Betrayal (2 page)

“That is called lucid dreaming.  Is that how you know the girl has fair hair?  Have you seen yourself in a mirror?”

              “No, I have never seen her in a mirror.  I just had a glimpse of very fair hair once.  She is always wearing a dress of heavy green brocade.  The dress is stained and the hem is torn.  Never mind, Dan.  You don’t want to hear this. It’s silly and I must learn to put it from my mind.”

             
“No, Lydia, I’m finding this very interesting. Please continue.”

             
“You don’t want to hear about a woman’s silly dream.”

             
“If it is silly why does it disturb you so?  Why do you pace the floor at night afraid to go back to sleep?  I hear you walking around. I know you are afraid the dream will return.  And why are you taking sleeping pills?  Is it to keep the dream away?”

             
“How do you know I take sleeping pills?”  Lydia asked suspiciously.

             
Dan flushed red at the silence that ensued on the tape. He had been caught. He had had to admit that he had looked in her make-up case.  He had known about the sleeping pills for weeks.

             
“Caught me,” he heard himself say.  Dan remembered he had held his hands up in surrender.  “I’m sorry.  I know I shouldn’t have, but curiosity got the better of me.”  Dan waited; the memory of her righteous indignation made him cringe and once again he doubted the wisdom of his deception.  He heard himself ask Lydia, “Can you forgive me?” He smiled at her acquiescence.  “Will you continue?”

             
“Yes, I guess so.  I really do need to talk about this.”

Dan recognized the silence on the audiotape and his coughing for what it was, he was biting back his words, wanting to remind Lydia that Alan Stokes would listen to her. He choked trying to keep the words from coming out.  Once he regained his composure he asked Lydia to continue.

              “Describe the room for me, Lydia.  What do you remember of where the dream takes place?”

             
“It is a small, dark room; the walls are made of stone and the floor is covered with dust and straw.  And somehow, that I can’t explain, I feel as if I have been there before.”

             
“You mean in another dream?”

             
  “No, in real life.”

             
“So there it is.  You are dreaming about someplace you have visited, perhaps the torture chamber, at Madame Tussaud’s Museum, in Cavendish, on Prince Edward Island. That solves it, doesn’t it?”

             
“No, Dan, I have never been to Madame Tussaud’s Museum in Cavendish or anywhere else.  It was not like that.  It was not a torture chamber, but a small room. It’s a small room,” she repeated.  “As I said the walls are made of stone, blocks of granite, I think.  The stone floor is covered with dust. There is a stool beneath a high window and a pile of dirty straw for a bed.  I am alone in the silent darkness. I am nervous and afraid. I’m waiting for something, I don’t know what. The dream always begins the same. But recently, it changed.”

             
“Yes, I know that.”

“A light begins to form in the darkest corner of the room. It begins to spin wildly, at dizzying speed. It zips across the darkness, flying towards me, until at last it
’s just inches from my face, dazzling my eyes with its brightness. Then it forms the shape of a woman’s severed head.” Lydia’s gasped as she dissolved into tears.

             
Dan reached for the tape recorder to turn it off, uneasy in his betrayal of Lydia’s trust. As he touched the switch, Lydia’s voice began again.

             
“But then, last night…” she hesitated.  “In the darkness a door opened, flooding the room with blinding light.  A man comes in.” Lydia paused.

             
Dan heard himself urge Lydia to continue.

             
“He starts to drag me from the room.” Lydia’s voice trembled.  “I don’t want to go.” Lydia faltered and stopped talking. In the silence of the car, the only sound on the audiocassette was her muffled tears.

Dan remembered wrapping his arms around her shoulder; he could hear himself urge her to continue.  He felt like a louse for causing her such pain, but she had left him no choice. He had to have something to bring to Stokes.

Lydia drew a deep breath, faltered, then continued.  “His hand was cold as he tightened his grip on my arm, and his voice was sharp.  His breath smelled foul as he whispered in my ear, ‘Come see what your writings hath wrought.’  I tried to pull back, to get away from him, but I couldn’t, I don’t want to go.  It is as if I know what’s going to happen, yet I don’t.  Once again the light begins to revolve, changing to that horrible monstrosity, dripping blood and tears. The dead lips demand an answer, but I have none to give.”

“What’s the question that the woman asks?  It’s okay darling, you’re doing great.  Just a few minutes more. What does it want to know?”

Sitting in the car Dan, stared through the windshield, his mind’s eye reliving the revelation of the horror of Lydia’s dream.

“’Why’, it simply asked, ‘why?’” Lydia said nervously.

“Why would it do that?”

“How should I know?”

“Why would such a horrible apparition visit your dreams?” Dan puzzled.  “Perhaps it’s a childhood memory of some external fact,” he mused.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Lydia said quietly.

“Perhaps a news item on television or a reality show,” Dan suggested hopefully.

“No, it has an historical look to it. I don’t know, Dan.”

              “What do you think it means?”

             
“If I knew that…” Lydia gave way to her tears. “But I don’t. Her dead eyes stare into my soul. Her dead lips form a simple word over and over until she’s screaming in my head. Why? Why? Why? I don’t know why!”  Lydia fell silent.

Sitting in the car, the only sounds Dan could hear on the audiocassette were her sobs and the gentle whir of the cassette player.

              Dan reached forward and turned off the tape recorder.  He sat there in silence. He dreaded Lydia’s reaction when she found out about his dishonesty.  He could only hope she would forgive him.  Dan knew they could not wait until Lydia finally gave in.  It was obvious that the dreams were becoming more frequent and volatile.  Dan reached for his cell phone. He dialed Alan Stokes’ private number.

TWO

SEPTEMBER 5, 1529

             
“The King and his lady have come!” a voice shouted from the palace gates. “Make way for the royal coach.

             
Elisabeth stood in the garden across from the carved main doors of York Place. She watched in silence as the carriage pulled before the grand stairs. The great door swung open to reveal Cardinal Thomas Wolsey fussing at his scarlet robes. He appeared unprepared to greet his royal guests.  Out of earshot, Elisabeth could only guess at His Excellency’s mumbled words of apology. She was startled out of her thoughts by a tug at her skirt.

             
“Come, Elisabeth, come play with me.”

             
Elisabeth turned with a smile to the small child standing shoulder deep in the yellow roses.

             
“Come, Elisabeth, before Brother Michael finds us. It is too lovely a day to work at letters.”  A passing frown creased the child’s sun freckled face. “Come, Elisabeth, catch me if you can.”              Elisabeth belatedly reached out to stop the little girl, watching in bewilderment as Sarah trampled the rose bed in her haste to run and play.

“Sarah
de Roche! Watch where you put those clogs you call feet! Brother Stephen will have your hide for trampling his roses! No, Sarah, not the marigolds! Oh no, Sarah, don’t go into the maze!” Elisabeth called out helplessly as the child disappeared behind the hedge. “When I find you, young miss…” she continued as she hiked her skirt up to her knees and set off after her disobedient charge.

             
Rounding a corner Elisabeth glimpsed Sarah scampering off just ahead. She called out as Sarah disappeared from view. Coming out from behind a boxwood hedge Elisabeth stared in horror as the child, head down, barreled into the astonished King.

             
“What have we here?” the king gasped, as he recovered his balance. Laughing heartily, he teased the Cardinal, “One of yours, I suppose?”

             
“Not mine, your Grace,” Wolsey said.  “Its keeper must be here somewhere. Elisabeth!” he shouted.

             
“Her keeper?  Are you raising this sweet moppet as you would your dogs, Thomas?”  Henry VIII, bellowed, hoisting the young child into his arms.

             
“Oh no, your Grace, the dogs are better looked after. The child is a handful and the girl who minds her, tries her best, but she is little more than a child herself.”

             
By now Sarah was in tears, whimpering that she was a good girl and of course Elisabeth wasn’t a child because she was too big.

             
The king caressed her face. Smoothing Sarah’s red-gold curls, he cooed in her ear.

             
“Are you really the king?” Sarah asked timidly.

             
“Yes, I am,” Henry replied, laughing so hard his whole frame shook.

             
“What can a king do?”  Sarah asked as she nuzzled Henry’s neck.

             
“Anything he wants to.”

             
“Could you make my lord Cardinal do something?”

             
“Anything, I wanted him to.”

             
Sarah worked her mouth for a few minutes before speaking. Then raising her head to face the king full on she asked, “Can you make my lord Cardinal give me and Elisabeth more time to play?  We have to work for hours and hours at our letters. It makes me sad to see the sunshine outside when we have to work so hard.”

             
Puzzled at Sarah’s request, Henry turned to the Cardinal.

             
“The child is in the care of a scribe, she learns her lessons at the scribe’s feet. Elisabeth has full charge of the child from morn to night.”

             
“The child’s care, is that all that Elisabeth does?”

             
“Oh no, your Grace, she labors with Brother Michael on the Gospel of Saint Mark, in a fine volume they are creating for me.”

             
“And the child, how came she to be at York Place?”

             
“Her father is a stonemason, who labors to repair the north tower.”

             
Henry turned his gaze to the mentioned tower, thinking of repairs needed in Westminster Palace.  “How long has he labored so?”

             
“Forever!” Sarah said from the safety of the king’s arms.

             
“It has been some months now,” the Cardinal answered.   Then turning to Elisabeth he continued, “Come claim your charge. Brother Michael awaits you in the library.”

             
Henry turned to the girl, smiling at her clumsy curtsey.  He looked from the girl to Wolsey then to the girl again.

             
Wolsey stammered as he straightened his robes.  He cleared his throat. “This is Elisabeth Beeton, the child’s keeper,” he said in introduction.

             
Elisabeth coiled tighter into her curtsey in embarrassment.               “Your Grace,” she said nodding to the king, “Sarah, come to me,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Send your girl away,” the king said softly.

“But, your Grace, the child’s keeper is here.”

“We have no need of her. The child is content in my arms and I am content to have her so placed. Now that we may safely tread the path, shall we?” Henry strode off intent on settling his business.

“As you say, my lord,” the cardinal replied, bowing deeply from the waist.  Wolsey watched the king set off.  He turned to Elisabeth, Elisabeth! A word, girl! Follow you close behind. When he tires of the child take her quickly to your quarters. You will both pay for this embarrassment.” Then catching up with the king, Wolsey plastered a smile on his face.  “And now, your Grace, what brings you to York Place?”

“A progress is planned for a fortnight hence, to Hever and then on to Greenwich. There, I intend to install the Lady Anne in the Queen’s apartments. I wish this to go smoothly. Catherine has been told, and dutiful wife that she is, she offers little objection. What news from Rome?”