Mary & Elizabeth by Emily Purdy

Author:Emily Purdy
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2011-06-30T21:00:00+00:00

THE HEART OF THE PEOPLE

I was overcome, and as I held that golden heart within my hands I almost believed I could feel it beating and pulsing as if it were real and I did indeed hold the very heart of England.

Then a toothless old man, with tufts of white hair sticking up around his bald pate, broke through the crowd and dashed up to me.

“Princess Marigold! Princess Marigold!” he cried as he thrust a scraggly bouquet of marigolds up at me. I almost tumbled off my horse, I was so astonished that anyone remembered. My heart was beating so fast that I had to press my hand over it, but I did not let emotion overwhelm me and, smiling graciously, I leaned down and accepted that poor little bouquet. The words slightly garbled in his toothless mouth, he continued, “I remember when Your Grace was just a wee thing and your da’, Great ’arry, ’e called you Princess Marigold ’cause your hair was just like ’em in color, it was.”

“Yes.” I nodded, flashing a brief, bittersweet smile down at him as I gazed at the orange-yellow blossoms. “That was a long time ago, but I remember it well. Thank you, my good man; God bless and keep you in His care,” I added, as I passed the flowers back to Susan, riding behind me, to put in her saddlebag with the golden heart and all the other keepsakes I meant to save as reminders of this joyous day.

As I nudged my horse onward, I darted a swift glance at Elizabeth as if to say, “See? You are not the only one who can play to the masses!” But she just smiled back at me, a born actress, to look at her anyone would have thought that she was genuinely happy for me, but I knew better!

When we arrived at the Tower, to resounding cheers and the deafening boom of a hundred-gun salute, I found the Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir John Bridges, waiting for me. With him, kneeling humbly on the grass, were the last four remaining prisoners from my brother’s reign.

The first was the Duchess of Somerset, Edward Seymour’s widow, my “good gossip Nan,” who had been imprisoned when he followed “The Cakes and Ale Man” to the scaffold. She was trembling and pale as white chalk in her widow’s weeds.

Then, the most important political prisoner in the realm, the tall, handsome, golden-haired young man they called “The Last Sprig of the White Rose,” the last surviving Plantagenet, Edward Courtenay. Now twenty-seven, he had practically grown up in the Tower, and I doubted he could remember any other home. He was a naïve and guileless young man whose blue eyes radiated angelic innocence and sweetness and, I must admit, a want of wits. I knew many would expect me to marry him, as he was the only Englishman alive worthy of me in rank, but here I must confess, I had always desired a man stronger than myself,

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