What to do? Brandon gave Hugh the once over again. The man’s demeanor had certainly changed, and he stood straight and tall, proud even, now that he’d revealed his part in the Scottish campaigns.
Well, Brandon thought, he looks fit and able. He decided to take a chance on him. Anne and Rose were coming on the progress, so they’d be safely away from St. Bart’s—and Hugh, should he turn out to be the wrong man for the job.
Besides, time and choosiness weren’t luxuries Brandon could afford.
“All right, then,” he said. “You are, er, thou art qualified enough, I suppose, so I’ll give thee a go. If, for any reason, the staff is displeased with thy work, thou will be dismissed immediately by our housekeeper, Mary Prentice. If, however, thou prove thyself worthy through hard work and diligence, thou shalt be offered a more permanent position at St. Bart’s after my return. Does that sound reasonable?”
“Aye, it does, sir.” Hugh said, then gave a lopsided smile.
Teeth. The man had teeth. Good ones, in fact.
And St. Bart’s had a new guard. Brandon smiled back and held out his hand to shake on the deal.
Chapter Eight
15 September, 1561, Chelsea, England
Almost two months of memories whirled through Anne’s thoughts. The Royal Progress had been filled with extraordinary experiences and, despite her initial reservations, loads of fun and laughter.
Anne rode with Jon in the front of their wagon, Alice and Bob resting in the back with Rose. They were almost home, having split off from the queen before Hatfield House, since Elizabeth wished to visit her childhood home privately with Lord Dudley.
Anne visualized the royal entourage on progress. It had been amazing, huge, perhaps a mile long, and filled with horses, carts, wagons, and everyone the queen invited to journey with her—plus all she needed to run the nation. It was truly a portable palace, but travel was slow. It seemed as if they were continually locked in a traffic jam, crawling through the countryside at maybe two miles per hour. The one advantage to such a slow pace was that it gave Anne and the baby time to rest.
Her mind played back to August twenty-fifth. One of her favorite parts of the trip had been the festivities in the rollicking town of Great Dunmow. At the front of the procession, the queen sat in a beautiful ivory and silk litter carried by a dozen of her noblemen, Robert Dudley in front and to her right, Lord Rich on her left. Elizabeth looked gorgeous, her coppery hair worn long and brushed to gleaming, her gown of purest white.
Anne and Jon had watched from several horse-lengths back in their wagon. Since summer was almost over, the progress, and the countryside’s enthusiasm for it, seemed to be winding down—at least that’s what everyone thought until their first moments in town.
Never had they seen such excitement, as citizens crowded High Street cheering at the top of their lungs. “Elizabeth! Elizabeth!” they’d called out. “God save the queen!”
The church bells started to ring. The street was hung with welcoming banners, elaborate bunting, and great streams of ribbon, in all the colors of the rainbow. People bowed, curtseyed, and vigorously waved. Even the tiniest children were present, perched on their elders’ shoulders, so they too would see their queen and remember this day.
When Elizabeth finally reached the town square, the bells stopped as Great Dunmow’s mayor was presented to the queen. The man looked so much like Jimmy Fallon, Anne half-expected the Tonight Show’s theme to start blaring in the background.
Whoa, she thought and smiled. Talk about everyone having a double! His looks and infectious grin were amusing enough, but then the true comedy began as the church bells started up again.
The resounding gongs would not stop.
Not even as the queen took center stage to make her speech. Gong, gong, gong. Not even as the townspeople in the square began to laugh and holler, holding their ears and jumping up and down. Gong, gong, gong, gong!
Through it all, Elizabeth graciously smiled to everyone and waited, regally patient and amused. The only one who didn’t see any humor in this situation was the mayor. Anne noted the poor man’s cheeks matched the crimson bunting on stage and any resemblance to Jimmy Fallon disappeared.
With a heavy scowl, he begged Her Majesty’s permission and left the stage for the bell tower. Within a few minutes, the gongs stopped and he returned with the wobbly culprits, a cheerful trio of drunks.
True to her nature, the queen declared them “fraught with humor” and her “Merry Men” and said she would pay for their evening sustenance. Later on, Anne heard they’d taken advantage and consumed the equivalent of two or three days’ wages of ale, plus a mountain of food—as did, it seemed, the queen’s entourage and the rest of the townspeople.
Anne and Jon had been swept up in the fun, too, although she didn’t have anything but small beer to drink because she was nursing. She shot a quick glance at Jon. The only other time she’d seen him tipsy was a certain incident when he drank too much at Hastings House and almost took Anne on top of Henry’s desk.
She giggled at her memories, and her husband glanced her way. Her mind veered back to the present.
“You seem in fine spirits,” he said as he slowed the horses. “By my reckoning, this is Chelsea. What do you think?”
“I’m glad we decided to come here today.” She took in the empty landscape. It looked so wild, filled with woods and the occasional field or homestead, and a far cry from the bustling London suburb she loved and remembered. “I’m excited to see the manor,” she went on. “It’s gone by our time, of course, but there are memories of it, like the name, Chelsea Manor Street.”
She abruptly sat up as a large brick house appeared on the horizon, with four tall chimneys scraping the sky. Cath had informed them Chelsea Manor belonged to the queen, but was rented by a widow, the dowager duchess of Somerset. They didn’t plan to bother her, though. Anne just wanted to see the outside of the place and then try to find the spot where her grandmother’s house would be built over three hundred years from now. She had an idea where it might be, but first she needed to find something, a clue.
Unfortunately, the topography was so different she couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. Terribly disappointed, Anne kept searching as they passed the house and its formal gardens, then headed south toward a large grove of young trees.
“Jon, stop the wagon,” she said, her excitement suddenly sparking. “I think, oh, could this be…?”
A man was working among the trees, digging up a dead sapling. He stopped and leaned on his shovel, staring at them.
“Jon, do you mind? I want to do this myself.” Anne got down from the wagon and walked over to the gardener. “Greetings, sir. These trees… What sort are they?”
“They’re mulberries, miss. All o’ them.”
“Is this the only place where they’ll be planted?”
“Aye, miss,” he said. “The duchess wants to raise silkworms an’ make her own silk cloth. ’Tis a newfangled idea, t’ be sure, and I’m t’ be the new keeper o’ the wee blighters.” He shrugged. “A feller from London is bringin’ the worms by the by, mayhap on the morrow. We’ll see how it goes after that.”
“May I make a rather, er, strange request, sir?” Anne said. “I’d like to plant a replacement for this dead one.”
He narrowed his eyes, and she added, “It’s to honor my grandmother, who is no longer with me. She loved mulberry trees.”
His gaze softened, and then he nodded. As Jon, Alice, Bob, and Rose watched her from the wagon, she helped the gardener with the sapling.
Finally, the work was done. The young tree stood tall and proud among the others. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would be the one that graced her grandmother’s backyard.
She reached out and touched the trunk. I love you, Grandma, she thought, recalling the many times they’d had tea sitting under the old tree.
And then, after planting a kiss on the man’s cheek, she headed for the wagon, her spirits high, her work in the gar
den like a balm to her soul.
While Anne was working, everyone else got out of the wagon to stretch their legs. She walked over to them and explained about her grandmother having a mulberry tree in her garden. Jon gave her an understanding nod, and she smiled back.
Anne turned to Alice and Bob. “Before we reach Smithfield and the homecoming party begins, we want to thank you for your help throughout the progress. We couldn’t have managed even one day without you.”
“Aw, I thank thee, Lady Anne,” Alice said, her eyes shining. “’Twas a real treat to see the country. And to see the queen herself nearly every day. I will never forget the glory of it all. Never.”
“Na, ’tis we who must thank ye both,” Bob added. “’Twas a real pleasure.”
Anne smiled, then raised an eyebrow when she saw Bob nudge Alice with an impish grin on his face.
“Is there something more, Alice? Something I’ve missed?” she asked.
Alice giggled. “Nay, my lady, ’tis more the case of something I’ve missed—me monthlies!”
Anne squealed her delight and hugged Alice as Jon leaned forward and pounded Bob’s shoulder in congratulations. “Well done, mate, well done.”
“Another May baby, then?” Anne asked. “That is wonderful news. Oh, I’m so happy for you.”
Alice beamed. “I can hardly wait to tell Mary. Along with thee, she’s as dear as me own mother. An’ we thought, well,” she lowered her head, but Anne could see the flush on her cheeks. “We thought we’d like to name her Annie, or little Jonnie if it’s a boy.”
Bob leaned in. “Ye’ve done so much for the both of us, we’d consider it an honor—if you approve, that is.”
Jonathan laughed. “Of course we approve!” He turned to Anne. “Just think, Rose will have a little Annie Hope, or perhaps a little Jonnie Hope, as a childhood friend. That is wonderful news.”
The rest of the trip passed quickly, and they arrived at St. Bart’s before dark. Hugh was manning the gate and gave them a surprisingly hearty greeting and then quickly called for assistance. Servants and staff came pouring out to greet them, and soon everyone was hugging and kissing one another. Anne laughed when Mary burst into tears over Alice’s news.
It’s good to be home, Anne thought. Just as quickly her mind veered to Chelsea and the mulberry trees.
Oh Grandma, I’d love to tell you about my life here.
As always, she felt Catherine’s presence and swore she heard her voice whisper, Darling, be happy.
And I am, she thought with a smile. I have so much to be grateful for.
* * *
In her own bed, her head resting on her own pillow at last, Anne snuggled next to Jon, tired but content. “The progress was quite an experience, wasn’t it?”
“Mmm,” he replied, placing a kiss on each eyelid. “With any luck, the queen won’t have need of us for months. I think she feels quite confident under Burcot’s care, and he is thrilled to have the opportunity.”
“She looked so well. How long until she starts showing?”
Jon shrugged. “Because she is quite thin, one would think she’d already be showing, but it is all dependent upon heredity, for the most part. Regardless of body type, some show early, some late, some hardly ever.”
Anne rolled her eyes and smiled. “That much I’m familiar with. How about your best guess?”
Jon tugged lightly on her braid, then brushed its tip across her nose. “She is approximately twelve weeks along, so I would think she has about a month or two before she shows.”
“My guess is Kat Ashley will do the alterations of the royal gowns herself. She must already know, whether the queen has told her or not,” Anne mumbled. “That woman is fiercely loyal, evidenced by the fact that history knows Elizabeth as The Virgin Queen.”
“You know, don’t you, that Kat only has a few more years to live?”
Anne felt a sudden cold envelop her, and she shivered. “No, Jon. I didn’t know.”
“I looked at the Tudor history book when I was storing away my strongbox after we got home. I wanted to reassure myself that Elizabeth has no major illnesses this year with the baby coming. She doesn’t get smallpox until next fall, in 1562.” He sighed. “I go back and forth about intervening, but come back to knowing I can’t. Acting as her obstetrician is more than enough. As it is, I might be changing history, and I simply cannot risk doing more than I’ve done.”
“We both walk a fine line regarding our presence here,” she said.
“Yes, and that’s why we must make certain no one else gets access to the book. Sometimes I think we’d be better off destroying it, but then… I’ll admit it does come in rather handy, especially regarding the queen’s health.”
Anne nodded, understanding his dilemma. In an attempt to help, her grandmother had stashed the history book in Anne’s purse just before the time travel. Catherine did it to give her granddaughter every advantage for survival in the sixteenth century, but Anne knew it was a double-edged sword. So, she and Jon kept it locked up, only reading it when their safety seemed to hang in the balance.
She hesitated as her thoughts turned personal. “Wait, what about Cath and Henry? Do they live a long time?”
“I don’t know,” Jon responded. “I don’t believe there’s any mention of their deaths. One could say they’re minor historical players, despite being close relations to the queen and Dudley.”
“But, they’re so important to us. I hope they live long, wonderful lives.”
“They’ve got strong constitutions. The book mentions that Mary Sidney, Cath and Lord Robert’s sister, contracts smallpox from the queen. But there’s no information about Cath or Henry. I believe we can assume they’ll live to a ripe old age.”
“I’m on board with that.”
He hugged her and they grew quiet, but, tired as she was, Anne’s mind continued to turn, and she knew Jon wasn’t sleepy yet, either. “To change the subject… What about Rose and smallpox? Have you thought about inoculating her? Does she need to be a certain age?”
“We can do it any time. I’ve been keeping a watch on the milkmaids, looking for an outbreak of cowpox.”
Anne nodded in relief. “Thank goodness. Now…what about Hugh? Everyone likes him. Do you think you might hire him?”
“Yes. Bob asked around, and everyone agrees he’s been a great addition to the staff, very competent. I also wrote to Lord Grey, and he told me of Hugh Wallace’s service in Scotland last year. The man did, indeed, save his lordship’s life. So, I’ll have a word with Hugh in the morning and offer him permanent employment. Now, are you going to sleep, or shall I light a candle so we can talk until the wee hours?”
Lightening the mood, Anne made a humorous pffft. “No candle needed. I’ll be good and go to sleep.”
Jon pulled her closer to him, his hand trailing over her hip and across her bare thigh. “My bad, as I’ve heard you say. I didn’t mean to imply that sleeping was our only option. Simply less talking about the household.”
“I was hoping you were going there,” Anne responded. “This bed could use some warming.”
His gaze deepened, focused and serious. “I love you,” he said. “You had my heart from the first moment we touched.”
She smiled. “I can do you one better. I’ve loved you since before we met. When I saw your photo…”
“I called to you.”
Surprised, she tilted her head in question. “How did you know that?”
“You told me once—don’t you recall?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I ever told you about that. It was at my grandparents’ house. I saw your picture. It was as if I heard you whisper to me.”
“Anne.” He kissed her lips and smiled at her genuine consternation.
“But that’s exactly what happened!” she said. “I heard you call my name.”
“So I did. So I always shall. For as long as I live I shall call to you alone. There will never be anyone but you.” He gently took her by the
shoulders and lowered her onto the pillows. “My darling wife.”
She closed her eyes and trembled beneath the warmth of his lips, his heart.
“Anne,” he whispered. “My Anne.”
PART TWO
Chapter Nine
Autumn-Winter, 1561/62, England
The next several months became a whirl of hospital work, motherhood, and household management.
Anne was relieved Elizabeth’s pregnancy progressed without concern, and Jonathan saw her regularly, although Dr. Burcot was managing the bulk of her care. They began leaking tidbits that the queen’s headaches or general malaise kept her in bed. Brandon let on it was caused by “unbalanced humors.” None of it was true, but they needed to set the stage for her not being seen in public during her final trimester.
Thankfully, people seemed to accept what they heard without too much concern. She was, after all, but a fragile woman, unnaturally bearing the responsibilities of a man’s job, so a certain amount of weakness was to be expected.
What a load of bunk! But Anne had to play along, mindful of the times in which she lived and the greater need to keep the queen’s secrets. Because Elizabeth was leading a quieter life, Anne’s social schedule slowed down, too—the weekly market being the only true outing she had on a regular basis. Hugh Wallace always accompanied her as a bodyguard, and two other men served as around the clock watchmen at St. Bart’s.
This gave Bob a bit more time to help Alice, who’d been dealing with morning sickness since early in her pregnancy. Her baby bump had recently started to show, and she finally felt better. And thank goodness, because Rose had just begun to crawl and was all over the place.
Mary cheerfully helped out, too. In fact, she seemed happier than usual, often humming as she looked after the household. When Anne asked if there was a reason, Mary just scoffed and shooed her away. Whatever the cause, Anne was glad and didn’t press the issue.
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