The Other Elizabeth *OLD VERSION*

XLIV. November 1460

XLIV

November 1460

Scales Hall, Norfolk, & Grafton, Northamptonshire, England

Anthony returned to the family home of the manor at Grafton, or as some may call it after their family name, Grafton Wydeville, earlier this month, where he commenced arranging the niceties of our wedding. 'Twas to be held here, at Middleton, but with the building works in abandonment as I scrape the coffers for a suitable dowry suggested by my kinsfolk- how should I know such matters?-  and the question of his sizeable family making the journey hither, we decided 'twould be best to marry at the church there. A plain and simple affair, for all the money I can put aside to spare is being stored in the event that Anthony must raise troops, armour, and weapons to fight. Queen Margaret, having heard of how her son has been disinherited, is apparently marching with forces from Scotland or the like to challenge the Duke once and for all. I pray for the fighting to desist. I do not want to lose Anthony through death or by wounds, or to see him hasten away so soon, for the same cause my Father died for, yet my Yorkist heart is turncoat to. The Duke is Lord Protector of England thrice more- the King is rumoured to have fallen to more insanity- so the Duke rules through him, pulling his strings on his puppet King.

I pine for Anthony. I have seen Kateren and Agnes admitted as novice nuns at nearby Blackborough Priory. 'Twas sad to see the woman who cared for my Mother in such earnest all these years go- some of the only other people left with memories of her. Dame Alice Erle, the Lady Abbess, kindly accepted as their dowries the pensions my Mother left them, and I shall see the Priory is well endowed as part of my duty of Lady of Middleton. So I am left to wonder the frost-stiffened gardens alone, and huddle in my furs at the banks of the frozen moat, and the ponds, cast solitary eyes through glazed windows to the fog in the air. I sit by the fire writing letters as a rain trickles down, my gloomy old Norfolk.

Every hour or so, as I rest my hand totalling up more struggling numbers, I will gaze upon the record from an account book so tattered and faded, of four and twenty years. Bequest- Katherine, dau of Lord Scales. A best goblet, cover silver and gilt; a silver pot, a best bed with sheets, and all trappings etc. Also a primer. Every time I do read these words I feel my fist clench and a sense of despair instil itself in my core. How? Why? Oh how? I wonder if Katherine still has these said most generous gifts? If she still reads from her Primer- mayhap identical to the one bequeathed to me, which I still have in my possession to this day, in these registers, not a ten month afore?

I have spent tedious days poring over them, searching for any further gifts to her, or any more bastard children. Mayhap my Father sired children he knew not himself? You should not speak ill of the dead nor feel malice toward their persons, but when I see the dealings with her marriage to Sir Thomas Grey, a sense of despair enfolds me in its clutches. He could have not told me of her? Bessie could have. Secret, all these years... I could have danced at her weddings. Would I have incurred my Mother's malice? Why did she never tell me of Katherine either? And confess it as a grave secret once she was gone from this world? To protect her pride? Father's honour? My anger shall stew, but what is done is done; they are both gone from me, I am a woman grown, and I am only left to wonder if my Father danced at her weddings. If he loved her as a daughter. If he loved her more than I. Soon, mayhap I shall know. For I sent Bessie to meet with her.

I still cannot believe Bessie's betrayal- but I have learnt my lesson- I must somehow try to show forgiveness towards her. I could not keep Bessie by my side any longer, despicable images conjuring in my head. I tossed some coins at her and told her begrudgingly to well- crudely¬- piss off to Katherine's abode for all I care naught, which was very uncouth of me, but I was grief-stricken. I pray she has gone to see Katherine. To see her daughter. I want to meet her. There is something inside my person, which compels me to know who she is. She is my sister, even if a bastard, and only of the half-blood, and begot in cruel and lewd circumstances. I am curious and sickened to think of a woman, half Bessie's, half of my Father. Who does she favour? She is the last link to my Father- did she mourn his horrid death as I did? We are so sordidly close in age, widowed each. Has she ever thought of me- she must know of my existence? Did she ever know of our brother Thomas? Our. Does she know my Mother died?