When the Heavens Fall (42 page)

England received its new ruler with great joy. Noisy crowds thronged the streets of London when Queen Elizabeth made her first appearance. Peal upon peal of church bells scored the air, and beacons blazed, sending the news of the accession from hilltop to hilltop all across the land. Servants were breaking out firkins and hogsheads of liquor, and cheering revelers were breaking the bright, clear air with shouts of praise. One song Elizabeth heard clearly:

When Christmas came, there were the usual celebrations with a new feeling of joy. There were masques and mumming, with colors so bright that they were almost painful to the eye. Music was stirring throughout the land, and everyone seemed to be singing. That Christmas and the coronation of Queen Elizabeth would never be forgotten by those who experienced it.

On the day of her coronation, January 15, 1559, Elizabeth paraded to Westminster, then to the palace, then to the old abbey
where her father and her father's father had been buried. Then past Saint Paul's, down Ludgate Hill. The roar of the crowd and caroling choirs and bells calling from every steeple and cannon thundering like the crack of doom all filled the air wherever she went.

Elizabeth was carried high for all the people to see. She wore a gown of gold and silver and was drawn in a golden coach under a rich canopy of gold—and sat on a rich nest of white satin. Almost a thousand horses followed in the parade. The people cried out her name for hours.

“Long life and joy! Joy to good Queen Elizabeth!”

And Elizabeth called back, “Bless you all. You may have rulers that will rule you more wisely, but you will never have a ruler who loves you more!”

“What would you like for a Christmas gift, Philemon? Now, have faith! Ask for something big. I'm in the mood for giving.”

“Well, sir, since you asked,” Philemon responded, “I'd like to have a new suit of clothes. Not a servant's suit, but one like you wear. Lots of gold lace on the doublet and gold thread everywhere. And a fur hat like the one you wear. And a fancy pair of shoes with pointed toes, real leather ones.”

“You shall have them!” Brandon said heartily. “But why this sudden interest in fine clothing? You never cared about dress before.”

“Ah, sir, but I'm going courting.” Philemon nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Courting the Widow Maddox, don't you see? She'll make a fine wife for a deacon, sir. All broke in, so to speak.”

“Broke in? What do you mean by that?”

“Why she's been wife, and her late husband, bless his soul, gave her good training. He was strict on that verse that says, ‘Wives be obedient to your husbands.' And she took to the training fine, sir.”

“How do you know that?” Brandon asked, amused at the turn his man's life was taking.

“Why, I investigated, Mr. Winslow.”

“You engaged in some sort of intrigue to find out about her life?”

“Not on your life, sir! No, I listened to the gossip at church. Wonderful place to find out about people. Some of it is a bit malicious, but on the whole, if you sort it all out, you can get the real truth. Oh, she's a fine woman, sir, got a pot of money her husband left her, and she's fond of me.”

“You shall have the suit, Philemon. And may God bless your union with the Widow Maddox.”

“Thank you, sir. And may God prosper your own self with a good wife.”

Winslow was well aware that Philemon was aware of almost every aspect of his private life. He gave him a suspicious look, but the bland features of Philemon revealed nothing. “You're a scoundrel, Philemon!”

“No doubt, sir!”

Eden had rejoiced in the accession of Elizabeth to the throne, but something had come into her life that disturbed her. She had spent the Christmas season partly with her own parents but the latter part with the Winslows. She and Brandon had walked together through the snow. They had ridden in a sleigh. They had laughed. They had feasted. They had exchanged gifts.

But Brandon had said not a word about marriage.

Eden had expected marriage to come at once, and she could not but feel that something was standing between her and the man she loved. She could not ask him, and she tried not to show it, but that was difficult. She loved all the Winslows and entered into the festivities, but on December 25, after almost everyone had gone to bed, when she was sitting in front of the fireplace in
the lesser hall, she heard her name called and turned to see Brandon.

“All alone? Why, that won't do.” He sat down beside her and put his arm around her. “It's been a wonderful time. A new queen and a good Christmas here with the woman I love.”

He pulled her around, and Eden saw that his smile faded as he studied her. “My girl seems sad tonight.”

“No, I'm not sad at all. It's been a wonderful Christmas.”

“But something's not right. I can see it in your eyes, sweetheart, and in your lips. I can read you better than I can read a book. You're not happy. Something is missing. Tell me what it is.”

“There's nothing missing,” Eden protested. But her voice was unsteady, and she wondered why he was holding himself away from her.

“Well, I have a Christmas gift for you.”

“You've already given me a gift, more than one, Brandon.”

“But nothing like this one.”

Eden saw that he was smiling then and felt his hand on her hair. She had always loved that. “You're going to like this gift, I hope.”

“Well, what is it?” She tried to summon enthusiasm for what? A bracelet? Or a jewelled pin? But Brandon gave her a mischievous grin.

He pulled her to her feet and held her tightly in his arms. “Eden, I offer you this Christmas”—he knelt before her, holding her hands in his—“I offer you my undying love. I wish I had a better gift, but if you'll have me, you can make a better man of me. Please, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Eden felt a sudden rush of joy. He rose to kiss her. She felt secure, and she put her arms around his neck and held him close. “I accept your gift, Brandon Winslow.” She put her head back, put her hands on his chest, and tried to push him away, but he held her tightly. “I accept your gift on two conditions.”

“And what are they?”

“One, that you love me as much as your father loves your mother.”

“That's asking a lot, woman! Those two love each other more than any human beings I've ever seen. All I can say is that I'll do my best to love you as Father loves Mother. Now, what's the other condition?”

“The other condition is that every day of our married life you will tell me that you love me.”

“Even when I'm attracted to other women?” he teased.

Eden laughed. Joy was filling her. “I know how to keep you at home.” She pulled his head down, kissed him again. “I won't let you stray far.”

“That's right. You won't, and I never shall.”

They stood lost in their love, and then Eden whispered, “We'll marry next week. The first day of 1559. Then you can never forget our anniversary.”

“I will forget my own name before I forget that day.”

The two stood there, and Brandon held her tightly. “I've got the whole world in my arms,” he said.

“And you are my whole world, Brandon Winslow,” Eden replied.

The next Gilbert Morris novel in
The Winslow Breed Series will be

 

The Winds of God

 

to be published in 2011.

We have included an excerpt from the
upcoming book for a sneak peek into
The Winds of God
.

 

May 15, 1581

Dr. Regis Perry, physician, and head of the College of Physicians, the most powerful medical organization in England, resembled a butcher much more than he did a doctor. He was a thickset man with a square head set on a neck so short he did not seem to have one. His arms were bulging with muscle, and in farmer's clothing he could easily pass for one of that group. Perry had a bulldog face with a lantern jaw, and small eyes set rather close together. They were a muddy brown, but when he grew angry they glowed as with a subterranean heat. His eyes at the moment were able to hide that anger, for he was unable to release it because his visitor was powerful with influence and dangerous to antagonize.

William Farley, the Right Honorable Viscount Withington, was not a large man, at least when he stood next to Perry. He had a tall, slender frame, dark hair and penetrating gray eyes, and there was something imposing about his attitude. He was a man of great discernment, and he could tell in a glance that Dr. Perry was angry. He glanced over at the third man in the room, Dr. John Chadbourn, the head of Oxford University. Chadburn was a small man with mild, delicate features, and he was at all times anxious to avoid confrontation. He seemed caught between
the upper and the nether millstone, for the two powerful men who flanked him were both dangerous and influential, and not men to antagonize.

“I think, Lord Withington, you will have to understand that disease is not at any doctor's beck and call.” Perry's voice was harsh and had a gravel-like quality to it. He ran his thumb over his thick, choppy lips and attempted to make himself look as amiable as possible, for like Dr. Chadburn he understood that Lord Withington was not a man to be trifled with. “I understand your anxiety for your son, but you must learn to be patient, sir.”

Lord Withington put his steady gaze upon Perry and said in a voice that was somehow ominous even though the tone was pleasant enough, “Dr. Perry, I have brought my son, Leslie, to you because he was ill. He has been here now for three weeks and he has grown progressively worse. I am not a doctor, sir, but I do know my son, and I fear for him. He is a sick young man.”

“I am sure Dr. Perry is doing his best,” Chadburn said quickly. “Disease is a deceitful thing. If you would just be patient—”

“I
have
been patient, Dr. Chadburn. The treatments have not been effective. I have met with your chief physicians more than once, and it is obvious that they have not the foggiest idea what is wrong with Leslie, therefore I intend to take a step I feel is important.”

Alarm ran across Dr. Perry's blunt features. “What do you mean, my lord? We have the finest physicians in England.”

“That may well be, but my son is not getting any better. I have a nephew, the only son of my brother, and he became very ill, and all the medical attention my brother got for him was useless. He grew worse and was at the point of death. At that time my brother took the boy to Dr. Phineas Teague. I believe you know the man.”

Instantly Dr. Perry's face grew red. “I know him, my lord, but I could not recommend him.”

“And why is that, Dr. Perry?”

“He has no respect for the forerunners and founders of the medical profession.”

“That may well be, as I have said I am not an expert at this, but as soon as my nephew came under Dr. Teague's care along with his young associate, Mr. Colin Winslow, they almost at once brought him back to health.” A smile touched Withington's face. “It was a miracle, sir, a notable miracle! I thank the Lord for it. I also thank the Lord that Dr. Teague and Mr. Winslow were used as his instrument for the healing process.”