A Song of Sixpence: The Story of Elizabeth of York and Perkin Warbeck Read Online Free

boy, who turns away, folding his arms and heaving a sigh. He feels they’ve been travelling for months, yet it is only a matter of weeks. A few days at a country manor where he befriended a servant girl with pretty red hair; a week on the road, darting from one sorry tavern to the next. He is tired of it, tired of Brampton, tired of travel. He wants his sister; he misses her songs and stories of knights and chivalry.
    “I hate being your servant,” he spits but he keeps his voice lowered, knowing Brampton is his only friend. He owes his life to the man.
    Brampton from his bunk glares back at the boy. “Maybe I should have let Buckingham have you then. Maybe I’d be living the high life, dallying with loose ladies at court instead of here in this shit pit with an ungrateful cur.”
    “You can’t speak to me like that.” The boy’s face is scarlet, his eyes ablaze with resentment. Brampton laughs and turns his back on the boy.
    “Sure I can. You are no one, nothing … until I say you are.”

Chapter Four
Elizabeth
     

Sheriff Hutton Castle ―August 1485
     
    I am bored, we all are. The babies are fractious, the infants beginning to quarrel; even Cecily and Margaret had a falling out earlier over a game of knucklebones. Only Warwick seems content, tormenting his kittens with too much love.
    Allowing my sewing to fall to my lap, I stretch my arms and heave a hefty sigh. “This day is endless.”
    Margaret looks up from her book. “Word will come soon enough.”
    “Let us hope it is good news when it arrives.” The tone of Cecily’s reply leaves us in no doubt that she fears it won’t be. We subside into silence again and brood until a sudden scream from my little sister makes us leap from our seats.
    “Bridget, let go!” She is clasping a handful of Catherine’s hair and has forced her sister to her knees, her mouth wide and her screams piercing. The nursemaid rushes forward.
    “Oh, I am sorry, Madam. They are so naughty today.”
    I wince as she spanks Bridget’s hand and Bridget immediately opens her mouth to add her cries to Catherine’s.
    It is as if the children sense our tension. In other circumstances such domesticities would be a welcome interlude, something to laugh about later, something to add to a letter to make Mother smile. But today I am so distracted I offer them comfort with more impatience than empathy. I just want them to be quiet, to sit and be silent so that I can fret in peace.
    When the children are calm, I summon the nursemaid from her corner. “I think they need to rest; they are fractious because they are tired.”
    Amid wet kisses and sticky waves goodbye the children are ushered out, leaving Margaret, Cecily and I alone. I move to the window and look out across the battlement to the road beyond, where a puff of dust on the horizon betrays the approach of a small band of horsemen.
    “Someone is coming.”
    The girls hurry to the window, jostling for a view.
    “Who is it? Can you see? What badge do they wear?”
    As yet, they are too far off to determine. We watch as the horses grow larger and the shapes of the men slowly detach from the dun coats of their mounts. With a sick thumping heart I screw up my eyes to identify them, but their badges are obscured and they carry no flag. Cecily’s shoulder is pressed against mine as she strains to see.
    “Tudor would come with an army. He’d not come with a small retinue like that.”
    I turn away, smooth my skirts and try to arrange my thoughts.
    “Tudor would not come at all. He would send a messenger, as would my uncle.”
    I clench my fists, pray silently and rapidly that Richard is safe. If York should fail, my life, all our lives, will change beyond recognition. Soon, although it seems like hours, there are sounds of arrival in the bailey. A trumpet sounds and a door slams far below and someone shouts for a groom. A dog runs out barking frantically, setting off the others. I watch and wait, my heart a sickening throb in my