among those who felt it was necessary to leave England were Sir Edward and Lady Frampton. They were staunch supporters of the House of York—so much so that they were committed to help bring that House back to power if it was at all possible for them to do so.
When they settled at Tournay in Flanders they had been able to bring much of their wealth with them and they were made very welcome and took several people into their household.
Peter’s good looks and amazingly pleasant manners secured him a place and very soon he became a favorite of Lady Frampton.
“You remind me,” she told him, “of our great King Edward. He was exceptionally handsome. The people loved him. It was the greatest tragedy that could befall England when he died. And, Peter, you have a look of him.”
Peter was flattered and was eager to discover all he could about the handsome King to whom he bore such a strong resemblance.
Lady Frampton was always ready to talk to him. When she rode out Peter would act as her groom and she often sent for him in the house so that she could chat to him.
It was very pleasant for her to have such an attentive audience and she was only too glad to speak of the past because the present seemed so hopeless.
“If only,” she was fond of saying, “by some stroke of good fortune, we could drive the usurping Tudor from the throne.”
Peter asked a great many questions about the late King Edward to whom he bore such a resemblance.
“I suppose,” said Lady Frampton, “the King was in Flanders at some time. I’d be ready to swear, Peter, that he was interested in some Flemish maid and that you were the result.”
“My mother is a very virtuous wife.”
“I know . . . I know. But sometimes those whom we believe to be our parents are not. You understand what I mean, Peter? Suppose the lady you think of as your mother was asked to care for a child . . . a child who came rather mysteriously into the world. Suppose that child was the result of a liaison between some persons who dared not divulge their identity.”
If it was an absurd supposition, Lady Frampton refused to accept the fact. Edward had many bastards but he had never made any secret of the fact. He had no one to answer to and even his Queen had been aware of his activities in that field and knew she must turn a blind eye to them.
Still, it was interesting to talk and the boy was very pleased at the prospect of having a king for a father. He wanted to know about the sons Edward had had by the Queen and why they didn’t rise up and take the throne away from this obnoxious Tudor.
“They disappeared. . . .It is most mysterious for none so far as I have heard have an answer to the question. Richard the Third declared the children illegitimate. The two boys were put into the Tower of London. They have never been seen since.”
“Did King Richard murder them?”
Lady Frampton was indignant. “Richard was a good Yorkist king—brother of Edward. He would never murder his own nephews. It was the Tudor. You see while they lived they were a menace to him. The elder of the boys was Edward the Fifth; his younger brother was Duke of York. And if Edward died there was still Richard of York to come before this Tudor.”
“So he kept them imprisoned in the Tower.”
“Yes . . . and no one knows what became of them.”
“If they were alive would they not show themselves?”
“It may be that they will one day.”
“And I look like them, you say, my lady?”
“Very much so. They had long blond hair . . . just like yours. And a certain bearing . . .”
Peter was very proud. He was very careful of the way he looked, the way he walked; he studied noblemen and imitated them.
Lady Frampton remarked to Sir Edward that the boy grew more royal-looking every day.
When the Framptons left for Portugal Peter went with them. He had a great desire to see the world. Lady Frampton’s talk of his resemblance to the Princes had set ambition growing in him and he had a feeling that he might become the center of great events. He dreamed about himself and there were times when his dreams seemed more real than his everyday life.
He had not been long in Lisbon when he made the acquaintance of a knight called Peter Varz de Cogna—a somewhat battle-scarred gentleman who had lost an eye and who seemed to young Peter one of the most interesting people he had ever met. The Knight too noticed the royal looks of young Warbeck and he talked to him a great deal about the recent uprising headed by Lambert Simnel.
“It is clear that the Tudor is uneasy on the throne of England,” he said. “And it is not to be wondered at considering he has very little right to it.”
Peter liked to hear how Lambert Simnel the baker’s son had been taken from his father’s shop by the priest Richard Simon and had come within a short distance of taking the throne of England.
“A baker’s son!” cried Peter, aghast. “How did he manage to pass himself off for the Earl of Warwick?”
“He had such good looks . . . and a manner of carrying himself. They say he looked the part and when they had taught him to speak . . . as an earl would speak—well, it might have been an earl himself.”
“And now he is just a scullion.”
“Some would say he has been lucky.”
“Of course he might have succeeded. And if he had . . . ?”
