The queen’s majordomo was called forth. He looked haughtily upon the duke’s men, for he knew his mistress liked her husband’s brother no better than the duke liked Elizabeth Woodville. “What is it you want?” he demanded.
“Our master, the Duke of Gloucester, asked that we deliver my lady the Countess of Stanton into the queen’s care. He found her yesterday with her servant on the high road seeking the king, who is her natural father. Her family has been slain by Lancastrians, and she is alone in the world.”
The majordomo raised a skeptical eyebrow, but the duke’s man did not budge. “Who is her mother?” he demanded to know. “I have been with the queen since before the days of her marriage to King Edward.”
“My mother was Jane Radcliffe,” Adair spoke up quietly.
Suddenly the majordomo softened his attitude. “Lady Jane Radcliffe?” he said. “Yes, I remember her well. Unlike some, she treated my mistress with the greatest respect.” He stared at Adair. “You are your mother’s image, my lady. Come in! Come in!” He waved a dismissing hand at the duke’s men. “You may go. You have done your duty, and I will see that my lady the Countess of Stanton is presented to the queen.” He looked at Beiste. “Take the dog to the kennels as you leave.”
“Nay, Beiste remains with me,” Adair said in a commanding tone. “He is mannerly, sir.”
The majordomo shrugged. “Very well,” he replied.
“Come along now, my lady.”
Turning a moment, Adair thanked the duke’s men for their service. Then she, Elsbeth, and Beiste followed after the queen’s majordomo as he led them into the house, up the stairs, and into the queen’s hall, where Elizabeth Woodville was seated with her women and two eldest daughters listening as a minstrel sang. A fire burned in a large stone hearth. The high board was set with plates of cold meats, bread, and cheeses. There was a bowl of both apples and pears.
Elizabeth Woodville looked up as her majordomo came into the chamber. Seeing the woman, the child, and the wolfhound accompanying him, she cocked her head to one side. “What is this, Roger?” she asked him as he came before her.
“Your Highness, may I present to you Lady Adair Radcliffe, the Countess of Stanton. It is not my place to tell you her tale.” He stepped back.
Adair came forward and curtsied prettily. “Your Highness, I beg that you give to me the friendship that you once promised to my late mother, Jane Radcliffe, who served you loyally. My parents have been slain by renegade Lancastrians, and I was forced to flee for my life with my servant and my dog. Before they sent me to safety my parents told me the truth of my birth.”
“Did they?” Elizabeth Woodville said softly. Had the child looked anything like her sire the queen knew she would have hated her on sight. But Adair Radcliffe looked exactly like her mother.Perhaps, the queen thought,I should still hate her. But she couldn’t. Jane Radcliffe had done everything she could to keep from the king’s bed. In the end it was her husband who had sold her for an earldom. Not that it had actually cost Edward a ha’penny, for his leman’s husband had land aplenty. “I remember your mother well, Adair Radcliffe. The king must decide what is to be done with you, but until that time you are welcome in my household.
Your servant and dog as well,” Elizabeth Woodville said with a smile. “How old are you?”
“Six, Your Highness, this August past,” Adair answered.
“Elizabeth, Mary, come here to me,” the queen called to her two eldest daughters. “Come and meet her ladyship the Countess of Stanton, who will now be in the nursery with you.” As the two little girls came forward the queen introduced them. “This is the Princess Elizabeth, who will be seven in February. And Princess Mary, who was five on the sixth of August.”
“Oh!” Adair said excitedly, “we share the same birthday, my lady.”
Mary of York looked haughtily at Adair. “I do not share my birthday with anyone,” she said in a hard little voice. “I am a king’s daughter.”
“So am I!” Adair snapped back, and then she clapped her hand over her mouth.
Elizabeth Woodville laughed softly. “You do not look like your sire,” she remarked, “but you have his pride, I see. Well, the cat’s escaped the bag, and there is no help for it. Adair was sired by your own father, my daughters, which is why she will have our aid and comfort, for she is your blood kin. Where is Mags?”
“I am here, Your Highness.” Lady Margaret Beaufort came forward. She was a tall woman in her late twenties with chestnut-colored hair that showed from beneath her headdress, and fine dark blue eyes. Although her son was the heir to the house of Lancaster, she was nonetheless a trusted member of the queen’s household, and the royal governess. Her intellect and serene manner were much admired.
“This is Adair Radcliffe, the Countess of Stanton, Mags. She’s one of Edward’s bastards. Her family has been killed, and she has been sent to us. She is a bit younger than Bessie. I’m putting her in the nursery with the girls. You will have charge over her,” the queen said.
“She has her own servant.”
“Very good, Your Highness,” Lady Margaret Beaufort said. She looked at Adair. “The dog is yours?”
“Yes, my lady.” Adair’s little hand rested on Beiste’s head.
“He goes into the kennel. I will not have a dog in my nursery,” Lady Margaret said in a no-nonsense tone.
“Then I shall go into the kennel with him,” Adair said stubbornly. “I will not be separated from Beiste. He is my best friend, and all I have left of Stanton.”
“You will not like the kennel,” Lady Margaret remarked dryly.
“Probably I will not,” Adair admitted, “but I will not send Beiste away. It would be cruel. And I am all he has left of Stanton.”
Margaret Beaufort looked down at the little girl standing so politely but defiantly before her. There was something about this child that reached out and touched her heart. “There are cats in the nursery,” she pointed out.
