Betrayal (36 page)

             
“We have some lovely perfumes, perhaps she would like one.”

             
“Too personal, we haven’t met yet.”

             
“Oh sorry,” she paused as her blue eyes swept the showroom. “Some maple candy perhaps?”

             
“No, it’s too casual.”

             
“We do have these lovely silk scarves,” the girl, whose nametag read Mindy, said, moving to a display of men’s ties and ladies scarves. “How about this one, showing the various lighthouses here in Nova Scotia?” she continued, holding up a lovely scarf.

             
“No, I don’t think so.”

             
“What about this gold one with red maple leaves? It’s really quite elegant.”

             
“Yes, oh yes, it’s perfect, Mindy. I’ll take it. Can you put it in a pretty box too?”

             
“Of course, just give me a few minutes.”

             
As she waited Lydia wandered the store, looking at this, picking up that. She was admiring a small enameled cross when her flight was called. Hurrying, Lydia thanked the young salesgirl. Then, struggling with her purchases and her carry-on bags, she raced across the concourse to Gate 32 just in time to hear her row called for boarding.

             
Later, after take-off, Lydia looked into her bag for the little bear and found the necklace loose in the bottom of the bag. “Oh no,” she called out, then noticing her seatmate’s interest she continued, “I thought I’d lost it but here it is safe and sound.” As she sat looking at the necklace Lydia caressed it softly between her thumb and forefinger, she felt a deepening sense of peace descend on her. Studying the necklace she noticed the deep blue of the enamel, thinking how beautiful it was. As the plane climbed higher into the night sky Lydia slipped the necklace around her neck and sat staring out into the darkness. Tomorrow she would be in England. It felt like a homecoming, yet she had no memories of Totnes or Morely’s Cross. She wondered as her mind drifted if Elisabeth had lived at Morely’s Cross? She must have. How else could her diary have come to be there?             

             
Within minutes the woman in the seat next to Lydia was asleep, snoring gently. Lydia knew she should try to sleep too, but sleep wouldn’t come; she was too excited. She reached for the cross at her throat, rubbing it gently between her fingers. ‘It is so familiar,’ she thought as she gazed out the window. ‘I feel I have seen it before, perhaps in a shop somewhere.’

             
A stewardess interrupted Lydia’s thoughts with an offer of a pair of headphones to watch the on-board movie, a romantic comedy of mismatched lovers.

             
Lydia accepted, but chose to ignore the movie. Gazing out the tiny port-hole window instead, she watched the billowing clouds, her hand held to her throat.

             
Sleep crowded her eyes making the lids heavy and Lydia gave way to a dream-filled sleep.

TWENTY-SIX

JANUARY 26, 1536

              Elisabeth paused at the entrance to the Great Hall of Whitehall Palace to watch the beehive of activity within.  She searched the Hall for George Boleyn, but didn’t see him. She watched as groups of grooms and serving girls swarmed over the room pulling heavy trestle tables into place, hanging embroidered banners on the walls and setting the tables with great pewter platters and wooden trenchers. The busyness in the room made Elisabeth’s head spin. The hall was being decorated to celebrate a joust to be held the following day and Elisabeth was giddy with excitement for she had news to share.

             
“Ho, Elisabeth,” called Maud, “give a hand here.”

             
Elisabeth saw the girl teetering on a chair as she stretched to pin a banner to the wall hanging. As Elisabeth reached to balance the chair she was pushed aside by the groom, Peter.

             
“Here, girl, I’ll do that,” he said, as he helped Maud down from her precarious perch. “Ye t’will break that pretty neck of thee’s if your’n not car’ful. Here, let a man do that,” he said, holding her hand a little too tightly and a little too long.

             
Maud blushed prettily as she bent her head to hide her smile.

             
Elisabeth turned to hide her own smile. She knew that Peter was sweet on Maud and she was embarrassed to witness his flirtation. As she turned to leave the Great Hall, Elisabeth heard her name called. Turning to the door she saw Sarah. “So, you have come after all.”

             
“Did you think I would miss it? No, not for all, the world would I miss it. We will send her packing tonight, that we will,” Sarah said, taking Elisabeth’s hand.

             
Elisabeth gasped, pulled her hand away and quickly looked around the large room. No one was near. No one had heard. “Sarah, you must watch your words. Suppose someone was to hear?”

             
“No one can hear.   In the midst of all this noise, no one will hear. Why hasn’t he sent the Seymour girl away? The Queen is pregnant; she carries the King’s son, what need has he for plain Jane?”

             
“Men have needs,” Elisabeth replied blushing.

             
“For sex, yes, I know that,” the bright-eyed eleven old answered.

             
Elisabeth blanched, pulling Sarah from the room into the old scriptorium. “You know not of what you speak.”

             
“I know plenty.”

             
“Perhaps you do, but now is not the time to speak your mind.”

             
“I know that too.  It is only with you, dearest sister that I dare to speak of such things.  I am wise enough to know that all are not my friends.”

             
“Wise you are, beyond your years. Yes, Sarah, now it is time for both of us to be wise.  Now little sister let me have a look at you.”  Elisabeth’s pale blue eyes swept over the younger girl’s even features hesitating over the red-gold curls.  Gently, she patted a stray curl flat as she stroked Sarah’s satin cheek.  She wondered what the future held for this beautiful child or herself for that matter.  “The Queen awaits; we must go.” 

             
“He is here, you know.”  Sarah watched Elisabeth’s face for a reaction.

             
“Who is here?” Elisabeth asked innocently.

             
“Andrew.  He has just arrived.  See there, with his back turned to us.” Sarah pointed to the far side of the hall.

             
“Come,” Elisabeth said, grabbing Sarah’s hand, “I don’t want to see him now. Quickly, before he sees us.” Elisabeth ran up the stairs dragging a reluctant Sarah behind her.

             
Later Sarah and Elisabeth watched the festivities in the Great Hall from the minstrel’s walk. The hall blazed gold and silver in the reflected candlelight. The lords and ladies of the Court, in their finest silks and velvets, whirled on the dance floor while the musicians played lively reels on their instruments.  The Queen danced merrily with the King, her brother, and Master Wyatt.  Sarah tugged at Elisabeth’s hand pointing to Thomas Wyatt. “It is said he has written a poem about the Queen,” she said. After a moment’s pause she said wistfully, “I wish someone would write a poem for me.”

             
She then saw Andrew Tremayne standing in a corner of the room talking with Thomas Seymour. Elisabeth wondered what they would have to talk about. A high giddy laugh drew Elisabeth’s attention to the dance floor below. She smiled as she saw the Queen dancing with the King. They looked so happy in each other’s company. Elisabeth scanned the hall for George and saw him arguing with his wife. ‘I must tell him,’ she thought as she turned back to watch the dance.   Elisabeth looked again for Lord Rochford, hoping to catch his eye, but she could not see him. She sighed heavily as she turned from the balustrade. Sarah had moved off to a group of young people gathered around Henry Norris.

             
“Elisabeth.”

             
She turned, surprised to see George Boleyn standing behind her.  “I need to talk to you,” she cried anxiously. Unable to hold back her joy at seeing him, she rushed to his arms.

             
“Here,” he said, indicating a small alcove hidden by a heavy drape. “No one will hear us. Come to me, my sweet.”

             
“No, not here, I must meet with you alone.”

             
“It is not possible. I must return to the Hall. I am expected to be seen, I cannot get away. Kiss me, dearest, before we must part,” he said, gathering her into his arms and kissing her forcefully on the lips.

             
Elisabeth pulled away. She was restless, nervously pushing the drape aside to peek out. Her fingers moved fretfully at the belt of her gown.

             
“Elisabeth, what is wrong?”

             
“Not here!  I can’t tell you here!” she cried. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Jane Rochford approaching. “I must go.”

“Elisabeth, wait!” he called uselessly.

              Tears crested Elisabeth’s eyes as she hurried to find Sarah.

             
From the height of the minstrel’s walk Elisabeth could see that George had joined his sister and her ‘petite court’. The Queen was surrounded by Thomas Wyatt, Henry Norris, Francis Weston, and the musician, Mark Smeaton. Elisabeth watched quietly. She looked for Lady Rochford, but could not see her. Elisabeth scanned the large hall, but couldn’t see Andrew Tremayne either. Satisfied that at least she wouldn’t have to face him, Elisabeth sighed in relief. Time passed and the hour grew late, then Elisabeth saw her, Jane Seymour, across the hall sitting on the King’s knee.  Quickly Elisabeth scanned the Great Hall looking for the Queen but she had left and none of her ‘petite court’ remained. The hall was empty except for a few kitchen girls busy about their work of cleaning the room.

             
The King’s party which was made up of Edward and Thomas Seymour, their sister Jane, and the Queen’s uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, sat huddled together in deep conversation. Elisabeth gritted her teeth as she watched the Seymour girl snuggle close to the King, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm resting familiarly round her waist.

  
              “Elisabeth, you, girl!” the Duke of Norfolk called when he spotted Elisabeth. “We have no need of you here. Your lady must have need of you.” When Elisabeth hesitated, he shouted “Be gone girl!”

Elisabeth raced up the stairs as if the hounds of Hell were snapping at her heels. ‘How could he?’ she thought as she hiked her skirts to clear the stone steps. ‘Tonight of all nights.’ She paused before the door to the Queen’s apartments, trying to tame her ragged breathing. Inside, the Queen was alone with Lady Rochford.

“Where is that girl?” Lady Rochford clucked, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “Shall I undress you?”

“No, I will wait for Elisabeth,” the young Queen said as she crossed to the window.  “She was here tonight.”

Elisabeth opened the door, pausing to bow before she entered.

“Well, of course,” Rochford replied, “I saw her clearly at one of the lower tables with the girl, Sarah.”

“No, Jane, I am not speaking of Elisabeth, I meant the Seymour girl and her brothers.”

“It is maddening that you are expected to have her in your service, to have her wait upon you.”

“As I waited upon Katherine, yes, Jane, I remember.”

“It is not the same thing. You are carrying the King’s son.”

Lady Rochford glared at Elisabeth, who had held her curtsy with her eyes downcast. She moved to dismiss the servant when the Queen began to speak again.

“Yes, I know; he will tire of her soon enough,” Anne said as she stroked her swollen belly.  “Here lies the King’s true son. Henry will turn from her as he turned from the whore, Blount, and that fool, my sister Mary. I shall be Queen of his heart once more when he holds his son in his arms, then he will remember his love for me.” Anne’s face flushed in the candlelight, her breathing was uneven, and her voice became frenzied. “Did you see how he danced with me? Tenderly and with great charm, it’s true, but then he turned to her. I saw them dancing as if she were already the Queen of his heart. But he loves me; he put aside a wife, his church, and even his God for me. He did love me…” her voice faded to a whisper. Her anger spent, the young Queen dropped her head to stare at the stone flags of the floor. Anne raised a hand to her face, caressing her thin lips, then looking up she asked no one in particular, “He will love me again, won’t he?”