Betrayal in the Tudor Court (10 page)

“She will never be queen.” Mirabella glowered.

“She will be and you best respect it,” warned Lord Hal.

Cecily smiled. “My parents knew the Boleyns. They would be pleased at her ascension,” she said, her tone reminiscent as an image of her parents swirled before her mind’s eye. She could not quite latch on to it. Their forms evaded her, their faces no more than smudged paintings on miniatures. She smiled away the thought as she anticipated the reign of the young, witty Anne Boleyn.

“Support who the king supports is what I always say,” said Lord Hal.

Mirabella shook her head as she quit the room.

Cecily surveyed the faces in the room, one a bright-eyed, golden-haired boy, the other a handsome courtier, the other a humble tutor, all of them so dear to her. As she looked at them she thought of another, the forgotten one, lying alone in her chambers.

And went to her.

“Lady Grace, I thought you would like to know the news,” she told her, ignoring the stench of the room as she sat at Lady Grace’s bedside. As discreetly as possible she averted her eyes so she did not have to look at the withered, yellow figure that lay under the covers.

“News?” asked the raspy voice.

“The king has married the Lady Pembroke—Anne Boleyn—in secret!” she cried, forcing cheer into her voice. “Isn’t it exciting?”

“I should be scandalised,” said Lady Grace with a weak smile.

“Mirabella is scandalised enough for everyone,” Cecily told her with a slight giggle. “But Lord Hal doesn’t seem to mind. Neither does Father Alec.”

“Father Alec has taken all of this quite in stride, hasn’t he?” Lady Grace inquired. “The break with Rome. Now this. It is interesting.”

“Interesting, how, my lady?” asked Cecily, who could not see anything unusual in it. Father Alec’s nature always seemed so affable and accepting of whatever fate doled out that it did not seem peculiar to her.

“A man of the Church accepting the will of a mortal king … and such a peculiar will it is.” Lady Grace smiled. “He is a reformer.”

Cecily’s heart pounded. She knew the Church of England only differed from the Church of Rome in one way. It deferred to the king rather than the Pope. The Pope was referred to as the Bishop of Rome. Otherwise England was a Catholic kingdom; masses commenced as they had before the split. Anything else was considered heresy. Henry VIII, once called Defender of the Faith by the Pope, was a son of the Catholic Church. That matters of doctrine should cause this separation was said to have devastated him. Cecily began to shudder. England was not a safe place for reformers. The Church, under the king’s direction, was reformed enough. Those who opposed it fled or were executed.

“But, Lady Grace, it could be dangerous—”

Lady Grace nodded. “Which is why I won’t say a word. Who do I talk to besides? And why would I betray him whom I hold so dear?” She reached for her decanter, taking a gulp. Her chin was slick with liquid. Cecily retrieved her handkerchief and wiped it away, ashamed to be doing so, not for her own sake but for Lady Grace, that she had been reduced to this, that Lord Hal let her, and that there was nothing anyone could or would do about it.

“Maybe all these changes in the kingdom are a sign for all of us,” Cecily ventured with a nervous laugh. “Maybe … maybe we all need to change a bit. I know I have. Getting used to all these new undergarments—this corset!” She placed a slender hand to her belly and tried to laugh. “I swooned three times the first day I wore it!”

Lady Grace’s eyes closed.

At once Cecily was seized by an overpowering bravado she did not express save in the presence of Brey. She could not fight the words that came forth next. “Lady Grace, you must come out of your apartments now.” Her girlish voice was taut with urgency. She did not understand what emboldened her. Perhaps she was inspired by Anne Boleyn, a woman who got just what she wanted no matter if the world had to be set on its back for her to get it. Maybe it was being in the presence of the steely Mirabella. She did not know. All she knew was that if she did not intervene somehow, Lady Grace would die. She could not let her die.

Lady Grace’s eyes fluttered open. A lazy smile. “What on earth are you going on about, girl?”

Cecily took her hand. “You’ve punished yourself enough for your sins. You
must
come out now. You still do not have to leave your home, but at least come out of here. See Mirabella, what a beauty she has become. I know she does not visit you often—perhaps she is afraid.” Cecily drew in a breath, saddened that she must say it aloud. “It is frightening seeing you. Brey cries afterwards. Every single time.”

Lady Grace averted her eyes.

“Lord Hal is lost without you,” Cecily went on, hoping she was reaching her somewhere. “He probably does not know what to say or how to say it, but it shows in everything he does, in everything he does not say. It is not for me to know how it is between you and if you cannot come out for him alone I understand. Thus you must come out for us. I need you, too, Lady Grace. I am so overwhelmed with all of these changes. Soon I imagine we will want to begin planning my wedding to Brey. I know it will not happen for at least three or four years yet, but we should start planning my gown and I know you want to be a part of that—”

“Enough, Cecily,” Lady Grace interposed. “God knows you have good intentions. But I am tired and you must go.”

Cecily rose, looking down upon the wraithlike creature with a mingling pity and frustration as she turned away and fled.

Grace was stunned. Little Cecily could bite! But such a gentle little bite. The child did mean well. Grace struggled to sit up in bed, drawing her bony knees to her chest as she thought.

Hal came to see her. For a time they had been as a husband and wife, but as her health deteriorated their relations did, too. He attempted to coax her out of her self-imposed prison with promises and fair words. When that failed, gentleness evolved into threats and curses. Then he stopped seeing her altogether. She did not blame him. If she could avoid seeing herself she would.

But the children came. Cecily and Brey every day, and Mirabella now and again, though they had little to say to each other. Mirabella usually prayed with her. Father Alec did the same, though he tried to offer counsel as well. But she did not know what to say to him any more. She had already said too much.

Yet Cecily said what none of them would.

I need you.

She had forgotten what it felt like, what it meant to be needed. She had forgotten that she once valued it.

I need you
.

Grace sank back against her pillows. She ached all over. She had lost her beauty. She had lost her self. She would not emerge the woman she had been when she entered these apartments four years ago.

But she must come out. They needed her.

Why did it take a child’s simple words to make her understand? It mattered not. What mattered was that she would emerge, that she would live.

Because they needed her.

5

T
homas Cranmer, the newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, announced that the marriage between Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon was invalid in May of 1533. By now, the king’s intended’s belly swelled with what was hoped to be the Prince of Wales.

Anne Boleyn was Queen Consort of England. Her coronation was set for the first of June. The Earl of Sumerton and his family were invited to attend.

“We will go, won’t we, Lord Hal?” Cecily asked, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She found all gossip surrounding the new queen cruel and irrelevant. She wanted to attend the coronation, to see the beautiful woman who had brought a king and his kingdom to their knees.

Lord Hal sat before the fire in the solar, idly shuffling and reshuffling a deck of cards. “I am uncertain. … London will be overflowing to stinking.”

“But you have a home on the Strand,” Cecily persisted. “And I’ve never even seen it, not in all the years I’ve lived here. Couldn’t you open it up?”

“Oh, Father, but it would be grand!” Brey cried. “To see the court!”

“And the gowns!” Cecily added. “And all the pretty jewels. Oh, Lord Hal, you must take us!”

“Please!” Brey smiled, falling to his knee. He was growing tall. Angles and lean muscle had replaced puppy fat from hours of training with the sword while wearing a heavy suit of armour. The promise of becoming an intuitive young man shone out of a boy’s eyes.

“We will go.”

All heads turned toward the low voice.

From the doorway stood Lady Grace, dressed in a rose velvet gown. Her limp blond hair was pinned back in a chignon beneath a fashionable French hood. She was thin, her neck had aged considerably for one so young, and her skin was tinged with a yellow hue.

But she was there.

Lord Hal arose slowly, his eyes wide as though he was beholding a ghost. She may as well be for all he had seen of her these past years. A momentary onset of guilt surged through him as he regarded her. How much of this was on his head? He held out his hand.

“Grace … my God …”Tears clutched his throat.

“Mother!” Brey cried, running toward her, throwing his arms about her tiny waist. She was caught off balance and the boy all but held her up in his strong embrace.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as her eyes met those of Cecily, who offered an encouraging smile. Father Alec, who had been playing chess with Cecily, rose and offered an elegant bow.

Mirabella stood by the fire, her face sombre.

Lady Grace held out a hand to her.

Mirabella remained where she was. “Do you expect me to congratulate you on doing something you should have done years ago?” Her tone was laced with bitterness.

“Mirabella!” Brey cried.

Lady Grace’s arm fell to her side. “No, it is all right. Mirabella is … correct.”

Mirabella bowed her head. “Still, it is good to see you about, my lady,” she told her in grudging tones.

“Thank you,” Lady Grace said.

Father Alec addressed the matter at hand. “Are you certain you would want to make such a long trip, Lady Grace? It might be quite taxing.”

“I want to go,” said Lady Grace. “And the children deserve to go. We have all been shut up here long enough. And,” she added in thoughtful tones, “if I do not leave here now I never will. Those who were in attendance that night will scoff. Let them scoff. They will whisper. Let them whisper. I will go.”

“Oh, Lady Grace!” Cecily cried as she joined Brey in embracing her again. “We will all take care of you!”

“I am happily outnumbered,” said Lord Hal as he cast fond eyes upon his wife. “I suppose we best get packing.”

With this the children and priest left the room to sort through their belongings and prepare for the most exciting event in the kingdom.

Grace was about to do likewise when Hal caught her hands.

“Grace … you have no idea how proud of you I am,” he told her, his voice wavering with tears. “I admit that I had given up on you. I am sorry.”

“You were right to give up,” said Grace. “I did.”

“Is this our new start?” he asked her, his eyes lit with hope.

Grace nodded. “Yes, Hal. This is our new start.”

Hal drew her toward him, then pulled back. She was so fragile; he could feel every bone.

“Come now, you won’t break me,” Grace teased in sad tones.

He drew her near once more, holding her for a long time.

Cecily had never been to London before. The manor on the Strand overlooked the sparkling Thames and Cecily could watch the river traffic, a procession of barges making their way to the Tower of London, ships, and little rowboats containing delightful characters. The elegant manor stood as an understatement compared to the palaces that lined the famous street. Nonetheless, it was beautiful with its collection of Italian art of which Lord Hal was so fond. Sumerton Place had its own courtyard bearing lush gardens and a large fountain with porpoises on it that had been a gift from the Duke of Norfolk, a reward to Lord Hal’s father for fighting beside him at Flodden Field, where was slain James IV, King of Scots. Cecily marvelled that they did not visit the manor more often; she could not imagine returning to the isolation of the countryside when they could be so close to the happenings of court.