When the Heavens Fall

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I might be able to wait that long,” Brandon said, ignoring his admonishment. “I’ll go for a long ride now to keep my mind off of it.”

  “Be careful. Lightning’s got a lively way of throwing riders and then stepping on them.”

  “He can’t do that to me!”

  Stuart watched him go and shook his head. He was so gifted—fine-looking, strong, and quick. I must find a way to shape him into a good man.

  Stuart and Brandon left Heather with their hostess in London—a longtime friend—while they went to Richmond Palace to seek an interview with the Princess Mary. It had been more than two years since they had made their last visit, and Stuart was filled with a strange sense of foreboding

  Brandon said now as they walked up the palace steps, “Do you think we might see the Princess Elizabeth?”

  “That depends on her. She’s pretty headstrong, I understand.”

  “I liked her,” Brandon said

  “Well, I think everybody likes Elizabeth,” he said crossly. Did the boy think they could have access to any one of the royal house any time they pleased? He sighed. “She’s very much like her father in some ways.”

  Brandon looked with surprise at his father. “Like King Henry?” he whispered. “But he was a wicked fellow! Everybody says so.”

  “Well, it’s safe enough to say that now, but he would have had your head chopped off if you had said it while he was alive.”

  “Not really, sir!”

  “Yes, really. He had men executed for nothing at times. The things I saw—”

  Brandon narrowed his eyes. “As the king’s birdkeeper? You were a servant, yes? Not a part of the court.”

  Stuart grimaced. He did not want to enter this conversation, not here, not now. Heather and he had worked hard at concealing the stories of his youth, not wishing to lead Brandon further astray

  “Father?” Brandon peered at him, intent on knowing more. “How well did you know the king?”

  “He came to Stoneybrook once with all his minions,” Stuart hedged. “Father had to keep them all in feastings and wine for weeks. It nearly broke him. But you should’ve seen the fine dances that went on. Henry was magnificent. Later . . .” his voice dropped and he stared at the ground. He shook his head

  “And you think Elizabeth might follow in the ways of her father?” Brandon pressed. “Is that it?”

  “No, I meant she has many of his gifts. He was a great dancer and a scholar of sorts, and Elizabeth has all that.”

  They reached the top of the stairs and were greeted by two armed soldiers. “Yes, sir?”

  “I am Stuart Winslow, master of Stoneybrook, an old friend of the princess. This is my son, Brandon Winslow. Will the Princess Mary admit us?”

  “Sir, if you will wait here, I will go and inquire.”

  The wait was short

  “The Princess will see you, sir.” The guard turned, and they followed him. Brandon’s eyes moved quickly, trying to absorb every detail. It was more ostentatious than he remembered, as if flaunting the wealth of the royal family. When they got to the end of a long hallway, the guard knocked and, hearing a voice, he opened the door

  “Please proceed.”

  Stuart stepped through the doorway and Brandon followed him. They found Mary seated at a table. Beside her was a boy. Instantly they recognized Edward, king of England. Stuart hesitated for a moment, then approached and bowed deeply. “Your Majesties.” Thankfully Brandon followed suit

  “This is the gentleman I’ve told you about, Brother,” Mary said, casually looking in their direction. Her face was sallow, and she had gained weight. “This is Master Stuart Winslow, and this, I believe, is his son. I’ve forgotten his name—it’s been so long since Master Winslow has bothered to come and call upon us.”

  “It is Brandon Winslow, Princess,” Stuart said smoothly, ignoring her jibe

  “Oh, yes, I remember now.” She turned to the king and said, “Two of your loyal subjects.”

  Edward had a thin, aesthetic face and a studious look. His voice was reedy, and he looked as frail as he was said to be. “Your Majesty, it’s a privilege to see you,” Stuart said with a deep, slow nod. “I hope God sends you good health.”

  Edward studied them, his eyes quick with intelligence. He said, “We’ve been playing chess. I’ve beaten Mary every time. Do you play chess, Master Winslow?”

  “On occasion, Majesty.”

  “Good. Sit down and play.”

  Mary vacated her seat for Stuart and went to Brandon. “Master Brandon, it would be very boring for you to watch a chess match. I’ll send you with a servant to call upon Princess Elizabeth. She’s out preparing for a ride. If you’ll go out to the stables, I’m sure she’d be glad of the company.”

  “Thank you, Princess,” Brandon said quickly

  After he was gone, Mary smiled at Stuart, who was gazing in concern after the young man. “A likely-looking lad,” she said. “Very much like you.”

  “We Winslow men all look alike.” Surely Brandon knew not to make any untoward advances on a princess”

  “And how is your dear wife?”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  Edward said eagerly, “Come, now, pay attention to the game, not my sister.” Two guards behind him took a step closer. Stuart eyed them, but not for too long

  “I warn you,” Mary said, “the king is an excellent chess player. He’s also a fine scholar.”

  “Well, I’d better beat him at chess, because no one ever called me a scholar.” Stuart looked across the chessboard at the tiny king and felt a sense of doom. This boy can’t live for long. He looks as though he’s dying already. He remembered well the ways of the court: no one was to beat a king of England. The key was to make the battle look as difficult as possible before giving in

  Brandon was led to the stables. When he got there, he saw Princess Elizabeth at once. She was wearing a riding outfit, and her reddish hair caught the sun as it peeked out from under her hood. He advanced slowly

  She turned to meet him. “And who is this?” she exclaimed. “I remember! You’re the young fellow who said that you were born in iniquity and conceived in sin.” She laughed with delight. “Are you a better young man now than you were then? How old are you now?”

  “Sixteen, Princess, and no, I’m afraid I’m no better.”

  “Well, you look better.” She came up to him. “What a tall fellow you are!” She smiled, and her eyes twinkled with pleasure. “I’m glad to see you again. Did you ride here?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Let me have a horse brought out. We’ll see what kind of a horseman you are.”

  Twenty minutes later the two were riding across the green that surrounded Richmond Palace. Brandon found it easy to keep up with the princess although she obviously had the better animal. His own steed was a stallion, and he delighted in its strength and speed, but finally called out, “Princess, you need to show more care. Your horse might stumble.”

  Elizabeth turned and laughed at him. “One cannot spend one’s life worrying about things that probably won’t happen,” she called back

  They continued to ride for an hour. When they arrived back at the castle, the horses’ mouths were white with foam

  “Come,” Elizabeth said, “help me down.”

  At once he went over to her and put his hand up. She put her hand in his, and he clearly saw she had no need of help in dismounting. She was not a beautiful young woman, but there was so much animation, so much life in her face that to Stuart she was undeniably attractive

  “Come along. I want to introduce you to some of the ladies of the court. Don’t tell them you’re sixteen. Tell them you’re eighteen. You look it anyway. Perhaps you’ll make a conquest.”

  Brandon grinned. “Lead on, Princess.”

  He fell into step beside her, and she looked up at him. “Tell me about some of your love affairs of late, Brandon. I grow so weary of those in the court. I remember that the last time you came you w
ere in trouble over some milkmaid or such. Are you still charming the young girls in your neighborhood?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that, Princess.”

  “You don’t have to. A young man as fine-looking as you can have his pick. Come along. We’ll see what the ladies of the court think of you.”

  The ladies of the court, all older than Brandon, were much impressed by him. Elizabeth seemed delighted as she introduced him. She told him, “Go on, then, Brandon. Tell the ladies about your conquests in the land of Stoneybrook.”

  Brandon blinked with surprise, and his face reddened. “Well, I’ll gladly oblige your request, Princess, and tell about mine if you will first tell about yours.”

  The women were silent, shocked by Brandon’s boldness, but then Elizabeth suddenly laughed, clearly delighted by his audacity. She had a fine laugh, coming from deep in her chest. “I would not dare leave you alone with the ladies. I’m afraid you would corrupt them all.”

  “Not so, Princess! I’m perfectly safe.”

  “When a man starts saying how safe he is, ladies, it’s time to keep watch on your virtue,” Elizabeth said, winking at the young women. “Come, now. Tell them about the most beautiful girl you ever loved. I command you!”

  Brandon lost his embarrassment and began to make up wild, improbable tales of romantic escapades. A half-hour later, Elizabeth finally said, “That’s all for you.”

  “Oh, don’t take him away,” said a young woman with sparkling black eyes and a very fetching figure. “Let us have him for a while.”

  “No, Annette, I’m afraid you would corrupt him.” The young ladies all laughed. Elizabeth left the room, followed closely by Brandon. “Come, I’ll show you some of the books I’ve been working on.”

  She led him to a vast study, walls lined with books. There was a huge fireplace and a small, forlorn fire burning inside it. He followed her silently as she went from book to book, telling him about each of them, until she asked over her shoulder, “Are you a scholar, Brandon?”

  “Not at all, Princess. I want to be a soldier. Soldiers don’t need to be scholars.”

  “Why would you want to be a soldier?”

  “It would be exciting.”

  “Are you so very tired of your life that you’re willing to risk it?”

  “Well, to be truthful, I am a little weary.”

  “Come. Tell me about yourself and life at Stoneybrook.”

  Despite Brandon’s best efforts to lead her away from such a line of thought, Elizabeth soon deduced that he was a trial to his parents

  “Your father seems like such an amiable man, and I trust your mother is a fine lady.”

  “They are both the best people I’ve ever known.”

  “What a wonderful thing for a son to say!” Elizabeth exclaimed. She lowered her head, and for a moment it seemed that she would speak of her own family. As every Englishman knew, her mother was Anne Boleyn. Henry had branded her an adulteress and had her executed when Elizabeth was but a child. A pained expression touched Elizabeth’s face, and she said, “I’m glad you have good parents.”

  “Well, enough about parents,” Brandon said uneasily. “What about you, Princess? You could be queen.”

  “Oh, no. If my brother were to die, Mary, who is older, will be queen.”

  “Do you think she’d be a good queen?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “You don’t know much about royalty and palaces and the court, do you, Brandon? No, I will never answer that question.” She passed her hand across her face and said, “I’ll tell you, though. If I ever do become queen, I’ll bring you as an ornament to my court.”

  “I’d rather be a soldier, Princess.”

  “We don’t always get what we want, Brandon.” There seemed to be more in Elizabeth’s words than she had thought to reveal, for she said, “Come. I’ll show you the hawks. We’ve got a new peregrine. Rumor has it that your father began our fine flock.”

  “Well, the king is a very scholarly young man, Princess,” Stuart said. The door had closed behind Edward, who had retired after winning two chess games in a row. “He’s an avid reader, I take it?”

  “Oh, yes, and very interested in religion. We’ve had quite engaging conversations, though I am much older.”

  Stuart shot a quick glance at Mary. He was saddened that she had aged so much since he had last seen her. She was silent for a time, and then dissatisfaction scored her face. “I’ve had a hard life, Stuart.”

  “Indeed you have, Princess.”

  “I’ve never said so publicly, but my father treated my mother abominably.”

  “I would agree with you. Indeed I would.”

  “Yes, you were always kind to my mother. She thought a great deal of you.” The heavy lines of Mary’s face lightened, and she smiled, which made her look somewhat younger. Still there was a look of ill health about her. “I remember her saying that it would be good if I married you, but, of course, according to your own testimony, you have the best wife in the world.”

  “Indeed, I do, Princess. She’s a lovely woman.” He smiled and said, “Moreover, she’s a saint to put up with a fellow like me for all of these years.”

  “Are you a good Catholic, Stuart?” The question came bluntly and sharply

  “Why, I try to serve God as best I can.”

  The answer did not seem to satisfy Mary. She frowned and said, “I remember well that you consorted with the Protestant smugglers. It was only my father’s good grace that saved you and yours or your heads would’ve been on the block, no?”

  Stuart looked her in the eye. “He spared us, yes.”

  Mary lifted her chin. “God has chosen me, Stuart, to bring our people back to the true faith.”

  Stuart faltered. “God has his ways,” he said at last, “of seeing his desires to completion.”

  Mary seemed pleased with his response, extended her hand, and he kissed it. “I have treasured your friendship. I don’t have many friends. Come again soon.”

  “Indeed I will. I promise.”

  Stuart left and found Brandon waiting for him outside. “Did you find the Princess Elizabeth?”

  “Oh, yes, we had a ride, and she took me to meet the ladies of the court.”

  “Were they beautiful ladies?”

  “Some of them were.”

  “Well, did they find you amiable?”

  Brandon laughed. “Yes, they did, but I think they would find a swinekeeper amiable. They’re all absorbed in romantic thoughts.”

  “Well, my advice—not that you’re apt to heed it of late—is to stay as far away from them as you can. Come along.”

  They mounted their horses and started back to the manor where they were staying with friends. Thoughts of his younger days and the misdirection of his path consumed Stuart. If he didn’t act soon, Brandon would end up in similar trouble—with the village girls or the law or, judging by the princess’s interest in him, as part of the king’s court. One of these days, he was even liable to fancy himself enough a man that he’d run off to join some man’s military cause. None of those were tolerable outcomes. Not for a son of Stuart Winslow

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve made a decision, Brandon, concerning you.”

  “Yes, sir? What is it?”

  “I’ve decided that you will to go to Oxford.”

  “Oxford! I—I don’t want to go to university.”

  “It’ll be the best thing for you. I know you want to be a soldier, but that’s not a good trade. Not a profession suitable for the future master of Stoneybrook.” Especially with the unrest bound to come when Mary becomes queen.

  Brandon said quietly, “Father, you’re trying to make something of me that I’m not.”

  “I’m trying to make a man of you.”

  “Well, I’m not the kind of man you desire me to be! I’m totally unfit for either the church or the law or even for the business of running Stoneybrook—and you know that I’d be a fine soldier!”

  Stuart declined to argue
, and the two were silent as they rode back to the manor along the river. When they dismounted at the stables, Stuart said heavily, “You’ll go to Oxford, Brandon. Your mother, Quentin, and I have prayed much about this—and we feel it’s best for you.”

  “I’ll hate it!”

  Stuart had known it would be like this, but he could find no other course. “You’ll do your best, Son, as befits a young man with the name of Winslow. Who knows? You may like it after you get there.”

  “No, sir, I will not!” Brandon said, and every line of his body proclaimed rebellion

  4

  Even after all these years I hate London! It would suit me if I never had to set foot in it again.”

  Stuart Winslow glanced at his father as they walked down the street and grinned broadly. “You’re behind the times, sir,” he said. “London is where all the important things take place.” Stuart adroitly dodged a burly man pushing past and said, “But in all truth I’m not too fond of it myself.”

  Claiborn Winslow, now in his later years, was lean and quick and he dodged the man almost as easily as Stuart had. “I’m not sure we’re on the right street. Someone could put up signs marking streets. How is a fellow supposed to find his way?”

  “By hit or miss, I suppose,” Stuart answered

  The two men threaded their way down the crowded street, dodging others who were bent on coming up. Carts and coaches made such a thundering, it seemed that all the world went on wheels. At every corner they encountered men, women, and children, some, arrayed in the gold and gaudy satin of the aristocracy, gazing languidly out of their sedan chairs borne by lackeys with thick legs. Porters sweated under their burdens and peddlers scurried like ants about the two men making their way through the human tide that flowed and ebbed on the street

  “Watch yourself, Son!” Claiborn Winslow grabbed Stuart’s arm and jerked him to the middle of the street just in time to avoid a deluge of slops that someone was throwing out of an upper window. “Nearly got you that time. At least the city has put a drain in the street so that the rain will wash away this garbage.” He waved his hand at the ditch about a foot wide and six inches deep that ran down the center of the cobblestone street. “That carries all the slops and garbage away quite nicely. It’s a wonder what a change modern improvements make, isn’t it? Why, most cities just let the garbage and slop pile up—but London won’t put up with that.”