Great Britain -- History -- House of York, 1461-1485 -- Fiction
When Dorset arrived, and heard from his mother what had happened to his
uncle and his brother, he showed his anger less; but in his cold grey
eyes, and firm cut mouth, one might read even greater determination
than his mother possessed together with all her quickness of perception.
"Methinks, mother," said he at length, "that thou hadst best leave the
Palace, and take refuge in the Sanctuary yonder. Take with thee my
dear sisters and our little Prince. Whilst he is not in the power of
the boar young Edward shall be safe."
"You counsel well, my son," replied the Queen. "Let us then make
haste, and be in safety ere the traitorous cur arrives. Girls, ye must
accompany us. Go and make ready, with all expediency, for in haste
alone now lies our safety." This latter she addressed to Hazel and
Mary, who had remained in the room whilst these things were taking
place.
"Oh, Richard," said the Queen, as though he were there before her,
"thou shalt suffer for this act of thine! Thou thinkest that by taking
from the King the only man in England capable of training his gentle
mind in the properest course thou shalt be able to infuse thy murderous
thoughts into this helpless innocent, and so use him to thy profit.
The curse of poor old Margaret is now falling upon me, and her prophecy
is coming true. But yet," she added, as though to herself, "she cursed
him also. Oh, why hath not her curses first fallen upon him; I never
did her wrong. Ah, yes, this is my punishment for having caused poor
Clarence's death. Would to God it had been this limping dog that I had
asked for, dead. Then all should have been well. Clarence was gentle,
and never did me harm. 'Tis indeed God's curse for my climbing to
great heights upon the necks of others that has now fallen upon my
head, and bent it low. Where I have stepped on others, now others step
on me. It is just, oh Lord, it is just. But oh! merciful Father,"
cried she, as her spirit began to give way, "let all thy wrath fall
upon me; for I am the guilty one. Let not the jealousy of Richard
bring harm unto others than me. I am to blame, and I alone should
suffer." As she finished this speech she stood erect, her face turned
heavenward, and her arms upraised in entreaty. As she stood thus her
noble form lost none of that queenly dignity which must ever have
marked her as a Queen among women.
[Illustration: "I am to blame, and I alone should suffer."]
"Come, come, mother, thou must not give way thus. Gloucester would
rejoice indeed, if he knew that he had so affected thee," said Dorset,
as he advanced and put his arm around his mother's neck, and patted her
tenderly upon the shoulder. "Besides," he continued, gently, as he led
her to the window, "we are losing valuable time. We know not when
Gloucester may arrive; and when he does, it is then too late for thee
to leave the Palace."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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