Betrayal (60 page)

Lydia drew in an involuntary breath when she saw him. Her gaze traveling from his sleep tousled blonde hair to the smooth outline of his hairless chest and down to his plaid boxer shorts. She rushed toward him, tears rolling down her cheeks.

              Alan stopped her. Holding her at arm’s length he studied her dusty jeans and cobweb covered hair. “Where have you been?” he asked. “You’re crying, what’s wrong?” Alan asked, smoothing her hair with his hand as she nuzzled closer to his bare chest.

             
“Nothing’s wrong, these are tears of joy!” she cried. “I found a letter from Elisabeth, a later one,” she said, pushing free of his arms.

             
“What? Where? Where did you find it?” Alan sputtered.

“Upstairs in the attic, under a loose floorboard, here read this!” Lydia cried pushing her way into his room.

Alan followed her into the room where he sat down on the bed. Henry followed them to stand in the doorway, with Dan close behind.  “Come in, Henry, Dan” Alan said reaching for his robe. He directed Henry to a nearby chair.  Lydia sat down on the bed next to Alan. Dan stood at the foot of the bed.  “Let’s see what we have here,” he continued as he opened the letter. “Oh my,” he breathed as he read the passage aloud. When he had finished, Dan walked over to Alan’s side to peer at the letter.

“What else does it say?” Henry asked.

“It continues,” Alan said. Turning to Lydia he said, “Here you read it.”

Lydia began:

              ‘You have heard the stories of Old Harry’s Court. Now that Elizabeth sits securely on her throne I must tell you the truth of the crime committed against Our Queene’s mother, and my part in it.

             
The Lady Anne Boleyn called me to her service when I was but nineteen years old. Gladly I did serve her first as maiden and then as Queene. I served her as body servant.  I slept in her bedchamber, cleaned her clothes, and helped her to dress. I knewe Queen Anne better than anyone else.’

“Let me see that,” Alan said, taking the fragile parchment from Lydia. “Do you realize what we have here?”

“Yes, we have a first-person commentary on the life and times of Anne Boleyn,”

             
“But how, how did this come to be in my attic?” Henry asked shaking his head.

             
“That’s what we are trying to figure out.  Obviously the person who wrote this, Elisabeth Tremayne, is related to the Hays-Morely family,” Alan answered.

             
“Sarah Tremayne was born here at Morely’s Cross,” Lydia said. “We found the entry of her baptism in the parish records.”

             
“And that Sarah Tremayne is the Sarah to whom this letter is addressed?” Dan asked as he walked toward the window.

             
“We believe so,” Alan replied looking at Lydia.

“Then we must find out who she was,” Henry said.

              “But how?” Lydia asked.

             
“Perhaps the answer remains in the parish records, we should look again,” Henry said.

             
“Yes, I agree, but first we should read on,” Alan replied.

             
“Of course,” Henry said, walking back to his chair. “Go on, Lydia.”

             
Lydia drew herself up straight. Drawing in a deep breath she began again.

             
             
‘I loved my lady with a true and faithful heart. This you must understand. And I was very young.  You must remember that too. As I know you will only read this after I am dead I can be truthful with you and tell you all.’

             
Lydia paused to draw another breath. She laid the letter in her lap and wiped her hands on her jeans.  “I’m nervous,” she said, “my hands are sweating.”

             
Alan stood up and walking to the desk said, “Here, Lydia, come sit here, that way you can lay the letter on the desk.”

Dan moved to be closer to Lydia.

                
Once she was settled Lydia began again. “I can’t read the next part.  It’s been scratched out. She wrote something down then changed her mind and scratched it out.”

             
“Can you make any of it out?” Alan asked, leaning over Lydia’s shoulder.

             
“I think it says she loved another woman’s husband, but I can’t be sure.”

             
“Well I’ll be,” Henry said quietly as he turned away from Alan. “What does it all mean?”

             
“I don’t know. Perhaps she will tell us herself,” Lydia said pointing to the letter.

“What’s that, do you hear someone calling?”

              “Ella, I forgot Ella,” Henry gasped as he turned toward the door. “Please don’t read anymore until I get Ella. Poor dear, she must be so worried. Please wait until we return.”

             
“Of course, Uncle Henry,” Lydia said before turning to Alan. “What is it you think Elisabeth intends to tell Sarah?  Here look at this and see if you can make out what she scratched out,” Lydia asked Alan after Henry had left the room.

“I think you’re right. Yes, look here. It says:

              ‘
I sinned in loving another woman’s husband and yet that sin seemed blessed of God.  Truly one cannot help where the heart finds love’

What can she mean by that?” Alan asked puzzled by what he had just read.

              “It is her baby!” Lydia screamed “Alan, do you remember Elisabeth’s diary entry about the baby born in Eccleshall?”

             
“What baby, what are you talking about?” Dan asked.

             
“I have to find the diary before any of this will make sense,” Lydia cried running from Alan’s bedroom.

***

             
Lydia returned to Alan’s bedroom as her Aunt and Uncle were settling into chairs. “Look, this is what I wanted to show you.  Elisabeth gave birth to a boy in 1535. Here listen

             
‘August 31, 1535

             
Oh joy, the Queene is with child again. She miscarried of the babe she was carrying when I was sent to Eccleshall last year. If I had been at Court, I know that she would not have.  It is said three times a charm, I pray so. What joy to be back at Court, perhaps in her happiness I can ease my pain.  George is at Beaulieu, he has gone to bring Lady Rochford back to Court, would that she would stay away forever. But that is not to be, she is to return by month’s start, but even that cannot lessen my happiness to be home.  My months in the north were so long and lonely living amongst strangers.

             
My lady Queene fears for her child and I have begged her accept my little blue cross as talisman. I had thought to give it to Sarah before she left York Place. Now I thanke you, Lord Jesus, I have it to give my lady. Mother Mary Agnes said, ‘this will keep you safe,’ when she gave it to me so many years ago and aye it has. Now Lord, I beg you let it keep my lady and her son safe; she must bring him to safe delivery. His birth will mean my redemption; my shame is to be lifted for my dearest says he will claim our son when the Queene bears hers and I will hold my babe in my arms once more’

             
“Who is George?” Alan asked.

             
Lydia shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

             
“Lydia, read that again,” Ella requested. When she had Ella spoke up again. “Lady Rochford.  Why, that was Anne Boleyn’s sister-in-law wasn’t she, Henry?”

             
“By Job, I think you are right. What was the brother’s name? Thomas? No, that was her father’s name.  George, yes, it was George, George Boleyn.”

             
“Read the entry again, Lydia,” Ella demanded, sitting straight up in her ladder-backed Windsor chair.

             
“The whole entry?” Lydia complained.

             
“No, just read the last part.”

             
“
His birth will be my redemption; my shame is to be lifted for my dearest says he will claim our son when the Queene bears hers and I will hold my babe in my arms once more.
”

             
“Is that all it says?” Ella asked. “Doesn’t it say who the father is?”

             
“No, the only man mentioned is George and he is away at a place called Beaulieu to bring Lady Rochford back to Court.  Where is Beaulieu?”

             
“It is pronounced Beu-lee.  Beaulieu Palace is in Essex, isn’t it Henry?”

             
“Yes, I believe it is.”

“You don’t think,” Lydia began, hesitating.

              “I have to admit I am wondering,” Alan replied.

             
“Wondering what?” Ella asked.

             
“If George Boleyn is the ‘dearest’ Elisabeth refers to.”

             
“How can you say that?” Henry demanded.

             
“Read the last part again, Lydia” Alan said

             
“His birth,” she began.

             
“No, further on, starting from my dearest.”

             
“Okay.  ‘
My dearest says he will claim our son when the Queene bears hers and I will hold my babe in my arms once more.
’”

             
“Let’s see what we have here,” Alan said. “Elisabeth was sent from Court to a place called Eccleshall. Where’s that?”

             
“Goodness knows,” Ella whispered, shaking her head.

             
“Let’s go on. Elisabeth was forced to give up her baby,” Alan continued.

             
“How do you know that?” Henry interrupted.

             
“Well, look, she speaks of holding him again in her arms when the father comes forward to claim him.”

             
“So, the father is married, we can take that much for granted as she says as much in her letter to her daughter. Well, at least that she loved another woman’s husband,” Alan said as he stood up and began to pace the room.

             
“But it doesn’t say that George Boleyn was the baby’s father,” Henry complained.

             
“But he was in a barren marriage,” Ella interjected.

             
“True, he and his wife had no children, but that’s a long way from having an affair and fathering a child with his sister’s servant.”

             
“Oh, so, he’d be the first man in an unhappy marriage to ever have an affair with a maid-servant?” Ella teased.

             
“No, no, of course not, but we have no proof,” Henry conceded.

             
“We could do a web-search,” Alan suggested, moving towards his laptop on the desk.

             
“However would we go about it?” Lydia asked.

             
“Let me think.”

             
“Would the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography be on-line?” Henry asked. “Everybody who was anybody is listed in there.”

             
“But who would we look for?” Lydia asked.

             
“George Boleyn, of course,” Alan said, opening his laptop.

             
“We know he existed,” Lydia agreed, “but we don’t know his son’s name.”

             
“Well, let’s see what we can find,” Alan said sitting down at the desk and firing up his computer.  “Now, Henry, that book was the Oxford Dictionary of…”

             
“National Biography,” Henry finished.

             
“Here it is,” Alan said proudly. “Now, I’ll just type in the name George Boleyn and see what we get.  There are two entries; the first as we expected is George Boleyn, of Henry the Eighth fame, and the second appears to be his son. Look here,” he said pointing to the small screen. “He is listed as dean of Lichfield Cathedral. Look how the author puts it, “is often said to have been the son of Jane Boleyn, nee Parker, (d 1542) and George Boleyn, Viscount Rochford, executed in 1536 on a charge of incest with his sister Queen Anne Boleyn.  But here the author claims, ‘the fact that Rochford’s inquisition post-mortem names his sister Mary rather than George as his heir throws doubt on the supposition that George was his son’ or, and get this, ‘at any rate on George’s legitimacy.’ Seems the poor fellow was bitter about the loss of his inheritance. Is there an Eccleshall near Lichfield?  Though the author, what’s his name? Oh yes, Stanford Lehmberg, states ‘George Boleyn may have been born in London’.”