When the Heavens Fall

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Which do you mean?”

  “I mean, my lady, the duke of Northumberland, the kings of France and Scotland, and even Princess Elizabeth. They are dangerous.”

  “You need not mention Elizabeth.”

  “But she’s not Catholic.”

  “She will be. I will teach her myself. I will bring her, Renard, back to the true faith.”

  Renard did not argue, but he knew Princess Elizabeth. He knew she was wily, intelligent, quick-witted and knew well how to hide her true feelings. “She is clever, my queen.”

  “She will do as I say, Renard. I will see to that, and you will be convinced.”

  Elizabeth entered the room, fell on her knees, and said, “Your Majesty, thank you for allowing me to see you.”

  Mary took Elizabeth by the hand. “Rise. We must talk. There is much we have to say. You appear to be in good health. You are over your sickness?”

  “Almost, Your Majesty. It was a very frightful sickness.”

  Mary tucked Elizabeth’s hand in the crook of her arm and they strolled down a palace hallway. “Elizabeth, I am concerned for you.”

  “I’m glad of your concern, Your Majesty. You have always been good to me, and I have never ceased to be grateful.” This was true; Elizabeth remembered the time when she, much younger than Mary, had looked to her almost as a mother. But that time was past; a huge wall was between them now, with the crown teetering on it

  “What is it you wish to say to me?” Mary asked

  “Your Majesty,” Elizabeth said, “I feel very badly. I’m deeply grieved.”

  “Why are you grieved?”

  “I fear,” Elizabeth said carefully, “that you have lost your love for me, and this is a grievous thing to me indeed. We have always loved each other. If I have done anything to offend you, Your Majesty, pray let me know and it will be amended.”

  Mary’s face grew almost stern. She was a very direct woman when the necessity called for it, and she said, “I have expected you to help me in my task, which is to bring Catholicism back to our country. You have not been faithful in attending Mass.”

  Elizabeth answered meekly, “I have not your advantages. You grew up under the tutelage of your mother, who was a Catholic, but I had no one like that.”

  “No, you certainly had no mother fitted to instruct anyone!”

  Elizabeth knew this was no time to argue. “I was brought up in the reformed faith,” she said quietly. “I know no other.”

  “I know that is true, and that is why I am offering you someone to instruct you.”

  Elizabeth answered, “I would appreciate any help you might give me. I must have instruction. Perhaps, Your Majesty, you can assign some learned man who will understand that one brought up and tutored in one form of religion must have help to make the transition to another.”

  Mary stared hard at Elizabeth. “I will see that the best comes to you at once.”

  Elizabeth fought to return her sister’s gaze; she well knew what that hard stare meant. She doesn’t believe me, but she must—otherwise I’m lost. She made herself smile. She bowed and curtsied. “Thank you so much, Your Majesty. I will apply myself as best I can.”

  Mary’s expression cleared. She leaned over and kissed Elizabeth. “We are sisters. Let us be friends.”

  “Always, Your Majesty.” Elizabeth left, and as soon as she was out of the door, she put her back against it and closed her eyes. That was very close, but I must be careful. Any love that once was between us is certainly gone now.

  Late in January of the same year in which Elizabeth had promised her sister to study the Catholic faith, the word that the queen meant to marry the prince of Spain brought a flood of outrage. The English people did not like Philip. They felt that all Spaniards were thieves, and their excesses with women were well known. Many of the Protestants swore that they would die before they would submit to the reign of a Spaniard who would, in effect, be king over them if Mary married him

  This feeling was widely felt across England and finally brought forth an actual rebellion. Mary heard of it early one morning, when she was informed by the Privy Council. It had called a special session, and the head of the council said, “There is a rebellion, Your Majesty. It is led by Sir Thomas Wyatt.”

  “Who is he?” Mary demanded

  “The son of a poet and a close friend of Anne Boleyn, probably her lover. He’s been a man to watch, and now he’s raised an army of sorts, and we have word that he’s going to march on London and remove you from the throne.”

  “He could not fight our army.”

  “Your army, Your Majesty, is scattered at the moment, called to too many fronts. We have no time to gather it and turn Wyatt back,” he said. “It is a desperate situation. You must leave.”

  “No. This is my capital city. I shall not abandon the throne simply because rebels dare to attack. What sort of monarch would I be? And where would it leave me? Constantly a target.”

  The councillors argued mightily but Mary refused to leave

  Then Renard brought word that Wyatt was advancing with four thousand men. “We’ve sent messages to him asking him to state his demands, but it has not slowed his pace. Your Majesty, you don’t fully understand the danger.”

  But Mary did understand the danger. She was wise about such things. She kept her head, and enough of her loyal subjects—and a sizable remnant of her army—came to her defense. Wyatt had no real strength. By the time he got to London, most of Wyatt’s men had faded away. Wyatt’s attempt failed miserably

  Bishop Gardiner, Mary’s lord chancellor, came to tell her. “Wyatt is arrested and is now in the Tower. You should send Elizabeth there too.”

  “Elizabeth! Why should I send her there?”

  “We have evidence that she was involved in the Wyatt’s rebellion.”

  “What evidence?”

  Gardiner seemed uncertain. “You must send her there. She’s dangerous.”

  There was a lengthy argument, but finally Mary agreed. On March 17 Elizabeth was arrested and sent to the Tower

  Stuart stared at the messenger, Charles Freeman, who was, he knew, a loyal friend of Elizabeth. “Princess Elizabeth in the Tower! Impossible!”

  “I’m afraid not, sir. I saw her myself. She was taken through Traitor’s Gate. It was pouring down rain, and she refused to go in. But at last she was persuaded.”

  After Freeman left, Stuart went to Heather, told her what he had heard, and said, “I must go to Princess Elizabeth.”

  “What do you intend to do, Stuart?”

  “I’ve always been friendly with both the princess and the queen. Elizabeth must be frightened out of her wits, fearing she’ll be beheaded next. I need to do what I can to encourage her.”

  “Mary may turn on you.”

  “She may. I’ll have to chance it.” He kissed her and said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I will not worry, but I will pray that you will find favor with the queen.”

  Elizabeth was in a dark corner of her cell. She had been deprived of all her servants except one old woman—who was no help at all—and had been questioned many times already by various members of the council, all determined to prove that she was involved in the plot. She had been kept in close confinement and given nothing but the coarse food of the rest of the prisoners. Hearing the sound of the door of her prison open, she stood up, expecting and dreading another interrogation. Her heart leaped slightly when she saw it was Stuart Winslow. He came to her at once and knelt before her and took her hand, which she held out. “Princess, I’ve come to give you what poor comfort I can.”

  Elizabeth kissed his hands, and he felt the tears fall on them

  “You must not lose hope,” he said. He took a liberty that he would never have dared taken in other circumstances. He put his arm around her as if she were his daughter and said, “God will not allow you to perish.”

  Elizabeth said, “Your coming encourages me, Stuart. I can offer you
very little in the way of refreshment.”

  “My refreshment is to see you cheerful and full of faith.”

  “You do me good, Stuart Winslow! You have always been good to me and to my family.”

  “I hope so. Now, tell me all that has happened.”

  Elizabeth had no one to confide in, and she poured her heart out to this man who had been, indeed, like a light in a dark place. She had learned to love him and trust him as, perhaps, she trusted no other man in England

  When she had finished, Stuart said gently, “God is in control. He is sovereign.”

  “That’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. He pulls some down and he raises others up, the Scripture says. Heather and I and Quentin will pray, and we will ask others to pray.”

  Elizabeth felt the tears rise again in her eyes. “I never weep, but I can’t help it now.”

  “Weep then, but inside your heart you must have faith.”

  Elizabeth, Princess of the Realm, held on to Stuart Winslow’s hands, and as he poured comfort into her, she vowed, “I will never forget this devotion, Stuart Winslow—never!”

  10

  There is a gentleman to see you, sir.”

  Quentin looked up from the book he was reading. “Who is it, Mark?”

  “He’s a soldier, sir. His name is Caleb Carter. He wishes to speak with you.”

  “Show him in, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quentin knew the name well. His brother had told him Carter had brought news of Brandon’s disgrace and disappearance. He knew Carter had been a good friend to Brandon. Might he have gained further word of his nephew

  As soon as the door opened, Quentin went forward and put his hand out. “Come in.”

  “I appreciate you seeing me, sir.”

  “Please sit down. I’ll have a servant bring some fresh cake and something to drink.”

  “That would suit very well.”

  Quentin moved to the door and called out, “Mark, bring some ale, please, and some of that cake I favor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quentin seated himself and studied his visitor. Carter was a tall man with a wealth of brown hair and warm brown eyes. There was a neatness about him that one expected in a good soldier, and his complexion was tanned from outdoor living. “I want to express my thanks to you. My brother told me how much trouble you went to and what a friend you tried to be to my poor nephew.”

  “Well, it was not much, Reverend.”

  “Oh, don’t call me that! I hate titles. It was indeed very much appreciated by our whole family.”

  “I wish I could have done more.” Carter shook his head. “I did everything I could, but as you know, he’s a stubborn fellow.”

  “Yes, I have reason to know that.”

  Carter cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I’m out of line or not, sir, but I thought you might like a word about Brandon. Perhaps I should have gone to Brandon’s parents, but I thought you might do that. It might be best for them to hear it from kin.”

  Quentin asked alertly, “You know where he is?”

  “Why, yes, sir, I do.”

  “We’ve tried everything to find him.”

  “Well, I can tell you where he was two days ago. I assume he’s still there.”

  “And where is that, Mister Carter?”

  “Dover. He’s in Dover.”

  “In Dover? I would never have thought of looking for him there. I thought perhaps he had left the country. We’ve been terribly worried.”

  “So have I, sir.”

  “Is he ill?”

  Carter shifted uneasily in his seat and seemed reluctant to answer. At that moment Mark came in with a tray of ale and cakes. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “No, this will be fine. Thank you, Mark.”

  As soon as Mark left the room, Quentin said, “Help yourself to the cake.”

  Carter seemed to be glad of the distraction, as if he hesitated to say what he had come so far to say. He took the ale and tasted the cake, which he pronounced to be very good indeed

  Finally Quentin could no longer endure the suspense. “What is it that’s troubled you? Something about Brandon, I assume.”

  “Well, sir, the good news is that Brandon isn’t sick. As I understand it, he had a hard time. He was beaten rather severely, and when he left the inn he wasn’t completely healed. I was at a gaming house in Dover. I gamble a little myself, nothing very seriously. A soldier doesn’t make enough for that—”

  “And you saw Brandon there?” Quentin interrupted

  Caleb nodded. “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “He was playing cards, as you might expect in such a place.”

  “How did he look?”

  “Better than ever. He was more finely dressed than I had ever seen. Of course, I’d only seen him in his uniform, but you could tell. He had an expensive ring on his finger and fine clothes.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “Oh, yes, of course I did. I waited until the game was over, and I went up and greeted him. He was glad to see me, or at least he seemed so.”

  “There must be something more. Tell me what you learned.”

  “You won’t like it, sir.”

  “I gathered that, man. Now out with it.”

  “I’m afraid, sir, that he’s taken up with a gypsy woman and he’s become a rather infamous gambler. He never loses, or almost never, and he’s almost been called out by several men he’s beaten. There are some who call him a cheat.”

  “He was always good at cards. What about this woman?”

  “Well, she’s very beautiful, and there’s a man in the picture somehow. Both gypsies. The man wears gold rings in his ears, just as you’d expect, you know. Anyway, Brandon wouldn’t say much about himself, and when I asked him about his family, he cut me short. He said, ‘I haven’t talked to them. They don’t need a chap like me.’”

  “I tried to reason with him and tell him how much his family cared for him, but he wouldn’t listen. The woman listened, though. She hated me. I could see that. I’m sure she had a knife on her, and she would have used it if I had talked Brandon into coming with me.”

  “So he wouldn’t listen at all?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here. And facing Mrs. Winslow . . . I simply could not find it in me.”

  “I’m very grateful to you, and my family will be too, in time. Leave it to me to talk to Heather. She’ll take comfort from the fact that her son is alive, but you are right—it will be difficult for her to learn what has become of him.”

  “I hope you can do something with him. The gossip is pretty rank about him. He’s not only gambling. He’s been involved in some shady deals. I couldn’t get the details, but he’s gone downhill, sir, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Thank you. You’ve done a good deed. Stay with us overnight. I’ll see that you have a good place to sleep, a good meal tonight, and a good breakfast.”

  “Thank you, sir. That would be very fine, and I will occupy my time by praying that you’ll have success with Brandon, where I could not.”

  As soon as he had made provision for Carter, Quentin went to Stoneybrook. He found Stuart and Heather, and without preamble, told them his news

  “Thank God he’s alive!” Heather cried

  “Yes, I’ve been fearing the worst,” Stuart said

  They listened soberly to the rest of the story. Heather wept when she learned that it was widely assumed that Brandon was involved in dark deals. “I think you need to go see him, Stuart. Maybe you can change his mind.”

  “I don’t know whether I can or not, but I’m going to try.”

  “And I’m going with you,” Heather said, wiping her eyes and lifting her chin

  “That may not be best, dear.”

  “He’s my son. I’m going, so don’t argue.”

  “When you marry, Quentin, be sure you meet a woman with a
strong will. You won’t have to worry about what she’s thinking.” He put his arm around Heather and squeezed her. “Very well. We’ll go together.”

  “Let me know as soon as you get some kind of word, will you, Stuart?”

  “Of course I will. This could be good news. We’ll pray it is.”

  “Where’s Rez gone?”

  Lupa looked down at Brandon, who was slumped in a chair. “He’s off on one of his horse-stealing trips.” She reached down and took a cup from him. “You’re drunk, Brandon. You’re drinking too much.” She felt a twinge of guilt, for she had been encouraging him to drink for some time

  “What difference does it make, Lupa?”

  “You don’t appreciate what you have. I don’t think you’ve ever noticed how you’ve been blessed.”

  “Blessed by whom? By God? You don’t believe in God, do you, Lupa?”

  “Sometimes I do.”

  “I would never know it.”

  “Don’t you believe in God?”

  “I certainly do, and the dread of my life is the day I have to face him when he’s my judge, and I’ll have to confess what a rotten sinner I’ve been.”

  He got up slowly, as if he were an old man, and started to leave the room. “I’m going out to get some air.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  He did not argue, but neither did he invite her

  It was a windy night in March, and the stars were out. Neither of them spoke as they went down the street. Finally they came to what seemed to be a communal garden and they stopped

  “I love gardens,” Brandon said. “My mother loves them too.”

  Lupa said, “We never had a garden. We never stayed in one place long enough to plant.”

  “Where did you live?”

  “We lived in a wagon, a caravan you’d call it. It sounds romantic, but it’s not. Everybody hates gypsies. I’ve been run out of many towns.” As she continued telling him her life, she saw that he was watching her with a peculiar expression. “Look at me,” she whispered. “I’m crying like a baby. I don’t cry.”