Tears fell on the glass, not only because of Anne, but because there was nothing new here. No additional information from Dr. Brandon about Anne.
Trudy swallowed past the horrid lump in her throat and let out a loud, aching sob. It seemed, truly, that all was lost.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
April, 1562, Smithfield, London
Distant church bells signaled it was four o’ the clock and the end of Hugh Wallace’s night shift. But before he headed off to bed, he needed to break his fast. He glanced at the eastern sky, still dark, then yawned, glad his rounds were finally over.
As he left the kirkyard for the kitchen, he noticed the door to the Lady Chapel was open, the light from inside illuminating Lady Anne and Alice, who stood by the wagon. This was the day the Hopes were to begin a new life at Hastings House.
Good riddance, he thought. He’d never liked Alice, who avoided him like he had the pox. Why, he couldn’t guess, as he’d never given her the time of day. But it mattered not, since it was best to avoid interacting with the women around here as much as possible. No entanglements made it much easier to do his work—and keep his job.
When he got closer to Anne and Alice, he noticed they were dressed in almost identical cloaks, thick, luxurious, and much too nice for the likes of Alice. What was she holding over Anne that she would be given such a fine gift? He shook his head. Very little about this household was ordinary, and the matching cloaks were but a tiny example.
Mary came outside and threw her arms around Alice. Both women wept loudly, and Hugh noticed it was all Anne could do to keep herself from falling apart as well. But why? After all, she would see Alice frequently in the new job, for she visited Hastings House every chance she got.
“Thou must promise t’ come back fer regular visits,” Mary said as she hugged Alice again.
“Oh Mary, I promise!” Alice cried out. “How couldst I stay apart from thee? Thou art like a mother t’ me!”
God’s death! All the emotions irritated Hugh to no end. It’d been going on for days, ceaseless hours of tears and fare-thee-wells.
Despite that, Hugh was fine with the end result. Fewer people to keep track of, and Bob was too self-important and puffed up for Hugh’s taste, anyway. He boasted often of his new position as Lord Henry’s watchman and overseer of the stables, and of the fact that Alice would be nursemaid to a blue-blooded babe, the Hastings’ new brat.
Hugh kept telling himself it made no difference to him whatsoever, but it grated, nonetheless.
He forced a smile as Bob and Brandon walked into the yard. He needed to keep up appearances, since his own position at St. Bart’s would be enhanced once the Hopes were gone. He was to become head watchman and grounds’ steward. The irony was undeniable, and Hugh knew his true boss, the duke, would laugh to hear of his promotion.
He saw Mary dabbing at her soggy eyes with the edge of her apron and turned away, but he couldn’t shut off the sound of her voice.
“Oh, Lady Anne, however will we do without our dear Alice? I must be kept informed of thy condition, Alice, and once thou hast given birth, thou must promise to bring thy bairn to visit us as well. I can’t abide the thought I won’t have another little one to hold in my lap. Oh, my heart is breakin’, sure enough.”
Bob waved Hugh over, and he helped him lug a few final bits of luggage to the wagon. He noticed Brandon carrying a strongbox and moved to help, but Brandon deftly side-stepped his offer of assistance.
Interest flared. What was in there? Hugh watched closely as Brandon lashed it securely into place, then tossed a blanket over the top. He gave his wife a curt nod, then surreptitiously handed her something that glinted—a blade?—which she quickly tucked into the folds of her cloak. Interest turned to suspicion, which made the hairs on Hugh’s neck rise. What was this innocent little trip truly about?
The sky was starting to lighten, a glow of blue on the horizon. Hugh looked pointedly toward the tree where he knew Will spent most of his days—and nights. Even though the old oak had only its earliest leaves, they were thick enough to keep him well hidden whatever the time of day.
Hugh jerked his head sideways—a signal something significant was happening. Then, with a smile and a hearty handshake, he wished Bob and Alice the best, and stood beside Mary as the wagon left the yard.
* * *
Will scrambled down from the tree and clambered over the wall, then kept to the shadows as he trailed the wagon. He listened, but the group wasn’t talking, and he couldn’t figure out why Hugh had gotten so excited. He would have followed them anyway. Did the wretch think he didn’t take his job seriously?
Once they arrived at Hastings House, Will watched from bushes across the street. This house always frustrated him, since there was no hiding place close to the front door, and he could never hear anything they were saying.
Then, a curious thing happened. Will watched, open mouthed, as a man with a familiar face, one Edgar Mullins of St. Bart’s parish, stepped out of the front door with the Hastings. Bob and Alice slipped inside without conversation, but Edgar greeted the Brandons and spoke with the Hastings as though they were all equals. The bold cur! But how could that be?
Glancing over their shoulders more than once, the group spoke furtively, then Edgar ushered them in.
Something very strange was going on.
He needed to find a way inside.
Will waited for hours. No one came out again. No one went inside.
Then, just before sunset, he got his chance. Hiding near the stables, he waited and watched as the dustman shoveled coal into the bin. The man made three trips into the house before finally setting his shovel aside and removing his apron.
With a quick thrust of his blade, Will killed the dustman and dragged the body behind some shrubs.
Then he put on the man’s apron and hat. Frowning, Will gave a quick look around. Satisfied no one was about, he slipped inside Hastings House.
* * *
Just after sundown, Anne stole through the hallway to Lord Henry’s library. She opened the door, which creaked. Glancing back down the hall, she held her breath and waited. It was critical she do this in secret, without interference or eyewitnesses.
She stood still a moment longer. Exhaling in relief, she entered the room. She’d only been here during the day and marveled at the nighttime difference, a shifting beauty of shadows and light. Leaded glass windows dappled moonglow over the furnishings: dark mahogany and leather, brass gleaming.
She moved deeper into the room, drawn to shelves holding a vast collection of books bound in gilded velvet and calfskin. As she breathed in the delicate aromas of aged leather and paper, she recalled another library—that of her grandfather, Arthur Howard.
Images swirled in her mind, precious moments from a distant time: a summer evening when she was little, as she stood with her grandfather by the lovely bow window and listened to a nightingale’s song; the day they shared a tea party at his desk, the Paddington Bear he’d bought her at Hamleys toy shop presiding over the festivities; her teenage self combing his bookshelves for something to read while he finished working on a client’s will; his own will being solemnly read as she held tight the hand of her grandmother, Catherine.
Love, happiness, anticipation, and grief. Her memories ran the gamut of lifetime emotions. Yet now, she must complete one more task before she could return to that other library. Although her grandfather was gone, her grandmother waited there still, and she wanted to go home and see her again.
Anne took the old Hastings’s Catholic Bible and positioned it on Lord Henry’s desk. She opened the book to her husband’s secreted note, then took a pen and wrote.
Dearest Grandma,
Father Edgar is here. He and Jonathan saved me from that other fate. I wanted you to know your plan worked. I’m going to be safe. We’re heading to St. Giles’—all of us.
Please tell Mom and Dad, Uncle Reggie, Trudy, and everyone else that we’re coming home! Expect us soon!
I love you,
Anne
She rocked an ink blotter over her message and waited for a moment, then kissed her note.
“I’ll see you all soon,” Anne whispered. “Grandma, I’m coming. I’ve missed you so much.”
With an expectant heart, she tucked the letter away in the Bible, to bide the years in peace and, hopefully, stand the test of time.
* * *
Deep inside Hastings House, Will could hear conversation, and, holding his breath, he crept along a darkened hallway to get nearer to the source.
He cocked an ear against a closed door. Men speaking. He frowned and listened. Brandon, Hastings, for certs, and another man, who he assumed was Mullins. He’d only heard him once or twice speaking in the kirkyard at St. Bart’s.
He edged in closer, beads of sweat trickling down his face, his breathing shallow, his heartbeat thundering in his ears and making it nearly impossible to hear.
Cripes, this better be worth it, he thought. If I’m nicked here, it’ll be me death by hangin’, fer certs.
“When should we make our move, Edgar?” Brandon asked.
Will smiled. Aye, Edgar Mullins. He leaned in and listened to the response.
“Doctor, we must get to St. Giles’ tonight. It would be dangerous in the extreme to wait any longer. I cannot guarantee the portal remains open even now.”
Will was confused. Mullins was speaking gibberish, and what was so urgent they needed to go to church?
Suddenly, he heard the sounds of weeping coming from somewhere close by and nearly soiled his breeches.
Cursed be, cursed be! He backed away from the door and down the shadowy corridor, but the weeping only grew louder. Holy shyte!
Candlelight flickered, wavering on the floor and opposite wall. Will dropped farther back into the shadows just as the witch-woman and her friend came around a corner. He turned and bolted, hoping they hadn’t seen or heard him.
Once outside Hastings House, Will heaved a sigh of relief, for no sounds of alarm had been raised within the household. Something was afoot, something more than going to church—that much Will knew by instinct. God’s blood, but he’d lost years off his life this eve, and Norfolk owed him dear for this.
When he got to the street, he saw the dustman’s cart and horse still waiting by the service entrance, so he took it and set off for the duke’s residence. Once there, he reined in at the front gate, then leapt off the cart.
“Let me in!” he yelled as he raced toward the duke’s guards, who tackled him and held him down until the steward Percy showed up to see what was going on.
“Don’t give me thy haughty airs, Percy,” Will growled. “Let me in. His lordship wants to hear what I have t’ say, make no mistake, and it’ll be thy head that rolls and not mine own, if thou fails t’ see it.”
Something in his voice seemed to trigger a gut response in Percy. Will saw it in his eyes.
The steward motioned for him to be allowed inside, then turned on his heel and went in search of his master.
Will was ushered into Norfolk’s library. To his surprise, he found Hugh standing there.
“Are ye both mad?” the duke demanded as he swept into the room. “Why have the two of you barged into my home?”
“Hugh saw something at hospital as alerted him, and I acted upon his cue,” Will said.
Norfolk raised an eyebrow and seemed unmoved. “I assumed as much. What alerted thee, Hugh?”
“They were all cloaked and packed for travel, and Lady Anne even carried a blade, though they were only taking the nursemaid to start a new job. I thought nothin’ of it ’til Brandon came out with a strongbox he wouldn’t let anyone touch. He seemed very protective of it, so I gave Will the nod.” He nodded toward Will to demonstrate exactly how he’d communicated.
“And that’s when I followed them to Hastings House,” Will said, taking over. “All seemed normal ’til a fellow greeted them at the door as though he owned the place.”
“Who? Dudley?” Norfolk asked.
“Nay, it were Edgar Mullins, from St. Bart’s parish.”
“Edgar?” Hugh blurted. “He’s been staying at St. Bart’s for the past few days, although nobody says why. They’ve been most secretive.”
Norfolk’s’ eyes narrowed. “Why do you both suppose this Edgar Mullins is a concern to me—or anyone, for that matter?”
Will leaned in, hoping to make his point, and suddenly wondered if he had a point at all. Fear crept in and made his voice quaver. “Wh-why wouldst Edgar Mullins be at Hastings House of a sudden?” When the duke’s frown deepened, Will swallowed hard, then forged on, “Lookee here. Mullins’s a nobody. A nothin’. Why wouldst he greet and be greeted as though the house belonged to him, as though they were all boon companions? An’ they were havin’ a serious meetin’ inside, talkin’ about gettin’ to St. Giles’ as soon as they could. I’d say they’re making a run, gettin’ out of the country. They’ve a mind to escape. I can feel it.”
Hugh nodded. “An’ that strongbox has somethin’ of great import within, for certs.”
Will watched as understanding suddenly came to Norfolk’s eyes. Then he saw fury.
“God’s blood, she will not get away,” Norfolk muttered.
The duke sprang toward the door and thrust it open. “Percy, summon the guards!”
* * *
Anne’s eyes welled. To have left Mary and everyone at St. Bart’s without a word of goodbye nearly broke her heart, even though, for everyone’s safety, it had to be done. But now, saying goodbye to Alice and Bob was almost more than she could bear.
“Oh, Alice… You’ll have a beautiful baby, I just know it,” Anne said, her voice trembling with emotion. “Actually, you’ll probably have many beautiful babies.”
Alice laughed through her tears. “Ye’ve given us so much, the two of ye. Bob an’ me… We have each other and a life of comfort we’d never have known. I cannot thank thee enough.”
Anne swiped at her tears and tugged Alice’s cloak together over her growing belly. “Take care of this cloak, and wear it in remembrance of us. You were the first to show me kindness when I came to London, and the first to save my life. I shall never forget you.”
“Nay, ’twas thee who saved my life by bringin’ me outta the Stews,” Alice said. “Please give me hope we’ll see ye both again. Norfolk can’t threaten ye forever. Please tell me we’ll see ye again.”
It seemed to Anne that her life was full of lies, too many lies, even for those she held most dear. But it was for their protection, she reminded herself, and not done lightly.
“I can’t promise anything, Alice,” she said. “I’m afraid Norfolk will never give up on trying to do harm to me and my family. I promise I’ll try to send word once we’re… once we’re safely away from…here.”
She wrapped Alice in a hug and cried as Jon finished his farewell to Bob. “If it’s a boy, you must teach him to be strong and honest, like his father.”
“Aye, then, I promise I will, to make ye both proud,” Bob replied.
Anne saw the emotion on his face and knew Bob was trying to remain stoic.
“Keep well and God bless,” Bob added. “Though I don’t suggest goin’ t’ France, nor any of the Italian states. Too Catholic, an’ ’tis said they smell bad an’ eat worse.”
Chuckling, Jon shook his head and promised.
Then they faced Cath and Henry.
Words. There were not nearly enough words to convey how Anne felt.
Love. Protection. Devotion.
Family.
Henry held out his arms. “Dearest Anne, child of mine, bearer of mine own eyes. We wish thee well and will hold thee in our hearts and prayers forevermore.”
Sobbing, Anne fell into his embrace, engulfed by his love. When he let her go, she turned to Cath, dearest Cath.
“I never had a sister,” Anne started, blinded by tears, “but you have been a truer sister tha
n any could hope for or imagine. I will always love you. I’ll always remember you.”
Cath’s eyes also brimmed with tears. “I do have sisters, and I count thee among them. Go forth with my deepest love, and may God grant you both a long life safe in that homeland you seek.”
Edgar cleared his throat. Clearly, it was time to go.
After a final, tearful round of hugs, Anne and Jon climbed onto the wagon and left Hastings House behind forever.
* * *
Edgar glanced at the stars, the moon having set an hour ago, then flicked the reins and they were off, heading for St. Giles’.
He glanced sideways. Despite the darkness, he could make out the doctor’s stern expression, then he heard Anne’s sniffles as she sat with Rose in the back. The baby was blessedly quiet, and Edgar thanked the Lord for that.
As for himself, he felt like railing aloud, such was his frustration. Why couldn’t he decide on a course of action? He found himself going back and forth on whether to accompany everyone to the future, his thoughts a damnable muddle of uncertainty and vacillation. What to do? What? Should he leave with them or stay? Why was he having such a problem with this?
He recalled a moment at Lord Henry’s dining table, where he’d opened up to the Hastings about his inability to decide whether to stay or go. He sensed their vexation upon hearing this, for Henry, especially, made it be known he could not abide indecision. But the Hastings could never fully understand the extent of Edgar’s concerns. As a Traveler, he worried about how his ultimate choice would affect the timeline. He’d tried to live off the radar, but there was always the chance his presence in the sixteenth century had already compromised history, and, therefore, it didn’t matter what he decided to do. Still, his inability to settle on a course of action gnawed at him, and he felt like an idiot. Ridiculous.
By now, the horses had settled into a good pace, and Edgar spotted familiar buildings. He guessed they’d reach the church within ten minutes or so.
He frowned. Should he go or stay?
Ever Crave the Rose (The Elizabethan Time Travel Series Book 3) Page 21
