When the Heavens Fall (15 page)

A choruses of amens swept through the congregation. Stuart rose as the final prayers were said. As soon as they were done, Stuart stood back, observing the people trying to get close to Quentin. He saw one very old woman who could barely walk reaching out to him. He saw Quentin take her hand, hold it firmly, and smile down at her as he gave her his blessing. As the old woman turned away, her face alight, Stuart thought,
If I could only bless people the way Quentin does, I'd call myself a real believer.

Quentin slowly threaded his way though the crowd and put
out his hand. Stuart took it and said, “A fitting sermon, Quentin. How are you?”

“I am well, Brother.” Quentin hesitated and then asked, “No word of Brandon?”

“No.”

“He'll find his way,” Quentin said. “God will not let him fall to the ground.”

As the two men left the church, Stuart told Quentin about the “invitation” from Mary. “She wants both of us to come to Whitehall.”

“Well, you know her, Stuart, far better than I. Why would she send for me?”

“I don't know, Quentin,” Stuart said, “But I do know it's a dangerous time here in England. Mary's in a position to do a great deal toward healing old wounds.”

Quentin sighed deeply. “Well, there has been much bad blood between Catholic and Protestants. What do you think she will do?”

“I don't know. Mary is . . . different of late,” Stuart answered, troubled. “The last few times we visited, I found it hard to read her intention clearly. And, of course, it's been some time since our last visit.”

Quentin said, “Don't worry, Brother. At any rate, I'll be happy to meet her.”

Stuart and Quentin knelt to Mary, who greeted them with a smile. They had entered the apartment where she and her ladies spent the afternoons. Mary was dictating something to a scribe, but she brushed him aside, and he scurried away quickly. “Rise, Stuart, and you, Reverend Winslow.”

“We are honored to be here, Majesty.”

“I've heard so much about you, Reverend Winslow.” She extended her hand, and Quentin kissed it

“I'm gratified to meet you, Your Majesty. My brother has told me so much about you.”

“Has he told you that he was my playmate for years?” She smiled

Stuart was glad to see her smile. “I think so often about those early days with you.”

“As have I, Stuart. How is your family?”

“My wife is very well.”

“And Brandon? He's a favorite of mine, you know.”

“I'm afraid the news isn't good. I am in your debt, Majesty,” he said with a nod, “for sparing his life. I understand that if it hadn't been for your intervention, he would've served a far greater sentence.”

“It was the least I could do,” Mary said sadly. “He came to my aid when I called for him. But his failures grieve me. He has many talents.”

“Yes, but he's had his . . . Moral problems have proven to be his downfall.”

“Well, surely he has grown out of that, after losing so much. You must bring him to see me. Together we can steer him to a proper role in society,” Mary said almost playfully

“I appreciate your interest, Majesty.”

She turned her head to Quentin and began to question him about what people were saying about all sorts of matters—“I must know what my people are thinking and feeling”—but she carefully avoided the subject of faith

“Surely you've heard their cries as you've passed through the streets. Cries of joy,” Quentin said carefully. “The people are very glad to have you as their monarch.”

Mary said tentatively, “You know my mother raised me in the true faith.” The words were innocent enough, but Stuart saw that Quentin reacted strongly to them

“People wonder, Your Majesty, what you will do as far as religion
is concerned,” Quentin said. “Much has transpired since your father's days on the throne.”

Mary answered “I am not my father. I don't intend to force my faith on anyone. People will be free to choose between the new learning and the old faith. My father executed those who disagreed with him on religion, even his dear friend Thomas More. How I wept over that man's death! I will never do such a thing as that! I want the love of my people, and you must help me. Quentin Winslow, may I have your loyalty?”

“Always, Your Majesty. I pray that you will be given wisdom to lead this country along the pathway that will please God.”

It was the correct thing to say. Mary smiled graciously. “That was well said. I've always had the friendship of your brother, and I will treasure yours as I treasure your brother's.” She turned to Stuart and said gently, “And I will pray for Brandon. Where is he now?”

“We are uncertain, Your Majesty. We have not gained word of him in some time.”

Mary was clearly grieved at this. “I will try and learn his whereabouts, Stuart.”

“I would be most grateful, Your Majesty. But I fear that Brandon will not be found until he wishes it.”

Finally she dismissed them

As they left, Quentin said, “I didn't expect her to seem so kind. I don't know why.”

“She's under pressure to bring back the Catholic faith. Pray that she will not listen to those who are not so kind-hearted.”

“Stuart! Stuart Winslow!”

Both men turned, and Stuart smiled. “It's the Princess Elizabeth.”

The two men advanced to where Elizabeth had detached herself from a group of young women. They both bowed and Stuart introduced Quentin. Elizabeth said, “You must come with me.
The queen told me you were coming. I've prepared some refreshments.”

“We would be delighted,” Stuart said

“I always gave your brother a hard time, Reverend Winslow,” she said to Quentin. “Since you're a minister, I'll have to be very careful to be good.”

Quentin studied Princess Elizabeth. She was an attractive young woman, slender, with the red hair of her father and a clear, translucent complexion. There was a liveliness about her that was lacking in her sister Mary. “Are you always good when ministers are around, Princess?”

“Oh, certainly!”

“Then perhaps you should hire a minister to stay in your presence always.”

“Oh, that would cut down my enjoyment considerably, begging your pardon, Reverend. Come along with me.”

She took them to an inner room and soon the three of them were seated at a table, eating delicious cakes and drinking ale. “You're a minister, Reverend Winslow. What will you do under the new rule?” All sense of play was gone. Stuart tensed, awaiting his brother's answer

“The same as I have done under the old rule, Princess. Serve Jesus with all my heart.”

Elizabeth seemed to feel a rebuke, and she lowered her head for a moment, then said more soberly, “That is sometimes difficult.”

“It's always best to serve Jesus no matter what the cost, don't you think?” Quentin asked gently

“Of course you're right.”

“What do you think your sister will do, Princess?”

“I cannot say. It's unsafe to make predictions in these days.”

“Well, the queen has told us that she intends to force Catholicism on no one,” Quentin said. “That's good news.”

“I hope that it is so. But enough of such sober matters. Tell
me about Brandon.” As Stuart related the story of Brandon's downfall, she seemed genuinely disturbed. “I hope he'll change his ways. He has good blood in him. He'll come back, I'm sure.”

She rose, and the two men knew they were dismissed. As they left the palace and mounted their horses, Quentin said, “I'm encouraged and hopeful. Queen Mary seems to have a good heart.”

“I think she wants to do the right thing, and that she will try,” Stuart agreed

The two men were silent. Quentin finally brought up the subject of Brandon again. “What have you done to find him, Stuart?”

“Well, I've hired a man to look for him, but he's not been successful.”

“It must be very hard on you.”

“Harder on his mother,” Stuart said grimly

“He'll come back home, I'm sure.”

“I pray he will. He's all we have, Quentin.”

“No, you have Jesus.”

Stuart smiled. “Yes. You are right. We have Jesus.”

Lupa had persuaded Brandon to accompany her to buy some material for a new gown, something she had failed to do until now. She was puzzled by him and this troubled her, for if she knew anything, Lupa knew men. And out of all those she had known, only Rez and Brandon were deemed of any use. Brandon was an asset with his expertise with cards. He brought in a steady income that soon far surpassed what he owed them. They moved from city to city once he became known as such an expert player that others refused to play with him. Nevertheless, his skill, along with other schemes that Lupa and Rez concocted, kept them all in ready coins

Lupa thought of the two months that had passed since they picked Brandon out of the ditch and felt a glow of achievement: she had been able to make a steady source of income from him. He was an unknown quantity, however, and as she looked at the bolts of cloth at a shop, she glanced covertly at Brandon, who sat in a chair, patiently waiting. He was wearing the latest in fashion, the dress of a wealthy man, and Lupa was well aware that the woman of the shop could not keep her eyes off him. She had noticed this about women before, and also saw that Brandon seemed to be oblivious to them. This both pleased and troubled Lupa, for he seemed oblivious to her also. She was not accustomed
to having men ignoring her charm. She turned now to the woman

“That fabric would look very well indeed on you, my lady.”

Lupa smiled at the title that she had been granted. She had never been called such a thing before, but now she accepted it without argument. “It is rather nice.”

“Why don't we drape you and discuss the design you wish? You have a lovely shape. There are many options.”

“That would please me.” She followed the woman into the back of the shop, and as she quickly undressed, she knew that the woman had gone back to talk to Brandon. “I'll claw her eyes out if he shows any interest in her. She's interested enough in
him,
” Lupa muttered. But then she was there beside her, quickly showing Lupa design after design. Lupa chose one, and the woman immediately cut the fabric and pinned it, taking measurements down on a piece of paper as they worked. “Shall we see what your gentleman thinks?”

Lupa gaped at her and then shrugged. Feeling awkward, she made her way to Brandon. “It's not finished, obviously, but you get the idea of what it will look like,” Lupa said, hating the nervousness in her belly. “Do you . . . do you like it, Brandon?”

“You look like a queen.”

Lupa laughed. “No one ever called me that before.”

“Well, they should have.” Brandon leaned back, crossed his arms, and stared at her. His bright blue eyes were alert, and he ran them up and down her body. “I don't know whether we ought to get it or not.”

“Why not?” Lupa cried. “It'll be beautiful.”

“Every man in town will follow you.” He smiled at the woman, who had reappeared, adding, “No, I think you'd better remake her old ragged gown a little bit dirtier if possible. I'll smear some of the dirt on her face. That ought to keep the men away.”

The woman laughed. “I'm sure she wouldn't agree to that. And, sir, the gown is perfect for her.”

“How much is it?” Lupa asked

“For you twenty pounds.”

“Oh, that's far too much!” Lupa cried. “I never paid that much for a gown in my life.”

“Lupa, it's done,” Brandon said. “We get so few things in life that give us pleasure, dear. We need to grab what we can. Can you have it done tomorrow?” he asked

When she came out, the woman was standing close to Brandon, looking up at him with a tantalizing smile. Lupa quickly stepped between them and took Brandon's arm. “I'll have my servant come by tomorrow to fetch it.”