The Rose of York: Crown of Destiny Read Free Page B

now, happily wed to her childhood sweetheart, but the harsh memories of a past laden to the breaking point with loneliness, loss, and grief still rose up to torment her at odd hours of the day and night. Now that Richard had left for war, only little Ned could chase away those dark memories and bring her comfort.
    With a soft sigh, the Countess took Anne’s place at the cradle. Delicate as her daughter was in appearance and in health, there was nothing delicate about her will. She would see the petitioners, every last one, and argument was futile.
    Guessing the train of her mother’s thoughts, Anne gave her an apologetic kiss on the cheek before moving to take up her stance at the centre of the dais. Heaving a sigh, Richard’s old hound, Percival, followed her and arranged himself on her skirts.
    Anne turned to a man-servant. “Ask Sir James to send in the nuns.”
    He withdrew with a bow. A moment later, the door opened and her steward, Sir James Tyrell, entered with a scrivener and two nuns in tow. The scrivener resumed his seat at his desk, Sir James stood beside him with a hand resting on the man’s shoulder, and the nuns curtseyed, their habits crumpling to form two grey puddles on the bare floor. Anne bid them rise. “How can I help you?” she asked.
    “I am from the Convent of Startforth,” said one. “A boarder has come to us, Your Grace—an orphan. She is a deserving child, but without means. Her parents died of the plague and she has nowhere else to go, no family left. We cannot keep her without help, my lady. Times are hard, and we have barely enough to feed ourselves as it is.”
    Anne turned her gaze on the second nun.
    “I am from the convent of Shildon, Your Grace. Our walls are crumbling. I come to beg a benefice to repair them.”
    “You shall both receive what you need,” Anne said without hesitation. “Be it so noted, Sir James.” Her steward nodded to the scrivener, who began scribbling. Anne gave her hand to be kissed.
    “Thank you, my lady, thank you!” they cried in joyful unison. “May God bless you for your goodness, Your Grace. May the bounty of Christ be yours.”
    The nuns were ushered out. Other petitioners came and went: a poor knight seeking relief from his taxes, a prior who couldn’t afford the fee for a royal licence, a free-holder whose sheep had died of disease and who needed a loan to get back on his feet. As the last one left the room, Anne was swept with a sudden bout of dizziness. The Countess leapt to her feet in alarm. Taking her daughter by the shoulders she led her to a chair.
    “You shouldn’t have gone to the village today! You’re wearing yourself out, dear child. I keep telling you to stop visiting the sick—you’re never been healthy, and whether you believe it or not, your charity in York can distribute food and clothing to the poor without you. But do you listen? No, you go and found another for the lepers…”
    “Mother, you know why I do it,” she managed, her voice a whisper. “The lepers are pitiful. And the poor are so happy to see me. How can I not go? It gives them comfort.”
    “Nothing you do is ever enough to stem the need. The sick and the poor and the desperate are always with us. Your charity will be the death of you!”
    “Now, now, Mother,” chided Anne, closing her eyes. It felt good to rest.
    But she knew her mother was right. She’d set herself a cruel pace. Often, Vespers had passed and darkness had fallen by the time she could retire to the solar for a few precious moments with Richard and little Ned. But what joy in those moments! Sometimes she’d sing along with Richard as he played the lute for the little one, and sometimes she’d just sit, content to watch her mother bounce Ned in her lap. They all delighted in the simplest things he did. When Ned had smiled that very first time, it had seemed to her that the sun had risen at night…
    There is joy in remembrance , she thought, her head clearing and calm settling over