Her mother’s voice was sharp, a silver blade in the cool darkness. Five-year-old Elizabeth Howard sat up, her heart pounding.
‘You too, Anne. We must hurry,’ Lady Howard said, shaking her eldest daughter.
Anne Bourchier, Elizabeth’s half-sister, sat up with a groan. At fifteen years old, she was on the border between the world of girls and women.
‘Is there news?’ Anne said, her voice crackling with slumber as she fought to throw off her deep sleep.
‘A messenger,’ Lady Howard said, her tone stark. ‘The king is dead. Henry Tudor wears the crown. Until we know how he will treat his enemies, we must seek sanctuary. Hurry, girls, this is no time for chatter, we must be gone by daybreak.’
Nine days earlier, the young Elizabeth had watched her father, Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey and her grandfather, John Howard, 1st Duke of Norfolk, ride out to join King Richard III. The clatter of hooves, the dust rising in the hot August air – all had thrilled her with the certainty of victory.
Tudor had landed in Pembrokeshire on 7 August and, with an ever-growing force, had made his way across the country. The Howard men had responded to the call to arms without hesitation, sending their wives to safer, more defendable properties. Elizabeth Howard, the Countess of Surrey and Elizabeth’s siblings had been despatched to Shurland Hall in Kent, a home owned by a distant Cheney cousin.
For Elizabeth, the most thrilling news was not to do with the battle, but that for the duration of their stay, she would be sharing with Anne rather than sleeping in the nursery with her younger brothers.
‘Why?’ she had asked Mrs Crew, her nursery maid.
‘Your mother has decided it will be easier for the servants,’ she had replied.
Elizabeth had felt this was an unsatisfactory response but decided not to question Mrs Crew further; she adored her older sister.
When a variety of bags and small travelling boxes had been delivered to their room and they were given the unusual instruction to leave them packed, she had been curious, lifting the lids and peering inside to see why they must remain shut.
‘Is this necessary?’ she had heard Anne whisper as her mother handed them each a leather satchel for portable belongings. ‘King Richard will win; he has Father and Grandfather on his side, as well as many other great men. They will rout the pretender Henry Tudor in a trice.’
‘Foolish girl,’ her mother had snapped. ‘Never tempt the devil with such complacency. You must pray harder than ever tonight to ensure success on the battlefield for our beloved men.’
Anne had been stricken when their mother had burst into tears. ‘Mama, I apologise?—’
‘No, I’m the one who is sorry,’ her mother had said, pulling Anne into a tight embrace while Elizabeth gawped, her fingerssmoothing the soft leather of her new bag. ‘This is a terrible time and, if the king were to be defeated, the outcome could be disastrous.’
Elizabeth had leaned, round-eyed and confused, on the vast bed as her mother and half-sister had sobbed together. When they parted, turning to her with watery but reassuring smiles, she had felt her own bottom lip tremble.
‘Is Papa in danger?’ Elizabeth had asked.
‘No, Lizzie, Papa will be home soon,’ her mother had said, gathering her into a hug.
‘As will your grandpapa,’ added Anne.
Despite their smiles, Elizabeth had prayed for her father and grandfather extra hard every night, promising to be good until both were safely home.
The countess moved to the side table to light a candle against the early-morning shadows, the flicker of golden light bringing Elizabeth back to the present.
‘If the king is dead, what will happen to Papa?’ asked Elizabeth, panic rising inside her.
‘He’s a prisoner,’ replied Lady Howard, then with a sob, ‘and your grandfather is slain. Until we have more news, we must flee. We shall follow the example of our once dear queen and seek sanctuary with the nuns.’
‘Where?’ said Anne, her face white with shock.
‘In the Abbey Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary and Saint Sexburgha on the Isle of Sheppey,’ replied her mother. ‘It’s a welcoming place and my mother has connections to the land.’
‘What about the boys?’ asked Anne, referring to her younger half-brothers: Thomas, Edward, Edmund, John, Charles and Henry.
‘They are young, the nuns will accept them. They will meet us downstairs,’ Lady Howard replied. ‘Dress warmly, girls, and bring only one small bag. We leave in one hour.’
The bedroom door slammed behind her and Elizabeth and Anne exchanged a worried glance. Anne squeezed Elizabeth’s hand in reassurance before throwing back the covers and hastening to the two small coffers that held their clothes.
‘Come on, Lizzie,’ she said, ‘we must wrap up against the cool dawn air. It might be August, but the weather has been poor.’
