The Thornless Rose (38 page)

He suddenly remembered the letter Robert Hope had given him. “The good doctor said t’ open it only if all seems lost,” the young man had said.

Hastings closed his eyes, turning away from Norfolk.
’Tis the moment, surely
, he thought grimly, as he fingered the pocket containing the sealed missive he had brought to the sentencing, in the event things went as he’d feared they would.

He reached for his wife’s shoulder. “Catherine,” he said, gently shaking her, “we must hasten away—now!” She didn’t respond, and he shook her with more force. “Cath, for the love of Christ!”

“I am not abandoning Anne!”

“I do not ask that of thee, but let’s all be off to her cell. Jonathan gave me a letter. I must have privacy to read it.” Hastings hesitated. “Quickly. Mayhap it might help him, even now.”

Anne glanced up with red-rimmed eyes. “Help?” she croaked, while Catherine added, “How, Henry?”

“I know not, but let us see what the letter holds.” He silently beseeched the Lord the slim filament of hope he held was not a false one. He assisted them to their feet, then set off, hand over heart, praying, praying.

Once in Anne’s cell, he broke the seal and read aloud.

Lord and Lady Hastings,

Put away all you’ve been taught or think you know and concentrate on what I must reveal. I was born in the year 1911, and Anne was born in 1984. We came here not of our own free will, and have no knowledge of how we got here or how to get back home. Norfolk knows this because he stole some of Anne’s things on the day of her arrival. This is the reason he has hounded us from the beginning; he wishes to know what the future holds for his own evil ends.

I have also confided in my friend, Bishop Robert Wright. He has been told everything. There is further proof of our other lives in the strongbox. If Anne and I are threatened, endeavor to use this knowledge as best you may. Should I die and Anne survive, please protect her.

Henry and Catherine, Anne is family, your descendant. Watch over her for me. Henry, protect her with your name and your sword, if need be.

JB

Green eyes met and held. Hastings’s heart pounded in his chest.
Lord, how could this be?

“It’s true. I know how strange this sounds, but I swear it’s true,” Anne said, wiping her tears, “but I still don’t see how...”

“Nor do I,” Hastings quietly said. “How is this possible? Thou art from the time here after? However couldst thou be our descendant?”

“My paternal grandmother is a Hastings. Catherine Ellen Hastings. She was born in 1926.” Anne turned to Lady Catherine. “And Jon’s mother was a Dudley.”

Shocked silence filled the room, time passing in heavy heartbeats.

“Please believe me. It’s true! You have to do something to help Jonathan.” Anne wept bitterly then.

“Dear Lord, the both of you? Our children?” Lady Catherine exclaimed.

Hastings glanced at his wife, who stared back at him in disbelief. He turned to Anne, seeing the family resemblance, gazing at her in wonder.

Anne swiped at her tears. “We,” she stammered, “can we talk about this later? We need to help Jonathan right now. How can we help him?”

Hastings rubbed his beard, leaving Anne’s question unanswered. How could he help him? Where could he turn?

Finally, he roused himself and shook his head. “’Tis truly beyond my powers to understand, my dear, but I will do my best to abide by your husband’s wishes and deal with the moment at hand. I know not how we might use such information to help him. I know not.”

Anne nodded as Catherine embraced her. Hastings pursed his lips, forcing aside his emotions.

“Henry,” Catherine said as she rocked Anne, “you
must
find a way. Send word to my brother Robert. Also, contact all others in my family. Ask that they intervene and implore Her Majesty to grant a pardon.” She swallowed. “Find the queen, Henry. Speak to her.”

“Aye, my dear.” He closed his eyes, gathering his resolve. The ride to Windsor would be hard.

There was little time.

Chapter Forty-Two

The royal barge neared the Privy Bridge dock at Whitehall Palace. The scent of juniper wafted from braziers, mingling with the queen’s piquant citrus perfume. Robert Dudley sat in the warm cabin, fully returned to good health. By his side, Elizabeth smiled, a study of calm reflection as she bent to her embroidery. His emotions, though, were barely in check, wavering between equal measures of exuberance and frustration. This chaos stemmed from the whispered news given him by the queen; that she—his beloved, his dearest heart—was nearly two months gone with his child.

He felt someone’s eyes on him and turned. Lady Willoughby, that old, anise-chomping sow, caught his gaze and then abruptly looked away. Did she suspect? He suddenly felt hemmed in by the multitude of ladies within earshot of the queen’s chaise.

Dudley leaned toward Elizabeth. “Can’t thou send them away, my love? We have much to discuss.”

Chuckling, she put down her embroidery ring. “Ha! Art thou not mindful we have not yet docked? Or wouldst thou have me send them overboard, to swim home?” She took his hand. “All in due time, my Robin. We have yet many months to speak of such things.”

“But how can thou divulge this news, and then expect me to dine and chat, as though thou didst tell me naught of any import? Tell me when, at the least, when didst thou suspect? Or expect––?”

Her grip tightened on his fingers. “Quiet!” She giggled. “Until we are alone, I can only say I suspect we may greet a wood nymph, and June shalt be a happy month, indeed.”

A
thud
. The entire barge shuddered.

“Now, we have docked, Robin,” Elizabeth continued. “Say no more.”

Dudley rose, bowed, and then poked his head out of the cabin. He looked along the privy stairs rising from the Thames, to double posts topped with heraldic beasts flanking the steps, then on to a brace of soldiers moving into formation along the quay. When the guards halted, he nodded to the lieutenant.

“Present arms!” the man called out.

With an air of false calm, Dudley saw to the disembarking of the attendant ladies, sending them on ahead with as much haste as he could persuade them to take.

As their chatter faded, he held his arm out to a beaming Elizabeth, Lettice Knollys at her elbow. “Come ashore, Most Gracious Majesty” he said. “Thou art welcomed home to Whitehall.”

“Lettice,” Elizabeth smiled, “I wouldst walk a moment in the privy garden with Lord Robert. He will see me escorted safely to my chambers.”

As Lettice curtseyed and moved off, they walked past the guards and entered the covered bridge leading to the queen’s gallery. Dudley followed Elizabeth through the gallery to the garden. Outside again, but within its sheltering walls, the queen took Dudley’s hands. Her fingers felt soft and warm to his touch.

“Alone at last, Sir Two Eyes! I have sorely missed thee. Truly, I wouldst have had thee by my side, had everything not been so very desperate after Amy’s death.”

He looked down and sighed. “I understood thy reasons.”

“I could think of naught but thy pain.”

Dudley glanced around, then kissed her. “Sweet Eliza, I love thee more than life itself. Forgive me for––”

“Thou hast no cause to apologize.”

“I am ashamed beyond measure to have brought such base accusations upon thee and thy crown.” Dudley gently squeezed her hands. “However, I am thrilled thou art carrying our babe, but how can we avoid the uproar that is sure to follow?”

Grinning, Elizabeth shrugged. “We shalt wed, of course––”

“How? My name hath been dishonored, and the uproar and accusations over Amy’s death shalt arise again. Cecil and the Privy Council wouldst never permit it.”

Elizabeth tossed her head. “God’s death, I know well enough what will happen. Cecil will have me agree, at least at the outset, not to give you a crown. Then we shalt announce the happy news in the spring and be worried-surprised-delighted by its early arrival.” She turned over his hand and kissed the palm. “Once the birth is proclaimed, Sweet Robin, no one will care—no one. An heir to the throne is always more important than the details of how it came about.”

Caught up by her good cheer, Dudley allowed himself to smile. “As always, I shalt follow thy lead in such matters. Come, my love, let’s get thee to the royal chambers afore the ladies begin searching, wondering where we’ve got to.”

“Thou art wont to worry, Robin, but I love thee for it.”

He took her arm and started up the path, then stopped. “Look here. Many of the rose bushes carry flowers, even now! I am surprised, for the rest of the world has gone dreary and gray with the season.”

“London has known no deep frost as yet. ’Tis not so unusual one or two still bloom.” Elizabeth tugged slightly on him, trying to coax him onward.

“A moment, my love.” He drew out his dagger and stepped to a bush, cutting away two perfect pink rose buds. With a swift hand he sheathed his dagger, stuck a rose in his doublet, then grinned at Elizabeth before dropping to one knee. “A beautiful rose for a beautiful lady,” he said, catching a whiff of sweetness as he offered the flower.

Elizabeth laughed. “Such gallantry. But dost thou recognize the bloom? ’Tis Father’s foolish Rose Without a Thorn, and I care not for it, particularly due to its ignoble birth.”

Pouting, Dudley stood up and brushed off his stockinged knee. “I have dirtied my silken hose for this noble gesture. Think not of it in such literal terms, Eliza. ’Tis the best of the lot, and I give it as a token of my love, not for some ancient history less––”

Dudley stopped, hearing a commotion, shouting, a galloping horse.

“Halt!” several men cried out in the distance.

“Let me pass, fools!”

The garden gate burst open, and a charger bolted through. Guardsmen poured in behind, some wielding pikes, others running after the horseman with swords drawn.

“Robin! An assassin!” Elizabeth shrieked.

Dudley’s dagger flicked to hand and he leapt in front of his queen, but then he lowered his weapon as quickly upon recognizing his brother-in-law.

“Henry!” he called.

Reining in, Hastings slid from his heavily lathered mount and handed off his horse to a soldier.

“Why wouldst thou trespass here in the queen’s garden? What is the matter?” Dudley sheathed his dagger and then ordered the soldiers to return to their posts.

Kneeling before the queen, Hastings gasped, “Majesty, Robert...forgive me. I was halfway to Windsor before I met some guards and heard the queen returned to London. My need is pressing, pressing. They told me at the main gates I might yet find you here.”

Elizabeth frowned. “What is thy need, Henry?”

Dudley saw rage in the depths of Hastings’s gaze. What in God’s name was wrong?

“Majesty,” Hastings took a deep breath and clutched at the hem of her skirt, “I know thee are aware this day was condemned to death a man who bears thee no ill—has never—and I come to beg thy mercy on his behalf. Jonathan Brandon is innocent!”

Lord, no! Not this!
Dudley thought as Elizabeth cried out, “Enough!”

“But he saved thy life,” Hastings argued, “as did his wife! How can thou ignore––?”

“Dost thou question my authority, Henry?”

“No, ma’am, but I am most desperate.” He looked from the queen to Dudley and back again, his gaze frantic. “Know ye what they’ll do to Jon? Would ye truly have them rip him open?”

Suddenly, she threw up one hand to stop him, while clutching her belly with the other.

“Christ, Eliza!” Dudley dropped the rose and gripped her arm. “What ails thee?”

“Nothing. ’Tis nothing.” The queen slowly straightened and glared at Hastings. “This whole business hath caused me violent pains both of mind and body since the moment I drank of the elixir. I have been sick for weeks, Henry—weeks! I know only that Brandon bid me drink it, and ’twas following his
remède
I became so ill angels and bright lights were all mine own eyes could take in. Besides, he confessed to it, did he not?”

“But, Your Majesty, he confessed to save his wife and child, who were to be condemned due to the lies being told about Anne. The elixir was surely tampered with.”

“And thou wouldst have me believe one of my ladies conspired with someone—mayhap Lopez? —to see my end? They were the only ones who attended me after Brandon’s departure. ’Tis unthinkable!” Elizabeth clutched herself again and grimaced. “The Portuguese hath treated me for many months and had opportunities beyond count to do me harm, if he desired it. And he saw to my recovery. Why wouldst he poison, only then to deliver from the brink?”

“Majesty, please, it had to be someone else. Brandon is innocent, of this I am certain!”

Elizabeth pulled away. “Thou dost try my soul, Henry, and do my closest circle a grave disservice by suggesting such things. Dr. Brandon seemed a fine gentleman, ’tis true, and his wife a courageous woman, and it doth pain me much I should have to find cause against him.”

Cringing, she continued to grip her middle and Dudley frowned, fearing the worst. “Thou must take to bed, Eliza. The strain—I fear these pains.”

“Majesty,” Hastings persisted, “what of Brandon’s pain? Is his death of no consequence? He is to be executed on the morrow.” He sprang to his feet and grabbed Dudley’s vest. “Robert, didst thou know that Norfolk prances about and mocks thee? He agitates constantly to bring down our sovereign, to bring thee down as well, and now Brandon.”

“Watch thy tongue, Henry,” Elizabeth warned. “Wouldst thou have me believe the duke, my cousin, works toward treason?”

Hastings released Dudley. “I am thy cousin, too, Majesty, and I wouldst die for thee. And I know Brandon. He is wholly innocent!”

“Get thee gone!” The queen stalked off toward the palace door.

Dudley swallowed and looked Hastings in the eye. “Please, Henry, desist.”

Hastings shook his head, his voice rising as he called out to the queen’s back, “Majesty, Norfolk wears Anne’s wedding ring! Didst thou know it? The very ring Robert gave to Brandon to bestow on her. ’Tis upon the duke’s finger now and he gloats over it. He told us before all the court—nay, he did not insinuate, but said it in so many words—that Brandon has been cuckolded by Dudley!”

Dudley stood rooted in shock; Elizabeth turned and stared, mouth open.

Hastings faced Dudley, lowering his voice, man to man. “These are Norfolk’s very words— ‘Dudley hath been bewitched, forced to mount the woman to satisfy her lusts, and now she is with babe!’ He claims thou dost bed Anne regularly, that she controls thee with the ring, and that she conspired against the queen because she is with child on thine account.”

“That is outrageous!”

“I know it is––”

“Ahhh!” Elizabeth moaned, then collapsed to the ground.

“Sweet Jesus, Eliza?” Dudley rushed to her side. “Eliza?” When she did not answer, he picked her up and raced toward the entrance of Whitehall, Hastings close behind.

…

After Lord Henry left, Anne and Lady Catherine were taken to another room in the Tower. There was a real fireplace, as well as comfortable chairs, a canopied bed, and a large window looking out over the interior green, giving a glimpse beyond the fortress walls, to Tower Hill. It was a courtesy granted so Anne might witness, in private, the death of her husband.

At five o’clock that evening, the Tower bell rang, signaling that all who were free to leave, and wished to do so, should go, for the gates would soon be closed until the next morning.

“Cath, go home,” Anne whispered.

Lady Catherine’s gaze grew fierce. “Nay, I shalt not abandon thee.”

Anne hugged her, and together they wept. After crying themselves out, Catherine went over to the bed, got down on her knees, and began to pray.

Anne watched, struggling with her thoughts and remembering
Spero in Deo
.

Frowning, she wished she could have Catherine’s faith, but she did not. She couldn’t find even a glimmer of hope in what awaited Jonathan.

She closed her eyes.
Please, please!
But it was useless. The silence was deafening, overwhelming, and she didn’t feel anything but impending doom.

After a while, Catherine got into bed and pleaded with Anne to follow.

Anne refused and pulled a chair over to the window, preferring to sit and stare out at the darkness, waiting for the coming dawn.

…

By candlelight, Brandon sat at the writing table in his cell. He looked up at the slit window, badly needing some reminder of the world outside, the world away from this terrible place.

He heard the croaking of the Tower ravens, caught a hint of pink clouds. It was nearly sunrise. A new day. His last day.

Closing his eyes, he tried to recreate every inch of Anne in his mind. He would hold the memory of her in the hours ahead, will himself to recall every detail of her beauty: her auburn hair, those glorious green eyes, the soft curves of her breasts, her still-flat belly.

Oh Lord, Annie!
He swallowed hard and fought back the rising heartache. When he met his fate, he would strive to keep her, only her, before his eyes.

Brandon briefly studied the sky, then put quill to paper, a last message to his darling.

Dearest Anne––

The cell door burst open. Brandon stared straight into the eyes of his enemy.

“Chain the prisoner,” Norfolk ordered the guards.

Thrusting the desk aside, Brandon struck out, but the guards seized him before he could land a punch. Overpowered, he was hauled back and shackled to the wall.

Norfolk glanced down at the jumble on the floor. With a smirk, he asked, “Thou wast writing a last note to thy lovely wife, eh, Doctor?”

“Fuck you!”

“I’ve always wanted to ask about that. ’Tis a strange insult.”

“My lord, shall we withdraw?”

Frowning, Norfolk snapped to the guards, “Aye, but first remove his shirt.”

Brandon struggled as it was ripped open and stripped away.

The door slammed shut. Stooping down, Norfolk retrieved the quill. “’Tis a pity I couldst not bribe the men who watch Anne,” he held forth his hand and waved her ring before Brandon’s eyes, “for methinks a taste o’ that cunnie would be marvelous good.”