“What’s this?” mocked his neighbor. “Don’t you think you take the disguise a bit far, sir?” His laugh died as he realized the true oddness of Brother Edmund having the tonsured head of a friar.
The musicians played on, oblivious. Brother Edmund frantically scrambled on the floor, to find the cap. Heads were turning all the way up the line, to the stage itself. I spotted it and dove to the floor to retrieve his silk cap, and, with trembling fingers, toss it to Brother Edmund. My throw fell short. It dropped to the floor between us.
“Hold!”
The Duke of Norfolk sprang off the stage. His son, confused, gave the musicians the signal to stop playing. The duke reached us in seconds. Everyone stared and whispered.
“What mummery is this?” roared the duke. “What true man of the monastery would dance in disguise?”
Brother Edmund removed his mask and bowed to the Duke of Norfolk.
“Bring him to me, Your Grace.” The voice of the Bishop of Winchester rang out across the floor.
“Do you know this man?” asked the duke, incredulous.
“Just do it!” spat Gardiner.
I stared at the floor; I could not look in the direction of the bishop.
Brother Edmund calmly followed the duke. He pretended I was not there. I was still in costume—unknown. I realized he ignored me to protect me.
The duke pushed him forward, to hasten his walk to the stage. They were almost there when the duke came to a complete halt.
Ever so slowly, he turned around and walked back to the center of the room. He looked down at the cap, still crumpled in the middle of the dance floor, and then up at me, the closest person to it and Brother Edmund’s apparent partner.
“Turn around,” he growled.
I did so, and felt his rough soldier’s hands on the ties of the mask as he ripped it off my head.
I will never forget the expression on the duke’s face after he turned me around to get a look at me. No man had ever been so stunned as Norfolk at the moment of recognition.
I stepped into the custody of the duke once more. I turned to face the stage: Brother Edmund’s face was a story of sorrow. Bishop Gardiner, standing next to him, had turned red. He fists were clenched at his sides.
I tried not to panic, to show fear. I had learned long ago it was paramount not to expose weakness to these two men.
And so it ends, I thought as I walked to the stage. We could offer no possible explanation for our presence here. Probably, within the next day, I would be back in the Tower. My deepest regret was pulling Brother Edmund down with me. I wished I had listened to him and to Brother Richard and not insisted on going to Wardour Castle, to Malmesbury, and now here. “You are an impetuous girl!” I heard my mother say, exasperated.
Bishop Gardiner came down the steps, with Brother Edmund.
“Where shall we take them?” he asked the duke.
Before Norfolk could answer, there was a stirring at the other end of the room, at the entranceway. The Howard family page ran into the room, flustered.
“Your Grace, she is here!”
“Who?” Norfolk growled.
“The Lady Mary!”
Everyone bowed and curtsied as one when the king’s oldest daughter swept into Norfolk House, followed by two maids.
I had not seen Mary Tudor since she was three years old and I was eight, at Christmas festivities at Greenwich. Now she was past twenty, and shorter than I expected, not much taller than young Catherine Howard, but thinner and dressed all in black. A jeweled crucifix dangled from her neck. I felt awe but also great protectiveness. Her mother, Queen Katherine, had wanted me to help her, all those years ago.
Despite her small size, Mary Tudor moved with a dignity that no other woman in the room possessed. She was too somber to be called pretty, although there was a definite loveliness to her; the princess’s skin was luminous, purest white. Dark eyebrows delicately arched above her piercing hazel eyes. She took in every detail of the room, all of the costumed guests. I saw her mouth tighten in disapproval.
In a clear, deep voice, she said, “I came here because I heard that Bishop Gardiner had landed and was to be honored by the Howards, and I could not wait to see him again. I must say, the manner in which he is honored surprises me. I had not thought it time for parties. I have been much preoccupied with mourning my stepmother, good Queen Jane.” She crossed herself. “And the mocking of the religious faithful cannot be pleasing to my friend the bishop.”
“It is not meant as mockery, my lady,” protested the Earl of Surrey.
The duke scowled at him. “I apologize, Lady Mary.”
“You spoil your children, Your Grace,” she said. “You are a most indulgent father.” But she did not scold; there was wistfulness to her words. She had been reconciled to him after her mother died, but I could not imagine King Henry was an indulgent father.
Bishop Gardiner stepped forward, and, to my surprise, he went down on one knee before Mary Tudor. “Please forgive what you see here tonight—and accept my heartfelt gratitude that you would seek me out,” he said fervently. “My eyes rejoice to see you, Lady Mary.”
He kissed her hand, and I could see a bond existed between them. I remembered what I’d heard at Malmesbury—that Gardiner was a cousin to the royal family through an illegitimate strain—and wondered if Lady Mary was aware of their blood tie.
Then it was the turn of the Duke of Norfolk to kiss her hand, with a reverence I’d never seen him show anyone. Yes, she was the heroine and hope of their party. Although deemed illegitimate by the king, she could yet be restored to the succession. If the king did not marry again, she would be second in line after an infant boy.
Gardiner peered at me out of the corner of his eye. In a moment an order would be given, and Brother Edmund and I would be swept out of her sight—to be dealt with later.
This was my only chance.
I made a deep curtsy, not one seen in the English courts, but the sort of curtsy that was practiced in the castles of Castile, where my mother was raised. As was Katherine of Aragon.
“Dona Maria, es un honor estar en su presencia,” I said.
She drew back in surprise. “Seniorita, habla el español muy bien.”
“Dona Maria, yo hablo la lengua de mi madre, Lady Isabella Stafford.”
She trembled, and for a moment, I thought Lady Mary would collapse. A violet vein quivered on the side of her pure white throat.
“You are Joanna Stafford!” she gasped. “I have wanted to meet you for so long. Maria de Salinas told me you attended on my mother. I wanted to find you, but Maria died before you could be located.” She turned to the Duke of Norfolk, eagerly. “Is there some place I could speak to her privately, here in your house?”
“Of course,” the duke said, between gritted teeth. “Follow me.”
I saw him send Gardiner a look, his head extending ever so slightly in Brother Edmund’s direction. They meant to get their hands on him now, at least.
“Lady Mary,” I said swiftly, “allow me to present a friend of mine, Brother Edmund.”
“You are a man of the monasteries—truly? This is no disguise?” she asked, a radiant smile transforming her delicate face to beauty.
Brother Edmund bowed, with great dignity.
“Then come with us, please.” She turned to the Duke of Norfolk. “Lead the way, Your Grace,” she ordered. He had no choice but to do so.
Soon we were all upstairs. The Lady Mary walked the entire way with her arm linked with mine, as if we were already the closest of friends. It was a tremendous honor to walk next to a king’s daughter, not behind. My heart pounded as I tried to decide how much to reveal to her.
In the dim, quiet parlor facing the lawns of Norfolk House, Lady Mary asked me about the last weeks of her mother, at Kimbolton Castle. We stood close to each other, by the window, watching the guests streaming out of Norfolk House. Apparently the party had been cut short. There would be no masque tonight. While the rich young aris
tocrats mounted their horses and rode away, I re-created that cold, lonely house off the fens and her mother’s brave death. Tears spilled down the Lady Mary’s cheeks, and she fingered her crucifix as she listened. Norfolk, Gardiner, and Brother Edmund stood silently, a discreet distance away. After I described how the queen made it to dawn, to hear the last Mass, and then faded into death, I bowed my head. No one spoke for a moment.
Lady Mary said, “I know that you came as replacement for your mother, but the service you rendered my mother, the queen, will always be cherished by me. I reward those who have shown my mother a kindness. Tell me how I can begin to repay you.”
I shot a look at Brother Edmund. I was still not sure what to say—if only he and I could consult with each other. But it was not possible.
“Do you live at court now?” she asked. “I have never seen you there, Mistress Joanna.”
“No, my lady, I took novice vows after the queen’s death.”
She drew back, confused. “So this is not a costume?” she asked, examining my nun’s habit.
“It is a costume,” I said haltingly. “I am a member of the Dominican Order at Dartford Priory.”
“Ah, Dartford,” she said, smiling. “My mother spoke of the Dominican Order to me. She admired them, I know. In Spain, they are honored above all.”
I took a deep breath. “Lady Mary, I professed at Dartford because your mother asked it of me.”
Tears filled her eyes again. “Truly, you are a woman dearer to me than any other living. Ask anything of me, anything, Sister Joanna, and I will grant it.”
I could feel the men tense on the other side of the room. I took a step closer to the Lady Mary. “I ask not for myself but for my father, Sir Richard Stafford, who is in the Tower of London. He is charged with interfering with the king’s justice in the matter of the execution of my cousin, Lady Margaret Bulmer.”
She looked at me with regret. “I can do nothing for a prisoner in the Tower. I cannot gainsay my father’s commands.”
“But he is imprisoned on the authority of the Duke of Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner,” I said. “Not the king.”
She turned on them. “Is this true? Bishop, why would you do this? Is this man considered dangerous—is he a traitor to His Majesty?”
Gardiner looked at her, torn with emotion. Finally, he said, in a strained voice, “No, he is not. He sought to shorten the suffering of a family member who burned at Smithfield, but that is all. The crime does not meet the definition of treason.”
“Then you will see he is released?” she asked. “Do you have the authority?”
Gardiner and Norfolk exchanged a look.
“Why do you hesitate?” she asked, anger rising in her voice.
Gardiner bowed. “I will see to it. Stafford will be released by the end of the week.”
“I am glad,” she said, and then turned back to me. “Isn’t there anything else you need?”
“I only need to return to Dartford Priory, with Brother Edmund, in safety.” I placed an emphasis on the last word no one in the room could mistake. “I ask for your blessing, Lady Mary.”
She took my hands in hers and squeezed them. “You have a friend for life. My mother, the queen, cherished a Dominican blessing; shall I say it to you?”
Brother Edmund and I knelt before her and closed our eyes.
She recited softly: “May God the Father bless us. May God the Father heal us. May God the Holy Spirit enlighten us, And give us eyes to see with, ears to hear with, hands to do the work of God with. Amen.”
I got to my feet, and made a final Spanish curtsy. “Gracias a Dios y la Virgen,” I said.
She smiled and her eyes glistened again with tears.
“I know you must wish now to have conversation with the Duke of Norfolk and Bishop Gardiner,” I said, quickly backing toward the door, for no one could turn their back on royalty. “And so we will take our leave.”
“Only if you promise to write to me, and often,” she said.
“It would be an honor.” I was close to the door now, Brother Edmund beside me.
He opened the door for me. I took one last look at Lady Mary, and then at Bishop Gardiner. His light hazel eyes were fixed on me, but with an expression I could not read.
And so we were out of the room—and, moments later, out of Norfolk House. Night had fallen.
John almost wept with relief when we appeared at the stables. “Everyone else left but there was no sign of ye—I did not know what to do.”
“Could you get us to Dartford, John?” Brother Edmund asked. “Do you know the roads well enough?”
“Aye, I can do it,” he said. “I miss my wife so much, Brother. I’d do anything to get back to her tonight.”
As we trotted up the drive, to Paradise Street, I said to Brother Edmund, “Will Gardiner release my father?”
“He must. He gave his word to the princess.”
“And what about us? Are we safe from Gardiner?”
He turned in his saddle, to peer at Norfolk House again. “For a short time,” he said. “Perhaps just tonight. He will endeavor to learn why we were at Norfolk House and what we are doing out of the priory.”
A realization came to me. “If my father is released, I am no longer constrained by Gardiner.”
“Yes,” said Brother Edmund. “You need not search for the crown any longer.”
I felt a rush of anger. “Do you think it is only because of the threat to my father that I try to learn about the crown and find it in the priory? I wish to save the monasteries as much as you.”
Brother Edmund reached out, awkwardly, across the horses. His fingers grazed my arm. John was riding ahead of us, fast; we would have to cease talking if we hoped to pick up speed.
“I honor your commitment,” he said. “Truly I do.”
“Then we shall continue—together?” I demanded. “And when we return, we will do all we can, use all that we have learned?”
He nodded.
“Brother, what did you see in the tapestry inside Norfolk House?” I asked. “Something disturbed you greatly. What is the story of the sisters?”
“I believe them to be the Pleiades,” said Brother Edmund.
“Who are they?” I asked. “What is the significance of the dance?”
Brother Edmund said quietly, “They are dancing for someone.”
“Who?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it.
“Brother, it seemed to me they were frenzied in their movements, perhaps even angry. You must tell me: Who were they dancing for?” I demanded, my voice rising. Could it be possible that Brother Edmund was withholding information from me, after what we had just been through at Norfolk House?
Finally, he answered me. “They were dancing for their father, Sister Joanna.”
What was sinister about that? Confused, I looked over at him. Even in the darkness on the road out of Lambeth, I could see in Brother Edmund’s eyes the flicker of fear.
And he whipped his horse, something I’d never seen him do before, to ride faster down the road to Dartford Priory.
45
Something is wrong,” I said to Brother Edmund.
After more than two weeks away, I did not know what to expect at Dartford. Exhausted and stiff from the cold, we turned off the road onto the priory trail. It was past midnight; Dartford would be closed up and locked for the night.
But as we rode around the bend where the priory first comes into view, a torch flickered at the gatehouse. Beyond, the priory door hung open, even though it was a frigid night. A man stood in the doorway, holding a lantern. It was Gregory, the porter.
We jumped off our horses and ran to the arched entrance.
“Gregory, what’s happening?” I asked.
He stepped down the stairs, not in greeting but with his arms stretched out, as if to bar us.
“Stay back,” he said.
“Why?” asked Brother Edmund.
“It’s the bailiff who ordered it. He told m
e no one could go inside until he’s found help in London. He promised to return by midnight.”
My stomach clenched.
“Why is help needed?” I asked.
“The prioress has been missing for two days,” he said. Now that we were much closer, I could see Gregory’s eyes were hollow with exhaustion. “We have searched everywhere. She’s disappeared. Then, this afternoon, Sister Christina and Brother Richard went missing, too.” Gregory’s voice broke into hysteria. “They’re vanishing one by one. This priory is cursed. That’s what they say in town, and God’s blood, they’re right!”
Brother Edmund moved one step closer to the agitated porter. “Gregory, you must let us in. We may be able to find them.”
“No.” Gregory came down, so that he stood face-to-face with Brother Edmund. “The bailiff said no one else comes in, without his approval.”
I moved forward to try to persuade him. “We won’t go into the cloistered area. We only want to look in the front rooms. We may—”
Gregory pushed me back. “I won’t do it.”
“Don’t lay hands on her,” Brother Edmund said angrily. Our porter turned on him, and before I knew it, he’d struck Brother Edmund.
As they grappled on the steps, I darted around them and slipped inside.
“Wait for me, I beg you,” Brother Edmund called after me. “It’s too dangerous for you to go alone.”
“Stop, Sister Joanna!” bellowed Gregory.
I didn’t stop.
I ran as fast as I could, past the statue of the Virgin Mary, through the entranceway hall, and then I turned. I wouldn’t search for a door to underground rooms in the prioress’s chamber, I knew it couldn’t be there or Cromwell’s men would have found it.
I snatched a taper from the wall and ran into the guest bedchamber. I felt all the walls, every corner, jabbing at shelves and cracks the way Prior Roger had pushed on the wall in Malmesbury.
Nothing.
I was burning with frustration. It had to be here. There had to be a way down. I didn’t have time to push and pull and bang against every inch of the wall. Even if Brother Edmund were able to get the better of Gregory, the bailiff would arrive soon with his men.
The Crown Page 37
