Sutton Place (Sutton Place Trilogy Book 1)

by Deryn Lake

  ‘It is her,’ shouted Meg, laughing and crying at once. ‘I know it. It is my lady, Catherine.’

  The stone spiral staircase that connected the Gallery with the Gate-House wing was alive with the sound of their merriment as Anne and her two serving women raced to the entry arch. And there could be no question, for leading the group was Will — the Westons’ own rider — and peeping out of the curtained litter, looking very pale and tired, was Catherine’s anxious face.

  Anne began to run forward, calling out, ‘My sweetheart! My sweetheart!’ And Catherine, seeing her, shouted back ‘Mother!’ throwing back the curtains of the litter as she did so. And it was then that Anne stopped short in amazement for Catherine was more than great with child — she was enormous.

  ‘Oh, my darling,’ said Anne. ‘How could you travel in that condition?’

  ‘Mother, I had to because of Giles. I’m not too late, am I?’

  ‘No, dearest. Look he’s coming.’

  And with his face almost split in half with a grin the Fool was hurrying towards them as fast as he could. But he, too, was halted by the sight of Catherine’s swollen belly.

  ‘Oh, Catherine,’ he said, ‘did you journey thus for me?’

  ‘Aye, aye, you old hobgoblin. Now for God’s sake help me down for I have such a pain in my back.’

  And as she walked slowly through the Middle Enter and paused looking about her after all the years away, the waters in which her baby was living suddenly gushed out and she stood, with a look of astonishment on her face, in an ever growing pool.

  ‘Oh, Mother,’ she said, ‘the jolting must have started the wretch off. I had thought I would at least get here safely.’

  ‘Is it your full time?’

  There was anxiety in Anne’s voice for the chances of an infant born prematurely were slight indeed. Catherine patted her stomach reassuringly.

  ‘With that great swelling you should know the answer.’ Her mother put her arms round her — as best she could. ‘What a magnificent gift you have brought! My grandchild will be born at Sutton Place.’

  ‘Yes.’ Catherine’s face contorted slightly. ‘Now may I go to my chamber for I think he starts to shift?’ And then a naughty grin crossed her face. ‘No, I think it better if I go to Sir John Rogers’s chamber. Let the fruit of his labours see its first light there.’

  ‘Can I play the lute for thee, Catherine?’ said Giles, ridiculous but anxious to please.

  And she was kind.

  ‘Yes, for a little while. You may sit outside the door and when I want you no longer you must go.’

  ‘Aye, mistress.’

  He kissed her hand as her mother led her up the staircase, with Meg supporting her on the other side and Joan following behind with a mop as more of the water trickled down. Over her shoulder Lady Weston called to Giles, ‘Send Giles Coke to Guildford for a midwife and for Dr Burton, too. Hurry!’

  But in fact there was no need for speed for once settled comfortably in Sir John Rogers’s bed where, she thought very privately, he had taken her virginity away and now his child would be born, Catherine did not go into labour at once and was able to eat an excellent supper of pheasant. So Giles merrily played his lute in the corridor outside and the midwife — a clean respectable farmer’s wife who had a way with new mothers — had time to take a good repast of trout, lamb and game pie.

  It was at about eleven o’clock that Catherine did eventually start to feel the mighty waves of childbirth and throughout that night she exerted herself with all her strength. Symbolically it was with the dawn that the midwife’s big, gentle hands eased the slippery little body away from its mother’s and it was Dr Burton, who was in the room to attend the newborn, who said, ‘You have a fine gentleman here, Lady Rogers. A very goodly young man.’

  ‘A boy?’ said Catherine, leaning back exhausted on her pillows. ‘Then let him be called Giles.’

  ‘I’ll tell your mother the glad tidings,’ and the midwife hurried out to break the news to a Sutton Place that had not slept that night. And within minutes tankards and glasses were being raised to Master Giles Rogers, while Giles the Fool wept with joy and Lady Weston held her first grandchild in her arms, looking at him fond-eyed and making the noises that grandmothers had made for centuries before her and would continue to do for centuries to come.

  *

  ‘And I hope, Sir Richard, that that has allayed your dislike of me.’

  Sir Richard Weston and Sir John Rogers were sitting in The Green Man Inn at Richmond on the very first stretch of their journey to Sutton Place.

  ‘It has, Sir John,’ said Richard.

  He had drunk more than was customary and as a result was feeling mellow. Furthermore, through some grand irony, he liked the company of the son-in-law whom he had spent the last three years bitterly ignoring, and had grown completely tired of attitudinizing over his daughter’s elopement so all he said was, ‘Do you love her?’

  ‘Very much. It has been a good match. And now that we meet at last, Sir, I will sign a contract with you assuring her of my money and estates in the event of my death.’

  Richard, suddenly generous, answered, ‘And I shall give her a dowry.’

  John Rogers laughed. ‘A little late for that, Sir Richard. Make a settlement on your grandchild instead.’

  ‘You have a child?’

  ‘No, not yet. But when I left her to come to Court she was great with it.’

  ‘Then let us pray for her safe delivery. It is not fitting for a man to have reached my age and be without a grandchild.’

  ‘Aye and she’ll make a kind and good mother for she has treated my daughter, Alice, like her own these past three years.’

  They arrived at Sutton Place during the afternoon of the following day and John supposed that thoughts of his imminent fatherhood were heavily on his mind, for he could have sworn that on the calm summer air was borne the cry of a very young baby. But Sir Richard had heard it too and shot his son-in-law a surprised glance saying, ‘What was that?’

  ‘It sounded like an infant’s cry.’

  Without another word they simultaneously broke into a gallop to cover the short distance to the Gate House. And there was the porter coming out to meet them, his face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘Welcome home, master. Welcome after so many years, Sir John.’

  ‘Is there a baby here?’ asked Richard.

  The porter’s grin spread wider.

  ‘Aye, Sir. Your grandson — Giles Rogers.’

  Richard had never seen a man move so fast as Sir John did now. He was off his horse, running across the quadrangle and into the house in what seemed to be one stride. And his great shout of ‘A son! A son!’ echoed and re-echoed round the terracotta brickwork of Sutton Place’s courtyard. Giles Coke, hearing the din, began to open the Middle Enter but had only swung the door half ajar before Sir John shot past him and, pausing only to say ‘Where are they?’ had started to run up the stairs to the east wing.

  ‘In your old room, Sir,’ Coke called after him.

  And that was where he found them. Catherine’s round blue eyes huge with amazement at seeing him there and the baby, who bore an amusing likeness to Sir Richard, asleep in his cradle and looking rosy-cheeked with the obvious good health that every parent so anxiously sought for, for did not thirty out of every hundred children born never reach their first birthday? Leaning over John picked up his son who gave a milky yawn and continued to sleep.

  ‘Oh, my darling,’ he said to Catherine, ‘how well you have done. What a fine boy you have given me. Was it difficult for you?’

  ‘A hard night’s work,’ she answered.

  ‘I wish I could have been here. But why did you travel so near the end of your time?’

  And then she told him of the evil growth that was gnawing at the life of Giles the Fool and how, terrible though it was to say it, this had been the final spur to her mother and had ended the silence and enmity.

  ‘I suppose there is nothing that does
not have good in it somewhere.’

  ‘But it is wicked to say that about death.’

  ‘Sweetheart,’ said John, ‘I think Giles would gladly have given his life to see you happy again. And you have amply rewarded him by naming our son for him. He will go in peace.’

  ‘May I stay here till the end comes? Dr Burton says it can only be a matter of weeks now. And besides the babe is too small to travel at present.’

  ‘We shall both stay — for your father, I believe, has taken a liking to me at last and would enjoy a spell of my company.’

  Catherine sighed. ‘What a turnabout it all is.’

  ‘Aye, the wheel of fortune is never still. It is a good thing we cannot see what lies ahead.’

  ‘Ah, but there are those who can, John. Dr Zachary, a great astrologer, is here in the house and he has cast a horoscope for our son.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He is to be a famous sailor and fight for a Queen of England in a mighty sea battle.’

  ‘So His Grace will have no male heir then?’

  ‘It would appear not. He also said that we would have another son and three daughters.’

  John laughed.

  ‘Good God, then you’d better hurry up and rise from your childbed, woman. It would seem I have a great deal to do. It is a relief that there are many rooms at Bryanston.’

  ‘That reminds me of something else he said.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘That one day — in the centuries to come mark you — there will stand on the site of our house a building which will house many children who have gone there to learn. Isn’t that strange?’

  ‘Perhaps it is a place that likes the young,’ John answered.

  That night at dinner served in the Great Hall with Sir Richard and Lady Weston, Sir John Rogers and Dr Zachary present, Anne Weston turned to the astrologer and said, ‘Dr Zachary I am most concerned that Giles will not see our priest. I would dearly like him to make a confession and receive the last rites. Can you not persuade him?’

  The sorcerer’s tousled head shook.

  ‘No, my Lady. You see he is a true Romany — full-blooded. He believes in many things, including Lord God, but there are so many other aspects of his creed — the old gods, the unseen people, powerful magic — that the teachings of Mother Church are not acceptable to him.’

  ‘But I would not like to think of him in hell.’

  Dr Zachary smiled.

  ‘A truly pure soul like his will have no battle. You believe that God is all seeing and merciful, do you not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then His Goodness will extend to a poor Romany who never hurt another creature in his life.’

  ‘You are certain?’

  ‘I am. But to ease your mind I will speak to him of the sacraments.’

  ‘I have heard said that you have Romany blood, Dr Zachary,’ said Anne.

  ‘Yes, it is true.’ A look of pain crossed the astrologer’s face momentarily.

  ‘And Howard blood for sure,’ thought both Richard and John. Having been so recently with the Duke at Blackfriars, the resemblance between Howard and the sorcerer was doubly noticeable.

  As if reading his thoughts Zachary said, ‘There are many rumours about my origins — all greatly magnified I assure you.’

  But later that night, in Giles’s chamber, the Fool knelt before him and kissed his hand.

  ‘I think you are twice blessed, Dr Zachary,’ he said. ‘For I feel that you have the mingling of Romany and noble blood. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Zachary. ‘A secret known to none but yourself, and safe with you.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Giles, rising slowly to his feet. ‘I shall keep it for the few hours left to me — for it is to be tonight. You know that, though?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Zachary in the Romany tongue. ‘And it will be as you would wish it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Giles answered in the same language. ‘I shall return to the earth as I must. The stars must be my canopy as I die. There can be no four walls about me.’

  ‘Are you in pain?’

  ‘Greatly so. The physician’s dose is of little value.’

  ‘Here.’ Zachary produced a bottle from the depths of his cloak. ‘This will ease your departure.’

  ‘Is it poison?’

  ‘It is the elixir of death — and yet of joy. When you have drunk it you will sleep as you have never slept before. Take it as you lie beneath the moon, as it is our birthright to do.’

  ‘And must I see the priest?’

  ‘Yes, it will please the good woman. I shall call him secretly to you now. Rest a while for you have a long journey to make.’

  So the Westons’ cleric was awakened from his slumbers and bustled to the Fool’s chamber to give him the last rites and hear his harmless confession. He felt uncomfortable throughout as if he were intruding upon something secret and a little beyond him, for all the while the black-cloaked figure of Dr Zachary stood motionless by the door watching as Giles received the final sacraments. There was an uncanny atmosphere in the room, the like of which the priest had never before experienced. He had done his Christian duty for the Romany but he was uneasy in his mind. There was something, dare one use the word, almost pagan about the two of them — the Fool and Lady Weston’s strange young guest. He was so disturbed that he took a nip of strong ale before he went back to sleep.

  Giles opened his eyes.

  ‘Dr Zachary — Master — it is time now.’

  ‘Is it? Then I will help you, my friend.’

  ‘I beg you pass me my bag of tricks; I wish to leave my things behind. The stick with the Fool’s head is for the baby, the box of coloured stones for Lady Weston, the handkerchief for Sir Richard and my lute — my lute is for Catherine.’

  From round his neck he took his amulet.

  ‘That is of great power. An old woman who lives by those sacred stones at Salisbury gave it to me. I shall leave that to ...’

  But he did not complete the sentence. He looked instead at Zachary and said, ‘Who shall I leave it to, Master? For the curse of Sutton will strike one of them, won’t it? Who is most in need of this?’

  ‘Give it to Francis,’ Zachary said softly.

  The Fool wept.

  ‘No, not he. Will he be cut down in the flower of his youth?’

  ‘It is so destined. But if I can fight the malediction by my power then it shall be done.’

  ‘Will you add my amulet to help him? Will you put it round his neck yourself?’

  ‘It shall lie beside that of my mother which he already wears.’

  Giles knelt before Zachary.

  ‘Give me the Romany blessing for he who is about to die.’

  And Zachary repeated the strange chant that he had so often heard his mother croon over the sick and dying and which had been one of the many pieces of so-called evidence that had led to her being branded a witch.

  ‘And now farewell.’

  Giles picked up the bottle of elixir.

  ‘I will walk with you as far as the Gate-House arch.’

  And so they went out together into that incredible night, beneath a firmament blazing with the ice-cold mystery of the stars. And as he walked across the courtyard Giles looked for the last time at the dark outlines of Sutton Place that lay like a sleeping cat in the stillness. How good it was to feel his soul uplift, to know that soon in the deepest part of the forest he would lie upon the ground and drift into eternity. He looked once again at the mansion house.

  ‘Spare Francis,’ he said.

  But the stones made no answer.

  11

  It seemed, that winter of 1529, that all England had frozen. From November onward the earth was hard with frost, the trees white and crisp with rime, the lakes and rivers sharp with ice. It was so cold that the long-awaited snow would not fall and the disgraced and humbled Cardinal Wolsey — exiled from Court — shivered pitifully as he knelt in prayer on Christmas Eve.

  ‘Oh merciful Jesu,
I have done my best for His Grace. I was not a plaything of Rome as he suspected. I would have sacrificed half my wealth to obtain the King’s annulment for in it lay my future security as well as His Grace’s desire.’

  And he thought of the faces of his enemies — particularly the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk — as Cardinal Campeggio had adjourned the Legatine Court in Blackfriars last July. He had known then that the knives would be out for him and that the sharpest and most deadly of all would be wielded by a woman — Mistress Anne Boleyn; the night crow. That black, dark appearance, those strange cold eyes, that sallow complexion. Ugly, repellent creature! How the King could even find her attractive, let alone entertain an adoration that surpassed ordinary love, was beyond his credibility. And the unnerving way she had of watching him — Wolsey. Her face, when he had caught her unawares, bearing a look that had frightened him even then. It was as if she bore some bitter grudge against him. But for what reason? He had once called her a ‘foolish girl’, many years ago now, when he had dismissed Harry Percy from his service and broken the betrothal between them. But surely ... It was all so far in the past. And though he had never liked her he had hidden it cleverly enough. Yet he knew for certain, though others may prate their delight at seeing a man once so high brought so low, that behind his downfall lay that instrument of darkness — Thomas Boleyn’s daughter.

  A cold gust swept through his meagrely furnished private chapel and he drew his robes even more tightly round him.

  ‘God, make me warm,’ he prayed, like a child.

  Oh, Holy Mother, so alone and so desperate — everything gone. Stephen Gardiner — the man whom he had considered his friend and ally — turned coat and became chief secretary to the King; all his pensions, money and property stripped from him; the great seals of England removed. He had been lucky to escape with his life. But the greatest hurt of all had been that of His Grace riding off with the night crow without even bothering to say farewell. Riding out of his life — he, the monarch, whom Wolsey had genuinely loved and worked for. Now the Cardinal was tasting — and it was gall in his mouth — the lesson of humility. He rose, achingly, from his knees, and went to dine alone.