A Will and a Letter from William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk

Yesterday, while doing research for my novel about Margaret of Anjou (don't worry, I'm actually doing some writing for it also), I came across the will of William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, who was responsible for arranging Margaret's marriage to Henry VI. It's one of the more moving wills I've come across.

Suffolk wrote the will on January 27, 1450, just before he was hauled off as a prisoner to the Tower of London. The English had met with drastic reversals in France, and Suffolk, though by no means the only person in England who had brought about the disaster, was being made the scapegoat for the government's missteps. The primary charge that would be brought against him--that in 1444 he had promised the surrender of Maine without being authorized to do so--has long since been disproved by historians. (Henry VI, however, explicitly promised the surrender of Maine in a letter dated December 22, 1445.) Among the wilder accusations against him was one that he had married his young son, John, to little Margaret Beaufort with the intention of killing Henry VI and making John king.

As Bertram Wolffe points out, Suffolk was in an impossible position: though he vigorously defended himself against the charges that were brought against him by the Commons, he could not do so adequately without attacking the king, who bore the ultimate responsibility for the disasters in France. But Suffolk was unshakeably loyal to Henry VI, and in any case, he depended upon the king for his life. Henry tried to save Suffolk by ordering that he be banished for five years. (Echoes of Edward II?) Unfortunately, the commoners, for whom Suffolk symbolized all of the shortcomings of Henry VI's reign as an adult, wanted Suffolk's death, not his disappearance. As Suffolk sailed toward Burgundy, his ship was intercepted by a vessel named Nicholas of the Tower. Suffolk was forced off his own ship, given a mock trial, and beheaded on May 2, 1450, after six strokes from a rusty sword. Whether the murderers acted entirely on their own or in the hire of someone more highly placed remains a mystery.

Among the slanders that were later to be circulated about Suffolk was that the 53-year-old Suffolk and the 20-year-old Margaret of Anjou were lovers. There's no evidence to support these allegations, which seem to have originated in Tudor times with the chronicler Hall and which were given vigorous life by Shakespeare. (Shakespeare, at least, has the excuse of borrowing from Hall; one 21st-century historical novelist who has accused Suffolk of fathering Edward of Lancaster in 1453 despite having been dead since 1450 is on rather shakier ground.) What makes these slanders so patently cruel is the evidence that whatever else his faults, Suffolk dearly loved his wife, Alice Chaucer (granddaughter of Geoffrey), and their son. Having ordered that his body be buried at Charterhouse at Hull, Suffolk (who wrote his will in his own hand) directs:

where y wol my ymage and stone be made and the ymage of my best beloved wyf by me, she to be there with me yf she lust, my said sepulture to be made by her discretion in ye said Charterhouse where she shal thinke best, in caas be yat in my dayes it be not made nor begonne; desiringe, yf it may, to lye so as the masses that y have perpetuelly founded there for my said best beloved wyf and me may be daily songen over me. And also ye day of my funeralx, the day of my berieng, that ye charge thereof be bysette upon pore creatures to pray for me, and in no pompes nor pryde of ye world. Also y wol yat my londes and goodes be disposed after that that y have disposed them in my last wille of ye date of these presentez, and only ordeyne my said best beloved wyfe my sole executrice, beseching her at ye reverence of God to take ye charge upon her for the wele of my soule, for above al the erthe my singuler trust is moost in her, and y wol for her ease, yf she wol and elles nought, that she may take unto her such on personne as she lust to name, to helpe her in yexecution yerof for her ease, to laboure under her as she wold commande hym. And last of al with the blessing of God and of me, as hertely as y can yeve it to my dere and trew son, y bequethe betwene hym and his moder love and al good accorde and yeve hym her hoolly, and for a remembraunce my gret balays to my said son.

(The "gret balays" seems to have been a ruby.)

Suffolk's one son, John, having been born late in Suffolk's and Alice's marriage, was only seven at the time of his father's murder. Before leaving England for what would prove to be his fatal journey into exile, Suffolk wrote an affectionate letter to the young boy in which he further emphasized his love for his family and his loyalty to his king:

My dear and only well-beloved son, I beseech our Lord in Heaven, the Maker of all the World, to bless you, and to send you ever grace to love him, and to dread him, to the which, as far as a father may charge his child, I both charge you, and pray you to set all your spirits and wits to do, and to know his holy laws and commandments, by the which ye shall, with his great mercy, pass all the great tempests and troubles of this wretched world.

And that also, weetingly, ye do nothing for love nor dread of any earthly creature that should displease him. And there as any frailty maketh you to fall, beseech his mercy soon to call you to him again with repentance, satisfaction, and contrition of your heart, never more in will to offend him.

Secondly, next him above all earthly things, to be true liegeman in heart, in will, in thought, in deed, unto the king our aldermost high and dread sovereign lord, to whom both ye and I be so much bound to; charging you as father can and may, rather to die than to be the contrary, or to know anything that were against the welfare or prosperity of his most royal person, but that as far as your body and life may stretch ye live and die to defend it, and to let his highness have knowledge thereof in all the haste ye can.

Thirdly, in the same wise, I charge you, my dear son, alway as ye be bounden by the commandment of God to do, to love, to worship, your lady and mother; and also that ye obey alway her commandments, and to believe her counsels and advices in all your works, the which dread not but shall be best and truest to you. And if any other body would steer you to the contrary, to flee the counsel in any wise, for ye shall find it naught and evil.

Furthermore, as far as father may and can, I charge you in any wise to flee the company and counsel of proud men, of covetous men, and of flattering men, the more especially and mightily to withstand them, and not to draw nor to meddle with them, with all your might and power; and to draw to you and to your company good and virtuous men, and such as be of good conversation, and of truth, and by them shall ye never be deceived nor repent you of.

Moreover, never follow your own wit in nowise, but in all your works, of such folks as I write of above, ask your advice and counsel, and doing thus, with the mercy of God, ye shall do right well, and live in right much worship, and great heart's rest and ease.

And I will be to you as good lord and father as my heart can think.

And last of all, as heartily and as lovingly as ever father blessed his child in earth, I give you the blessing of Our Lord and of me, which of his infinite mercy increase you in all virtue and good living; and that your blood may by his grace from kindred to kindred multiply in this earth to his service, in such wise as after the departing from this wretched world here, ye and they may glorify him eternally amongst his angels in heaven.

Written of mine hand,
The day of my departing fro this land.

Your true and loving father

John de la Pole became the second Duke of Suffolk and (his childhood marriage to little Margaret Beaufort having been dissolved) went on to marry Elizabeth, a daughter of Richard, Duke of York, making him the brother-in-law of Edward IV and Richard III. Though his own son, the Earl of Lincoln, would rebel against Henry VII, with fatal results for the earl, the second duke seems to have generally followed his father's advice with regard to kings: having deserted the Lancastrian cause in 1461, he would thereafter be loyal to Edward IV, Richard III, and Henry VII in turn.

Sources:

Michael Hicks, ‘Pole, John de la, second duke of Suffolk (1442–1492)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/22450, accessed 20 Sept 2009]

C. L. Kingsford, Prejudice and Promise in Fifteenth Century England.

J. N. Larned, A Multitude of Counselors (a version of Suffolk's letter in modernized spelling; the version with the original spelling can be found in Gairdner's edition of The Paston Letters).

Surtees Society, North Country Wills

John Watts, ‘Pole, William de la, first duke of Suffolk (1396–1450)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/22461, accessed 20 Sept 2009]

Bertram Wolff, Henry VI.

Guest Post by Jeri Westerson: Don't Call 'Em Dark Ages

I'm pleased to be part of Jeri Westerson's 2009 fall blog tour for her new novel, Serpent in the Thorns, which will be released on September 29. As part of it, here's a guest post from Jeri:

Don’t Call ‘Em Dark Ages

By Jeri Westerson

Continuing my blog tour to promote my newest Crispin Guest Medieval Noir novel, SERPENT IN THE THORNS, I’ve been discussing the various erroneous thoughts people seem to harbor about this most interesting period, the Middle Ages.

One mistaken idea was that this period in time was “Dark” as in “Dark Ages.” Everyone was just waiting around for the Renaissance. It must have been so tedious being in the dark and waiting to be enlightened!

Scholars of any repute do not refer to the Middle Ages as the “Dark Ages.” This usually means the period between 500 and 800 AD. We call this the “Early Middle Ages.” The Early Middle Ages has also been called the “Gothic Period,” but this is also an insult, although an acceptable one. The Italians in the first throes of the Renaissance referred to some of the old, outdated architecture from this early period as “Gothic,” in other words, created by uncivilized barbarians like the Goths who hacked their way through Europe from Germany. (No, they weren’t wearing black lipstick and nail polish with a cynical take on the world.) These were some of the original barbarians (along with the Vandals of Spain. Ain’t history fun?) The Visigoths were the fellows who sacked Rome in 410 and cut a swath in the Empire, tolling its death knell.

The period from 900 to 1100 is referred to as the “High Middle Ages,” and the period between 1200 and 1500 is considered the “Late Middle Ages,” just in case you wondered.

The notion that the Middle Ages was a stopping point in man’s creativity and scientific exploration is ridiculous. The medieval period—a period roughly between 500 and 1500 AD—was coined by the Victorians. “Medieval” means “middle ages,” that is, the period between the classical period of Greece and Rome and the modern (Victorian) era.

One thousand years is a long time. And in that period, there were many innovations, not the least of which is the button and the button hole. There was also the growing science of optics, begun in earnest in the Muslim world around 800 AD, including the notion that the speed of light was finite. The discussion of optics didn’t reach medieval Europe till about the twelfth century and between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries, monks were using “reading stones,” crystal orbs cut in half for magnifying tiny writing.

Optics for glasses didn’t come about till the sixteenth century and lenses for microscopes and telescopes a bit later.

Paper was created in the 1200s, which was handy for all that printing that was about to happen on those printing presses with moveable type, invented in 1440 or so, by the German goldsmtih Johannes Gutenburg.

The hourglass and then the clock were also medieval inventions. The first tower clock in London got to ticking in 1288. Time pieces were first created so that monks and nuns could follow the Divine Office, a series of prayers done in set times throughout the day. Bells were rung to let the populace know when these hours of prayers arrived. Eventually these time pieces became more and more sophisticated.

But before that, there was the sundial, invented in this time period, along with astrolabes for figuring latitudes, and compasses for naval navigation.

Yup, as you can see, they were just sitting around twiddling their thumbs. In the dark. Do you ever get the feeling you were cheated in school all those years ago?


_________________________________


Jeri tries not to cheat in her medieval noir novels. You can read more about her latest release, SERPENT IN THE THORNS, on her website www.JeriWesterson.com



Thanks for stopping by, Jeri!

A Melusine Sighting, A Brand-New Theory, and a Father's Love

In 1445, Margaret of Anjou was present at Nancy at the wedding of her sister, Yolande, to Ferry de Vaudemont. It was a grand occasion, marked by days of jousting, and King Charles VII himself showed up. But what image was on his shield, pray tell? None other than Melusine, the fairy that with a little help from Warwick the Kingmaker and Richard III launched dozens of historical novels claiming that Elizabeth Woodville and her mother practiced witchcraft.

Now, the naive might suppose that Charles VII bore Melusine on his shield because he thought it was a nice story, but this would violate the Two Chief Rules of Fifteenth-Century Revisionist History: (1) if an action has a sinister explanation and an innocent one, the sinister explanation must prevail, and (2) no historical figure can ever be given the benefit of the doubt about anything except for Richard III. We can safely assume, then, that Charles VII's shield was a clear statement that the entire French court was no more than one giant witches' coven. When we consider that the year before, Charles of Maine, uncle to Margaret of Anjou, married Isabella of Luxembourg, sister to the witchy Jacquetta Woodville, and that both the houses of Anjou and Luxembourg were knee-deep in Melusine, our case is closed. In fact, we can probably say that witchcraft, not diplomatic and military bungling, would eventually cost the English the territories that they had gained in France. (I'm proud of this theory, so if anyone tries to steal it, remember you heard it here first.)

What is truly amazing, though, is that long before Edward IV fatally entangled his house with the descendants of Melusine by marrying Elizabeth Woodville, his own father was attempting to match him with the French royal family! In 1445, Richard, Duke of York, tried to arrange a marriage between little Edward and one of Charles VII's daughters. The marriage never took place, possibly because of rising tensions between England and France but more likely because a horrified Duke of York, having learned of Charles VII's allegiance to Melusine and the Forces of Darkness in general, wisely drew back from the abyss yawning before his innocent son. Unfortunately, his fatherly concern could do nothing to save his son from the eventual fate that awaited him at the hands of the sinister Jacquetta and Elizabeth and their ancestress, Melusine.

Sources:

Because I said so. And lots of Novocaine at the dentist's office.

(But yes, Charles VII is recorded as wearing a shield with Melusine on it in 1445, and the Duke of York did indeed try to marry his son Edward to one of Charles's daughters.)

A Word From My Cover Designer

A few posts back, I posted the cover for my forthcoming novel, The Stolen Crown (March 2010), and someone asked me the name of the cover designer. I posted it in the comments, and I was delighted to hear from the designer herself, Cathleen Elliott at FlyLeafDesign. It seemed a shame to have Cathleen's remarks about the cover design process get buried in the comments, so with her permission, I'm reproducing them here:

There is an early scene where Kate sees the secret marriage taking place. She is given a gold chain to keep quiet. This image spoke to me most in the way that the gold chain is there and it is also wrapped around her neck like it is silencing her. She is tugging on it. Which I think is symbolic.

The apple is really just the whole forbidden fruit thing. It's a general feeling about these forbidden marriages. The way she is holding it is seductive and secretive. The apple (figuratively speaking) is the moment when man was driven out of the garden and there was a separation between God and Man. Not that this is a religious reference but here it symbolizes the division between the houses York and Lancaster.

There is also the scene with the apple. Susan, I thought you chose the apple in that scene because there were talks of leaving Kate. That he should just say "She seduced him"

As for the dress it can be so hard to get everything just perfect in one image. This dress is slightly more modern but the feel and the symbolism were right on. The dress is close but mostly serves as a beautiful backdrop.

Yes, I do read the books I work on. It's one of the best pleasures of my job! Lucky me! :-)

There is nothing that makes me happier than a happy author and readers. You all made my day. Truly.

I've posted the cover again, so you can see what Cathleen's talking about without having to go to the sidebar. Thanks again, Cathleen!

EDIT: I'm stopping by to add that the series design work for my three Sourcebooks covers--i.e., typography and the overall layout--was done by Kimberly Glyder at Kimberly Glyder Design (who has a blog here and a website here). Here they are so you can see all three of 'em side by side and note the common elements:

A Giveaway Winner, and Some Splendidly Purple Prose

First, we have a winner for Brandy Purdy's novel! I've notified Terry, who won. Thanks to all who stopped by and entered.

Second, last night, I was trying to find some more information about Reculee, where the widowed Margaret of Anjou settled following her return to France. In doing so, I came across this 1912 biography by one Edgcumbe Staley, entitled King Rene d'Anjou and His Seven Queens, which contains a section on Rene's daughter Margaret. As this book kept me up for a good hour past my bedtime, forcing me to muffle my laughter in order not to disturb the slumbering family, I thought I'd share some highlights. (The whole thing is available on the Internet Archive if you're so inclined.)

Henry was as weak as water; he hated political questions, caring very much more, of course, for peaceful intercourse with his fascinating spouse . . .

The slaying of the Duke of York at the Battle of Wakefield (remember, Margaret was in Scotland at the time):

A troop of horse, headed by young Lord Clifford, and followed immediately by the Queen, mounted and armed, made an impetuous dash to where the Duke's standard hung heavy in the still, damp air. It they captured, and forthwith threw it over Margaret's knees, and with his sword Clifford struck the rebel leader down from his horse, and slew him as he lay at Margaret's feet. In a trice he had severed the head of her mortal enemy, and upon his knee he offered the ghastly trophy to his Queen. "Madam," he said, "the war is over; here is the King's ransom!" The Queen turned sick at the terrible sight, and hysterically sobbed and laughed alternately, and she screamed aloud when soldiers stuffed the blood-dripping head into a common chaff-sack.

In exile, Margaret loses none of her eloquence:

One more affecting speech of the heroic Queen must be recorded. "When on the day of my espousal," she said, "I gathered the rose of England, I was quite well aware that I should have to wear it whole with all its thorns!"

Sadly for Margaret, however, Edward soon avenges his father's death:

Edward, yielding to the base instincts of a cruel nature, very soon got news of Margaret's hiding-place, and with a demoniacal scowl, "Ah, ah !" he cried out, "we've settled the cub; now for the she-wolf!"

. . .

At Coventry, of all places for further outrage, a place so greatly agreeable to Henry and herself, ill-fated Margaret was subjected to personal insults from her vanquisher. In reply she reviled him, and thrust him with abhorrence from her. In revenge he ordered her to be fastened upon a common sumpter horse, and he ordered a placard to be placed on her breast, "This is Queen Margaret, good lieges," and her hands were tied behind her back. Thus was the most valiant, most unselfish, and most loyal Queen that England ever had led to grace the mock triumph of a royal murderer. She was thrust into the foulest dungeon of the grim Tower, and there remained, bereft of food, of service, and well-nigh of reason, too, for seven dreary, weary months.

At last, poor Margaret (still alive after having been deprived of food for seven months) returns to France:

Gently but firmly she had to be restrained, lest she should do herself some harm and injure others. Alas ! Margaret of Anjou came to her death, not in the halo of sanctity, but in the mist of mental obscurity, and thus she died alone perhaps unlamented, and certainly misjudged by posterity. Near her end languor and paralysis seized her, and she passed away unconsciously on August 25, 1482.

Incidentally, Mr. Staley's book was reviewed in the September 1, 1912, New York Times, which pronounced it "graphic and entertaining." I just hope I can match it.

Margaret the She-Wolf?

I thoroughly enjoyed Alianore and Rachel's recent joint post on Isabella, Edward II’s queen. Aside from being very funny, the point it makes is quite valid.

This got me to thinking about Margaret of Anjou, the subject of my novel in progress. Margaret is usually depicted in historical fiction as a vengeful and half-mad harpy, intent on destroying anyone who gets in her path. But how does her body count compare to those of male commanders during the Wars of the Roses?

Not very well, it turns out.

Margaret is said to have ordered the executions of three men, Thomas Kyriell, Lord Bonville, and William Gower, after the second Battle of St. Albans, by having her young son, Edward, pass judgment upon them. The men had been guarding her husband, Henry VI, who was then in Yorkist captivity. Some versions claim that the men had been promised their lives by Henry VI; others claim that Margaret and the prince simply watched the executions and that others gave the orders. Edward IV’s 1461 Parliament mentions only Henry VI in connection with the executions. Having rather disingenuously condemned the hapless Henry for failing at St. Albans to “join his person and blood to the defence, protection and salvation of the same lords and persons coming to assist him by his authority and command [i.e., the Yorkists], like a victorious and a noble captain, but like a deceitful coward,” Parliament goes on to complain that Henry

wilfully allowed those worthy and good knights, William, Lord Bonville, and Sir Thomas Kiryell, called to the order of the Garter for the knightly prowess they had demonstrated, and William Gower, esquire, the bearer of one of his banners, to whom he had given faith and assurance on the word of a king, by his own lips, that he would keep and defend them there from all harm, danger and peril, to be murdered and after that tyrannously beheaded, with great violence, without process of law or any pity, contrary to his said faith and promise, abominable in the hearing of all Christian princes.

Notably, at St. Albans, as Helen Maurer points out, three other Yorkist prisoners, including John Neville, the Earl of Warwick’s younger brother, were spared execution—an odd act if Margaret was indeed the vengeful she-wolf of popular imagination.

The best-known deaths attributed to Margaret, though, are those of the Duke of York, his son Edmund, and Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury, at the Battle of Wakefield. Few historical novels set during this time fail to depict Margaret cackling in glee over their displayed heads after the three are executed in cold blood. There are several problems with such scenes, though. First, Margaret was not at Wakefield to cackle; she was in Scotland at the time of the battle. Second, although one report does indicate that the Duke of York survived the battle long enough to be jeered at by his Lancastrian captors before being executed, most reports indicate that he died in battle. Likewise, it seems more likely that young Edmund died while fighting in the rout instead of being murdered while a helpless captive. As for Richard Neville, although he was captured alive, he was lynched by a mob at Pontefract before his head was put on display.

In fact, the Yorkists, generally depicted by novelists as a chivalrous lot, have a rather higher body count to their credit than does Margaret. Following the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross, the future Edward IV executed the sixty-year Owen Tudor, Henry VI’s stepfather, along with at least several others (the lists of those executed vary and in some cases have been shown to be inaccurate). After the Battle of Tewkesbury, Edward IV executed no fewer than a dozen men, having first broken sanctuary to do so.

Following the Yorkist victory at Northampton in 1460, where Henry VI fell into Yorkist hands, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, succeeded in forcing the defenders of the Tower to surrender it to him. Thomas Browne and six people associated with the Duke of Exeter, the Tower’s constable, were executed at Tyburn, charged with treason against the very king they were supporting, Henry VI. Later, in 1469, Warwick, while nominally still supporting Edward IV as king, executed the elder Richard Woodville, his son John Woodville, and William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke—executions that had no legal justification whatsoever, as all of the men were loyal to Edward IV.

Exeter himself had ten men put to death at Sandwich in 1460 for sending supplies to Warwick. After Warwick had turned Lancastrian, the Yorkist John Tiptoft hung, drew, and quartered several of Warwick’s men.

So to Margaret personally, we can ascribe at most three executions--assuming that she, rather than her commanders or her husband, authorized them. The lives of those three men should not be viewed as unimportant, but assuming that the executions were indeed a breach of a promise made by Henry VI, they were no more unjust than those ordered by Edward IV after Tewkesbury and by Warwick in 1460 and 1469, and no more brutal than those ordered by Tiptoft. (It’s not quite fair to pick on Richard III here, but because for some reason the same novelists who portray Margaret of Anjou as a crazed she-wolf generally also depict Richard as a virtual saint, it should be pointed out that within a twelve-day period, he executed William Hastings, Anthony Woodville, Richard Grey, and Thomas Vaughan without trial, or with only the semblance of a trial, on charges that were never proven. Bonville and Kyrielle, by contrast, at the very least were guilty of deserting the Lancastrian cause for that of the Yorkist one.)

Much of Margaret’s bloody-minded reputation, of course, comes from the chronicles that describe the devastation inflicted by her troops following the Battle of Wakefield. B. M. Cron, however, has analyzed the evidence supporting these accounts and found it markedly lacking. Both she and John Gillingham cast doubts on the accounts of the Croyland Chronicler and Abbot John Whethamstede: Gillingham writes that Croyland’s account does not specify any places that were actually pillaged, but rather “is couched in the vague and emotional rhetoric of unsubstantiated atrocity stories.” Cron concludes that there would have certainly been “pillaging, petty theft, and unpaid foraging” by Margaret’s troops, marching in mid-winter, but that the army “did not indulge in systematic devastation of the countryside, either on its own account or at the behest of the queen.”

Propaganda, it’s too often forgotten, did not begin with the Tudors. Just as it served the Yorkist purpose to paint Margaret as an adulteress, thereby casting doubts on the legitimacy of her son, it also served the Yorkist purpose to depict her and her army as singularly vengeful and cruel. Just because such propaganda served a purpose in the fifteenth century, however, is no reason for us to blindly perpetuate it today.

Sources:

B. M. Cron, “Margaret of Anjou and the Lancastrian March on London, 1461.” The Ricardian, December 1999.

John Gillingham, The Wars of the Roses. Louisiana State University Press, 1981.

C. Given-Wilson et al., eds., The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England. (CD-ROM version).

Helen Maurer, Margaret of Anjou: Queenship and Power in Late Medieval England. Boydell Press, 2003.

A. J. Pollard, Warwick the Kingmaker. Hambledon, 2007.

The Boleyn Wife by Brandy Purdy: A Giveaway

I'm pleased to be offering a giveaway of an advance review copy of Brandy Purdy's The Boleyn Wife, featuring Jane Boleyn, sister-in-law of Anne. The Boleyn Wife was originally self-published as Vengeance Is Mine. I never got to read it in its original version, because it was snapped up by Kensington very quickly, so I'm looking forward to the revised, expanded version.

Brandy and I have known each other for a while online, and we now share the same agent!

Here's the back cover description from The Boleyn Wife:

Shy, plain Lady Jane Parker feels out of place in Henry VIII's courtly world of glamour and intrigue--until she meets the handsome George Boleyn. Overjoyed when their fathers arrange a match, her dreams of a loving union are waylaid when she meets George's sister, Anne. For George is completely devoted to his sister, and cold and indifferent to his bride. As Anne acquires a wide circle of admirers, including King Henry, Jane's resentment grows. But if becoming Henry's queen makes Anne the most powerful woman in England, it also makes her highly vulnerable. And as Henry, desperate for a male heir, begins to tire of his mercurial wife, the stage is set for the ultimate betrayal...

Encompassing the reigns of five of Henry's queens, THE BOLEYN WIFE is an unforgettable story of ambition, lust, and jealousy, of the power of love to change the course of history, and of the terrible price of revenge.

You can enter through September 7. I will send the name and address of the lucky winner to Brandy. (US residents only, sorry.) For more information about Brandy and her books, visit her website.

A Pretty Bess, and a Giveaway

Just stopping by to invite you to take a look at Historically Obsessed, where Lizzy J has produced a lovely drawing of Bess de Montacute! Pretty, isn't she?

Speaking of Hugh and Bess, there's a chance to win it over at Alaine's blog. If you haven't entered yet, now's your final chance to do so, since the drawing will be held on August 31. You have a choice of winning my book, The White Queen, or An Echo in the Bone. That's some impressive company!

The Wars of the Roses and Zombies

Since SonjaMarie over at the Historical Fiction Online forum drew our attention to this upcoming novel, entitled Queen Victoria, Demon Hunter, it has occurred to me that there's a market out there begging to be filled: namely, the Wars of the Roses told as they never have been before.

This possibility is so exciting, I'm practically hopping off my typing chair. Think of how long Cecily, Duchess of York, lived. Yet how much do you hear of her in her later years? Clearly, she must have been a zombie--doing her son Richard III's bidding. And her sister Katherine lived well into her 80's, opening even more possibilities: The Zombie Neville Sisters. Either as a standalone or a series, this is a story that begs to be written.

Of course, if you're going to have zombies, you need to have zombie hunters, which could put a whole new spin on Buckingham's rebellion.

But, you may ask, if there's a place in the Wars of the Roses for zombies, surely there's one for vampires as well? Never fear. What do you think Edward IV and William Hastings were really up to when they were romping around London together? How delectable Eleanor Talbot's neck must have been! And did Richard III finally give way to his own vampiric nature when his brother died? Well, there is actually one source that claims that the unfortunate princes in the Tower were bled to death. Need I say more about how this could have been accomplished? And how better to explain all of those unaccounted-for years of Perkin Warbeck?

Unfortunately, I'm not terribly up on the lifestyles of the undead, so I'm going to need some help executing this series. Yup. I need a ghost writer.

Un-Real Estate, and Other Picky Stuff

As I promised myself, last week I got a copy of Philippa Gregory's The White Queen. I did worse than that, actually: I bought a copy. About halfway through, however, I began to realize that I had done my bank account a great disservice.

I didn't finish the book, so I won't review it per se, save to say that Gregory tells the reader that Melusine was the ancestor of Elizabeth Woodville. Then she tells the reader again that Melusine was the ancestor of Elizabeth Woodville. Then, in case the reader is not absolutely certain of this, she has the characters talk to each other about Melusine being the ancestor of Elizabeth Woodville. There are some good bits of dialogue in the book (Anthony in particular has some nice lines), but I got very tired of wading through rivers of Melusine to get to them.

But what stands out about this novel for me, unfortunately, is its inaccuracies. Now, I make mistakes in my historical fiction. Every author is bound to. But is it really excusable for an author who's been writing about the Tudors for years to have Elizabeth Woodville go to Nonsuch Palace, built by Henry VIII? (You know, the guy who had Mary Boleyn as a sister-in-law.) And the errors just kept on coming. In addition to visiting the then-nonexistent Nonsuch Palace, Elizabeth goes to what she describes as one of her favorite country houses, the manor of Wimbledon, which was actually the property of the Archbishop of Canterbury until Thomas Cranmer gave it to Henry VIII in an exchange. At least Gregory didn't have Elizabeth playing at the royal tennis courts there.

OK, maybe complaining about Wimbledon is a little on the picky side. But Whitehall Palace, where Elizabeth also goes? It was known as York Place in the 15th century, and was a residence of the Archbishop of York until it fell into Henry VIII's hands with the downfall of Cardinal Wolsey. It certainly wasn't a Plantagenet palace.

One mention of Whitehall Palace might have been forgivable. But Elizabeth keeps going back there, again and again. I kept expecting Will Somers to show up and start whistling "Greensleeves."

Then there's the unfortunate Countess of Warwick. Following the Battle of Barnet, she went into sanctuary at Beaulieu Abbey, a monastery. Irritatingly, Gregory keeps calling this a nunnery. Monks, nuns, they're both celibate, so what's the difference?

I've grumbled elsewhere about Gregory's claim in an interview that Jacquetta Woodville was tried and found guilty of witchcraft (a claim Gregory repeats in her author's note), when in fact she was acquitted, so I won't bore on about that again. But why must Gregory present the Woodvilles as being Lancastrians in 1464, when they had made the shift to York following the Battle of Towton? Elizabeth's father was a member of Edward IV's council in 1463!

I could grouse at length about Elizabeth and Hastings being strangers to each other when Elizabeth meets Edward IV, when in fact Hastings and Elizabeth had business dealings with each other before that time, but you get the idea.

Now, all of this may sound overly picky. But if a writer's going to praise herself as a meticulous researcher, as Gregory has done, she needs to actually do meticulous research, and that means getting the little facts right as well as the big ones. Giving Tudor-era residences to Plantagenet queens, confusing monks with nuns, and claiming that people were convicted of serious crimes when they were acquitted of them simply doesn't cut it.

Quiz time: Who was Elizabeth Woodville descended from?

The Parentage of Edward of Lancaster

No historical novel set during the Wars of the Roses is quite complete unless it contains a passage where the parentage of Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou's son, Edward of Lancaster, is called into question. Philippa Gregory's latest effort duly follows this rule by having Jacquetta Woodville tell her daughter that Henry was "struck deaf and dumb nearly for the whole year that the child was conceived and born" and that Margaret took a lover during this time. (In fact, Henry did not go mad until early August 1453, just a couple of months before his son was born on October 13, 1453.) Another recent novel set during the same period has a rustic propose William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, as one of several possible fathers for the child--quite a feat on the duke's part, considering that he was murdered in 1450 and Edward was born in 1453.

While there's no doubt that rumors circulated about the parentage of young Edward, especially in the late 1450's as Yorkist propaganda heated up, there is no evidence, other than gossip, that Edward of Lancaster was the son of anyone other than Henry VI. As both R.A. Griffiths and Helen Maurer have pointed out, the Parliament Rolls for 1455 indicate that Richard Tunstall, an esquire of the body, had previously received a handsome annuity for bringing the king the news of the queen's pregnancy:

Provided also that this petition and act of resumption shall not extend or be prejudicial to our letters patent and grant made by us to Richard Tunstall, knight, by the name of Richard Tunstall, esquire for our body, of 50 marks a year for term of his life, part of an annuity of £40 a year, granted by us for term of his life, to be taken from the issues, profits and revenues of our manors, lands and tenements, and from our other possessions within our county of Lancaster, by the hands of our receivers there at the time: because, among other things, the said Richard gave us the first comforting report and news that our most entirely beloved wife the queen was with child, to our most singular consolation, and a great joy and comfort to all our true liege people.

Maurer also notes that Henry bought a jewel called a "demy ceynt" for Margaret while she was pregnant and that Margaret received generous grants in July 1453, which she suggests were made by Henry as a reward for her pregnancy. It certainly seems unlikely that they would have been made had the king suspected that Margaret was carrying another man's child.

Once Henry recovered from his first episode of mental illness, his reaction to his son was one of pleasure. As the Paston Letters indicate:

Edmund Clere to John Paston.

January 9, 1455.

Right welbeloved cosyn,—I recomaund me to you, latyng you wite such tidings as we have.

Blessed be God, the King is wel amended, and hath ben syn Cristemesday, and on Seint Jones day comaunded his awmener to ride to Caunterbury with his offryng, and comaunded the secretarie to offre at Seint Edwards.

And on the Moneday after noon the Queen came to him, and brought my Lord Prynce with her. And then he askid what the Princes name was, and the Queen told him Edward; and then he hild up his hands and thankid God therof. And he seid he never knew til that tyme, nor wist not what was seid to him, nor wist not where he had be, whils he hath be seke til now. And he askid who was godfaders, and the Queen told him, and he was well apaid.

. . .

And my Lord of Wynchestr and my Lord of Seint Jones were with him on the morrow after Tweltheday, and he speke to hem as well as ever he did; and when thei come out thei wept for joye. And he seith he is in charitee with all the world, and so he wold all tho Lords were. And now he seith matyns of Our Lady and evesong, and herith his Masse devoutly . . .

But what of the old story, that crops up in many historical novels and even in some nonfiction, that Henry VI, unable to comprehend how he could have been the father of Margaret's child, declared that it must be the work of the Holy Spirit? This story comes from a dispatch on March 27, 1461, from Prospero di Camulio, Milanese Ambassador in France, to Francesco Sforza, Duke of Milan. Writing from Brussels about the latest English news, Camulio reported that it was being "said that the King of England had resigned his crown in favour of his son, although they say his Majesty remarked at another time, that he must be the son of the Holy Spirit, etc." What writers who latch onto this tasty morsel of a statement almost never quote is the rest of Camulio's sentence: "but these may only be the words of common fanatics, such as they have at present in that island." Certainly the timing of this gossip, current just a few weeks after Edward IV had taken the throne, should make us suspicious, as it did Camulio.

Those who maintain that Henry VI was not Edward's father often point to the eight-year delay between the couple's marriage in 1445 and the birth of Edward in 1453; they suggest that a desperate or simply wanton Margaret, having given up on Henry's capabilities, recruited another man to beget a child upon her. But the gap between marriage and pregnancy could be explained by other factors, such as subfertility, and is hardly indicative in itself that Margaret resorted to adultery to produce a child. Notably, Cecily of York, who seems to have married her husband no later than 1429 when she was 14 and he was 18, did not have her first child, Anne, until 1439. Despite this lengthy delay, no one has suggested that Anne was anyone other than the Duke of York's child. It seems only fair to give the Red Rose the same benefit of the doubt as the White Rose.

Isn't It Pretty?

Got the cover art for The Stolen Crown today:



It's from Monna Pomona by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

Dumb Stuff I Am Looking Forward To This Week

Yesterday being a beautiful, sunny August day, I went to my library of choice. To my delight, a book I wasn't expecting to be there (it was supposed to be at another branch, which was closed) was on the shelf! I consider this to be a harbinger of the week to come, which promises to be full of all sorts of dumb stuff to look forward to, as follows:

Monday: CiCi's Pizza opens its local branch! I love CiCi's Pizza. It's tasty, and it's cheap. With the new branch, instead of having to drive 30 minutes to satisfy my pizza lust, I will have only a ten-minute drive. So for dinner Monday, I will be treating myself to a medium sausage. The Son and maybe the Husband will probably also have some. The Daughter does not appreciate CiCi's Pizza. (A demon seed?)

Tuesday: Philippa Gregory's The White Queen goes on sale! If what I've heard and read from various sources is true, this will not be a model of historical accuracy, but as a diehard Woodvillian, I'm looking forward to it nonetheless. For one thing, Elizabeth Woodville seems to be portrayed reasonably sympathetically, which is a plus, though I could do without what appears to be her ability to influence the weather.

Wednesday: "Top Chef" starts its new season. (For those who aren't familiar with it, this is a show where chefs compete for a prize, with one being eliminated from competition each week.) I hate to cook, and everyone on this show would probably be appalled by my fast-food tastes. I nonetheless thoroughly enjoy "Top Chef." Go figure.

Thursday: "Project Runway" starts its new season. (This is a show where fashion designers compete for a prize, with one being eliminated from competition each week.) I can't sew, but I do like to wear clothes, though the very stylish host, Tim Gunn, would probably have a coronary if he saw the bathrobe that I am wearing as I type this blog post.

Friday: Finishing up The White Queen while munching on my second CiCi's Pizza of the week. Or maybe my third. It's important to help the local economy, you know.

Saturday: Birthday dinner for my grown niece. I am expected to bring dinner for the kiddies. Guess what I'll be bringing?

Sunday: Probably a trip to the gym to work out all of that CiCi's Pizza.

Blog Award, Squidoo Lens, and a Question About Characters

First, the lovely Anne Whitfield has nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award! Thanks, Anne! I'll soon be nominating some blogs myself (if I don't soon, give me a virtual conk on the head). This leads me naturally to:

Second, for a while I've had a Squidoo Lens on Reading Historical Fiction, which I've just got around to updating. My question is, do you know of any historical fiction blogs that I've missed? I'm not looking for blogs dedicated to a particular author, or author blogs where the author focuses mainly on his or her own writing, or writing-oriented blogs, or blogs that only occasionally discuss historical fiction, but blogs that review primarily historical fiction or post interviews with a variety of historical novelists. If you have one that I've left out, just let me know!

Third, Sharon Penman has been answering reader questions over at Library Thing, and she made a comment that intrigued me, "I don't feel comfortable reading how another writer has treated historical figures I think of as 'mine.'" Now, I know many other authors feel the same way as Penman, but I'm the polar opposite: I love seeing how other authors treat historical people I'm writing about or have written about. This is just sheer compulsiveness on my part: once I become interested in a historical figure, I want to read everything about him or her, and I haven't the strength of character to resist simply because he or she's a person I happen to be writing about.

Many novelists, of course, avoid reading other fictional treatments of their characters because they don't want to risk unconsciously plagiarizing someone else's work. That's the most compelling argument to me in favor of abstinence, though in my completed novels, this wasn't a great risk for me because my main characters figured into other novels only as supporting characters or as villains. With my novel in progress this is more of a concern, because my heroine is the heroine of other published novels. It's not a great concern, because the authors of the books in question differ from me greatly in style, and I will be taking a different slant on some events and giving prominent roles to certain supporting characters who play more background roles in the other novels I've seen.

I'm curious to hear others' thoughts on this, though: if you're a writer, do you avoid reading other fictional treatments of your characters? And if you're a reader, once you've read and liked a fictional portrayal of a historical character, do you prefer to keep that picture unsullied by other portrayals? Or are you a character junkie like me, who will keep on reading everything you can about that character?

Elizabeth le Despenser, Daughter of Hugh and Eleanor

Elizabeth le Despenser (who appears a couple of times in Hugh and Bess) was the youngest surviving daughter born to Hugh le Despenser and Eleanor de Clare. Her birth date is unknown, but either she or her brother John might have been the child born to Eleanor in December 1325, as all of the other Despenser children can be accounted for before that date. It is also possible, in light of the fact that she was not forcibly veiled as a nun like the three middle Despenser daughters, that she was Hugh the younger’s posthumous child, though this is pure conjecture.

Nothing is heard out of Elizabeth until August 1338, when the prioress of Wix sent her to the care of her aunt, Eleanor’s younger sister Elizabeth de Burgh. Eleanor had died the previous year, and Elizabeth’s oldest brother, Hugh, had probably sent his young sister to board at Wix in Essex following their mother’s death. (The manor of Wix had been part of the inheritance of Elizabeth's grandfather, Hugh le Despenser the elder, though it was no longer in Despenser hands in the 1330's.) That same year, Elizabeth was married to young Maurice Berkeley, born in 1330. The marriage was probably an effort by Maurice’s father, Thomas Berkeley, and the Despenser family to mend old grudges: Thomas Berkeley had fought against the Despensers in the 1320’s and had been the keeper of the imprisoned Edward II at Berkeley Castle in 1327. Maurice’s mother, Margaret, was a daughter of the Roger Mortimer who had ordered the death of Elizabeth’s father and grandfather, Hugh the elder Despenser and Hugh the younger Despenser. Elizabeth never got to exchange pleasantries with Margaret about this, though, because Margaret died in 1337, before Elizabeth joined the Berkeley family.

Elizabeth’s brother Hugh gave his sister a marriage portion of 1,000 marks, 200 marks of which were payable each half year. Meanwhile, Thomas Berkeley settled the manor of Hurst in jointure on the young couple.

Elizabeth de Burgh sent little Elizabeth to Tewkesbury around 1340; Frances Underhill suggests that she was sent at this time to join the Berkeleys. Elizabeth again visited her aunt in the summer of 1348, in company with some of her relations. Meanwhile, according to Smyth, Maurice went to Granada in 1344 and stayed there two years; Smyth theorizes that he was sent there to prevent cohabitation with Elizabeth. (Was the girl such a siren?) When the couple finally did get together, though, it was with the usual effect: On January 5, 1353, Elizabeth gave birth to their first son, Thomas. The couple eventually had three more boys, James, John, and Maurice, and three girls, Catherine, Agnes, and Elizabeth. It’s notable that there is not a “Hugh” in the bunch; Maurice and his father must have been the ones picking the children’s names.

Maurice fought at Poitiers in 1356. Unfortunately, he was wounded there and taken captive; he was not released until 1360, when he was ransomed. His wounds had apparently left him an invalid, for he took little part in national affairs even after his father died in 1361. Because of his inability to travel, he was unable to attend his son’s wedding in 1368, but he had himself made a suit of cloth of gold for the occasion.

The abstracts of the Berkeley accounts contain few glimpses of Elizabeth’s married life. She received 20 shillings each quarter for expenses in her chamber, and she is recorded as having a new gown furred with coney skins from the kitchen “during the year of her husband’s sickness,” whatever year that might be. One suspects that Elizabeth’s father might have turned up his nose at the coney skins.

Maurice died at Berkeley Castle on June 8, 1368, aged only about 37, and was buried with his mother at St. Augustine’s in Bristol. As her dower, Elizabeth was granted Wenden in Essex, two-thirds of Portbury and Portishead and Uphill in Somersetshire, the small holding at Chicklade in Wiltshire, and the manors of Coaley, Upton and Awre, and the small holding at St. Chloe in Gloucestershire. Her jointure and dower was worth about £335 a year. She was at least 41 at the time, having been born no later than 1327.

By 1372, Elizabeth had married Sir Maurice Wyth, a knight in Somerset. In that year, the Earl of Pembroke wrote to the abbesses at Romsey and Wherwell requesting them to allow Elizabeth to stay in their houses while Wyth was away in the earl's service. As Elizabeth had no shortage of places to stay, perhaps she simply preferred the atmosphere of a nunnery to her own manors during her husband’s absence. In 1378, Maurice and Elizabeth dated a grant of land from Portbury.

Maurice Wyth made his will on July 11, 1383; it was proven on August 6, 1383. After requesting to be buried at St. Botolph without Aldersgate in London, he left Elizabeth “all my husbandry from the present date until the feast of Saint Michael to come, now growing in Portbury and Portishead with all necessaries pertaining to my chamber, wardrobe, hall and also to buttery and kitchen. To my said wife all my silver vessels of the better sort to the value of £40.” He ended his will with the request, “And it is my last wish that my said wife hold herself contented with all bequeathed to her.” Whether this was a boilerplate clause or whether he was genuinely worried that Elizabeth might covet the rest of his goods is anyone’s guess, but when Elizabeth herself died on July 13, 1389, aged at least sixty-two, she chose to be buried not with the Berkeleys, but at St. Botolph with her second husband.

(Wars of the Roses aficionados may be interested to know that Eleanor Talbot, claimed by Richard III to be the wife of Edward IV, is a descendant of Elizabeth and Maurice Berkeley. Now you know who to blame.)

Sources:

The Complete Peerage.

Thomas Dudley Fosbroke, Abstracts and Extracts of Smyth’s Lives of the Berkeleys.

Roy Martin Haines, King Edward II.

National Archives, Berkeley Castle Muniments.

Eileen Power, Medieval English Nunneries.

Frances Underhill, For Her Good Estate: The Life of Elizabeth de Burgh.

F.W. Weaver, Somerset Medieval Wills.

Jacquetta Woodville and Witchcraft

As most people who have not been in a coma for the last few months know, Philippa Gregory is coming out with a new novel about Elizabeth Woodville, The White Queen. This morning, I noticed that the publisher has posted several videos to Youtube in which Gregory talks about her upcoming novel.

In this video, Gregory chats to an interviewer about witchcraft. About midway through, she states that Jacquetta Woodville was actually tried and found guilty of witchcraft, and would have been executed were it not for the intervention of someone (it appears to me that Gregory is saying "Margaret Bourchier," but I'm not sure). [Edit: As Trish has pointed out, Gregory claims that Margaret of Anjou" intervened.] At that point in the interview, only my enduring love for my flat-screen monitor prevented an encounter between said monitor and human fist.

Where in the world Gregory got this information from, I don't know, for the historical record indicates that Jacquetta was cleared of the charges against her. As for Margaret of Anjou intervening, she was in exile in France at the time! The document showing that Jacquetta was acquitted can be found on Google Books in the Calendar of Patent Rolls, 1467-77, pg. 190. Because I'm an obliging geek, I'll post the entry here (forgive the occasional typo; Google Books loses something in converting PDF to plain text for cut-and-pasting purposes):

Feb. 21. Exemplification, at the supplication of Jaquetta, duchess of Bedford, late the wife of Richard, earl of Rivers, of the tenour of an act in the great council, remaining in the office of the privy seal in the chamber of the great council called ' le Parlment chambre ' within the palace of Westminster, made on 10 February, 9 Edward IV. In the presence of the king and the cardinal archbishop of Canterbury, the archbishop of York, the bishops of Bath, chancellor, Ely, treasurer, Rochester, keeper of the privy seal, London, Durham and Carlisle, the earls of Warwick, Kssex, Northumberland, Shrewsbury and Kent, and the lords Hastinges, Mountjoye, Lyle, Cromwell, Scrope of Bollón, Saye and others a supplication addressed to the king on behalf of the said duchess and two schedules in paper annexed were openly read, and afterwards his highness by the advice of the said lords of the council accepting the declaration of the said lady commanded the same to be enacted of record and letters of exemplification to be made. The tenours of the supplication and schedules above mentioned ensue in this wise. The duchess complains that Thomas Wake, esquire, in the time of the late trouble caused her to be brought in a common noise and slander of witchcraft throughout a great part of the realm, insomuch as he caused to be brought to Warwick to divers of the lords present when the king was last there an image of lead made like a man of arms of the length of a man's finger broken in the middle and made fast with a wire, saying that it was made by her to use with witchcraft and sorcery, and for the performing of his malicious intent entreated one John Daunger, parish clerk of Stoke Brewerne, со. Northampton, to say that there weru two other images made by her, one for the king and one for the queen, whereunto the said John Daunger neither could nor would be entreated, and the king commanded the said Wake and John Daunger to attend upon the bishop of Carlisle, the earl of Northumberland, the lords Hastynges and Mountjoye and Master Roger Radcliff to be examined, and their examination is here annexed, and in the great council on 19 January last she was cleared of the said slander, wherefore she prays that the same may be enacted of record. Thomas Wake says that this image was shown and left in Stoke with an honest person who delivered it to the clerk of the church and so showed it to divers neighbours after to the parson in the church openly to men both oí Schytlanger and Stoîte and after it was shown in Scwriiley, a nunnery, and to many other persons, and of all this he heard or wist nothing till after it was sent him by Thomas Kymbell from the said clerk. John Daunger of Shctyllanger said that Thomas Wake sent to him one Thomas Kymbell, then his bailiff, and bad the said John send him the image of lead that he had and so he sent it, at which time he heard no witchcraft of the lady of Bedford, and that the image was delivered to him by one Harry Kyngeston of Stoke, who found it in his house after the departing of soldiers, and that the said Thomas Wake after he came from London from the king sent for him and said that he had excused himself and laid all the blame on John and bad him say that he durst not keep the image and for that cause sent it to Thomas and also bad him say that there were two other images, one for the king and one for the queen, but he refused to say so. English. [Rolls of Parliament, VI. ¡132.] By p.s. [3033.] 1470. Membranes 4 and 3.

Blog Tour and July Search Terms

Hugh and Bess is officially out today, so I'm going on another blog tour! Look at these sites for reviews, interviews, and a guest post:

Musings of a Bibliophile (7/28)

Passages to the Past (8/1)

My Friend Amy (8/1)

Reading Adventures (8/2)

Jennifer's Random Musings (8/2)

Peeking Between the Pages (8/3)

Historical Novels.info (8/3)

Grace's Book Blog (8/4)

Historical Tapestry (8/5)

Mrs. Magoo Reads (8/5)

Historical Fiction (8/6)

Jenn's Bookshelf (8/6)

The Tome Traveller's Weblog (8/7)

Beatrice (8/8)

Book Addiction (8/9)

Steven Till (8/10)

Medieval Bookworm (8/11)

Carla Nayland (8/11)

The Literate Housewife Review (8/12)

Diary of an Eccentric (8/13)

Bookfoolery and Babble (8/14)

OK, we're done with the self-promotion! Now for what you've been waiting for--search terms!

what does a countess do

Countess stuff. maybe?

david starkey what do you think about jean plaidy?


Feel free to stop by, Dr. Starkey, and tell us!

is jean plaidy explicit

I'll let Dr. Starkey answer that one.

jean plaidy list of reissues

C'mon, Dr. Starkey, get cracking! Don't let us down.

george duke the ghost executed secretly

It's never a good idea to execute a ghost in public. Might get the wrong people upset.

relationship between edward ii and edward ii?


I'm no genealogist, but I'll hazard that it was a pretty close one.

well written steamy historical romance

"Give it to me!" she begged, trembling and tingling with lust. "Now! It is what I have always dreamed of."

"Woman," he whispered in the way that always turned her knees to jelly. "What have I told you? In our language, 'it' must have an antecedent, and you must never end a sentence with a preposition."

"Right," Margaret of Anjou moaned, her body arching madly. "Give yourself, your all, your everything to me. It is what I have always dreamed of, my darling King Henry."

Well, I tried.

Mailing List!

I've been fiddling with my website, and one of the changes I made was to add a mailing list where readers (or anyone else) can be notified about my upcoming releases, giveaways, interviews, book signings, etc. If you'd like to be added, sign up here (the same address is also given in the sidebar). Don't worry, I won't share your information with third parties or send a mailing out every time Boswell sneezes!

Review: The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Bronte by Syrie James

I admit that I was a little reluctant to pick up The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Bronte, mainly because of the title, because with the exception of Sandra Gulland's Josephine Bonaparte trilogy, I haven't been terribly impressed by most novels that take the form of diaries, secret or otherwise. But pick it up I did, because I wanted a paperback to take to the beach, and I was very pleasantly surprised.

The title of this book is actually somewhat misleading, in fact, because although the narrator (Charlotte, of course) occasionally refers to her writing as a diary, the story is not in the usual day-to-day journal format. "Secret Memoirs" would be a more apt title. So if you're not keen on the diary format, there's no need to avoid this novel.

The event that prompts Charlotte to write about her life is the unexpected proposal she receives from her father's curate, Arthur Bell Nicholls. As Charlotte wrestles with the question of whether to accept, she reflects about her evolving relationship with Nicholls, her infatuation with a married professor in Brussels, her career as an author, and her life with her siblings, all now deceased.

James has researched her subject thoroughly, and it shows without appearing pedantic. Her portrayals of Charlotte's friends and family are true to life and three-dimensional, and where the author fills in gaps and creates dramatic tension between Charlotte and her suitor, it seems plausible. Having read more than my fair share of feminist critics who treat Charlotte's marriage to Nicholls as a tragic example of a gifted female succumbing to male domination, I was pleased to see that James treats the marriage positively, and even romantically.

Though one might enjoy this book better if one has read Charlotte Bronte's novels (and those of her sisters), it's not necessary. James' book also contains a number of extras: besides the usual afterword, there's a question-and-answer section for the author, excerpts from some of Charlotte's letters, and some poems by the Bronte siblings.

As I liked this book so much, I'll be picking up James' first novel, The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen.

The Kingmaker's Sisters by David Baldwin

The Kingmaker's Sisters: Six Powerful Women in the Wars of the Roses, a new book by David Baldwin, traces the lives of Joan Neville, married to William Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel; Cecily, married to the short-lived Henry Beauchamp, Duke of Warwick, and the notorious John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester; Eleanor, married to Thomas, Lord Stanley; Alice, married to Henry, Lord Fitzhugh; Katherine, married to William, Lord Harrington, and William, Lord Hastings; and Margaret, married to John de Vere, the long-imprisoned Earl of Oxford. Through their husbands, the sisters often found themselves on opposing sides during the Wars of the Roses, and several experienced individual tragedies because of this.

As is typical of medieval women, little is known about the sisters' personalities and day-to-day lives, but Baldwin has unearthed what traces do exist through examining the sisters' letters, their dealings with others, and in one case (Katherine's) a will. There are nice color illustrations and a handy chronology. Baldwin also transcribes three previously unpublished letters from Eleanor and Katherine.

Baldwin makes note of a rather unsavory episode involving Richard III's ally Francis, Viscount Lovel, whose loyalty to Richard III means that he's generally portrayed by Ricardians as being only a shade or two less saintly than the king. Though Lovel had quitclaimed his interest in the Hastings manor of Ashby, Lovel's father had sold his manor of Bagworth to the Hastings family, and Francis's uncle William Beaumont had been attainted, Lovell nonetheless claimed that the Beaumont properties and those of Ashby and Bagworth, left in the hands of Katherine after the execution of her husband, belonged to him. In order to settle matters with the acquisitive Lovel, Katherine was forced during Richard III's reign to give him 200 marks in cash and to grant him lands totaling a maximum of 200 marks per annum. In return, she was granted the peaceful enjoyment of Ashby, Bagworth, and the rest of the Beaumont inheritance. Richard III, who's often praised by Ricardians for his chivalry toward women, seems to have done nothing to protect Katherine against Lovel, though he had specifically sworn to uphold the interests of Katherine and her children in their lands and goods. Ominously, Francis in his settlement with Katherine indicated that the matter could not "finally be appeased" during the minority of Katherine's son Edward, which suggests, as Baldwin states, that Francis might have driven even a harder bargain once Edward did come of age. Fortunately, the Battle of Bosworth meant that Francis never got the chance. Edward Hastings went on to fight for Henry VII against Lovel at the Battle of Stoke.

I saw one error that made me growl: Richard Woodville is described as "the fifth and last of Queen Elizabeth's brothers." This is not the case; had Richard been the youngest Woodville, his brother Edward, rather than Richard, would have succeeded Anthony as Earl Rivers in 1485. Moreover, although this book is about the sisters, I would have liked a bit more about their husbands' lives in order to better put the sisters' lives in context. Aside from this, though, I found this a very useful and informative book, one that puts a human face on the ever-revolving wheel of fortune during the Wars of the Roses.

Margaret Woodville, Daughter of Anthony Woodville

Of Elizabeth Woodville’s five brothers who lived to adulthood, none left legitimate children. Indeed, only one brother is known to have left an out-of-wedlock child—and that brother was Anthony Woodville, usually thought of as the most straitlaced member of the family. He left a daughter, named Margaret.

Margaret’s mother has been identified as Gwenllian, daughter of William Stradling. Nothing more is known about Gwenllian or her relationship with Anthony, but Margaret’s name suggests that the child might have been born before the battle of Towton, after which Anthony changed his allegiance from the Lancastrian cause to the Yorkist one. Of course, Margaret need not have been named after Margaret of Anjou; she might have been named for one of her mother’s relatives, for a saint, for her godmother, or after Anthony’s sister Margaret. Nonetheless, on New Year’s Day of 1465, John Howard, who was at Edward IV’s Christmas court at Eltham with Anthony and his wife, gave “to my lord Scales child 12d.” Anthony was married to Elizabeth Scales at the time, so the entry could possibly refer to a legitimate child who died young, but it seems more likely that the child is Margaret, since Anthony’s will makes no mention of deceased children.

Nothing else is heard of Margaret until her marriage to Robert Poyntz of Iron Acton in Gloucestershire. According to E. L. Barnwell, who doesn’t cite a source, on September 12, 1479 (19 Edward IV), Anthony settled 800 marks on Margaret, with 200 to be paid on the sealing of the deed; he also settled on her lands worth 100 marks a year. Poyntz was probably born in the late 1440’s and thus was probably about thirty or so. Their first son, Anthony, was born around 1480. Like her paternal grandmother Jacquetta, Margaret was fertile: she gave Robert five sons and four daughters.

Anthony Woodville was executed by order of the future Richard III on June 25, 1483. He made his will on June 23, 1483. Lynda Pidgeon makes much of his failure to name Margaret in his will, of which she writes, “It showed awareness of some of the wrongs he had committed but it displayed no affection. Perhaps he simply did not have feelings for anyone else.” Anthony’s feelings, or lack thereof, cannot be determined by a single document, especially one written when he was under the extreme emotional stress of his impending execution for a crime he most likely had not committed. Much of his will is taken up with directions to pay his debts (for which all of his goods were to “goo to the paying”), to right any wrongs he had done, and to arrange for the welfare of his soul and those of his deceased family members. Knowing that his property would be seized by the crown, he may have thought it futile to leave any bequests to his daughter. Notably, Anthony named Margaret’s husband one of his executors. Lacking more complete records of Anthony’s, we have no way of knowing whether he was generous to his daughter during his life or whether he held her in his affection.

During Edward IV’s reign, Robert Poyntz had been made constable of Carisbroke Castle and of St. Briavel’s (holding the latter office along with his father-in-law) and sheriff of Hampshire. Soon after Anthony’s arrest, the future Richard III stripped Poyntz of these offices. Later, he was replaced as steward of Sodbury. Not surprisingly, Poyntz was among those who rebelled against Richard III in the fall of 1483. He ended up in sanctuary at Beaulieu, where Anthony’s younger brother Lionel, Bishop of Salisbury, had also taken shelter. Poyntz was later pardoned, but in 1485 he fought for Henry Tudor at Bosworth Field. Following the battle, he was knighted on the field. It was the beginning of a long career in Tudor service for Poyntz, who was present at the Field of Cloth of Gold in 1520, where he appeared as a member of Katharine of Aragon’s household. King Francis gave him a gift of plate.

Margaret predeceased Robert, who died on November 5, 1520. In his will, made in October 1520, he asked that a black gown of Margaret’s be made into vestments for the Chapel of Jesus at the “church of the Gaunts beside Bristol,” where he asked to be buried. The vestments were to contain Robert’s arms and those of his wife. Barker, writing in 1892, described the chapel thusly:

The Chapel is entered by a panelled doorway, the sides of which are splayed. The fan-traceried roof is arranged in two main divisions, and in the centre of each is a boss in the form of a carved shield of arms. That to the East contains the arms of Henry VIII. and Catharine of Arragon, and that to the West, those of Sir Robert Poyntz and his wife Margaret Woodville, daughter of Anthony, Earl Rivers.

The “church of the Gaunts” is now known as St. Mark’s or the Lord Mayor’s Chapel. Evidently Robert's and Margaret’s arms can still be seen there in the Poyntz Chapel today. The remains of the couple’s home in Iron Acton—mainly a wing built by their grandson to impress the visiting Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn—are open to tourists (leave your high heels at home). On the premises is a sundial designed for Robert in 1520 by Nicholas Kratzer.

Sources:

William Robert Barker, St. Mark’s, or the Mayor’s Chapel, Bristol (Formerly Called the Church of the Gaunts) (available on Google Books).

E. L. Barnwell, “Notes on the Perrot Family.” Archaeologia Cambrensis (January 1865), p. 32 (available on Google Books).

Anne Crawford, ed., Howard Household Books. Gloucestershire: Alan Sutton, 1992.

Frederick Arthur Crisp, Abstracts of Somerset Wills, 1890 (available on Google Books).

Louise Gill, Richard III and Buckingham’s Rebellion. Gloucestershire: Sutton, 2000 (paperback edition).

Alasdair Hawkyard, ‘Poyntz, Sir Robert (b. late 1440s, d. 1520)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, Sept 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/70796, accessed 20 July 2009]

Rosemary Horrox, Richard III: A Study in Service. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991 (paperback edition).

John Maclean, ed., The Visitation of the County of Gloucester, Taken in the Year 1623 (available on Google Books).

Luke MacMahon, ‘Poyntz, Sir Anthony (c.1480–1532/3)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, Sept 2004; online edn, May 2006 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/22689, accessed 20 July 2009]

Lynda Pidgeon, “Antony Wydevile, Lord Scales and Earl Rivers: Family, Friends and Affinity. Part 2,” The Ricardian, 2006.

Again, Katherine Woodville Was Not a Cradle Robber!

As the research librarian for the American branch of the Richard III Society (yes, this is rather an anomalous position for a non-Ricardian to be in, sort of like a liberal in the Republican party), I just bought a shiny new book by Peter Hancock entitled Richard III and the Murder in the Tower. After inhaling that nice new book smell, I flipped to the parts about Henry Buckingham, and the first thing I saw was, "Buckingham most probably resented the Woodvilles because at the age of twelve in 1466, he had been forced to mary the queen's sister, Catherine Woodville, who was twice his age. Obviously, Buckingham had bided his time, and now saw the present situation as an opportunity to revenge himself upon his erstwhile oppressors."

People! First, Buckingham was born on September 4, 1455, so he was not 12 in 1466. Second, the description of Elizabeth Woodville's May 1465 coronation names Katherine as the younger Duchess of Buckingham, so Buckingham was most likely married to Katherine before May 1465, not in 1466. Third--and this is a big third--Katherine Woodville was not twice Buckingham's age! She was in fact probably only about seven when she married the nine-year-old Buckingham in 1465.

Hancock, like every other Ricardian who claims that poor little Buckingham was forced by the Evil, Nasty Woodvilles to marry a grown woman twice his age, doesn't cite a source for his claim, which is contradicted by every bit of primary source evidence available--a postmortem inquisition for Katherine's brother Richard, which puts Katherine's birthdate at around 1458; the description of Elizabeth Woodville's coronation, where Buckingham and Katherine are described as being toted around on squires' shoulders; and Elizabeth Woodville's household records, which show that Katherine was being raised in the queen's household. A birthdate of 1458 is also consistent with an old pedigree which states that Katherine was the youngest of the Woodville siblings and with the birthdate of Katherine's eldest son, who was born on February 3, 1478.

Is it really too much, she asked forlornly, to ask nonfiction writers to do a little research before writing about the Woodvilles?

Hugh and Bess Now Available!

I'm working on another post, but I did want to stop by and mention not at all subtly that Hugh and Bess is now showing up as "In Stock" on Amazon. It also seems to be on the shelves in some Barnes and Noble stores, though I haven't had the chance to stop by my local one yet to check. No doubt I might find myself stopping in there today and accidentally wandering by the H's--just to check on Georgette Heyer's books, of course.

My box of author's copies came in while I was out of town, and the new edition is lovely! Incidentally, it has some scenes, including the ending scene, that weren't present in the original self-published version. Hugh, the hero, is one of my favorite characters, so I hope you'll read his story!

"Further Reading" Sections in Historical Novels?

I'm going out of town for a couple of days (work, not pleasure, but with pretty scenery, I hope). While I concentrate on lofty, airplane-encouraging thoughts, here's a question for you: Do you like it when historical novelists include a "Further Reading" section in their books? Or do you find it pretentious and/or unnecessary? Do you look at it, or pass it by?

Personally, I like it when an author provides a "Further Reading" section, and I've put one in The Stolen Crown. If I'm not familiar with a period or a historical figure, it's useful to have a list of resources so I can read further, and if I am familiar with the period or person in question, I can get a good idea of the slant an author's going to take simply by looking at the books he or she thinks are worthy of being included in the section. I can also get a sense of how much research an author's done: if a historical figure's been the subject of recent, well-thought-of biographies but the "Further Reading" section in a new novel doesn't include any of them, it's a red flag, though not always an infallible one.

Some authors, however, don't include a separate "Further Reading" section, but do take the opportunity in their author's note to mention some of the works they've relied upon. Some novels, particularly older ones such as some of Jean Plaidy's, contain a "Works Consulted" section but usually no author's note. Some compile a suggested reading list for their websites, but leave it out of their novels.

If an author does include a "Further Reading" section, how extensive should it be? Books only? Books and articles? Books that can easily be obtained at a local library or a bookstore, or books that a reader might have to utilize a university library or inter-library loan to obtain? Most authors seem to confine themselves to books, as I did, because listing articles would have made for a very long list, more suited for an academic book than a novel.

So what do you prefer?

Katherine Vaux and Her Children: From the Lancastrians to the Tudors

In researching Margaret of Anjou, I came across something that I hadn't expected--a happy ending of sorts. Not to Margaret's own story, but to that of her faithful lady-in-waiting, Katherine Vaux.

When Margaret of Anjou was taken into custody after the Battle of Tewkesbury, Katherine Vaux, along with the Countess of Devon and Margaret's daughter-in-law Anne Neville (future queen to Richard III), were with her. The death of Edward of Lancaster at the battle meant that Margaret had lost her only son and Anne her first husband. Katherine too was widowed: her husband, William Vaux, fell at Tewkesbury.

Born in Provence as Katherine Peniston, Katherine was the daughter of Gregory Peniston of Piedmont, said by some to have been an English exile. Katherine may have accompanied Margaret when she came to England in 1445 as its new queen. Under her maiden name, she is listed as one of the queen's damsels in the 1452-53 household records, which also list as one of Margaret's ladies a certain "Dame Isabel Grey," who depending on which historian one reads might or might not be Elizabeth Woodville. Margaret's jewel accounts for the same period show that Katherine received a gift of a "chopin," a drinking vessel.

On December 22, 1456, Katherine and three other people were granted letters of denization, a process that made them English subjects but that did not give them all of the rights of an English citizen. By this time, Katherine had married William Vaux, who was born in 1437. Vaux owned the manor of Great Harrowden in Northamptonshire. A loyal Lancastrian, he was attainted in 1461 and shared Queen Margaret's exile abroad before returning to England to meet his death at Tewkesbury.

Despite their political difficulties, William and Katherine had found time to start a family: they had two children, Nicholas (born in around 1460) and Joan (also called Jane). Nicholas is said to have been raised in Margaret Beaufort's household, and Joan might have been there as well.

Following the defeat at Tewkesbury, the widowed Katherine appears to have shared Margaret's imprisonment and to have accompanied her back to France in 1476 when she was returned to that country as part of the Treaty of Picquigny. In 1478, Edward IV granted her a life interest in the manors of Stanton in Buckinghamshire and Markham (Marcham) in Berkshire, which she had held jointly with her husband and should have received upon his death.

Margaret of Anjou died in 1482. Katherine was one of the witnesses to her will, made on August 2, 1482. She returned to England, where Richard III later granted her an annuity of 20 marks. Perhaps this kind gift was made at the request of Queen Anne, who would have known Katherine from Anne's days as Margaret of Anjou's daughter-in-law.

It was the defeat of Richard III, however, that signaled a new life for Katherine and her two children. Henry VII's 1485 Parliament reversed the attainder of William Vaux, allowing Nicholas to inherit his father's lands. Nicholas was also given the stewardships of Olney and Newport Pagnell in Buckinghamshire. It was the beginning of a long career in Tudor service for Nicholas.

Katherine Vaux was present at Prince Arthur's christening in 1486, and Nicholas was knighted the following year after the Battle of Stoke, where he fought for Henry VII. Katherine attended Elizabeth of York's coronation ceremonies in 1487, where Nicholas was one of the men who bore a canopy over the queen's litter as she proceeded to Westminster. A "Dame Johanna Gilforde" was also present at the coronation: this was probably Katherine's daughter Joan, who had married Richard Guildford by 1489. Guildford had participated in the October 1483 rebellion against Richard III and had fled abroad to join Henry Tudor in exile.

According to the Complete Peerage, which lists a source I haven't been yet able to check, Katherine Vaux was still alive on June 28, 1509, when the new king, Henry VIII, granted her an annuity of 20 marks. She had lived to see six kings on the throne of England: Henry VI, Edward IV, Edward V, Richard III, Henry VII, and Henry VIII. Meanwhile, her son Nicholas had a distinguished career. He was made Baron Vaux of Harrowden in 1523, but did not have much time to enjoy his new status, for he died about three weeks later on May 14, 1523, having married twice and had a number of children. His heir, Thomas Vaux, was painted by Hans Holbein. Thomas Vaux was a poet as well as a courtier: George Puttenham in The Arte of English Poesie wrote that "his commendation lyeth chiefly in the facillitie of his meetre, and the aptnesse of his descriptions such as he taketh upon him to make, namely in sundry of his Songs, wherein he sheweth the counterfait action very lively & pleasantly."

Like her mother, Joan Guildford served in a queen's household, in this case Elizabeth of York's. There she became particularly close to Elizabeth's daughter Mary. Joan accompanied Mary to her marriage to Louis XII in 1514. Unfortunately, Louis XII found the influx of English ladies, and the overbearing Joan in particular, too much to bear, and sent most of them home. Mary sent off indignant letters to her brother Henry VIII and to Thomas Wolsey begging for the recall of her "Mother Guildford," but to no avail; later, Louis XII informed an English ambassasor that he did not want "when he would be merry with his wife to have any strange woman with her." Joan returned to England and was given an annuity of twenty pounds by Henry VIII, who later raised the sum to sixty pounds.

Joan married twice. Her first husband, Richard Guildford, was prominent in Henry VII's administration, although he eventually had to leave office, perhaps at the instigation of Henry's unpopular ministers, Sir Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley. He died in Jerusalem in 1506. Joan's son with Richard, Henry Guildford, was a favorite of Henry VIII and remained in favor despite the mutual dislike between him and Anne Boleyn; he died in 1532. Joan's second husband was Anthony Poyntz, whose mother, Margaret, was the illegitimate daughter of Anthony Woodville. Poyntz died in 1533; Joan outlived him. She died in 1538. Though in a letter dated 1535, she had described herself dolefully as a "poor widow," this should not be taken literally: at the time of her death, her money, plate, and jewels totalled 12,000 marks.

Joan made a rather better impression on Erasmus than she had on Louis XII: on May 15, 1519, the humanist wrote a letter to Joan's son Henry Guildford in which he sent his compliments to Joan, with whom Erasmus had conversed on "one or two occasions."


Sources:

Calendar of Patent Rolls.

The Complete Peerage.

Sean Cunningham, ‘Guildford, Sir Richard (c.1450–1506)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, Sept 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/11723, accessed 12 July 2009]

Keith Dockray, ‘Guildford, Sir Henry (1489–1532)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/11721, accessed 12 July 2009]

Diana E. S. Dunn, ‘Margaret (1430–1482)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/18049, accessed 12 July 2009]

Kathy Lynn Emerson, Wives and Daughters: The Women of Sixteenth Century England.

L. L. Ford, ‘Vaux, Nicholas, first Baron Vaux (c.1460–1523)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, Sept 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/28162, accessed 12 July 2009]

Mary Anne Everett Green, Lives of the Princesses of England.

Barbara J. Harris, English Arisstocratic Women: 1450-1550.

Michael Jones and Malcolm Underwood, The King's Mother: Lady Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby
.

John Leland, De rebus Britannicis collectanea.

Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, of the Reign of Henry VIII.

A. R. Myers, "The Household of Queen Margaret of Anjou, 1452-3," Bulletin of the John Rylands Library.

A. R. Myers, "The Jewels of Queen Margaret of Anjou." Bulletin of the John Rylands Library.

Maria Perry, The Sisters of Henry VIII.

'Parishes: Great Harrowden', A History of the County of Northampton: Volume 4 (1937), pp. 178-185. URL: http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=66344 Date accessed: 12 July 2009.

Mary Anne Everett Wood, Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies of Great Britain.

H. R. Woudhuysen, ‘Vaux, Thomas, second Baron Vaux (1509–1556)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, Sept 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/28163, accessed 12 July 2009]

Ten of My Favorite Opening Lines

I'm in the midst of edits for The Stolen Crown, so I've been a bad blogger lately. Anyway, because some time ago, I mentioned some of my favorite closing lines from novels, I thought I'd do the same for opening lines I like. As was the case then, my favorite writers are overrepresented, but I at least did find one historical novel to round off the bunch:

Jane Austen, Persuasion:

Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed.

Charles Dickens: Bleak House:

London. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln's Inn Hall.

[Yes, I cheated with two lines there.]

Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son:

Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great armchair by the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket bedstead, carefully disposed on a low settee immediately in front of the fire and close to it, as if his constitution were analogous to that of a muffin, and it was essential to toast him brown while he was very new.

Charles Dickens, Great Expectations:

My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit than Pip.

Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre:

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.

Anne Tyler, Back When We Were Grownups

Once upon a time, there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person.

Barbara Pym, A Glass of Blessings:

I suppose it must have been the shock of hearing the telephone ring, apparently in the church, that made me turn my head and see Piers Longridge in one of the side aisles behind me.

Anne Tyler, Searching for Caleb:

The fortune teller and her grandfather went to New York City on an Amtrak train, racketing along with their identical, peaky white faces set due north.

P. D. James, Unnatural Causes:

The corpse without hands lay in the bottom of a small sailing dinghy drifting just within sight of the Suffolk coast.

Reay Tannahill, The Seventh Son:

"Sapphires for my bride-to-be and a severed head for the king my brother," said Duke Richard cheerfully.

Just a few: I'm sure I'll think of some more later that I wish I had included. Got some you want to add?

June Search Terms

Per the fine folks at Tiger Technologies, who show me what search terms people have used to reach my website:

susan higginbotham bio

"The Childhood Years" has some interesting stuff in it, but "The Teen Years" is a bit of a drag. Skip forward to "The College Years."

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Only my epidemiologist knows for sure.

brief story of edward ii

He was king. Some people didn't like that. Including his wife.

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No. (What are you trying to do, complicate my story?)

katherine wingfield or katherine wingfield or wingfield katherine

This is a person who's taking no chances.

jacquetta de luxembourg or jacquetta de luxembourg or de luxembourg jacquetta

If I were a matchmaker, I'd get this searcher together with the last one.

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Evidently, the letter "c" wasn't one of them

are there still dukes and duchesses

Yes. Thanks to:

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Resulting in:

son of duke and duchess

can isabella of france make you have money

She's certainly free to try. Just send it to my PayPal account.