Betrayal in the Tudor Court Read online

  But as she regarded her father’s bride the conviction in her heart did not match her tone. There was something about Cecily, a tangible love she emanated that Mirabella found herself at this moment envying. What would it be like to love like that?

  She dismissed the thought. Surely everyone in the monastic community had moments like these, enhanced by exposure to the outside world. Mirabella’s hands trembled. She longed to return to the safety of the cloister, where disturbing images like these could not taunt her.

  With abruptness she rose. “I am afraid I must leave.”

  “So soon? But I thought we would have time together as well …” Cecily protested, tears lighting her vibrant teal eyes.

  Mirabella averted her head in guilt. She had planned on a lengthy visit but knew the longer she stayed the more she would question herself. She did not want to question herself.

  She had always been so certain.

  And so she took Cecily’s hands. “It was a blessing to be permitted such a visit as it is, you know that. I will write more often, however. I promise.” She leaned in, kissing Cecily’s cheek, closing her ears to the soft tears Cecily shed as she departed.

  Her father was recovering, Cecily was a good wife. That was all she needed to know.

  Now she could go back. She must go back.

  “So you ran away,” Sister Julia observed after Mirabella confided the details of the visit to her the next day in the courtyard of the cloister.

  Mirabella wanted to protest but found the words sticking in her throat. Sister Julia called life as she saw it and had never been wrong about Mirabella. For this candour Mirabella respected her.

  Sister Julia took Mirabella’s hand in hers as they promenaded. “Mirabella, why are you so afraid to love?”

  Mirabella averted her head, blinking away an onset of unexpected tears. “I … have loved,” she said as an image of Father Alec conjured itself before her mind’s eye. “But those I love are constrained not to love me.”

  “But I love you, Mirabella,” she said. “And so do your father and Cecily.” Sister Julia paused. “But that is not the type of love you fear, is it?”

  “I am called to love only God,” Mirabella told Sister Julia.

  “I know you believe that—”

  “I am!” Mirabella insisted, frustrated that her vulnerability lay thus exposed. “You are proof that even the most dedicated servant of God has moments of doubt,” she added.

  “Yes,” Sister Julia agreed. “My moment of doubt gave me you. But it also gave me the courage to pursue what I truly did love most and that was the Lord. Mirabella, my course of action did irreparable damage to some,” she added in soft tones as she lowered her eyes. “You do not have to go to that extreme to figure out what it is you want most. But you do need to resolve this battle you are fighting with yourself.”

  “When I am here I am as close to being at peace as I have ever been,” Mirabella told her. “So here I will remain.”

  “But is it to seek an intimate relationship with God or is it to escape from emotions you cannot seem to grapple with in what some would refer to as ‘real life’?” Sister Julia challenged her.

  Mirabella shook her head. “I …”

  “You do not owe me an answer,” Sister Julia said. “You owe yourself. Please reflect, Mirabella. Do not live a lie. This is a difficult life; I would hope you would not remain because you were afraid of losing face should you change your mind.”

  They continued their walk in silence, Sister Julia’s words echoing in Mirabella’s mind again and again.

  But still, not even to her own self could she admit the possibility that she had chosen the wrong path.

  That would change everything.

  Hal had regained almost full use of his limbs. The traces of his sudden and baffling illness remained in his speech and in the slight droop of his mouth that caused him a great deal of embarrassment.

  “I think it’s charming,” Cecily told him one night as she reached out to run a finger along his lips.

  Hal kissed the finger. “A crooked mouth, charming?” he returned with a slight chuckle. He sighed as he organised his next words in his mind. He spoke slowly. “These past months have taken their toll on you,” he told her. “Few enough would ever have … done what you did. Do not think it goes unappreciated. I would still be abed were not for you.”

  “Nonsense,” Cecily said, though both knew it was true.

  She snuggled against his chest, savouring the closeness she so feared would be stolen from her. Hal’s summation had been correct; the past few months had taken a toll on her. She spent the days seeing to Hal’s every need and the nights in an exhausted state of anxiety, listening to Hal’s every breath, judging his every movement, beside herself with fear that he would relapse.

  He did not. He grew stronger. With her beside him, pushing him relentlessly, he thrived. Each day was easier than the day preceding and Cecily was filled with hope. When Dr Hurst came to visit he marvelled at Hal’s improvement.

  “Lady Sumerton is a born healer!” he would exclaim with a chuckle.

  Born healer or not, Cecily had managed to will Hal through. And now there was nothing more that she wanted than to be a wife to him in every sense of the word. Her glimpse of Hal’s mortality shook her to the core and she vowed not to let him leave this world without the heirs she had promised him.

  What’s more, she longed for that closeness. For the past few months saw her transform from girl to woman. Her willowy figure had blossomed; curves replaced the flat landscape of childhood. The face that stared out of the glass was no longer a child’s and the mind behind the eyes longed for things she had never experienced.

  Now, feeling Hal’s kiss upon her finger caused her lower abdomen to clench in a not altogether unpleasant sensation. She trembled. She had dreamed of this moment for months now, and though she still regarded it with some measure of fear, she did not doubt what she wanted to happen next.

  Cecily stroked his cheek. “I love you, Hal,” she told him with all the sincerity in her heart, leaning in to press a gentle kiss upon his mouth.

  “Oh, Cecily …” Hal breathed, rolling to his side to take her in his arms. “I love you. So much.” He held her close.

  “I am thinking there is one more exercise we need to indulge in, to make certain you are … quite recovered,” Cecily suggested, flushing.

  Hal laughed. “Cecily, you minx!” His eyes lit with concern as he stroked her cheek. “You are sure?” he asked, offering his crooked smile.

  Cecily nodded. “I have never been more certain. Let me be your wife, Hal.”

  Hal leaned in, kissing her in a way he never had before. Cecily moved her mouth along with his, her body thrilling with a rush of sensations foreign to her.

  That night she became Hal’s true wife at last.

  This new dimension to Hal and Cecily’s relationship found them in a state of befuddled rapture. They could not get enough of each other. For Cecily, this was a time of exploration and she absorbed each new sensation as if she were a student taking in a particularly stimulating lecture. For Hal, Cecily was his joy and to be allowed to demonstrate his love for her in the manner of a true husband made the struggles of his life easier to bear. Cecily made everything easier to bear.

  In August, when they had been married a year, Cecily’s womb quickened with Hal’s child.

  She did not know why she was so surprised. She knew that missed menses meant a child was growing within her, but to feel it stir, to feel its presence, gave the condition a renewed certainty. It was real. The creature inside her was a person, who would have a name and a personality. The creature was a child and it was hers.

  She could not fathom something belonging to her in such a way. Though the Pierces had served as her family since the deaths of her parents, nothing could match this new feeling, the knowledge that she was the founder of a family, that she was to be a mother.

  Hal doted on her endlessly. “I will try to care
for you as you cared for me,” he said, measuring his words with care, as his speech still gave him difficulty.

  His actions more than compensated for what he could not articulate. He showered her with gifts, beautiful collars of jewels and strings of pearls, bolts of fabric for baby garments, and any dish she craved. He waited on her himself and ordered the retiling of the nursery with tiles imported from Flanders.

  “You know,” he told her, “if a girl, no matter.”

  Cecily stifled a sob of gratitude when he told her this one warm autumn evening as the two sat in the gardens. Because of her tiny figure, Cecily had already begun to show, and Hal was rubbing the curve of her expanding belly with tear-filled eyes.

  “As long as I have you,” he went on. “That is all.”

  He met her gaze. It was mingled with tenderness and fear.

  Cecily clasped his hand.

  “You won’t lose me,” she assured him, though she began to fear the prospect of childbirth more and more with each passing day. “You will never lose me.”

  Life proceeded in the manner they had grown accustomed to. They still entertained, and if it was not quite as lavish due to Cecily’s condition, they still enjoyed a steady stream of guests and circulated throughout Lincolnshire and York paying calls. As Cecily’s condition progressed she had to keep adding panels to her gowns, but she retained her slender limbs and tiny face. Hal watched her with adoring eyes. After his illness each day was a precious gift to them, to be savoured and appreciated with renewed vigour. The new life growing within Cecily was treasured all the more and seemed to contain all of their hopes for a happy future and a healed past.

  When it came time for Cecily to enter confinement, where she would lie abed in her darkened bedchamber for the last month of her pregnancy, Lady Alice visited her as often as possible. No more could Cecily pay calls or entertain or take in exercise. She despised it and her restlessness sent her into fits of anxious tossing and turning. She was never comfortable. The baby sat low in her belly and she felt as though it would drop out of her at any moment. At times the little one offered lusty kicks square in the bladder, causing the immediate need to void. She found no position adequate for rest and often slept propped up against pillows. She alternated between hot and cold or both at once and found the condition of pregnancy far more glorified than in reality. She did not glow at all, as ladies with child were purported to do. She was sweaty and irritable and wanted to have this baby yesterday.

  “This is the worst part,” Alice told her as she sat embroidering at the foot of her bed. “Thanks to Margaret Beaufort.”

  Margaret Beaufort had been the king’s grandmother and it was she who set out the strict practices for noblewomen in childbed. Cecily did not understand why the birth of a noble should differ from that of a peasant, who often delivered their babies in the fields at harvesttime and seemed to do well enough. But gentlewomen were to be regarded as fragile, dainty roses to be preserved in the darkness of an airless chamber lest a breeze scatter their petals to the winds.

  Cecily, who was accustomed to activity, did not relish this new estate and prayed for an early delivery. Though Hal did his best to entertain her, she was lonely and frightened. Her hours alone in her chamber gave her too much time to ponder her condition and it was now more than ever that she longed for the presence of her mother so long departed from this world.

  She also thought of Lady Grace and a pang of longing stirred in her breast for her. She would have made a merry conversationalist … but of course, were Lady Grace alive to converse with, Cecily would not be in confinement with Hal’s child at all. No, Hal and Lady Grace would have been looking forward to the grandchildren Cecily would provide with Brey.

  Cecily squeezed her eyes shut against the weight of heavy tears.

  “Cecily?” Alice leaned forward, concerned. “Are you all right?”

  Cecily nodded, swallowing hard. “I was just thinking,” she confided. “Of all the changes. Had life gone as expected I would be carrying Brey’s child, not his father’s. And yet, as much as I miss him and Lady Grace, I have never been so astonished to realise how much I truly love Hal. …” She trailed off, as always mystified by her love for her husband. “At first I thought it was out of gratitude. Hal brought me into his home and heart and has shown me nothing but kindness and respect. But then, when we were alone, I spent more time with him and came to appreciate the tenderness of his soul, the strange sort of innocence …” She laughed as she recalled his twinkling eyes and contagious enthusiasm. “And I knew then that I loved him for who he was, not simply because he was my protector. Now, despite the terrible tragedy of our losses, I know that God has His reasons, that Hal and I are meant to be.” She drew in a breath, comforted by the thought.

  “When I thought I was going to lose him I knew I would fight anyone and anything who tried to come between us, even the force of death itself. Death has taken so much from us. … But it yielded its grip over Hal and returned him to me. And now I am to give him a child.” It was at this point that she was overcome with a fear she hadn’t known since Hal was first struck with his illness. She cast wild eyes to Alice. “After everything we have survived I should feel triumphant. But I am more afraid than I have ever been. What if I die, leaving Hal all alone with a little one? Or what if the baby dies? How will poor Hal endure it after all of his heartbreaks … and if we both …?”

  Cecily began to cry, gasping and hiccoughing like a child, as Alice rushed forward to sit beside her, taking her hand.

  “Even now you only think of Hal,” Alice observed in awe. “I cannot even fathom such love …” she said, her voice thick with sadness.

  Cecily at once regretted her confession and cast her eyes to their joined hands. Alice squeezed hers in reassurance. “You are stronger than a seasoned knight,” Alice told her in her uncompromising tone. “You will get through this, Cecily.” She smoothed Cecily’s hair off her face. “And when you do, you are going to know a happiness few ever experience. How many of us belong to families who truly love each other?”

  Her voice rang with the faintest trace of agony, causing Cecily to shift the focus from her own concerns to Alice’s loveless existence. She stroked her friend’s hand. She felt selfish.

  “Thank you, Alice,” Cecily said in gentle tones. “I am very fortunate. Even more so to have a friend like you.”

  Alice took Cecily in her arms and held her tight. “Well then!” she exclaimed, drawing back and wiping tears from her cheeks. “D’you expect you’ll have time to call on me in a few months when I enter my confinement?”

  “Alice!” Cecily cried, tears of joy replacing those of trepidation as she beheld her friend. “Oh, how wonderful—you know I shall be beside you! And our children shall be companions!”

  Alice offered a sad little smile. “It will be wonderful, won’t it?”

  As she regarded her friend, Cecily found herself once more overwhelmed with gratitude.

  Hers was not a bad lot.

  Father Alec Cahill was growing used to the fast-paced routine of Lambeth Palace and had become so comfortable with the archbishop that there were few subjects the two did not discuss. Cranmer had an easy manner about him as well, a quality he shared, and the two were as content in a lengthy conversation as they were in silence. Father Alec intuited many of Cranmer’s needs and was excellent at being at the right place at the right time.

  Except once.

  Father Alec had been composing a series of devotions and prayers that he tentatively titled Meditations for the Common Man. The work was endorsed by Cranmer in private, but he advised Father Alec to use caution. Despite pure intentions, the book could be considered heretical. And no one wanted to burn. Despite fears for how the piece would be interpreted, Father Alec was proud of it and often sought out Cranmer for advice, which he was always generous about dispensing.

  The men had developed an informality between them and it was not unknown for Father Alec to enter Cranmer’s apartments unannou
nced. He was always received and it reassured him to know there was a place for him to go and a friend to talk to any time he needed. Tonight he needed counsel; Father Alec was frustrated about his loss of inspiration for his book and decided to seek out his friend.

  But Cranmer was not alone. A woman was with him. This was not remarkable; there were noblewomen who sought audience with him. But at this time of night and without chaperone … and the fact that she was clasped tightly in his arms …

  Father Alec’s gut lurched with disgust, and before either could react he rushed from the suite.

  Once in the privacy of his own quarters he found himself battling tears.

  He is just like old Cardinal Wolsey, he thought, clenching his fists in rage as he paced back and forth before his bed. Once one of the king’s dearest companions and advisers, the cardinal had indulged in all manner of depravity, living the life of a king, taking mistresses, fathering bastards, all while taking great pains to remain in the king’s favour, that he might attain more power for himself. In the end, Wolsey earned the king’s wrath by failing to procure his annulment from Catherine of Aragon and died alone and in disgrace on his way to his own execution. He was an unforgettable example of what lust for worldly gains did to a prelate, the antithesis of what Father Alec wanted to be.

  To think that Cranmer could be of his like … No. It could not be true. He could not wrap his mind around it. Cranmer, gentle Cranmer, who seemed so devout and in touch with God’s desires. No, not Cranmer. Surely his eyes had betrayed him. After all, who did not need a chaste embrace now and again?

  But alone and at night?

  Father Alec gritted his teeth, his face aching from the intensity of his scowl. He was a fool; priests often had mistresses—housekeepers and servants were the polite terms for it, but they were mistresses nonetheless. The rank of the priest offered no exception; a man was a man and lust was lust.

  Father Alec cursed himself for expecting more from Cranmer. He cursed himself for his naïve idealism, his hero worship. … It was all fantasy.