Roses in the Tempest (26 page)

I could not help but glance back at the rose. “Yes. There is much to be said for tenacity.”

END OF OCTOBER, 1538

Stretton

XXVIII

“I am rather inclined to believe that this is the land God gave to Cain.”

–Jacques Cartier, 1491-1557

Alone in my rooms, I read the inventory, tenderly compiled by my father and his friends. Such a solemn list. Such a poor list, and such feeble sums I paid for it all. The hall: two tables and a bench, 12d. The prioress’ parlor: one folding table, one bench, one chair, one cupboard and the hangings of painted cloth, 2s. The nun’s chamber: one featherbed, two old coverlets, one old blanket, one tester of white linen, two bedsteads, two benches, one cupboard, one joint chair, two old coffers, one bolster, two pillows and four pairs of sheets, 10s. The bailiff’s chamber: one mattress, one coverlet and one ax, 12d. The buttery: two ale tubs, one old chest, one board, one tablecloth and two candlesticks, 12d. The kitchen: two dressing boards, two stools, one bench, one ladder, 1 ½ bushels of salt, four porridgers of pewter, four platters, two saucers and two brass pots, 5s. The larder: one great chest, one trough and two little barrels, 6s. The brewhouse: five tubs, one keeler, one old tub, one old table, one old wheel and one cheese press, 16d. The gyling house: three cooling leads, two brass pans and seven old tubs, 8d. The cheese loft: two little tubs, two cheese racks, two churns, one little wheel and two shelves, 8d. The kilhouse: one hair cloth, and one ladder hanging on the wall of the said house, 11d. Also sold was grain, 18s, one horse, 4s, one wain and one dung cart, 16d, and ten loads of hay, 15s. To George Warren was sold the chalice and three spoons for 26s 8d.

This was the house of iniquity that must be suppressed. This pitiful convent, its riches only in the golden prayers offered up like incense, its pride only in its gaggle of sparse nuns with all their foibles and dispositions. If any error they made, it was in trusting too naïvely the courage of Englishmen in defending their faith, for I believe that the people care for nothing except war and taxes.

At any moment I expected to hear that Blackladies was surrendered, and it was only for me to take ownership. I chuckled airlessly. Ownership. I? Of a monastery? Such blasphemy. Yet amid all the greater blasphemies to come, it was perhaps a lesser sin. I saw the day when His Majesty would somehow desecrate the shrine of Thomas Becket, that saint most revered in the land. A pilgrimage to Canterbury was as common as the same to an alehouse. How long would the king endure a shrine to a bishop who stood against his king? This was not a banner to wave to the populace, yet did he have the stomach to do away with such a glaring beacon? I prophesied that he would, at least with Cromwell egging him on.

It put me of a mind to contemplate my own soul’s depth, and to wonder if I had done enough. Should I have gone against my king in support of my faith? Should I have refused to take the oath? Lesser men had done so: Fischer and More, and so many others. Yet the banner of the Giffards has flown high. The Giffards had stood beside the first Norman king on the battlefield of Hastings, and we have walked within the shadow of the crown ever since. Whichever way the banner blows, that is how a Giffard sways. If outwardly he must seem a Lutheran, than it must be so to honor his sovereign. But inwardly, the Giffard mantle wears a Catholic heart, and always shall. I will have a proper priest for my masses and in the pope’s Latin. None of these tainted Bibles in common tongues.

“Oh, Isabella! What have they done? What will you do?”

It occurred to me that I might ask her to live on our estates. She would be comfortable and even find the life useful. What would she say to such an offer? I blushed in the thinking of it. What would Ursula say? It need not be at Stretton. Certainly it could be Chillington, or even…

My thoughts had been to purchase Blackladies, but they went no further. Did I intend to live there? I knew Ursula wondered as well, but never did she ask me. It was not a topic easily discussed between us. Though now, with my head drowsy with the warmth from the fire and from a belly full of wine, I sat back in my chair and considered.

She
lived there for twenty-three years. Might I do as much? My mind raced toward fluid arches and diamond pane windows set aglow with beeswax tapers. Polished oak paneling to warm the walls, and brickwork to ornament its exterior. I would change the entrance and expand the drive to encompass a park. The stewpond and the mill may stay as they are. Yes. I could see it all in my mind’s eye. How it might come alive in its renewal. Alive with the voices of children and families. Alive, too, with the mass in its chapel. Alive and not gone completely.

Snapping open my eyes, my gaze fell upon a tapestry with just such an idyllic setting, and my spirits fell. Would I ever be able to forget that the stones beneath my feet were sacred, that their walls housed prayers and sacrifice? Would I ever be as worthy to live within those walls as Isabella surely was?

“My lord…”

My servant William entered tentatively, knowing my mood of late. “There is a messenger from the king’s commissioners, my lord. From Brewood.”

So it came at last. Blackladies’ surrender. Would it be prudent to make a visit, or would it be unwelcome to those who must be dispossessed? There is nothing quite as loathsome as the presence of a landlord when the tenants are turned out.

“Bring him in, William,” I said.

After a few moments, the liveried man entered, bowed, and handed me the missive. It was from that horrible Legh. In his obsequious hand, I read that Blackladies surrendered on the 16th and that they only awaited the nuns to vacate. No doubt they awaited their relatives to spirit them away. Perhaps it was time I did pay a call on Blackladies…while it was still Blackladies.

NOVEMBER, 1539

Blackladies

XXIX

Remove not the ancient landmark which your fathers set up.

–Proverbs 22:28

“Are you ready?”

I heard Thomas speaking and yet I did not recognize him at all. He stood behind me in the haze of my remembrance, for all my thoughts were of memories now. I felt my veil flapping outward, reaching for him like a desperate hand. I tugged on it. It behaved like a sail, and I longed to let it fly, with myself flying away with it.

“Isabella, are you ready?” he said again.

Surely this was what an executioner says before he takes you to the gallows. And of course, at that moment, you are never ready. I considered Sir Thomas More. I heard he was a noble gentleman as he walked to his death, speaking no treason even unto the last. Beheaded. Martyred. Good God. “Will they take the roof, do you think?” I asked dazed, thinking of beheadings.

“It must be so. The king’s commissioners have declared it…so that it shall henceforth be uninhabitable to its former occupants.”

I heard the sneer in his voice, but the cry of a hawk caught my attention, and I shielded my eyes with my hand to watch. For a long time it winged in effortless, illimitable circles, always searching. “You make no sound,” I told the bird. Thomas twisted his head to observe the soaring blade of wings. “You are Death,” I whispered. “Death makes no sound as he swoops down upon his hapless prey. Soundless talons grasp and rip, tearing the creature from the safety of earth.” Its shadow passed over me and I shivered before turning to Thomas. The dark, bearded chin raised upward, and the stubble on his throat rose as he swallowed. “Are you Death, Thomas? Have you come to rip us free of our safe place?”

“I am offering you an opportunity to preserve what you have.”

“What I have is in God’s hands, not yours!” My raw fingers covered my mouth and helplessly I shook my head. “How can you know?”

He moved to stand beside me, reassuring with his mere presence. How splendid he looked! How splendid he always looked. Shoulders broad and flanked by the wide borders of a fur collar over an embroidered skirted jerkin. There was gold in a cumbersome chain on his chest, gold on each of his fingers, gold on a broach on his feathered hat.

I sighed, thinking of Blackladies. “I will miss it, this ramshackle bag of bones. They will not need to pull down the walls. They will fall of their own accord.” We chuckled. It felt good to hear the both of us, yet it was too soon replaced by the wearying eloquence of a frown. “Yes, I will miss it. But more than that. This life cultivated within these walls. How can that be duplicated? I cannot understand, Thomas, what drove our own countrymen to forsake their Church. Were these pagan idols that they thought it necessary to bring down the very walls? Do they still call themselves Christians, Thomas, who turn out those given to God, allowing a desecrated king to dictate what is ‘church’ and what is not?”

“Yes,” he said. “They have that self-righteous mantle about them, like a younger generation wagging a finger disrespectfully to their elders. They think we poor papists have been misguided fools. They see now the profit in having a king as pope.”

“Is it because we believe the bishop of Rome to be the one ambassador of Christ from that long line of apostles back to Saint Peter himself? Is it because we believe that the Holy Mother deserves her rightful place of veneration in our chapels, because she gave her very body to be used as the ark of God? Is it because we hold that our Lord meant for all the world to be under the one roof, a Catholic roof, Thomas? And now they tear the roof away.”

“But you must admit”—he faced me, a gold encrusted fist digging into his hip—“there was corruption and misdeeds. Yes, even in monasteries and convents. Some would say especially those places.”

“But why break the pot because the wine is bad? Find the corruption, and fix it.”

“Oh, they fixed it right enough,” he said, shaking his head so that the feathers swayed. “And replaced them with their own corruptions. Someday Cromwell and his minions will be found out—”

“Hush, Thomas!” My fingers covered his mouth and I felt his warm breath on my nails, the bristly mustache on my fingertips. Slowly I withdrew my hand and stuffed it with the other within my scapular. “I would not have you speak treason. Somehow, I feel the wilderness can hear you.”

“Thomas Giffard is no traitor. All the court knows it.”

“And they knew it of Thomas More as well.” Falling silent, we both listened to the churning wind as it rushed through the yellowed beech leaves, tangling each spindly branch. Suddenly, it cried out in such lonely tones that I was overwhelmed with incomprehensible grief. Long held in, I, too, cried out my despair, “How am I to bear it? I made a vow!”

He clutched for my hands and dragged them out of their nest, crushing them in his warm fingers. “And you keep them as dear as the day you made them, Isabella. I am testimony to that. I will stand before God Himself and declare your virtues.”

I used my arm to smite a rivulet on my cheek, for Thomas still held my hands. I pulled them free, tugged my veil about me one last time, and turned from the priory. “Thank you, Thomas. That is the dearest utterance you have ever made to me.”

“The dearest, eh?” He chuckled ruefully. “Very well. I mean it… Ah Isabella,” he said with a forlorn sigh. “If there was ever a time when a man felt he outlived his usefulness…”

This was not the Thomas Giffard I knew. His voice was almost as desolate as mine. “No, Thomas. Not you. There is more for you to do, I am certain. It is I who was cast out of the nest by the cuckoo. I had a home and now it is no more. Now you are lord of this…this manor, such as it is. At first I was angered at the news until I realized the reasons behind it.”

“The reasons?”

“Yes. Your father was to purchase it, was he not?”

He smiled. “Yes. You have found me out. He had his plans… And I have mine.”

“Will you…will you live here, Thomas?”

He turned to me with as solemn an expression as Thomas Giffard was ever capable. “I will.”

It was not for me to divine his motives, but I was pleased that he would be its caretaker. It would no longer be the Blackladies we knew, and yet it might retain a flavor of what it was under Thomas’ stewardship. The foundations were set with blessings, after all.

“Do you…” He cleared his throat and began anew. “Isabella. You need not go to your sister’s home to live. I have been thinking on this. The Giffard estates are many. Even my father…that is, we have agreed that you…that any one of your sisters are welcomed to reside there. You need not work as hard as you have. You can still devote your time to prayer and such like.”

He could not bear to let me go. Poor Thomas. If I possessed one whit less of strength, I would have flung myself into his arms and taken the sympathy he was prepared to mete out. Praise God I was strong enough to resist such an urge. For there was little doubt I loved Thomas with all the heart of a woman. But there was also little doubt in my mind—for it was the saving grace of my life—that I loved God more.

“It…is a generous offer, Thomas. But I cannot make use of such a thing. So much rumor abounds about us as it is. It would not be well for either of us.”

“Can I not do this one thing for you, beloved?”

Biting my lip, I turned, the veil shielding me from him. “You have not called me that for over twenty years.”

“Yet each day I thought it. You are still my beloved, my Isabella. But I have also never forgotten that you are Prioress. I make this offer to you with all courtesy, Madam. As much as it may appear, there are no motives behind it.”

“Still, I cannot accept. Though Alice may be pleased to make a home on one of your estates. She and her mother are always at odds. Will you do me this favor and take Alice? At least for a little while.”

“Anything, Prioress,” he said.

We grew silent. We both gazed at Blackladies, its moss-stained lime, its louse-eaten timbers, its stern eyes now dark. We looked with glazed and lovelorn eyes. “Do you think someday this madness will be lifted from England and this house may be restored to its more useful purpose, Thomas? Might that happen?”

“If it does, you may be certain, Madam, that I shall happily return it to its original state. Well…perhaps without the leaky roof.”

“Then I can be satisfied.” Yet even as I uttered it, the uncertainty of my present existence weighed heavily. I clutched the scapular, the very same my predecessor wore and the prioress before her. How many grave ladies have worn this armor of black before me, and how many more were destined for its future on English soil? I would not don the plain woolens and headdress Legh and Cavendish brought for us to wear. That was for later. I would leave Blackladies as a nun.

“Shall I collect Dame Alice, then, if she is willing?” he said.

I nodded, still gazing at Blackladies, her timbers and stone. “It was kind of you to offer to come for us, Thomas. I shall await my brother-in-law.”

He stopped and gazed at me. I did not deign to look, for I knew his expression was not fitting to our situation. But I did see him solemnly bow, as any courtier would to a great lady.

“Madam,” he said softly, and slowly withdrew.