Betrayal (37 page)

              Elisabeth moved her lips to speak, but Rochford’s glare kept her silent.

             
Lady Rochford glided across the stone flags to the Queen’s side, taking her long thin hand into her own squat one. Jane led Anne to the bed clucking soothingly as Elisabeth hurried to the wardrobe for the Queen’s nightgown. Slowly, gently, with great ceremony, the two women undressed the third. Once Anne was safely in bed they withdrew from the bedchamber closing the heavy door behind them.  “She is not well, you must stay close tonight.”

             
“As always, my lady,” Elisabeth replied, dipping a curtsy.

             
“I know your husband has returned from Cornwall and that you must be eager to see him but you must not leave the Queen alone.  Sleep here in her chamber; do you understand me, Elisabeth?”

             
“Yes, my lady, I understand perfectly.”

             
“Stay with her, Elisabeth, my husband and I must return to Westminster in the morning. We will return by evening.”

             
“Yes, my lady,” Elisabeth replied, holding her curtsy. ‘I wonder what that is about,’ she thought as she pushed open the heavy door. Pulling her straw pallet from beneath the great bed she undressed quickly and dove under the heavy fur coverlet.  ‘At least I won’t have to deal with Master Tremayne just yet, thank God,’ she thought before she began her prayers. Sleep crowded her eyes as she tried to find her way through the prickling path that had become her life. She tried desperately to reconcile her love for another woman’s husband, her contempt for her own, and the secret which would tear them all apart. Giving in at last to her exhaustion Elisabeth slept heavily and dreamlessly.

TWENTY-SEVEN

DECEMBER 27
TH

              The long night passed as if in the blink of an eye. Lydia shifted in her seat to watch the airliner’s approach to Heathrow Airport. ‘Was that Windsor Castle down there?’ she wondered as she twisted her body to get another look through the thickening clouds.

             
The seat belt light illuminated as the steward’s non-accented voice detailed the landing procedure.

             
Lydia squared her shoulders. Settling back into her seat she brushed her bag from her lap, sweeping it under the seat in front with her foot. She felt excited, giddy, and not a little nervous, wondering for the umpteenth time what it was she expected to prove.

             
Mentally she checked the train’s schedule, unconsciously touching the electronic ticket in her jacket pocket.  Alan had assured her that getting to Paddington Station would be very easy, just a short train ride. He was adamant that she remember to watch the destinations boards very carefully as trains changed tracks with little notice.

             
Before she could draw breath the wheels of the Air Canada 767 bounced once and gripped the black-top of the tarmac.

             
Lydia’s impatience grew as the big plane taxied to Terminal 3 and at last to the gate. The wait for the doors to open seemed interminable with passengers crammed into the narrow aisles trying to regain packed luggage from the overhead bins. Finally the door opened and the crowd began to move with Lydia carried along like a fish caught in a rushing stream until at last she stepped into the busy terminal. Lydia had never seen so many people in one place before, all rushing about in different directions. A short stop at Customs and Immigration and Lydia was off in search of the underground railway station and the third leg of her journey.

             
The train ride, while comfortable, was disappointing, offering few glimpses of London as most of the trip was underground. Coming up the moving stairs Lydia stared in wonder at the high glass and steel ceiling of Paddington Station. She noticed a kiosk selling stuffed Paddington Bears along with magazines and chocolate bars. She hesitated, remembering childhood stories of the brave little bear. Lydia fingered the broad yellow hat and the little blue jacket as she read his tiny label. ‘Please look after this bear, thank you’. Lydia sighed, wishing she had someone to bring him home to. Hesitating a moment longer she decided not to buy the bear. Giving the little toy a gentle pat on the head, Lydia turned to the large overhead destinations board.

             
The illuminated board clacked loudly as destinations were added and deleted. The board seemed in constant motion and it made Lydia dizzy to look at it. Finally she located Plymouth on the board. She knew she would have to change trains at a place called Newton Abbot. As she turned to walk away she remembered that Alan had warned her not to take the Plymouth Express. Lydia turned back to the board, pleased to see that the listed train was not the Express. With forty-five minutes to wait Lydia realized she was hungry.  Breakfast had been served at the ungodly hour of five a.m. on the plane and she was starving for a cup of tea and a muffin. She looked around the wide expanse of the railway station noting a sign for the station buffet. She passed through the low decorative fence, and along the cafeteria line picked out a raisin scone, and got her cup of tea. At the cash she remembered she hadn’t any English money.

             
The young girl at the cash register smiled a gap-toothed grin and said something Lydia didn’t understand.

             
Lydia spoke, “I have just come in from Canada and I’m afraid I don’t have any English money.” The girl behind the counter frowned and Lydia panicked. “I have Canadian money and …”

             
“Canada, eh?” said a soft male voice behind Lydia. She spun to see the steward from the Air Canada flight. “Oh, yes, row 14, the window seat. You’re the lady who wanted Earl Grey Tea.  I see you found some. Can I be of assistance?”

             
“Oh, please,” Lydia pleaded, blushing darkly. “I didn’t remember to change my money and now I can’t pay for this. I’m so embarrassed, I should have known better.”

             
“Happens all the time; here, let me get this and after I will show you where the money exchange booth is located. This will be my good deed for today and you can tell me all your plans for London,” he continued, as he steered her to a table near the fence.

             
“I’m actually on my way to Devon. I’m on the Plymouth train which leaves in forty minutes. Forgive my lack of manners, thank you very much for your kindness.”

             
He introduced himself as Jim Garner of Toronto and asked her name.

             
“Lydia Hamilton,” she replied between sips of hot tea. She was just breaking apart her scone when a train to Plymouth was announced.  “Oh dear! Where? Do you see it?” she cried, looking at the large clacking board to see which track the train was on.

             
“Plymouth, you said. That’s the express leaving on track nine, is that yours?”

             
“No, I have to change trains in a place called Newton Abbot.   Do you know it? I’m going to Totnes. Have you been there?”

             
“Afraid not, I’m a big city boy, hardly ever leave it. I’m here in the station to meet someone coming in from Hampstead. Here, let’s sit back down and finish our tea. You should have had a cream tea. They don’t do it properly in London, but as you will be in Devon you must try one.”

             
Lydia studied the man opposite. He was short, barely 5’4, solidly built, with the beginning of a paunch beneath his Air Canada uniform. His salt and pepper hair was marching from his high forehead. Lydia guessed his age to be in the mid-forties. He sat staring out on to the concourse, a wide smile creasing his thin lips. Lydia followed his gaze to see a tall, expensively dressed young woman approaching their table. She had long, straight blonde hair and vivid blue eyes. Her curvaceous body appeared poured into the classic black sheath dress she wore. Her feet were encased in knee-length high-heeled black boots and over her arm she carried a black wool coat. When the young woman saw Jim she waved gaily and started to run to him.

             
‘What an odd couple,’ Lydia thought as she watched to two embrace. ‘She looks like a Vogue model; whatever can she see in him?’

             
“Oh Dad, it’s so good to see you,” the young woman cried, hugging him tighter. “Did you have a good flight?”

             
Lydia flushed with embarrassment and started to back away. How could she have thought what she had? She mumbled something about having to go.

             
“No, wait,” Jim said. “I want you to meet my daughter, Rachel. Oh, and I still have to show you where the money exchange is. Rachel, be a darling and get yourself a cup of tea, I’ll be right back.”  Then turning to Lydia, he continued, “My youngest. She’s studying here in London. We don’t get to see each other much since her mother and I divorced, so we get together whenever I can manage a London flight. I’m a desk jockey now and only get to fly when someone calls in sick. Here we are. You can exchange your Canadian funds here. I’ll leave you now. Have a safe journey.”

             
Lydia turned to thank him, but he was already gone, crossing the concourse back to the railway station’s small restaurant.  She just had time to change her dollars into pounds sterling when her train was called.

             
Once on the train Lydia sighed contently as she settled in her seat. Gazing out the window at the busy platform Lydia wondered again, what was it she expected to find at the journey’s end? Turning her gaze to the train car, she was surprised to find herself all alone in the long car. ‘I suppose it’s packed to the gills morning and night with commuters traveling to and from their workday in the City. Still, it will give me time to think and plan.’

             
As the train pulled out of the station Lydia had her first glimpse of London. Perhaps not the view she would have chosen; just backyards and gardens with fluttering lines of clothes and tattered garden sheds, not the streets lined with fine shops she had hoped to see. Still, it was London and she loved every minute of it.

             
Soon though, she grew bored with the anonymous towns and villages that flew past her window and she reached for Elisabeth’s journal. She opened it randomly and read:

             
January 27, 1536

             
              The King is dead! God save us! Lord Norfolk brought the news this morning that the King has fallen under the lance at the tournament today. My lady’s pains began this afternoon. Lady Rochford has sent for the midwife to stay the child’s deliverance, which comes too soon, but I fear naught will stop his coming. She comes. I must be ready.

             
Lydia paused to stare out the window. Once again she wished she knew her history better. “The King is dead.”

             
“Pardon Miss,” the ticket collector said, “did you say something?”

             
Lydia turned with a start. “No, I was just reading aloud. I thought I was alone.”

             
“Never alone on this small isle,” the tall lank man, dressed in a dove gray uniform said, as he reached for her ticket. “Your ticket, please, Miss. Oh, you are going on to Totnes,” he said frowning. “I’m afraid you’ll have a bit of a wait in Newton Abbot, trouble on the line, could mean a several hours wait. I’m sorry.”

             
Lydia groaned.

             
The conductor smiled shyly. “Nice little town, Newton Abbot, lots of shops. Be sure to check out Market Walk and the indoor market. The time will pass quickly.” He finished punching holes in her ticket and passed out of the railway car.

             
‘At least the sun is shining,’ Lydia thought as she stepped out on to the wooden platform when the train stopped in Newton Abbot. She was struck by the warmth of the mid-afternoon sun. When she had left London the day was dark and windy but here in South Devon the sun was bright in a cloudless blue sky. Lydia unbuttoned her coat as she looked around the platform. She had been the only one to get off the train; there was no-one else about. She had turned toward the station’s big glass doors wondering what she should do next when she heard foot-steps behind her. Assuming they belonged to the stationmaster she turned to ask when the Totnes train was expected. She was startled to see an older man of forty dressed in pressed khakis and a plaid shirt.

             
“Miss Hamilton? Are you Lydia Hamilton?”

             
“Yes?” Lydia replied timidly.

             
“My name’s Willis. I have come from Morley’s Cross to fetch you.”

             
“What do you mean come to fetch me?”

             
“The squadron leader sent me to bring you to Morley’s Cross. He is waiting for you now.”