Chapter 2
‘Elizabeth, wake up.’
Her mother’s voice was sharp, a silver blade in the cool darkness. Five-year-old Elizabeth Howard sat up, her heart pounding.
‘You too, Anne. We must hurry,’ Lady Howard said, shaking her eldest daughter.
Anne Bourchier, Elizabeth’s half-sister, sat up with a groan. At fifteen years old, she was on the border between the world of girls and women.
‘Is there news?’ Anne said, her voice crackling with slumber as she fought to throw off her deep sleep.
‘A messenger,’ Lady Howard said, her tone stark. ‘The king is dead. Henry Tudor wears the crown. Until we know how he will treat his enemies, we must seek sanctuary. Hurry, girls, this is no time for chatter, we must be gone by daybreak.’
Nine days earlier, the young Elizabeth had watched her father, Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey and her grandfather, John Howard, 1st Duke of Norfolk, ride out to join King Richard III. The clatter of hooves, the dust rising in the hot August air – all had thrilled her with the certainty of victory.
Tudor had landed in Pembrokeshire on 7 August and, with an ever-growing force, had made his way across the country.
The Howard men had responded to the call to arms without hesitation, sending their wives to safer, more defendable properties.
Elizabeth Howard, the Countess of Surrey and Elizabeth’s siblings had been despatched to Shurland Hall in Kent, a home owned by a distant Cheney cousin.
For Elizabeth, the most thrilling news was not to do with the battle, but that for the duration of their stay, she would be sharing with Anne rather than sleeping in the nursery with her younger brothers.
‘Why?’ she had asked Mrs Crew, her nursery maid.
‘Your mother has decided it will be easier for the servants,’ she had replied.
Elizabeth had felt this was an unsatisfactory response but decided not to question Mrs Crew further; she adored her older sister.
When a variety of bags and small travelling boxes had been delivered to their room and they were given the unusual instruction to leave them packed, she had been curious, lifting the lids and peering inside to see why they must remain shut.
‘Is this necessary?’ she had heard Anne whisper as her mother handed them each a leather satchel for portable belongings. ‘King Richard will win; he has Father and Grandfather on his side, as well as many other great men. They will rout the pretender Henry Tudor in a trice.’
‘Foolish girl,’ her mother had snapped. ‘Never tempt the devil with such complacency. You must pray harder than ever tonight to ensure success on the battlefield for our beloved men.’
Anne had been stricken when their mother had burst into tears. ‘Mama, I apologise—’
‘No, I’m the one who is sorry,’ her mother had said, pulling Anne into a tight embrace while Elizabeth gawped, her fingers smoothing the soft leather of her new bag. ‘This is a terrible time and, if the king were to be defeated, the outcome could be disastrous.’
Elizabeth had leaned, round-eyed and confused, on the vast bed as her mother and half-sister had sobbed together. When they parted, turning to her with watery but reassuring smiles, she had felt her own bottom lip tremble.
‘Is Papa in danger?’ Elizabeth had asked.
‘No, Lizzie, Papa will be home soon,’ her mother had said, gathering her into a hug.
‘As will your grandpapa,’ added Anne.
Despite their smiles, Elizabeth had prayed for her father and grandfather extra hard every night, promising to be good until both were safely home.
The countess moved to the side table to light a candle against the early-morning shadows, the flicker of golden light bringing Elizabeth back to the present.
‘If the king is dead, what will happen to Papa?’ asked Elizabeth, panic rising inside her.
‘He’s a prisoner,’ replied Lady Howard, then with a sob, ‘and your grandfather is slain. Until we have more news, we must flee. We shall follow the example of our once dear queen and seek sanctuary with the nuns.’
‘Where?’ said Anne, her face white with shock.
‘In the Abbey Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary and Saint Sexburgha on the Isle of Sheppey,’ replied her mother. ‘It’s a welcoming place and my mother has connections to the land.’
‘What about the boys?’ asked Anne, referring to her younger half-brothers: Thomas, Edward, Edmund, John, Charles and Henry.
‘They are young, the nuns will accept them. They will meet us downstairs,’ Lady Howard replied. ‘Dress warmly, girls, and bring only one small bag. We leave in one hour.’
The bedroom door slammed behind her and Elizabeth and Anne exchanged a worried glance. Anne squeezed Elizabeth’s hand in reassurance before throwing back the covers and hastening to the two small coffers that held their clothes.
‘Come on, Lizzie,’ she said, ‘we must wrap up against the cool dawn air. It might be August, but the weather has been poor.’
Elizabeth clambered from the bed and pulled her stuffed owl into her arms. Walking across the room, she opened the leather satchel her mother had told her was for ‘the things that are important to you, no matter what anyone else says’ – during which time her mother’s eyes had strayed towards Owly.
Elizabeth pushed her precious companion to the bottom.
The soft felt toy had been made by Elizabeth’s nurse, Mrs Crew, when Elizabeth had been three years old and scared of the dark.
‘Owly can see in the dark,’ Mrs Crew had whispered as she had placed the toy in Elizabeth’s bed. ‘He’ll watch over you while you sleep and stop anyone from hurting you in the darkness.’
‘It’s my turn to keep you safe, Owly,’ Elizabeth whispered as she covered him with a scarf before hurrying to the small table beside her bed where she had placed the pebble her father had given her before he’d left for battle.
‘It’s quartz,’ he had said, ‘and there are two pieces. I have the other and whenever you rub this piece, I’ll know you’re thinking of me.’
‘How?’ she had asked.
‘The angels who live in the sparkly parts of the stone will ensure I’m sent the message.’
‘What will happen to Papa?’ asked Elizabeth, as she rubbed the stone, praying to herself that her father was safe. ‘Will he be executed for treason?’
The tension left behind by their mother had seeped into her mind like an unwelcome miasma and though she was young, she was the daughter of an earl and the granddaughter of a duke; the realities of court life had been hers since the day of her birth.
Despite the warm woollen shawl Anne had wrapped around her, Elizabeth could not stop shivering.
‘The new king can’t execute every noble who stood against him,’ replied Anne. ‘There would be nobody left to help him run the country. Your father may have to forfeit his title or pay a fine, but he’s a good man. I’m sure the new king will release him soon.’
An image of her father flashed before Elizabeth’s eyes, muddy but calm despite having his hands tied behind his back.
‘He will be put in the Tower of London,’ she murmured, ‘but one day he will be free and he’ll be one of the great men of the land again.’
Coming out of her reverie, Elizabeth realised Anne was staring at her, aghast.
‘Enough of your fancies and dreams,’ Anne snapped, clasping Elizabeth’s wrist. ‘Don’t say a word to Mama. She’s worried enough without you giving her false hope.’
‘But…’ Elizabeth began, only to have Anne silence her with a fierce look. Her heart told her the words about her father were correct, but her head warned against sharing her vision. ‘Of course, Anne,’ she demurred.
The abbey glowed in the afternoon sun. It comprised two adjacent churches joined by a cloisters and occupied the highest position on the otherwise flat island.
Once three separate islands: Sheppey, Harty and Elmley, the channels dividing them had long since silted up, leaving one low-lying landmass.
The slow journey from Shurland Hall had felt longer than its eleven miles with the horses plodding through the increasingly clammy August air. A sense of unease pervaded the countryside as the news of King Richard’s defeat and Henry Tudor’s triumph spread across the country.
Tudor’s victory had been won on a battlefield in a land ravaged by years of civil war as the York brothers had battled for supremacy. What did the arguments of kings matter to the villagers of Kent? All they craved was to live in peace.
As they had negotiated the rutted roadways, Elizabeth felt hostile eyes upon them, but the phalanx of men sent by the Cheney family as protection meant no one dared to approach their small convoy.
A boat transported the Howard party across the Swale – the channel dividing the island from the mainland – where they made their way to the abbey gatehouse on foot.
Elizabeth felt tears well in her eyes. She was tired, hungry and scared.
Her youngest brother, Henry, was barely a year old, and he was grizzling in the arms of his wet nurse.
Beside him was one of their male servants, carrying two-year-old Charles, and behind him, another loyal retainer holding three-year-old John.
Her eldest brother, Thomas, a young man of twelve, walked beside his mother and his elder half-sister, Anne, determined to show he was capable of taking on the responsibilities of the man of the house.
Edward and Edmund, nine and seven years old respectively, stood either side of Elizabeth, helping her over any difficult patches in the path.
Lady Howard stopped at the bolted doors, her face pale. Behind her, Elizabeth stared up at the wall surrounding the abbey. The clang of the bell broke the heavy silence, causing birds on the estuary to take flight, filling the air with their otherworldly cries.
‘Curlews,’ muttered Mrs Crew. ‘A bad omen. When you hear them in the day, it is a sign of death.’
Elizabeth shuddered.
‘What happens if they don’t allow us in?’ she whispered to Mrs Crew.
‘Don’t say such things,’ Mrs Crew replied.
The door to the abbey inched open and a nun peered out.
‘I am Lady Howard,’ Elizabeth heard her mother say. ‘My husband has been captured, and I fear for mine and my children’s lives.’
‘You and your children are welcome, Lady Howard,’ the nun said and opened the door wide enough for them all to enter.
‘My wet nurse must stay too,’ said Lady Howard.
‘We shall allow the rest of your servants to stay tonight,’ said the nun, ‘but they must leave at first light.’
Elizabeth listened in horror. Mrs Crew had been with her for as long as she could remember.
‘I shall see you again,’ Mrs Crew assured her, squeezing Elizabeth’s hand as the door closed and the bolt slid home.
Outside, the curlew cried again. Elizabeth pressed her pebble through the leather of her satchel as words, unbidden, crept into her mind: Doom has followed us in.