When the Heavens Fall (22 page)

“I'm afraid it's as they say. I wasn't even allowed to see her this last time. They have her surrounded by those loyal to Philip.”

“She's a woman who thinks she's found love for the first time in her life,” Heather said. “She's how old now? Thirty-eight? Thirty-nine? And as far as I can tell, she's never had a romance. A woman's heart is a tender thing.”

“I fear you are right,” Stuart said. “Her father used her as a pawn, hoping to marry her to this duke or that king or some other prince, and most of them young enough to be her sons or old enough to be her grandfather. She's never had a romance, and now she thinks she's found it.”

“What do you think of Philip? You've met him, haven't you, Brother?” Quentin asked

“Just once briefly, and some years ago. It's difficult to tell. He's one of those men who hide everything behind an agreeable smile. And now the people are in an uproar.”

“As far as Dover,” Brandon put in, “people are saying nasty things. They claim that Spaniards are thieves, a natural enemy of the British, that there are more Spanish than English in the streets of London. England for the English is what they cry.”

“Even in London,” Stuart said, “children shout insults as the royals go through the street and even throw stones at them.”

“What was Mary thinking?” Heather shook her head. “She must have wanted a husband dreadfully.”

“So she did, and I believe she still harbors the dream of having children,” Stuart said

“She's far too old for that,” Heather said

“It's possible.” Quentin shrugged his shoulders and gave Heather a direct look. “Women in their forties in my flock routinely give birth. And it would give England an heir who would be entirely Catholic. If that occurs, the current uproar will seem like nothing in comparison with what is to come.”

“I don't know what's to be done,” Stuart said. “But I want to ask you to do something, and please don't say no.”

“I will do anything I can for you, my brother, of course. Now, what is it?”

“I'd like you to take a holiday, go on an excursion. There is some Stoneybrook business that I hoped you would resolve for me.”

“A holiday?” Suddenly Quentin's eyes narrowed. “You want to get me out of the country until this matter of burning of parsons and Protestants is over.”

“Yes, I do,” Stuart said adamantly. “Go to Ireland or the Low Countries. You've been working hard all your life. It wouldn't hurt you to take a year's absence.”

“I'm not sure a year would do it, Stuart, but in any case, I can't go. You already know that.”

“You must, Uncle,” Brandon said. “Men—and women—are being arrested everywhere. Most of them are ministers of the new religion.”

“They're called protestants now,” Quentin said. “But I cannot flee. I must stay here and do what I can to help others during these trying times.”

“Think, Brother. Think!” Stuart said. “Mary is far too aware of your affiliation with the protestants. I can only believe that she has spared you so far because of our family's long-term friendship with her. I think your four who were executed was a warning shot. She will not keep her dogs on a leash for long.”

“I am aware of the danger. I choose to place my life in the hands of God.”

Brandon leaned forward, his head in his hands. “Uncle, those people yesterday placed their lives in the hands of God.”

“Yes, they did.” He smiled. His eyes had a far-off look in them

“It's so dangerous, Quentin,” Heather tried. “Please, do what Stuart has asked.”

Quentin's smile faded. “I appreciate your concern. But you all must think back. Think back to when Stuart was smuggling bibles into England for William Tyndale. Even Father and Uncle
Edmund took part. You, Heather, endured the intrigue and danger then. Did we falter? Did we fail our God then?”

“No, we did not.” All eyes turned to Claiborn, who had remained silent until now. “We believed in what you were doing, Stuart, as God's will, just as I believe Quentin is now under his will.”

The argument went on for some time, but in the end, as they feared, Quentin refused to even consider a retreat

Stuart and Heather saw the men to the door

“Brandon, you could stay the night,” Heather suggested

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm sorry I came. In the end I was of no use.”

“No use?” Quentin said. He looked up at his nephew. “You gave me strength, man, standing beside me.”

“But I came for you, to help you, Uncle. If all this did nothing to spare your life—”

“Our lives are not our own,” Quentin said, looking about at the three of them. “How many times must I say this? And you, Brandon, your very presence brings me succor.”

“I—Forgive me, Mother, Father. Obviously I have brought you pain.”

“It is good to see you, Son,” Stuart said. “Your mother and I wish to see you whenever possible, for whatever reason. Please, will you not stay the night? Resume your journey in the morning?”

Brandon shook his head. “I must be off.”

“God be with you,” Quentin said. “God be with us all.”

Winter fell across England like an iron curtain. The skies were iron gray, and snowflakes as large as shillings shook loose from the clouds and covered the countryside in white. It made a beautiful scene, but it also made life difficult, especially for the poor. With no money to buy fuel, many foraged for anything that would burn

The weather seemed to cast a deeper chill within Brandon. Lupa had known something was wrong with him ever since he had come back from his visit to his family. She suspected that the executions that took place daily intensified his fears. She had tried to talk to him about these moods, but he had simply refused to discuss the subject. She watched him now as he walked along a path that led to the open fields

Rez was standing to one side by the fire, warming himself. “He's not himself, is he, Lupa?”

“He's shut tight and won't say a word.”

Rez was gloomy too, for he hated the winter weather. “We ought to leave this place. We could go to Spain. It's sunny there most of the time. And business might be better.”

“Yes, they're always so kind to gypsies in Spain, aren't they,” Lupa said sarcastically. “No, I can't leave here. But you could go, Rez.”

“I couldn't make it now without you and Brandon.”

His words found a refrain in Lupa. She leaned closer to the window. The snow was at least eight inches deep and even deeper in drifts. Brandon was looking down and paying no attention to any of the activities that were going on around him. “I don't know what we're going to do. I'd like to get him to go with us somewhere. Somewhere where gypsies aren't hated.”

“I'd like to know where that is,” Rez said, with a short, bitter laugh. “Heaven maybe. You think gypsies have a standing in heaven?”

Lupa managed a small grin. “You don't have to worry about that. You'll never see heaven.”

“Me? Well, why not? I'm as good as some of those popes that go there.”

Lupa shrugged and turned back to stare blankly out the window

Finally Rez asked, “What are we going to do? He don't care
about gambling no more. He just does it enough to see that we have cash.”

“I don't know, Rez. I thought I could make any man forget his troubles, but he's different from other men.”

“He's a deep one, he is. I didn't think so at first. Seemed right shallow. But now you can see he's wrestling with something deep inside. Think it's that uncle of his?” Rez came over and joined her at the window. “Look at him. He's all stooped over like he's got the world on his shoulders. Worried, he is. You can see it on him like a blanket.”

Lupa did not answer, but she knew this was the truth. “I'll fix us something to eat.”

“That's right. Maybe some meat in his belly will help him.”

Lupa was a good cook, and by the time Brandon came in, she had the meal ready to put before him. “Look, fresh beef, and I made you an eel pie. You always like that.”

“It sounds good,” Brandon said

His voice was cheerful, and he had a smile, but Lupa saw that it did not go all the way to his eyes. “Sit down here,” she said

“All right. Where's Rez?”

“Out trying to find our next game, I suppose.”

“You ever think about God, Lupa?” Brandon asked abruptly

She hesitated. “I try not to.”

“Would you be afraid to die?”

“Of course I would. Only a fool's unafraid of death.”

For a time Brandon was silent. He cut up his meat into small pieces but merely picked at his food. Lupa didn't comment, knowing there was no sense in urging him to eat. She desperately searched her mind for some way to give him comfort. All she had was physical love, and he already had that. He was the only man she ever saw who seemed to want more from her, but she did not know how to give it, and now she simply waited. To her relief he began to speak

“I was never afraid on the battlefield, men falling all about me, but for some reason it never occurred to me that I might die there—or if it did, it didn't matter. But while I was visiting my uncle, I went to one of the burnings at Smithfield. They burned four people, one of them an old woman.”

“I hear they are burning even children now.”

A savage look crossed Brandon Winslow's face. “I'd like to take them apart, those that are responsible.”

“You'd have to take the queen apart, then. It's her and that Spanish husband of hers who are behind it all. You can't fight them, Brandon.”

Brandon did not answer. He picked up a mug of ale, took a swallow, and then put it down. “I suppose that's true. I think I'll go visit my parents again. Would you want to go?”

“Do you want me to?”

“It might be a change for you. Pretty grim in this place.”

“They might not want to see me.”

“They'll be glad enough. I'm the one they probably don't want to see. It's not you who's failed them, Lupa. It's me.”

She leaned back in her chair and studied him. “Yes, I'll go with you.” Better to be beside him than to sit back here, waiting and wondering if he would ever return to her again

December brought a break in the bitter-cold weather. By the time Brandon and Lupa arrived at Stoneybrook, much of the snow had melted. It left the roads a soft, gooey mud, which made it hard on the horses. They arrived at Stoneybrook late in the afternoon, and at once, as they dismounted, James Campbell, the head groom, came up to them with a smile. Campbell was a short, muscular man in his midforties. He had black hair without a gray hair in it and sharp, dark eyes. He was always glad to see Brandon, for the two had been companions in poaching. Campbell's eyes lit up as he said, “Well, now,
Master Brandon, a pleasure it is to see you, sir. And you, too, my lady.”

Lupa obviously liked ‘my lady.' “Thank you.”

“Is my father at home?” Brandon asked

“That he is, sir. Let me take the horses. I'll groom them and see that they get a good feed. You go on in to meet your family.” He turned to the horses, and then a sorrowful expression crossed his features. “I'm worried about your uncle. I'm afraid he's in for trouble.”

“You mean because of his religious stand?”

“That's what it is. There were eight burnings right over in Canterbury yesterday. All of them were preachers. If you can, talk to you father about getting Master Quentin away from here.”

“I'll do my best, but you know how stubborn he can be sometimes, James.”

“I know, sir, but it may be a real matter of life or death.” He led the horses away

Twenty minutes later the visitors were greeting Brandon's parents, who were clearly overjoyed by his visit, even though he had Lupa in tow. Brandon was torn. He knew he would probably cause his parents less pain if he disappeared and remained away; but more and more, he couldn't resist the call to come home