Betrayal in the Tudor Court

by Darcey Bonnette

  “For your own good, my friend,” the archbishop reassured him. “And I believe Sumerton is just the place. It is tucked inconspicuously in the north country. There you may write, you may work, and not under the shadow of the axe,” he added with a wry laugh. “They are a fruitful people, are the Pierces you served. Two living children now, is it? They will be in need of a tutor, I am sure. Oh, Father, take heart. We will keep correspondence. And you will return when it is safe—and it will be safe again someday, Father, I promise you.”

  Father Alec struggled to keep his mouth from standing agape. He knew it was the right thing, that he would not dare go against his mentor’s authority. But to leave London, to leave his dreams behind, to leave the hub of all religious decision and reform for the country of Sumerton, where news travelled slow and life commenced in a sort of suspended reality so alternate to what he came to know and treasure in London … His stomach churned.

  “My friend, I appreciate how difficult this is for you,” Cranmer told him in gentle tones. “But you are too crucial to England’s future to make a martyr of you. I will not have it. I pray you will understand and forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Father Alec assured him. “And I am honoured that you hold me in such high esteem, that you believe me to have some place in our land’s future. But I admit it is almost unbearable leaving.” He bowed his head. “I am avowed to obedience, however. And I suppose it is God’s will. One can never get too comfortable.” He shrugged, swallowing an onset of petulant tears.

  “Consider it a sabbatical,” Cranmer suggested. “A respite where you might compose your thoughts in relative safety. Not that you should get careless; I advise you conceal your work with the utmost caution. But it will be easier for you there. And you will prove a comfort to the family as well.”

  The family. Hal and Cecily and Mirabella. How had the years changed them? Would they fall back into the easy friendship they once shared? Or would it be awkward returning to them? Yet he could not deny that it would be an honour educating a new generation of Pierces. It was perhaps a perfect cover.

  “It is settled, then, Father,” Cranmer stated, bringing Father Alec from his reverie. “You will return to Sumerton and wait this out. When the time is right, we will know what to do with you.”

  There was no argument to make. He would obey his dear friend and mentor and remove to the manor where so many memories were made. There he would live, he would dream, he would work.

  And wait.

  16

  “Father Alec returning to Sumerton?” Mirabella cried as Hal made the announcement in the gardens. It was a warm autumn evening and the women savoured their time in the outdoors before winter set in. Together with the companionable James Reaves they watched the children romp and play.

  Cecily raised her head to Hal, a spark lighting the eyes that the loss of baby Charles had dulled.

  “I just received his dispatch,” Hal affirmed with a grin. “He has offered to resume his post as our tutor.”

  “Oh, Hal …” Cecily murmured, her heart stirring with the first real hope she had known since the baby’s death. Everything had become such an effort for her; it was almost impossible to take any pleasure in day-to-day life. Her mind was tortured with thoughts of her little one, the warm weight of him in her arms, the feel of his downy soft hair against her cheek, his sweet, clean smell. How subtle, how quiet, was his passing. She had put him to bed one night, blissfully unaware of the fact that it was to be his eternal slumber. It seemed suffering had become her unwelcome companion. It haunted her, these thoughts, and wracked her soul with guilt; if she or the nurse had only checked on baby Charles more that night, perhaps they could have foreseen, maybe even prevented … Yes, it was a good thing that Father Alec was returning. Perhaps he could offer her counsel as he had in days gone by.

  “We shall make ready his old apartments,” she said, her tone decisive. “And celebrate his return with a feast!”

  “Set the preparations in order, my darling,” Hal told her as he leaned in to kiss the top of her head. “Give our friend a proper homecoming.”

  Cecily reached up, cupping Hal’s cheek in her hand. This was a much-anticipated homecoming. Reuniting with one of the most integral figures in her childhood filled her with renewed purpose and would be a welcome distraction from her grief. Father Alec would prove a loving instructor to her children and the impartial friend the family needed to guide them through.

  Mirabella anticipated the priest’s appearance with a pounding heart. All the preparations had been made. Mirabella helped Cecily oversee the freshening of his apartments and even stocked a trunk with newly sewn shirts for his use. Two boars had been slaughtered and the kitchens were busy making ready a feast in his honour. Cecily had even assembled a group of tenants to serve as musicians for the occasion. Like Lady Grace before her, it seemed Cecily was a master of revels.

  Even Mirabella found herself choosing her wardrobe with more care the day he was set to arrive. Red had always been her colour in years gone by and she wore a sumptuous velvet dress of rich crimson with slashed sleeves to reveal fitted taffeta undersleeves of gold. Her dark hair she wore curling past her shoulders with a simple red and gold headdress.

  “My God, Mistress Mirabella, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” James Reaves told her upon seeing her that day in the gardens.

  Mirabella smiled, proud of dear James. Never did he lose his faith; never did he seem to even question God’s will. He was an example of acceptance and she strove to emulate him.

  “My lady,” he went on, taking her hand. “I did not know the proper time to say this, but … I have spoken to your father and—and he gave his blessing. … Mistress Mirabella, it is my hope that I could plight my troth to you.”

  The colour drained from Mirabella’s cheeks. Marriage? To James? She could not trick herself into believing this would not happen someday. They had grown close. There seemed an easy chemistry between them. They shared similar beliefs and enjoyed each other’s company. But marriage? As ever she was reminded of when the abbey’s treasures were confiscated and her virtue almost compromised. As ever she was reminded it was her mother’s selfless act that preserved her. James was one of the few to know of that tragedy. He tended her himself, after all. And yet the thought of being his wife … the thought of abandoning the last vestiges of her dreams to domesticity …

  “My lady?” James furrowed his brows. He squeezed her hand.

  “Mirabella! He’s here!” the voice of young Harry was heard exclaiming as he burst through the gardens, trampling every flower and shrub that had the misfortune of finding itself in his path. At eight he was the image of Brey with his shock of curly blond hair and sparkling blue eyes that betrayed his enthusiasm for life. “Your friend, the priest you told me so much about! He’s riding up now!”

  “Oh, James!” Mirabella cried, rising and disengaging from him, grateful for the distraction. “He’s here! He’s really here!”

  Ignoring the hurt lighting James’s eyes, she hurried past him, following Harry to the courtyard.

  This talk of marriage could wait.

  Mirabella found her father and the children congregated in the courtyard. All were dressed for the celebration, Hal in a fine orange velvet doublet and hose. The children were attired in their best as well and little Kristina wore a russet gown to offset the waves of blond hair worn in plaits across her shoulders. The excitement was contagious, and though the little girl didn’t know who they were expecting, she was caught up in it regardless. Hal rested his hands on her shoulders to contain her from bouncing about in restless anticipation.

  James caught up to them as well, but Mirabella shifted her gaze from him to Father Alec, who had dismounted and was making long strides toward them, a smile broad across his face.

  The children surrounded him first, Harry offering a bow and Kristina tugging at his sleeve. “I am Kristina! You have not met me yet, but I am far smarter than my broth
er and I know more, too!”

  “Well, I am sure I will learn much from you,” Father Alec said in indulgent tones as he took the child’s hand.

  “She’s a liar, anyway,” Harry told him. “I am the oldest, the strongest, and the smartest!”

  Father Alec laughed. “Well, then perhaps you have no need of a tutor? Shall I return to London directly?”

  “No!” both children cried at once. “We still need a tutor,” Kristina added. “Harry has to learn how to be a gentleman, besides. It should take him a proper lifetime.”

  “Ah, then there’s no danger of me going out of work,” Father Alec commented with a smile as he approached the rest of the family.

  He offered his hand to Hal, only to be taken into his arms in a great bear hug. “My dear friend!” Hal said. “I feared we would not see you again.” He pulled away. “So much has happened.” His eyes misted over. “But there’s time for that kind of talk later. Now there’s but to celebrate your homecoming and reacquaint you with Sumerton.”

  “My deepest sympathies for your loss, my lord,” Father Alec said in soft tones. “And I thank you for allowing me to return.”

  Hal pursed his lips, as though warding off tears as he waved him off. “Of course, man, you’d be daft to think we’d refuse you!”

  After introducing James, who remained quiet throughout, Mirabella lowered into a curtsy. “Father.” Her voice was tremulous with reverence.

  Father Alec smiled, taking her hands. “I am glad to see you, Mistress Mirabella. It seems Sumerton has had a healing effect on you after all.”

  Mirabella felt her cheeks burn. “Yes, in some ways,” she told him. His hands enveloped hers, warm and steady. She did not want to let go.

  At once Father Alec’s eyes fixed on a point beyond her. His mouth parted. He stood stock still, as though frozen by a force greater than he. His hands went limp in hers. Mirabella turned. Cecily stood on the stone steps in the entrance of the castle mid-stride, caught in similar estate. She was dressed in a pale yellow gown that accentuated her delicacy, and her hair was in a loose twist, wound about a simple gold circlet. Rose-gold tendrils framed her face. She regarded Father Alec with the same wide-eyed expression with which he beheld her. Both seemed suspended in time.

  Mirabella bit her lip. She understood well this exchange. This helpless exchange that conveyed far more than words ever could. Mirabella snatched her hands away from Father Alec. The movement seemed to jar him to his senses once more and he offered a small laugh.

  “Lady Cecily,” he said. “You look well.”

  Cecily’s smile was forced. “I have done very well these past years. My lord and I have a wonderful family.” With this she found Kristina and seized her hand as though desperate to illustrate this.

  “I look forward to being a part of it.” His tone was soft.

  “We will make a merry time of it,” Hal said as he slapped Father Alec on the back. “It will be as though you never left us.”

  As they made their way into the courtyard, Mirabella kept shifting her gaze from Father Alec to Cecily. Maybe she was being uncharitable. It had been years since the two saw each other and it was normal to register a certain surprise in seeing each other again.

  And yet Mirabella’s gut lurched with a strange foreboding.

  She almost wished he had not returned.

  Almost.

  Father Alec wanted to deny what he felt upon seeing Cecily again, how his heart raced, how his face burned, and how enslaved he became under those strange teal eyes. As the evening commenced the two skilfully avoided each other. Father Alec made a show of acquainting himself with the children, giving them his undivided attention. He tried not to allow his gaze to wander toward the girl who had grown into such a beautiful and poised woman. He cursed himself. Could it be that this was what possessed Archbishop Cranmer to go against doctrine and marry? He longed for his friend now; no doubt he would offer sound advice without Father Alec ever having to ask.

  It would pass, he decided. It must. Cecily was married to Hal and he was a priest. No stronger argument existed against further development of these foreign feelings than these two constraints. Yet was this a foreign feeling? Years ago when Father Alec objected to Hal marrying the girl, was it indeed because he found her too young or had there been something more? He did not want to explore it. He would surround himself with the children, he would do what he came to do and count down the days till his release.

  Never had he thought he would liken Sumerton to a prison.

  Cecily had no right to the stirrings in her heart. She was married; she was in love. Hal had been everything to her these years past. He had given her children, he had given her a life beyond what she dreamed possible. But the love she bore Hal and the strange sensation Father Alec evoked were two different things. It must be lust, she decided, her gut churning in guilt. The years had been kind to him, after all, the only testament to his age being the subtle streaks of silver through his chestnut hair and the lines that crinkled around his soft hazel eyes when he smiled. He was still in fine form; he emanated strength and confidence, and though Hal was a handsome man, there was just something about Father Alec. … Yet she could not say it was all looks with Father Alec. She had always cherished his manner. He was kind, straightforward, and gentle in his counsel. She admired him. Perhaps it was simply that. She had placed him on a sort of pedestal since childhood, and seeing him again renewed those feelings of awe. It was all foolishness regardless.

  As Father Alec settled into life at Sumerton, Cecily invented every reason to evade him. The children adored him and he kept company with them even when he wasn’t tutoring. He took them riding and exploring and stargazing, occupying them with the same pastimes he had entertained her, Mirabella and Brey with as children. She was grateful for the easy rapport they established.

  The counsel she had longed for she did not seek. His presence alone distracted her from her own tragedy, and though she would never be at peace with it, she could at least keep it in perspective. She never ceased praying for the soul of her little one, but beyond that, there was nothing else to be done.

  If Cecily was avoiding the priest, so he was avoiding her, and she was grateful for that as well. And if Hal noted a difference in their exchanges, or lack thereof, he had the grace to leave it be.

  Only Mirabella seemed to sense that something was amiss. She conveyed it in a pointed gaze that caused Cecily to avert her eyes and bow her head. She cursed the guilt Mirabella evoked. She had done nothing wrong and she wouldn’t.

  Mirabella’s eyes told her otherwise. It was as though she was condemning and challenging her at once.

  Whereas Cecily kept her distance, Mirabella sought out the company of Father Alec, and together they spent many a long hour discussing the True Faith, reforms, and the philosophy of the fledgling Church of England. No one stimulated her mind like Father Alec and she cherished their conversations. He was a good companion, a good friend, and she didn’t mind that they disagreed on almost everything. The banter was good natured, and both left each debate with as much respect as they had when beginning it.

  “And if your Cranmer gets his way, priests will no longer have to be celibate, will they?” Mirabella asked as the two took to riding through the forest one crisp spring day.

  Father Alec slowed his horse. “This speculating on possible reforms is considered heretical, Mistress Mirabella. You must not fault me for being cautious when discussing them.”

  “Do you not trust me, Father?” Mirabella asked, her tone betraying her hurt.

  “You are a former novitiate nun,” Father Alec told her. “You were, as I remember, a supporter of the Pilgrimage of Grace and a practitioner of what you call the ‘True Faith’. ” He turned, raising a brow and smiling. “So, my friend, what do you think?”

  Mirabella bowed her head. “I suppose not,” she admitted. “But I’d like you to know that we are friends before we are avowed to any creed. You can trust me, Father.” She met
his eyes, her heart pounding. “I promise I would never betray you.”

  Father Alec reached out, covering her hand with his. Mirabella trembled at his touch. “I appreciate your friendship, mistress. But I would never want to compromise you by sharing views that would burden your heart and leave you torn.”

  “My beliefs are my own,” she said. “What I see now is that not everyone will ever agree on a matter as complex as religious doctrine. But maybe there is some way we could coexist and compromise?”

  “Then you have grown,” Father Alec observed. “To bend but not to break is a great strength, and if this is truly so, then I respect you all the more.”

  “Then?” she prodded, hating the fact that she was baiting him, that she was lying. She knew in her heart it was either the True Faith or the New Learning. There was no compromise, no coexisting. The battle would be long; many casualties would be sacrificed on both sides before it was won.

  “Then what?” Father Alec chuckled, withdrawing his hand to urge the horse in a pleasant canter.

  “Then what of the celibacy of priests?” Mirabella asked.

  “They won’t be encouraged to rove the countryside for ladies of the night, if that is what you’re implying,” he said in light tones. “But the sacrament of marriage would be made open to them, yes.”

  “And you, Father?” Mirabella persisted. She chastised herself for her forwardness yet couldn’t contain herself. All self-discipline seemed to be lost with her veil. “Would you marry, had you the choice?”

  Father Alec sighed. “It is not good for man to be alone,” he said at length. “And if the flesh burns, it must be contained in the marriage bed.” He paused. “Would I marry? A wise man once told me that permitting priests to marry would allow them a better understanding of the struggles of their fellow man. I cannot say I disagree.” He turned to her, his tone thoughtful. “I suppose it wouldn’t be abhorrent to have a helpmate, to know that someone will come after me when I pass on.” His tone became light. “However, it is all rather moot now, isn’t it? Until then, if then ever comes, I am constrained to my vow of chastity. So chaste I shall remain.”