Betrayal (44 page)

             
“Your mother had the dream?” Alan gasped, shocked by this disclosure.

             
“And my grandmother,” Lydia replied.

             
“I believe my mother; Lydia’s great-grandmother had the dream too,” Henry Hays-Morely said, taking a sandwich from a plate on the table.

             
“So you know about the dream?” Alan asked.

             
“Yes, but what we don’t understand is why it keeps happening to successive generations,” Henry said, reaching for another sandwich.

             
“It may be that there is a problem to be solved and …” Alan paused. “Are there any more journals in the attic?”

             
“I don’t know,” Ella answered. “I stopped looking when I found the box of books I sent to Lydia.”

             
“Perhaps we could look?” Alan queried.

             
“Not now. We have guests coming; perhaps tomorrow if you like. Would you care to join us for our New Year’s celebration?” Ella offered.

             
“I would be pleased to,” Alan said, smiling at Lydia.

             
“Bring your suitcase in and we will get you settled,” Henry said, standing up ready to lead Alan into the house.

             
“I am staying at a hotel in Totnes.”

             
“”It will be too late to drive back there tonight. Please be our guest and stay over until tomorrow. As you can see we have plenty of room,” Henry said, gesturing at the house.

             
“I’d be delighted,” Alan said smiling.

             
“Good, it’s settled. Ella, dearest, would you please go in and ask Jan to make up the blue bedroom? I have to speak with the Vicar concerning tomorrow’s service,” Henry said, excusing himself.

             
“I want to get Elisabeth’s journal; there’s an entry I want you to read. Why don’t you wait for me here in the lounge, I mean the living room,” Lydia laughed. “Four days and I am already talking like an Englishwoman.”

             
“And looking so beautiful too,” Alan said under his breath as he nodded his assent.  Alan was settled on the Knowles sofa waiting for Lydia when the telephone began to ring. He looked around for someone to answer it but finding no-one, he decided to answer it himself.  “Hello, Hays-Morely residence,” he said into the receiver.

             
“Alan? Is that you?” Dan said, surprised to hear Alan’s voice.

             
“Dan? Yes, it’s me. How are you?”             

“What are you doing there?” Dan demanded.

              “I’ve come to help Lydia.”

“Did she ask you to come?” Dan interrogated. “Hello? Hello? Can you hear me? Alan, answer me?” Dan yelled, but the overseas connection went dead and all Dan could hear was crackling static.  He dialed the fifteen digit telephone number again several times but couldn’t get an open line. In disgust he slammed the phone down. He slumped helplessly down onto the sofa desperate to figure out just what was going on.

THIRTY

FRIDAY

FEBRUARY 1, 1536

             
“I understand congratulations are in order, Master Tremayne.”

             
“Yes, thank you, Master Cromwell. I am to be married at last.”

             
“You are a patient man, Master Tremayne. Were I in your place I should not have been able to wait with such tolerance. She is a beautiful girl, your Elisabeth,” Cromwell said, licking his lips lecherously, “and worthy of the taking. Had she not been engaged to you I might have tasted her myself. When is the happy event to be?”

             
Andrew cringed under Cromwell’s lechery. The thought of Cromwell’s rubbery lips or his hands on Elisabeth churned in Andrew’s stomach until he thought he was going to vomit. Yet before him stood the second most powerful man in the kingdom and Andrew would do nothing to offend him, even if it meant offering Elisabeth to Cromwell if he had to. “The Queen has given her kind permission for our wedding to be held in Saint Margaret’s Chapel at Westminster Abbey, on February 8
th
.  It serves me well that my bride is a favorite of Queen Anne’s.”

             
“Indeed it does,” Cromwell replied rubbing his chin with his hand. “Indeed it may serve us all. Now, good sir, the King rides to Wolf Hall to hunt; what do you think he will find there?” Cromwell asked, testing Andrew.

             
“I feel he will find good hunting and the best of company, my lord. I, myself have been invited to Wolf Hall by Master Seymour.”

             
“Which one asked you, Edward or Thomas?”

             
“Thomas, my lord, I have made the acquaintance of Edward, but we are not yet friends.”

             
“You are a wise man indeed, Master Tremayne, to seek friendship with the Viscount Beauchamp. He will be a powerful man in this kingdom,” Cromwell said, nervously looking over his shoulder lest anyone hear what he was about to say. “And you, Master Tremayne, will soon hold the key to that power and the ability to secure it for all time.”

             
“If you mean by my marriage, I am agreed. My bride’s placement within the Queen’s household will allow me access to the Queen’s chamber and her secrets.”

             
“Yes, we are of the same mind, I think. Come to my house tonight and dine with me. I have much I would like to talk with you about.”

             
“We are indeed of a mind Master Cromwell, you and I. We seek the King’s happiness and in his joy we shall find our reward.” Andrew paused as he watched Henry enter the Great Hall of Richmond Palace.  “Pardon, my lord, but the King has just entered the Hall and it is best that I withdraw. I must go to my bride.”

             
“Will you dine with me?”

             
“Willingly, my lord.  Shall we say at nine o’clock?” Andrew replied, sweeping a deep bow from the waist.

             
Cromwell nodded before turning his attention to the King.

***

             
With George at Durham House and the Queen in the hands of her ladies Elisabeth sat alone in her room pondering her future.

             
She knew that it didn’t matter that she was not in love with Andrew Tremayne; wives often did not love their husbands when they married. Sometimes a girl met her husband at the altar on her wedding day. She was a realist. She knew why she was marrying Andrew and it wasn’t for love. She needed the protection this marriage could give her. Her pregnancy demanded that.  But could she fool Andrew into believing the child was his? Was it fair to him to force him to raise another man’s child?  Her head spun with questions, but few answers.

             
She loved George Boleyn, but he was married. The Queen had safe-guarded Elisabeth’s first-born but would she protect another bastard? Could she go to the Queen and beg assistance? Go back to Staffordshire and the safety of Eccleshall?

             
But the Queen had miscarried and George had gone to Durham House. He had insisted Elisabeth fulfill her marriage contract with Andrew and gone home to his wife.

             
Elisabeth stared into the fire as the realization sunk in, she had no family, no resources; she had to marry Andrew. Eight days hence, on February eighth, she would make her vows before God. To Andrew she would pledge her love; she would learn to forget George and the promise of his love.  Andrew might be master of her body, but would George still be master of her heart?

             
Elisabeth threw some twigs on the fire, watching them burst into flame. She shook her head, stood up, and walked to her traveling box. She took out a gown of warm russet brown shrugging it over her shoulders. She brushed her hair until it shone in the firelight. After a few minutes of quiet repose Elisabeth left her chamber, and Greenwich Palace, prepared to meet her groom in the garden. She knew she would accompany him back to The Three Bells to consummate her marriage to him and prepare the way for him to accept her baby as his own. Forcing a smile on her face she greeted him with words of love and admiration. Elisabeth blanched at the look of eagerness in his eyes and was glad of the short boat ride to the inn which would postpone her betrayal.

***

             
The King paced the antechamber of his rooms in Richmond Palace. His hand variously rubbed his chin or raked through his still-thick red-gold hair. He was nervous, anxious, as he waited for Cromwell.

             
At last Thomas Cromwell entered the room, sweeping a deep bow, his hat skimming the parquet floor as his hand reached for his breast.

             
“Well, Thomas,” Henry said, stopping in mid-step.

             
“They are married, my lord,” Cromwell replied, holding his obeisance.

             
“When?”

             
“This morning at ten o’clock,” Cromwell answered, a crick in his neck beginning to ache. He held his bow though his muscles screamed for release.  “The Queen, my lord” Cromwell began.

             
“Speak not of her Thomas, there is but one Queen of my heart,” Henry snapped.

             
“Yes, my lord, I know but there are other matters of which we must speak.”

             
The King turned to warm his hands at the hearth, allowing Cromwell to release his bow.

             
Thomas Cromwell looked at his King, noting the sag of Henry’s once straight shoulders and the bend of his back and Thomas sighed. Henry’s whole being spoke of the depth of his sadness.

             
Suddenly Henry wheeled to face Cromwell, his face twisted with anger. “Tell me, man, that you can free me from this Hell I am living.”

“I can, Your Grace, I can.”

“But how, Thomas, how can I divorce Anne, how will it look? I will be a laughingstock!  Two wives divorced! Who has heard of such a thing?” Henry shouted flinging a pewter goblet to the floor from a nearby table.

Thomas Cromwell hurriedly resumed his obeisance. From his bow he quietly said “It can be done, my lord, but I must be free to use whatever means necessary.”

Henry sank down into the nearest chair, his head in his hands as he sobbed, “My son, did you see what she did to my son?”

“She bewitched him, as she bewitched you, my lord.”

“No,” Henry shouted, “she is not a witch!”

Cromwell frowned. The King was stalemating him at every turn. No divorce, no charge of witchcraft, now what?

A messenger arrived from Wolf Hall and Cromwell was dismissed. But before he could leave Henry stopped him. “Find a way, Thomas,” he said before turning to read his letter.

Cromwell bowed from the waist promising, “I will, my lord,” and quietly left the chamber.  

***

             
The day of Elisabeth’s marriage to Andrew was bleak and rainy. In Saint Margaret’s Chapel at Westminster Abbey the only witnesses were Elisabeth’s cousin Jamie and his betrothed, Olivia Morely.

             
The four dined at The Three Bells before the newlyweds retired upstairs.

             
Jamie returned with Olivia to Greenwich Palace.

             
“Do you think they will be happy?” Olivia asked as Jamie guided her out of the river ferry.

             
“They are good people and God will bless them with many children.”

             
“As He will bless us?” Olivia asked shyly as they climbed the embankment.

             
“Yes, dearest, as He will bless us. Have you written to your father?”

             
“I have, but there is no answer as yet.”

             
“How does the Queen?”

             
“It is said she pines for her lost babe,” Olivia said softly as they stood in the shadow of the great brick Placentia Palace at Greenwich.  “They say she sits alone in her chamber denying access to all but a special few and I, of course, am not one of those ladies. I am but a minor lady-in-waiting and do not have access to the Queen’s own chambers. I can only repeat what I have been told.” Olivia tilted her head down as tears burned her eyes. “It is a sad household.”

Jamie took her hand and raising it to his lips he kissed it gently. “Stay strong, love, things will improve. Now kiss me before you go and tell me when I may see you again.”