And I *shall* have Richard and become a royal duchess equal to my sister and for that I ought to be grateful.