The 48
Page 32
But I had been unable to save hers.
IN A VAULT
BENEATH THIS MARBLE SLAB
ARE DEPOSITED THE REMAINS
OF
JANE SEYMOUR QUEEN OF KING HENRY VIII
1537
KING HENRY VIII
1547
KING CHARLES I
1648
AND
AN INFANT CHILD OF QUEEN ANNE.
THIS MEMORIAL WAS PLACED HERE
BY COMMAND OF
KING WILLIAM IV 1837.
I had picked a couple of daisies from the grass outside. They were crushed in my hand, but I thought Jane might appreciate the irony.
“She was his favorite,” said a woman beside me. She had an overtanned face and platinum blond hair that was teased and sprayed to within an inch of its life.
She was my favorite too, I thought.
I left the daisies on a stone ledge. I didn’t pray. I had no religion. But I was very, very glad our assignment’s failure had meant that the Catholic religion endured. People should have choice. They should know their own minds and be able to act on their thoughts.
Jane had taught me that.
* * *
—
“You okay?” asked Alex when I rejoined him and Alice. My brother was looking healthier too, although his back was a Metro map of scar tissue. He was fiddling with the bandage on his wrist. Alice had one too. We had cut out their timers—just in case.
I shrugged and slipped my hands into my pockets.
“So what’s next?” asked Alice. She stared at me, as if goading me into saying that we should split up.
She knew me better than I knew myself. Alex and I were inseparable. But it might be that one day soon, it would be safer for us all if my brother and I went one way and Alice went another.
I wasn’t going to say that today, though. Instead, I put my hand on my heart and closed my eyes. “Well, you see, Alice…I don’t know what’s next. Because really, death is the only constant in life. The majority of lives end without notice or legacy. Memories fade into the same dust as bones. Existences are words forged to be forgotten. We of The 48 are charged with ensuring that the chosen few take the path of historical importance and remembrance. Do not fear death. But do not make death your friend. Death is your master and your servant. There is no escape. For it comes to all in the end.”
“Uh, Charlie,” whispered Alex. I opened my eyes and discovered a couple of tourists in I LOVE LONDON T-shirts giving me funny looks.
“Heh,” I croaked. “Sorry about that.”
“Let’s not say those words anymore, okay?” Alex said. “In fact, I’d like to erase that Tenet from my brain forever.”
“I’m not going to forget it,” I replied. “Because it’s wrong. Living is the only constant in life. And we have the freedom to make our lives mean something now. On our own terms.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Alice. “Now…I’m sure I saw a supermarket just outside the walls. I’m hungry.”
“For Jaffa Cakes, no doubt,” said Alex. “I don’t know where you put them.”
“In my mouth,” replied Alice, opening wide. “See?”
“Gross,” said Alex, shaking his head, but the two of them walked off arm in arm. They instinctively knew I needed more time—for everything.
Was this a new normal? The choir started to sing the morning service in the chapel, and I couldn’t help but shudder as the hairs on my arms stood to attention.
Someone had just walked over my grave, as they would say in England. And if Piermont was still out there somewhere, I would bet the world it was him.
Waiting. Watching.
The time thread in which Jane married Henry and gave him a son was a fixed point now. Nothing could stop the events that immediately followed. By failing in the assignment, we had inadvertently helped Piermont. But it also meant we hadn’t done anything to harm people’s choices and beliefs.
I gave St. George’s Chapel once last look and put my hand on my heart for Jane. I could hear her laughing in my head. Her ghost was my memory.
And despite my best efforts, I had become a time assassin in the end.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” I whispered.
I couldn’t decide for Alex or Alice, but I wouldn’t let Jane’s sacrifice mean nothing. My new life would mean something.
I hustled after the two people I loved most in this world.
It was time to get that life started.
Research is a key component of writing any novel, but especially one that has its fictional heart based in reality. The Tudor time line in The 48 is real, and, aside from Anne Boleyn’s actual execution, I think nothing reflects the brutality of her demise more than the speed at which the king, the Tudor court, and even Anne’s own uncle, set her aside for the sake of a new queen, who they hoped would produce a male heir.
The House of Tudor has always intrigued me because of its cultural, political, and religious legacies that still dictate much of British life even now. It only consisted of five monarchs (Henry VII, Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary I, and Elizabeth I) and it’s a period in time that is disturbingly fascinating. Of course, for me, understanding life in the Tudor court meant more than just reviewing dates along a time line, and that is one of the reasons writing The 48 was so challenging. I also wanted the reader to be able to see, taste, and even smell what Charlie, Alex, and Alice were experiencing. I borrowed heavily from every resource I could find, including actual letters written by Jane Seymour, which I pored over to ensure some degree of tonal accuracy in the fictional note she writes to Charlie.
I am particularly indebted to the staff of Historical Royal Palaces, who are responsible for the preservation of the Tower of London, Hampton Court, and other royal homes in the United Kingdom. These custodians of the past are also dedicated historians who make their valuable work available to the public. It’s amazing how many stately homes in the UK have their own piece of Tudor history in the HRP archives, and it was in those archives that I often found informational gems outside of the other museums and libraries I consulted.
The majority of the Tudor characters in this novel actually lived, though Lady Margaret did not. I wanted a character from that time line who could narrate for me, and so I created one. Any historical inaccuracies are my burden to bear.
The Historical Royal Palaces’ website (hpr.org.uk) is a terrific resource for familiarizing yourself with the Tudor court and its dwellings—but if you are ever in the UK, I strongly recommend a real-life visit to both Hampton Court Palace and Windsor Castle: Henry’s home in life, and his tomb in death. (I first visited Hampton Court Palace as a child, so you could say this book has been forty years in the making!) I lived close to Windsor for several years and it is a beautiful, almost peaceful place—certainly a world away from the terror that Henry’s tyrannical reign inflicted.