Betrayal (57 page)

“I think he is someone who helped Elisabeth, but until we do another regression we won’t know for sure.” Then turning to Ella, Alan asked “Do you remember where you found those books you sent to Lydia?”

“Yes, of course, they were in the attic. We had a leak last autumn and had to have workmen in.  Had to move stuff out of their way, you see, so Henry, the old dear, and I climbed up to sort things out. Found quite a lot of your mother’s belongings, girls stuff mainly but we did find a rather large box of books. I picked out the few which we, of course, sent on to you.” Ella replied lifting her tea-cup to sip her cold tea.

“May we go up to the attic?” Lydia asked shyly.

“But of course, my dear, this is your home; you may go anywhere you wish.”

“Today? This morning?” Lydia asked eagerly.

“Of course, if you like.”

“Oh, yes, right away,” Lydia answered pushing back her chair.

Alan hesitated.  “Perhaps we should do a regression first. We have new information which we should look into. We really should find out what Elisabeth has to say about Vladimir and Andrew.”

Lydia frowned but nodded her agreement.  “But we will go up to the attic today, right?”

“Yes, dearest, anything you say,” Alan said reaching for Lydia’s hand.

She blanched as his endearment as she sat down again. 

“We’ll do the regression right after breakfast. Then it’s up to the attic before lunch, okay?”

“Okay,” Lydia agreed. Who were these people haunting her dream, she wondered as she finished her tea.

THIRTY-FOUR

SATURDAY, MAY 20, 1536

              Elisabeth awoke from fevered sleep to find herself in a soft bed in a room she did not recognize.

             
Sarah dozed in a chair by the low, straw, rope-hung bed.

             
“Where am I? What has happened?” Elisabeth pleaded through parched lips.

             
“You are safe, dearest,” Sarah whispered, raising a wine soaked rag to Elisabeth’s dry cracked lips.

             
Elisabeth choked on the pungent liquid, obliging Sarah to withdraw the cool rag.

             
“I had a dream, a terrible nightmare, that they killed my Lady.” Elisabeth’s cracked voice was a mere whisper forcing Sarah to lean closer to hear her.

             
Immediately Sarah drew back drawing a hasty sign of the cross on her breast. What did Elisabeth remember? How could she tell Elisabeth what had happened? The words burned in her throat. Sarah turned away in a vain attempt to hide her tears.

             
“It’s true then,” Elisabeth whispered. “It wasn’t a dream after all.”  She turned her face to the wall, hot tears burning her eyes.  When Elisabeth closed her eyes against the tears she saw it all again; the straw covered scaffold, the jeers of the waiting crowd as the Queen had begun to speak, the awful silence that followed The Queen’s execution.  “Jesus wept,” Elisabeth cursed.

“Indeed HE did,” Sarah replied quietly as she dabbed Elisabeth’s sweat soaked brow with a wet rag.  “HE must, to have seen the truth so undone, the innocent so cruelly punished!  Those six poor souls, so innocent of any crime, let alone such a vile act.”

“What act?”

“Treason.”

“Not my lady, never!” Elisabeth whimpered as fevered chills once more wracked her frail body.  “You lie, tell me that you lie.  What treason could our Queen commit?”

Sarah sat back in her chair her eyes raking the room in a desperate attempt to postpone the inevitable.

“Sarah,” Elisabeth pleaded “why did you say six souls? And of what were they charged?”

“Did you hear the Queen’s words from the scaffold?” Sarah asked quietly, tears filling her red swollen eyes.  She tore at the rag in her hands splashing water on the rush covered floor.

“Heard, yes, understood no, I was barely able to stand, had not the guard held my head so firmly I would have collapsed, I am sure.  Oh, the terrible scene!  Oh, the horror of it!” Elisabeth cried.  Then regaining her senses, Elisabeth asked, “Of what was she accused?”

Sarah hesitated, drew a deep breath and spoke one word. “Adultery.”

Elisabeth gasped, balling her hands into tight fists she struggled to ask, “Who were the other five?”

             
Sarah moved closer to take Elisabeth’s damp hand.  She raised it to her lips as her eyes went unwillingly to Elisabeth’s swollen belly.

             
Elisabeth watching her friend closely, caught Sarah’s untoward glance, and cried out, “Not George!  Tell me he wasn’t one of them!”  Seeing Sarah blanch, Elisabeth wrested her hand free to tear at her fever drenched hair wailing and screaming his name again and again.

“Hush, dearest,” Sarah pleaded as she pulled Elisabeth’s arms down, pinning them to the wailing woman’s sides until Elisabeth stopped struggling.

“Who else? Who else did they murder?” Elisabeth demanded once more in control of her emotions.

“Later,” Sarah pleaded.

“No, tell me now.”

“Very well, there was Henry Norris,” Sarah paused as Elisabeth gave out a loud cry; “and Francis Weston,” Sarah began again blinking back her tears, “and Master Brereton.” Sarah stopped abruptly.

“Who was the last?” Elisabeth asked clutching at Sarah’s hand.

“That one deserved to die,” Sarah said bitterly.

“Who? Sarah, who was it?”

“The musician Mark Smeaton,” Sarah snapped angrily, his name sour on her tongue.  “He was the only one to confess to the charge.”

“Of his own free will he said he had slept with Queen Anne?” Elisabeth demanded in disbelief.

Sarah paused, the ensuing silence uneasy in the small room.  “My father attended the trial,” she said quietly, remembering his bitter jealousy of the Queen’s love and friendship for her.  “He said they all denied the charge but one, the musician, Smeaton.”

Elisabeth gasped, whispering a curse.

“My father said Smeaton had been grievously tortured, that was plain to be seen.” Sarah paused to take a breath. Then drawing her back straight she said vehemently, “Torture or no he should never have shamed our lady so!”

Elisabeth reached for Sarah’s hand, feeling its dry warmth in her own damp cold one.  “Please Sarah,” she pleaded, “no one could have stopped this horror. It was God’s Will.”

“Not God’s Will,” Sarah shouted “but Henry’s!” She cried collapsing into tears.

“So be it. They are with the Lord and His Blessed Mother now.”

“Not Smeaton, surely not Smeaton,” Sarah sneered.

“Yes, even poor Mark. For if as you say he was tortured, he was forced to lie.”

“You can forgive him? He took George away from you and your unborn babe,” Sarah asked, dumbfounded by Elisabeth’s forgiveness.

“George was lost to me already. I am another man’s wife. But,” Elisabeth paused to rest her hand on the swell of her distended stomach, “I shall have him with me always.”

“Is the bitch in there?” a man’s voice shouted before the door to the chamber crashed open. “Take her, lads!” the guard shouted, pointing at Elisabeth.

“No!” Sarah shouted, trying to push between the guards and Elisabeth, only to be shoved to the floor.  “Where are you taking her?” Sarah cried. “Are you going to kill her too?”

The sergeant turned toward Sarah and shook his dirty balding head.  “She is cast out as those who betray their Masters should be.”

“Betray!” Elisabeth cried as they manhandled her out of bed and on to her feet. Both she and Sarah were bewildered by the charge.  “Elisabeth!” Sarah cried as she tried to follow her friend, but she was stopped by a foul-smelling guard who was grinning lecherously at her; his filthy hands on her shoulders, tearing at the fabric of her gown.

Sarah kicked the horrid man in the shin, wrestled free of his grasp, and grabbed the small bundle she had made up for Elisabeth.  She raced out the door of her apartment across from the Broad Arrow Tower to follow the guards and Elisabeth. She reached them just as they were approaching Wakefield Tower.

              “Please, sir,” she begged the sergeant leading the little group. “She is my friend,” she cried breathlessly.

             
“You should pick better friends, Mistress de Roche,” he answered, pushing Elisabeth through Wakefield Gate.

             
“If you please, sir,” Sarah cried rushing to keep up with him.

The sergeant stopped, a frown furrowing his brow.  “Say your goodbyes then, but be quick about it. I’ll not have Master Kingston on my back for taking overlong to do my job. Release the wench,” he called to his men.

              Elisabeth almost fell when the men stepped back from her, but Sarah caught her and led Elisabeth to lean against the inner wall of St. Thomas’s Tower.  “I must be quick,” Sarah said tucking the bundle under Elisabeth’s arm. “He’ll not wait long for us to take our parting. The bundle contains a clean gown and a few coins. I am sorry it is not more, but I didn’t have time…” Sarah apologized.

             
“It is enough, little sister,” Elisabeth said. “Thank you for all you have done for me.”  

             
The sergeant stepped forward. “Enough!” he shouted, pushing Sarah aside.

             
Sarah watched in disbelief as the men grabbed Elisabeth, dragging her to the Byward Tower and pushed her out.  The porter of the Gate closed the heavy oak doors and Elisabeth was gone.

Sarah stood rooted to the spot for a few minutes, unable to move. Dusk was falling and the porter was locking the Tower’s main gate.  Sarah had no hope of following Elisabeth tonight. Perhaps tomorrow morning she would find her. Turning toward home with a heavy heart Sarah was hailed by the porter, Thomas Grieve.

“Not to worry, gel,” he said as he pocketed his great ring of keys. “’Er husband is waitin’, ‘e’ll take care of ‘er,” he added smiling at Sarah.

Relieved that Elisabeth was not all alone out in the night Sarah walked slowly back to her apartment. Now that night had come her father would be looking for his supper and would be home soon.  Sarah quickened her step as she passed Salt Tower, her memories of Elisabeth’s imprisonment there hurrying her on.

***

              Elisabeth stumbled across the wooden bridge over the moat, her heart pounding with fear.  The sun had set and in the gathering gloom she thought she recognized the horseman astride a fine white stallion.  In her fevered mind she remembered the courtly tales of knights on white horses coming to a distressed damsel’s aid.  “Good sir,” she said as she approached the stallion and his rider. Elisabeth stumbled on the uneven ground grabbing at the horse’s withers to keep from falling. Looking up at the rider she cried out “Andrew, I am so glad it’s you!”

             
“Are you now?”

             
“Yes, of course,” she replied, comforted by the touch of his hand on her head. Elisabeth yelped with pain as Andrew clenched his hand pulling her hair until she was standing on her tiptoes.

             
“Did you think I would not claim what is mine?” Andrew yelled drunkenly, his breath foul as he leaned forward to kiss her.

Elisabeth drew back in disgust, but he held her tight. She struggled to free herself from his ever-tightening grasp; his nervous horse jostling her, bumping against her swollen belly. Elisabeth freed her lips to cry, “The babe!” causing Andrew to pull her hair tighter yet; with his other hand he slapped her, cursing, “The bastard you mean, I had hoped that a few months of His Majesty’s prison fare would rid you of it. Did you think I was so stupid that I wouldn’t figure out why everyone laughed behind their hands when I  walked into a room; that I would not hear the rumors?” he sneered as he leant closer to Elisabeth.  “You are a whore, my dear wife, nothing but a whore. You must think me a fool to have acted so blatantly the slut for the traitor Boleyn.”

“No, you are wrong,” Elisabeth cried, afraid he would hit her again.

“I am not blind!” Andrew snapped. “I have seen you together, watched him fondle your belly.  It is you who is the fool and I have little time for fools,” Andrew said as he violently pushed Elisabeth away from his horse. He laughed as she fell backwards into the mud. “Go to Jamie at Morely’s Cross,” he said, turning his horse away from Elisabeth.

“Where?” Elisabeth cried.

“In Devon, Morely’s Cross. He’s Master there now.  Mayhaps he will help you,” Andrew replied as he spurred his horse and rode off leaving Elisabeth lying in the mud.

Elisabeth struggled to gain her feet, shouting his name, but Andrew did not look back. She watched in heightening horror as he disappeared into the dark gloom of night. Suddenly exhausted Elisabeth felt herself slipping into fevered sleep in the cold sucking mud. She awoke with a start at dawn to find a man standing over her.  She clutched at her skirts preparing to fight him off when he spoke.