Betrayal (54 page)

       
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On the evening of May 2
nd
, as she stood in the gathering gloom outside the Great Hall, Sarah learned the horrible news. The Queen and Lord Rochford had been arrested and were now lodged here in the Tower of London.

             
It was Mistress Stephens again who shared the news almost gleefully for she knew of Sarah’s close connection to the Queen. The older woman stood with her hands on her hips and her feet splayed as she delivered the news.

             
“Where are they?” Sarah pleaded.

             
“The Queen be in her own apartments in the Queens’ House. I doan’t know where her brother is,” Mary Stephens replied as she stooped to sweep dust from her skirt.

             
“I don’t believe you,” Sarah replied sharply.

             
“Suit yourself, but it’s true,” the older woman said, flicking a piece of dust from her sleeve.  “I tell ye it is true. They was arrested at the May Day tournament yesterday at Greenwich. Brought here last night by barge, they was,” the older woman said triumphantly.

             
“But why, it doesn’t make any sense?” Sarah asked, pleading for more details.

             
“Sense you want, there is no sense to it. They are charged with treason, that’s all I knows.  I asked my Bill this morning but that’s all he knows too. There be others arrested too.”

             
“Who? Who was arrested?” Sarah demanded.

             
“Master Weston for one,” the woman said scratching her head.  Mary Stephens lifted her eyes skyward as she searched her mind for the other names.  “Henry Norris is one and I thinks that fancy music maker of hers is another. They say the poet Wyatt is in yonder tower,” she continued, pointing to the building known as Bloody Tower.  “There is another man yet, but I can’t recollect his name.  Well, I must be getting home. My Bill will be looking for his supper,” Mistress Stephens said, turning away from Sarah.

             
“But why have they been arrested?” Sarah called after the departing woman.

             
“How am I to know? I just lives here. I’ll ask my Bill again, maybe he knows more by now. Well, good night to you,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

             
Sarah stared numbly down at the cobblestones at her feet. The world was going mad. Nothing made sense anymore. Elisabeth locked in the Salt Tower and now the Queen and Lord Rochford arrested.  Sarah’s head ached as she tried to understand, but there was no understanding such unfathomable things.

             
She heard her father’s shout and reluctantly turned homeward. Briefly she thought of asking him for news, but she knew he resented her friendship with the Queen. No, John de Roche would not tell Sarah what she needed to know.

THIRTY-THREE

JANUARY 5
TH

              On Saturday morning Alan pulled Lydia aside after breakfast. “We’re wasting time,” he said urgently. “We should be doing a regression; perhaps Elisabeth will lead us to her diaries.”

             
Lydia frowned.  She knew he was right, but as Ella had become ill just after New Years’ Lydia didn’t think the timing was right. Still, she couldn’t put Alan off much longer.

             
“I know you are worried about your aunt, but the doctor says it’s just the flu” Alan said hopefully.

             
“I know you’re right, Alan. Perhaps we should try.”

             
“Good, Jan is out to the market in Kingsbridge to refill her larder after the holidays.  Henry has a meeting in Totnes and Ella is asleep.”

             
“How do you know that?”

             
“I spoke with Jan before she left an hour or so ago.”

             
“What do we do next?” Lydia asked shyly.

             
“Why don’t we go into the lounge? Jan lit a fire before she left so the room should be quite comfortable by now.” Alan rubbed his hands together. “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, chafing his shoulders. “This house is a charmer but I sure miss central heating,” he said laughing.

             
“Me too,” Lydia laughed, “let’s go before I freeze solid.”

             
Once they were settled on the lime green Knowles sofa Alan complained, “I don’t have any music.”

             
“Do we need it?” Lydia asked.

             
“Only to set the mood, perhaps there is a CD we can use on the stereo system.” Alan groaned as he looked at the antiquated system.  “I’m not sure I know how to make this thing work,” he said looking over the old unit.

             
“Don’t bother. I don’t think we need it,” Lydia said patting the seat beside her on the sofa.  “What is it we hope to accomplish with this regression?”

             
Alan sighed heavily and took a deep breath. “First, I guess we want to see if we can find out who it was that Elisabeth was supposed to have betrayed and what happened to that person; and then of course where the diaries are.  Are you ready to begin?”

             
Lydia nodded as she settled back into the soft sofa.

             
“Now, Lydia, we have done this many times before so I will allow you to use self-hypnosis to relax.” Alan smiled as Lydia closed her eyes, a gentle smile creasing her full lips.

             
In silence he watched as Lydia step by step relaxed her body until she was perfectly at ease.

             
“Now, Lydia, you see the staircase; please begin to walk down the stairs remembering that with each step you will become more and more relaxed.” Pausing briefly Alan spoke again.  “Now, Lydia, you see the crystal door before you; when you open it and pass through you will go back to Elisabeth and the outcome of her supposed betrayal.  Pass through the door, Lydia. You are going back in time, more than four hundred years. You are going back to Elisabeth.”

              The room was deathly quiet as Alan waited a few more minutes.  “Where are you Lydia?”
              “James? Is that you James?” the voice coming from Lydia’s mouth said as she reached out to touch him.

             
“You know my voice? Who am I?” Alan said quietly.

             
“You are my own dear James, my own true love, home from the North. Hold me, James. I have had the nightmare again.”

             
Alan moved closer to Lydia putting his arm around her shoulders. “What nightmare, Elisabeth?” he asked.

             
“I was there again, oh sweet Jesus. It was happening all again!” Lydia sobbed.

             
“Where were you, Elisabeth?”

             
“On the green,” Lydia said softly, reaching out for Alan’s hand.

             
“Tell me about it,” Alan encouraged.

             
“They came for me as they did before, dragging me from my room.” Lydia paused, her eyes suddenly opened as she pushed forward with her hands.  “They are taunting me, calling me names.  Oh God, they mean to burn me as a witch!” Lydia screamed.

             
Alan placed his hand on Lydia’s out-stretched arm, gently pushing it down to her lap.  “It was just a dream,” he said soothingly.

             
“You know it was not just a dream!” Lydia shouted. “I was there, I remember it too well.”

             
“Tell me about it.”

             
“I have told thee before,” Lydia said hesitating.

             
“I know, but I want you to tell me again. Who took you, Elisabeth? Where did they take you?  What happened after they took you from your room?”

             
“The guards, they dragged me towards the green. There is a crowd of people all shouting and swearing. There is a scaffold. Oh dear God they mean to take my head off. No, it is not me that they want. They are bringing another woman under guard. Oh blessed Jesus, let me wake; this is terrible!  It is my Mistress! They mean to execute her! My stomach boils and I am ill.  The guards push me forward until I am standing beneath the scaffold and can look up into her beautiful face.  She speaks to the crowd, but I cannot understand her words. I am sick with fever and can barely stand. Dear God, she looks down and she sees me and smiles.” Lydia paused, sobbing; she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

             
Alan wondered if Lydia Hamilton would wipe her eyes in such a manner. He waited impatiently for Lydia to speak again.  When she did not he probed, “What is happening Elisabeth?”

             
“I cannot.  I cannot watch. I bend my head to shield my eyes, but the guard at my side pulls my hair, holding me so that I cannot look away.  He whispers in my ear, “See what your writing hath wrought.”  I struggle, but I cannot free myself from his grip. Oh my God!  Let me die!  Let me not see this horrible sight!  The executioner lifts his sword and in a moment it is over. I am ill as I watch them roughly throw her lifeless body in an arrow box and toss in her pretty head.  I am ill.  I vomit over myself.  I cannot stop.  I keep retching again and again. My stomach is empty, but still I try to vomit,” Lydia cries, brushing her hands madly over her lap.

             
“Who have they executed?” Alan asked quietly.

             
Lydia shifted in her seat to face Alan, her eyes wild with anger.  “They have killed Queen Anne, you fool!” She shouted raising her hands to hit him.  “They have killed my lady!” Lydia screamed.

             
“Hello?” called a man’s voice from the hall.  “Lydia, is that you? Where are you?” Dan shouted as he pushed his way into the room.  “What’s been going on here?” he demanded as he knelt before Lydia.

             
Sobbing, Lydia pushed Dan away. “Why couldn’t you have waited five minutes? Now we’ll never know what happened!” Lydia screamed, pushing out at Dan.

             
Dan was taken aback.  “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

             
“I am,” Lydia said composing herself.  “I just wasn’t expecting you and we were doing a regression and oh,” she said, standing up and walking over to the window.

Alan stepped back.  He didn’t want an argument; he wanted to discuss the regression, but was that possible with Dan in the room?  Alan’s head buzzed with questions. ‘Had Elisabeth really been a servant in the Court of Henry the Eighth? If so, what secrets could her diaries reveal? And where were those diaries? And who was James?’

  Alan was about to speak when the front door opened again.

             
They turned to see Henry enter the lounge and Lydia introduced him to Dan.

             
‘This will all have to wait,’ Alan groaned silently, resenting these interruptions to his investigations.

             
Suddenly Lydia turned to face Alan. “George is dead too,” she said quietly. “They killed him.

             
“Who is dead?” Henry said confusedly.  “Who is George?”             

             
“No one you know, Uncle Henry.  Is that Jan I hear in the kitchen?” she said, cocking her head to listen.

             
“Yes, I think it is. Shall I ask her to put the kettle on?” Henry asked, turning to ring for the housekeeper.

             
Alan cocked his head. ‘Who indeed was George? Was he Elisabeth’s husband? We need to check the parish records again. Could they have been married here at Morely’s Cross? Is that her connection with the family?’ Alan thought as he moved to the window. ‘Perhaps Elisabeth was married in that little church?’ He turned around when Lydia spoke up.

              Lydia turned to Dan she invited him to sit down. “How was your flight over?  Why didn’t you call and tell us you were coming?” Lydia said peppering him with questions.

             
“Yes,” Henry Hays-Morely said, turning to face Dan.  “If you had, Willis would have met you in London and saved all the falderal of getting here on your own.”

             
Dan blushed.  “It was rather easy.  I took the train from London to Totnes and hired a taxi there for the trip here.”