“Yes, he must’ve put two and two together—Daniel’s predictions and your appearance at the very time he indicated. Father Dan set things up rather nicely, didn’t he?”
“Indeed.” Brandon reached out and brushed his fingers along the top of the bishop’s tombstone. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, you tough old buzzard?”
“I’ve wondered about that as well,” Edgar said. “Perhaps the bishop felt it was for the best to let things play out.”
Brandon’s gaze suddenly narrowed. “You know, don’t you, that Norfolk murdered him?”
Stunned, Edgar shook his head. “No. I never heard that.”
“I’m not surprised, since it was hushed up. The duke got away with his murder and many others. Well, I’ll not sit back and let that rat bastard harm Anne, even if it means I take care of him myself.”
“I pray it won’t come to that,” Edgar said. “If all goes as planned, you and your family shall be far away from here soon enough and well beyond Norfolk’s reach. And remember, the duke has a role to play in history. We should do what we can to keep our interferences to a minimum.”
“I don’t give a fig about history now.” Brandon looked straight into Edgar’s eyes, the blue of his irises darkening with unbridled rage. “If I must, I’ll kill Norfolk with my bare hands. This is not just about what he’s going to do, it’s about what he’s already done to us. He deserves to die. As a matter of fact, I’d relish the opportunity to send him straight to hell.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Anne’s soul felt bare, a hollow husk, a cold cavity deep within her chest.
The last thing she remembered was the pale light of dawn brightening the Lady Chapel’s windows, but now the slanting rays told her it was mid-afternoon. She guessed Alice took care of the baby all morning, then brought her back for her afternoon nap, because Rose was up and peering at her from her bed.
“Mama,” Rose said, holding out her arms with a smile.
I can’t leave you... I can’t. Anne heaved a sigh, wiped at tears, and stared at her daughter’s angelic face.
I will never leave you, my dearest sweetheart.
She picked up Rose, who giggled and snuggled against her.
Anne kissed the top of her head, then closed her eyes and breathed in to make a memory. Her daughter’s hair smelled of Castile soap, fresh and clean. A spark of joy lit her heart, and she vowed to always remember this time, her fears lessened by profound love and baby laughter.
As she rocked Rose, she thought back to her husband’s potent words, “We have the advantage in this. We can change the outcome.”
Yes, we can. Although her mind snapped last night when she heard Father Edgar’s devastating warning, upon reflection her fear and panic were countered by the trembling hope that, indeed, the outcome could be changed.
“Come on, Rose,” she said as they headed for the door. “We need to speak with Daddy.”
* * *
Jonathan Brandon felt a surge of relief as Mary showed Henry Hastings into the dining room. Both he and Father Edgar rose from the table.
“Lord Hastings,” Edgar said as he bowed, then offered his hand.
“I take it thou art Edgar Mullins,” Henry said as he shook with him. “Jonathan apprised me of the situation by letter this morn, although he did not give all details for safety’s sake. Prying eyes, et cetera. I came posthaste to learn what happened and to offer any assistance. My wife is otherwise claimed, but she shalt arrive by carriage as soon as she may to comfort Anne.”
“I thank you for coming. I am ever in your debt,” Brandon said.
Henry clasped his hand and shook. “No need, my friend. Anne’s life takes precedence above all else. I shalt move heaven and earth to make certain she stays safe.”
The men sat, and Mary, knowing nothing of Edgar’s business, tapped on the door, served them mulled wine and sweetmeats, and then left, discretely closing the door behind her. After she was gone, Brandon told his lordship about Edgar.
“The things I learn never cease to amaze.” Henry stared intently at the priest as if seeing him for the first time. “So, thou art a Jesuit time traveler from 2014, yet thou wast born here, in this era?”
“Yes, my lord. I was born in 1532.”
“Forgive my frank appraisal, but thou looketh much older than thirty,” Henry said.
Edgar smiled and shrugged. “Yes, well, I lived for decades in the twentieth century. I time travelled back here to the year 1545, so I’ve aged a bit since then. I would guess my body’s age is a bit over sixty.”
“Ah. ’Twas a long journey, indeed. Thou art a brave man to have traveled thus and to have given so much of thy life in pursuit of someone else’s well-being.” Henry rubbed his face thoughtfully. “We are grateful God hath seen fit to bless thee with long years.” He turned to Brandon. “Now that I have been made aware of your plight, how might I assist Anne and thee?”
“Firstly, we’ll need to keep Norfolk and his minions at bay.”
Henry paused to consider this, then said, “Might I suggest thyself and thy family stay with Cath and me? That way, my men shalt be at your disposal. My sword doth reach far, mayhap even farther than Norfolk’s, though he be a duke. Norfolk hast, after all, tested the queen’s patience of late, and he is persona non grata at Court.”
Brandon felt his pulse surge with anger. “As that bastard should be. He deserves even more—the ultimate punishment!” As Henry nodded, he forced his thoughts away from Norfolk. “I’m most grateful for the offer of sanctuary. Since I can only commit for myself and not Anne, I’ll speak with her about it and let you know what she wishes to do.” He lowered his voice. “There is something else. Father Edgar has discovered a way for my family to leave for good.” He glanced at the closed door and measured his words. “One might put it this way—tomorrow beckons. My family’s future will be secure…in time. ”
His lordship’s eyebrows lifted as he glanced at the priest, who nodded.
“Ah! I see,” Henry said easily, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Life shalt be marvelous good...in the future.”
“Where we’ll be safe,” Anne added, walking into the room with Rose in her arms. “Where I can raise my daughter without fear.”
* * *
“Anne, darling,” Jonathan said as he stood and came over to her side. He gently placed his arms around her and Rose. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ve much to discuss, and Henry has generously agreed to assist us with Norfolk.”
The shadow cast by Norfolk’s evil loomed large, so much so Anne shivered with dread. What if Edgar’s plan didn’t work? Things certainly hadn’t gone right for Brother Daniel. What about her?
September fifth. The date seemed to pulse in her brain, menacing, terrifying.
What if I only have six months to live?
Anne closed her eyes. What if Norfolk couldn’t be stopped? She shivered again, and Rose, sensing the tension, responded by crying. Jonathan took the child and called for Alice. After she arrived to care for Rose, he helped Anne to a seat by the fire.
“I’m so sorry, Jon,” she said. “I thought I had things under control.”
“It’s quite all right, darling. You’ve had an awful shock, and it’s to be expected that you would be upset.”
Jonathan sat by her side and held her hand, while Mary brought her a glass of wine. Father Edgar assured her with his presence, too, for he had the key to the future.
When Bob ushered Cath into the room, she embraced Anne and spoke words simple yet firm. “You will survive.” She moved to stand with Henry, a look of determination on her face.
Anne realized everyone she loved in this time was at her side, doing their best to support her and give hope. She let her gaze touch each of them—Mary, Alice and Bob, and especially Cath and Henry Hastings, ever steadfast and true, her dearest friends.
She smiled for the love they bore her, but then a sudden, deep sorrow swept through her thoughts. One way or the other,
she must leave them all behind.
By time travel or because of her own death, their parting would be final.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
December, 2014, Chelsea, London
Catherine looked through the library window and watched the sunset, a faint blush of pink painting the clouds. As they faded to gray, her gaze lowered to the old mulberry tree in the garden, bare and trembling beneath the leaden sky.
She stood there, her thoughts ranging from hope to fear, her focus on her granddaughter and the horror of what happened to her—oh, Anne! She simply could not face the idea of living in a world where her precious girl had suffered such a terrible fate.
Catherine began to shake uncontrollably, her skin ice-cold despite the furnace roaring inside her house. She turned to get her wool jumper, the Irish argyle resting on the back of the sofa.
After she wrapped herself in its warmth, she sat and looked back at the window. Darkness thickened upon London, and the idea of another night with no news of Anne, of dreadful dreams, made her ill with foreboding.
“Why did this happen to you, darling?” she whispered mournfully. “Why did you have to suffer?” The words died on her lips. No, Anne will be rescued, she vowed silently. You must believe she will not die. She will live—
Suddenly, the room spun, the world devolving to prism spikes, flashes of white and electric blue.
Shocked and dizzy, Catherine closed her eyes and fisted her hands. She’d never felt this way before.
She dug her nails into her palms and willed it to stop. Fight it, she told herself.
Eventually, the vertigo passed. She opened her eyes, her vision once more clear. How much time had elapsed?
She glanced at her wristwatch. Perhaps ten...fifteen minutes?
Breathing deeply, she got to her feet and waited, ready to drop back onto the sofa if the vertigo returned. But she felt all right. So far, so good. She took another steadying breath.
Catherine decided to keep Trudy in the dark about this episode. She didn’t want a fuss made over what she believed to be a passing phase. She resolved, then and there, to get a grip on her nerves about Anne, Father Edgar, the entire situation. Have faith, she told herself. Good will prevail over evil.
With a care as to her footing, she moved out of the library and up the stairs to her bedroom. Sleep, she thought. I need a good night’s sleep.
I’ll feel better in the morning.
She got into bed and drifted off immediately.
Hours later, Catherine awakened in the dark. To her alarm, her heart thumped as if she’d just suffered through a nightmare. But she knew she hadn’t been dreaming. Her mind played back to the library and her vertigo, and she wondered if there was a connection to her present state. What is happening to me?
She lay there a moment longer, her heart continuing to drum in her chest. Call Dr. Williams, she told herself.
When she tried to rise, she gasped in fright, because she couldn’t move her legs.
Oh Lord! Catherine collapsed back into bed and began to weep. Not only for herself, but for dearest Trudy. How she would hate for her old friend to find her like this.
Then, with a raging heart, she remembered Anne, and all other thoughts faded to nothing as she clung desperately to the hope she wouldn’t die before she learned the fate of her granddaughter.
* * *
Trudy was jolted from her dream. Pulse racing, she lifted her head from the pillow and glanced around. What had wakened her? The pearly gray of dawn glowed through the window’s sheer curtain, her bedroom silent beyond the sound of the forced air furnace. Everything seemed fine, as it should be.
She rubbed her eyes and looked at the alarm clock. 5:30. Almost time to get up.
“Help me! Please, help me!”
Catherine!
Trudy bolted from her bedroom and ran down the hallway to Catherine’s room. She pushed open the door and rushed inside.
It took every ounce of strength for her to not cry out when she heard, “Trudy, call Dr. Williams. My legs... They won’t move.”
* * *
“Mrs. Leach, please prepare yourself. Death will come on Thursday. Friday at the latest,” the physician told Trudy.
Her vision blurred with tears, and she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Oh Lord, she was right as rain two days ago, but now she’s lost her ability to walk, as well as her appetite, and, and...she’s refused any help but yours, Dr. Williams. And just before ye arrived, I noticed the soles of her feet are startin’ to get purple. I saw this verra thing during the last illness of me own husband. I canna help but wonder if we should’ve taken her to the hospital straightaway.”
He shook his head, his voice gentle. “Her organs are failing. The purple mottling of the extremities is normal during this process. It will progress and travel up her limbs.”
“Lord, is there nothing ye can do?”
“Other than keeping her comfortable, no. A private nurse should be hired to help you. If you wish, I can see to that.”
Trudy wiped her eyes again. “All right, doctor, yes, and thanks.”
“You should know that Mrs. Howard will be quite lucid at times, but at other times she might not be able to speak. She’ll sleep a lot.”
“But I canna stop thinking about the hospital. Wouldn’t it be better for her there?”
“If you move her, I cannot guarantee she’ll have the same level of comfort that we can give her here, in her own home surrounded by everything she loves.” The doctor lowered his voice. “She is dying, Mrs. Leach.”
“Oh, dear God, I canna believe it!” Tears flowed, the sorrow welling up from Trudy’s heart. She could not imagine the world without Catherine in it.
“Trudy, dear...”
She turned. Catherine looked so small and fragile against her pillows, yet her gaze was as strong and determined as ever.
“What is it? Are ye in pain?” Trudy asked, coming to her side.
“No.” Catherine swallowed heavily, then spoke with effort. “Call Richard...and Reggie. And the monsignor. I wish... I must say goodbye.”
Trudy nodded. “Aye, dear, the boys are already on their way, but we can call them just the same. Dinna worry. They should be here very soon, so you must hang on.”
Catherine smiled faintly, sighed, and closed her eyes.
Trudy nodded, then turned away to hide her tears. She should be glad Catherine felt no pain and thankful there was still time for her to speak to her loved ones. But she found no solace in this, her sorrow achingly fresh, the future dim.
The doctor put his stethoscope to Catherine’s chest, listened for a moment, and nodded. “I’ll leave you now, Mrs. Howard.” He patted her arm, then turned to Trudy. “Do get the mobile phone for her. It’s a good time.”
Trudy went to the nightstand and was about to dial Reggie in Australia, when Catherine said, “The monsignor first. Anne... I must give him a message before she returns.”
Trembling, Trudy put in the call. It took all of her strength to keep her voice as steady as possible as she spoke to the Vatican operator, who immediately connected her with the monsignor’s office.
“Flannigan,” he said.
Trudy immediately held the phone to Catherine’s ear. “It’s him.”
Catherine nodded weakly. “Put it on speaker phone, please, Trudy. Hello, Monsignor Flannigan,” she said. “It’s Catherine.”
“Yes, Mrs. Howard. How are you?”
“Not well, I’m afraid. Have you any word?”
He paused. “No, I’m so sorry. Did you check the letter today? It might have news.”
“No, we did not check today,” Catherine said.
Upon hearing this, Trudy’s heart broke. In the time before Dr. Williams’ arrival, Catherine drew upon her remaining strength and confided in her about Jonathan Brandon’s note. Horrified, Trudy listened as Catherine described the shocking circumstances of Anne’s death. Now the burden had shifted, and Catherine had entrusted Trudy with the key to Mr. Howard�
��s desk drawer, so that they could keep abreast of any news. She was to check the letter hour after hour until...
Lord Almighty, Catherine can’t die without hearing about Anne!
Catherine shifted her gaze back to Trudy. “Would you check the letter now?”
“Aye, I’ll be back straightaway.”
As she closed the door, she heard the monsignor praying, “Our Father who art in heaven...”
* * *
Catherine felt herself flicker between this world and another, a soft, misty-white place that held the sweet scent of flowers.
Time stilled and the other world held, the flickering gone. Suddenly, her dear husband Arthur stood before her, his arms outstretched and beckoning. “Hello, love.”
He was young again. And so was she.
She smiled. “Arthur, my dearest heart.”
“Darling,” he said as she entered his embrace. “Worry not. Our girl will be safe.”
A serene warmth enveloped her, and he drew her close, then kissed her with a depth of tenderness beyond anything she’d ever felt before.
* * *
Trudy walked into Mr. Howard’s library, went to his desk, and used the key to open the top drawer. The letter was in the double-sided frame wrapped in tissue paper. She pulled away the tissue and stared at the photograph of Jonathan Brandon.
“I hope to God Father Edgar found ye in time,” she said as she flipped the frame over and looked at the old notes, the first heartbreaking words written by Dr. Brandon to Catherine, and then Anne’s messages of hope and love, and finally Brandon’s last words about the murder, terrible and so final.
Ever Crave the Rose (The Elizabethan Time Travel Series Book 3) Page 20
