Daughter of York Read Online Free PDF Page B

high-waisted fashion to advantage. Jane’s gown was a little short, she noted, but it would do. Jane, on the other hand, would be tripping over the hem of Margaret’s dress, and she sent up a prayer that the duchess would not choose to visit the apartments any time soon.
    “But what if someone comes? What if they notice I am wearing yourdress? Oh, ’tis unfair, Lady Margaret,” Jane whined, fluttering her hands and close to tears. Margaret scoffed at her dismay.
    “Don’t be such a goose! Ann, lock the door behind me, and if someone comes, say you are indisposed.” Ann nodded conspiratorially, pleased that Margaret was entrusting her with the more important task of protecting her mistress. “Besides,” Margaret continued happily. “Mother is far too busy to pay attention to us this afternoon. Ned is come!”
    The news made the girls forget their concerns for a moment as they clapped their hands and squealed with excitement, causing Margaret to scold them for making so much noise. She went to the armoire built into the wall and selected as drab a cloak as she could find. Winding it around her and pulling the hood down over her face, she would pass muster as a merchant’s daughter, she thought.
    “If anyone asks, you do not know where I am. Do you understand?”
    “But we do not know where you are going, Lady Margaret,” Jane said, her face a picture of woe again.
    “Then you will not have to lie, will you?” retorted Margaret and swept out as Jane collapsed on the bed sobbing and Ann ran to her to commiserate. “Ninnies!” Margaret muttered as she closed the door.
    The news of Edward’s coming had streamed through the castle like a welcome shaft of sunlight, and jubilant servants, squires, stable lads and pages were milling around the courtyard, some of them getting permission to run to the Ludgate to watch the entry. The main body of the army would camp outside the city, but Edward was coming home to Baynard’s and would choose to enter at the Ludgate, she knew.
    She slipped out unnoticed in a group and ran up Athelyng Street, past Knightridder Street and Carter Lane and into St. Paul’s square. There she was lost among a throng of hundreds awaiting the White Rose of Rouen, as she heard men call her brother—after his birthplace, she assumed. She had never been this close to so many people before, and it frightened yet thrilled her. However, she had to admit that the smell of all these townsfolk was enough to curl her toes, and she regretted not having her bag of sweet lavender on her belt. Even her drabbest cloak received admiring looks from her neighbors, and she noticed most of theirs were of rough wool and patched. Many had none at all, and those unfortunates shivered, huddling close to one another for warmth. But the cold did not dampentheir enthusiasm for the occasion, and several shouts of “Long live March! Long live York!” were taken up by others with such volume that Margaret could hardly hear herself think. Her chest again rose proudly at her family’s name.
    Something about her bearing made the crowd part for her as she edged her way to the front. She had no idea how conspicuous she was, but no one recognized the tall, attractive young woman with her hood clutched tightly around her face to keep out the wind. Finally, she saw Edward as he passed under the massive, fortified gate in the city’s wall. Hundreds of exuberant Londoners thronged the short distance to St. Paul’s, throwing their hats in the air and chanting his name. Edward wisely entered the city surrounded only by his closest advisers, including his mentor, Warwick. He rode his magnificent gray courser down Bower Row to towering St. Paul’s, waving and grinning at the tumultuous welcome.
    As he scanned the crowd, Edward’s eye fell upon a familiar face radiantly smiling up at him from the throng, and he reined in his mount in astonishment. “Margaret!” he mouthed in disbelief and laughed out loud. “Does Proud Cis know