Betrayal (38 page)

             
“The squadron leader? Oh, you mean Uncle Henry. But how did you know which train to meet? I didn’t tell Uncle Henry which one I would be on.”

             
“Mr. Hays-Morely called the airline to find out when your flight would arrive in London. I have been waiting here since early this morning. The squadron leader did not want me to miss you.”

             
“I would like to go to my hotel first. I would like to freshen up before I meet my Uncle.”

             
“You will be staying at Morely’s Cross.”

             
“No, I have reservations at The Royal Seven Stars in Totnes.”

             
“Mister Henry cancelled those, I’m afraid. I am to bring you straight to Morely’s Cross,” he said, bending at the waist to pick up her two small bags. Seeing Lydia’s hesitation he continued, “When dealing with the squadron leader it’s best to…” he paused as he pushed open the station’s heavy brass doors. “This way, Miss.”

             
Passing out of the railway station into the parking lot Lydia was amazed to see the small garden awash with color, with crocuses, snowdrops, and primroses all in full bloom.  She pointed to the flowers, her mouth agape.

             
“Devon can be quite lovely this time of year, when it isn’t raining, that is. The motor is in the car-park.”

             
“What?”

             
Willis recognized his error.  Thinking of the American detective stories he had seen on television, he corrected, “Pardon Miss, the car is in the parking lot. This way, please.”

             
“Here we are,” he said, pointing to the longest car Lydia had ever seen. He opened the rear door and Lydia climbed in on to the butter-soft leather bench seat of the old Bentley. “Morely’s Cross is about half an hour’s drive from here,” he said, shutting the substantial door with an admirable thud.

             
Leaving the town behind, Lydia was lulled by the uphill and downhill motion of the car, and she dozed, waking frequently to look out at the countryside. “What is that?’ Lydia asked, pointing to the distant hills.

             
“Dartmoor,” Willis replied, speaking so softly Lydia had to strain to hear him.

             
“That’s where Sherlock Holmes fought the Hound of the Baskervilles.”

             
“In Mr. Conan-Doyle’s book, yes, that’s right. Did you know that there really was a family called Baskerville? They were friends of Mr. Conan-Doyle’s, lived in Dartmouth, I believe; didn’t have a dog though, as I remember it.”

             
“It’s beautiful,” Lydia said, looking out over the barren moor.

             
“We are almost half-way now,” Willis said as they passed a pub called ‘The Pig and Whistle’.

             
Lydia wondered at the unusual name and was just about to ask about it when she noticed a house on the left that looked like it was right out of a Brothers Grimm fairytale.

             
Soon they entered the roundabout at Totnes and Lydia craned her neck to see the castle high on the hill.  “Almost there,” Willis said, as he turned the car up the hill. Lydia watched the view from the car’s wide back window as the big car turned left on to another road, leaving the market town of Totnes with its old Norman castle behind. “This is the Plymouth road. Not long now. Here is our turn. Here we are,” he said, pointing to a road sign that said “Morely’s Cross.”

             
There was a pub at the crossroads, a post office store, and that was all. Lydia frowned.

             
“The house is down here,” Willis explained, as he turned left down a narrow lane. “The church is thirteenth century Norman and called All Saints.  Morely’s Cross used to be a large estate, but most of the land and buildings have been sold off.” Turning right the old car came to a stop beside a large two story white stucco house. Seven double-paned mullion windows looked out over a small garden facing the old church. Standing in the doorway to the house were an old man and woman.

             
“Here you are,” the old woman called, chafing her hands on her apron. “Here you are, home at last. Our Olivia, home at last. Come in, come in,” she continued, reaching for Lydia’s hand.

             
“Give her time, Ella. It is Lydia, dearest, her name is Lydia. She has only just arrived and must be tired from her trip. Give her time, old girl.”

             
“Shall I take her bags up to Miss Elizabeth’s room?” Willis asked as he stood beside the great gray Bentley.

             
“Elisabeth?”  Lydia said breathlessly. “Did you say Elisabeth?”

             
“Well of course, dear, your mother.  You will be staying in your mother’s old room.”

“Oh yes, of course, I had forgotten,” Lydia replied disappointedly. After a moment’s thought Lydia was shocked at her reaction. ‘How can I be disappointed? I am to stay in my mother’s room, with her things. How can I be disappointed about that? Yet still…’ Lydia was still chastising herself as she was lead into the front door. In front of her lay an elegant curved staircase, leading to the second floor. Willis took her bags and ascended the polished wood stairs. On her right was a brightly lit small living room. The low table before the sofa was set for tea. Lydia looked hungrily at the small cakes and sandwiches.

“I thought a restorative cup of tea and a plate of cakes would be appreciated. A tour of the house can wait for later, after you have rested. I am sure you have many questions and, to be honest, so do we. Now drink your tea and Jan will take you upstairs.”

“Thank you, Aunt Ella, the tea looks delicious. Who is Jan?”

“Willis’ wife.  They have been with us for years now, couldn’t possibly hope to run this old place by ourselves,” Uncle Henry said. “Here she is now. There’s a good girl, Lydia; why don’t you go and have a rest.”

Lydia didn’t feel tired, yet when Jan closed the door it was all she could do to hold her head up. As she lay down on the high four-poster bed Lydia looked around the room, searching for the girls called Elisabeth. Sleep came quickly and Lydia slept dreamlessly.

TWENTY-EIGHT

JANUARY 27, 1536

             
Elisabeth held a wet cloth to the Queen’s parched lips. The birth pains were more frequent now and the ladies of the Court hurried about the room aimlessly until the mid-wife demanded that they leave.  Lady Rochford turned to send Elisabeth away as well, but was stopped by the mid-wife. “I need this one. It could be many hours yet.  You should get some rest, my lady.”

             
“I am weary; perhaps you are right, but…”

             
“I will call you, my lady,” Elisabeth said as Anne screamed out again in pain.

             
“No, I think not. I shall remain with my sister; she may have need of me. What news of the King?”

             
Elisabeth looked blankly at her. She hadn’t been outside the chamber since late afternoon and it was now coming on ten o’clock.

             
The mid-wife checked the progress of Anne’s labor and shook her head. “If this one survives it will truly be a miracle. It is much too soon.”

             
Anne screamed again and Jane felt dizzy. She sat down shakily on a chair by the hearth. Bile rose in her throat and she threw up on the cooling cinders. “Perhaps I should go and see how the King fares. I am of no use here.”

             
“As you wish, my lady,” Elisabeth said, rinsing the cloth in cool water.

             
As she was about to leave, the King and his followers came bursting into the room. “Why has no-one told me?” he screamed as he pushed Jane aside in his rush to the bed. Then turning to the mid-wife, he demanded “Will the child live?”

             
The old woman dipped a deep curtsy before replying, “It is too early to tell.”

             
“I shall send my physicians; they will tell me what I need to know.”

             
“As you wish, my lord, but it is too early to tell,” the mid-wife insisted.

             
Anne screamed again and Henry blanched. He held her hand, whispering in her ear. Then, looking up at Elisabeth, his eyes beseeched her to reassure him.

             
Elisabeth tried to smile, but Anne’s scream silenced her.

             
“The child is coming,” the mid-wife called as she checked beneath the blankets. “Get her into position.”

             
Elisabeth struggled to pull the Queen into a sitting position at the edge of the bed as the room filled with the lords and ladies of the Court, who were to be witnesses of the birth.

             
Anne screamed again.

             
“Push my lady, now is the time to push,” the mid-wife urged. “Your son demands to be born, you must give him the help he needs. Push, my lady, now, harder, my lady. Here, his head appears,” she called loudly.  “Give room,” she demanded as the crowd of on-lookers crowded around the bed.  “Now, my lady, when the pain begins again you must push down with all your might and it will be over.”

“My baby, my son,” Anne cried as she clenched Elisabeth’s hand in her own; the nails of her hand dug deeply into the flesh of Elisabeth’s palm.  Anne screamed loudly, pushing as she had been instructed and her body expelled the baby. The Queen was gently laid back on the bed as the attention turned to the baby.

Except for Anne’s sobbing the room was silent as all waited for the baby to draw breath and scream, but he did not. 

The King crossed himself as he looked on the dead child.  Tears filled his eyes as he left the room. He was quickly followed by the gentlemen of the Court. Anne’s ladies were at a loss as to what to do.  They looked helplessly at the malformed child. “It was a boy,” one of them moaned, tears swallowing her words.  “She has miscarried of her savior,” another whispered as they wrapped the babe in the blood-stained sheets.

“My son,” Anne cried “I want to see my son.”

The mid-wife took Anne’s small hand in hers, gently caressing it. “He was born too soon to live, my lady.  I am sorry, but there was naught to be done.”

Anne screamed, tearing at her hair and clothes. “Leave me, all of you,” she screamed. When no-one moved she shouted again, “Leave me all of you. I want to be alone.”

“That cannot be my lady,” the mid-wife said. “I must remain and so must the girl Elisabeth. There are things that must be done to protect you from child-bed fever.”

“The rest of you go,” Anne demanded.  “You too, Jane; someone will call you if I have need of the last rites,” Anne said caustically.

***

             
Henry bustled down the corridor, trying to put distance between himself and the scene in his wife’s chambers. Behind him followed the ever-present stream of courtiers and hangers-on. He cursed God and all about him as he pressed on to his own apartments. Once inside his bedchamber he dismissed all except Henry Norris.

             
“How can this be?” he pleaded as he paced near the blazing hearth.

             
“It is God’s Will, my lord,” Norris answered dismally.

             
“God’s Will!” he demanded “God’s Will, you say!” Henry shouted his fists clenched tight. “I am cursed, I tell you!”

             
“Oh, no, my lord, surely that is not true.”

             
“If not I, then she must be. If God chooses not to give me a son by her then it must be her fault. It is the new teachings she is forcing on God’s church. They have angered Him and He has withdrawn His favor from me.” The King increased the speed of his pacing as his words poured forth. “She encourages the closure of the monasteries, and the money to be used to fund schools…what nonsense is that?  She natters that God wants all His children to read and write…that can’t be right.  She is accursed and I am destroyed by my love for her and yet she loves me not.”

             
“Oh, no, my lord, that cannot be true, my lady Queen loves you very much.”

             
“Be still, Norris!” Henry shouted. “Incest has been committed and God is punishing me. Did you see the babe?  It was horrible beyond words,” Henry said sadly.

Norris had indeed seen the ill-formed child and didn’t know what to say or how to answer, so he kept quiet, watching helplessly as the King paced like the new lion in its cage at the Tower.

“I must be away!” Henry shouted. “I must get away from this cursed place. Ride with me, my friend. I have need of friendly company. But where shall we go?”

Henry Norris kept silent. Now was not the time for suggestions. It was obvious that the King already had some place in mind.