“At times I think she is a better mother to the girl than Cecily, God forgive me for saying it,” Hal told Father Alec one day as the two rode through the vast fields where the sheep of Sumerton grazed. It was summer. Despite all odds, Emmy was thriving, progressing much like any normal babe, filling Hal with relief. He could not imagine what other effects the pennyroyal might have on the child.
“Your feelings are not misplaced,” Father Alec assured him. He sighed as they slowed their horses.
“You know of Cecily’s sin.” It was not a question.
“I do,” Father Alec admitted after a long moment’s hesitation. “And no doubt she was wrong. But God’s will prevailed and the child has lived. Lady Cecily pays for it with her own guilt far more than anyone could ever punish her.”
“Oh, Father.” Hal’s voice was thick with mourning. “I don’t desire to punish her … yet I cannot reconcile myself to my own resentment, either.”
“You must,” Father Alec urged. “It will take time. But you must. Otherwise you may become separated from Lady Cecily by a chasm nothing can bridge.”
Hal swallowed the growing lump in his throat, frightened at the prospect. “I do love her, Father, the Lord knows I do. Perhaps I suffer from disillusionment. I never expected to be disappointed by her.”
“It was a long fall from the heights you placed her upon,” Father Alec observed.
Hal nodded. “I suppose part of the fault is mine, for that and more. I should have taken more precautions if she did not want a child. But she never told me!”
Father Alec shook his head. “You are where you are now,” he said at length. “Just remember, my lord. It is far more important to forgive than attain forgiveness from others. It will free you.”
Hal nodded. Forgiveness. That which he sought for so long. It would be a long road, but he must traverse it.
Somehow he must forgive, or lose Cecily altogether.
Cecily sensed Hal’s distance. He occupied himself with sport—hawking, hunting, and leaving the estate to indulge in pastimes of old, cards and dice. Though he never treated her with anything but respect, his solicitations adopted a new formality that bordered on coldness. Cecily wondered if they would ever heal from this or if she had condemned their marriage to a slow death.
She internalised her guilt, discussing it with no one. Mirabella tried to comfort her to no avail; Cecily knew confiding her shame would bring her judgement upon her and she could not bear it. She withdrew.
Mirabella was a marvel with little Emmy and included Kristina in all the daily tasks of her upkeep. It was just as well. Cecily could not face any of them and threw herself into the running of the household with the dedication of a merchant for his store. Everything was in order; everything ran smoothly. The rents were collected, the tenants looked after, the household food stores maintained and well stocked. At times she felt she was a better steward than anything else.
She was going over the ledgers one late afternoon when she heard a shouting in the great hall. Abandoning the book, she quit her study and made for the noise, finding, much to her surprise, Master James Reaves with Father Alec and some servants.
James’s face was flushed, his breathing shallow. He was covered in dust.
“Master James.” Cecily took his hand. “What is it?”
“Fire at Camden Manor,” he told her.
“Fire?” Cecily cried, her heart racing. “Alice and the children—are they safe?”
“They are trapped within,” James said, as they began proceeding out of doors. “Oh, my lady, it has been a sort of hell there, if you’ll forgive the term. Sir Edward and his sons are pigs, unfit to be called men. Many a time I have come between them and Lady Alice or, worse, the girls, that I might prevent grievous sin from occurring.” He offered a helpless shake of the head. “But I cannot be all places at all times. …”
Cecily closed her eyes. “Oh, Lord preserve them. …”
“I heard them fighting. Lady Alice was screaming, telling Sir Edward she and her girls would never again be used for the pleasure of him and his ‘demon brood’. She said she was leaving, that she could not bear this world a moment more. Then she took to the nursery with her daughters. Sir Edward dismissed it, saying it was another one of her dramatic scenes.” He trembled. “But it was not long before we smelled smoke. Soon it could be seen curling down the hall. It got out of control so fast …”
Cecily covered her mouth with her hand, casting her eyes to Father Alec. He wrapped an arm about her shoulder, drawing her close. She was too distressed to pull away.
“We are doing all we can,” James went on. “But you are in possession of the only water syringe within fifty miles. We beg use of it now.”
“Hal is gone; he took Mirabella and Kristina to visit the Howards. He will not be back for days,” she told James. “But we will remove there directly with the water syringe and offer what assistance we can.”
They arrived at Camden Manor, Cecily riding on the back of Father Alec’s horse as they followed the carriage with the water syringe, which held ten barrels of water. The manor was shrouded in flames. What remained of the staff congregated outside, speaking in hushed tones, while others passed one bucket after another to pour on the conflagration in vain. It seemed to have taken on a life of its own, as if it were the breath of a dragon sent to rain its punishment upon them all.
Cecily and Father Alec did not hesitate. They helped the servants align the nozzle of the great syringe to the base of the fire, while one of the burlier men cranked a large handle at the back of the cylinder, forcing the piston in, which ushered forth a great stream of water. With effort, the piston was cranked back and the great vessel filled with water once more.
“Quick! We need more water!” Father Alec cried to the throng of onlookers who were just as content to remain useless. The assemblage scrambled, gathering as many buckets of water as were at their disposal to refill the syringe.
Sir Edward threw his bucket to the ground. “This is pointless!” he cried. “Do you really think this puny mechanism will stop that?” He shook his head at Father Alec, his soot-covered face contorted with scorn. He turned to his sons. “Come, boys, we shall go rescue them ourselves!”
“It is a death sentence,” Cecily said to Father Alec.
“He knows,” Father Alec told her.
No one tried to stop them. They ran into the firestorm, obscured in flame and black smoke. At once could be heard the sound of timbers cracking. Over the heads of Sir Edward and his sons half of the manor collapsed in upon itself, a testimony of destruction. Tears streamed down Cecily’s cheeks despite the fact that she could not imagine a more fitting end for him and what Alice aptly deemed his “demon brood”.
Father Alec continued working the syringe with the other men. Cecily retrieved more buckets of water to keep the firefighting device as well stocked as possible. Somewhere in the back of her crowded mind she heard Alice’s voice, laced with bitterness. … It is a hard enough world to get along in. … It is no place for my daughters and me. … Could any statement have foretold these events any clearer? When did she say it? Why didn’t Cecily address it with the seriousness it required?
Cecily sobbed with abandon as she poured bucket after bucket into the great mouth of the syringe, feeling as though her tears alone could douse the flames.
Well into the night they worked, yet still it did not wane. The fire lit the night sky, a bright beacon from Hell. All knew that the residents of Camden were gone to a man; there was no saving them. The least they could do was keep it contained to minimise the further loss of life and property.
At last could be heard God’s reprieve—a crack of thunder. At first Cecily thought it was more timbers collapsing, but as the first drops of rain could be felt soothing her aching body her bucket fell to her side. She held out her hands.
“Thank God!” she cried. “Oh, thank God!”
It was as though the sky had opened up, sending a great deluge to cleanse t
he ravaged land. It poured in a torrent. The men ceased their operation, tilting their heads up to the sky. Many crossed themselves in thanksgiving. Thick smoke curled up into the night as rain conquered flame. Despite this, it still took hours for the fire to be vanquished.
When it was deemed safe, a party of men was sent into the rubble to seek out any remains. After what seemed like an eternity, made more intense by the lack of urgency, the party emerged, carrying with them the charred bodies of the Camden family and some servants. Sir Edward was crushed by a beam and could not be salvaged, but Alice and her three daughters were laid side by side, burned almost beyond recognition.
Father Alec stood above them, blessing them with tears streaming down his cheeks. No one rested. Coffins were fashioned on the spot; all knew in the warm weather the risk of scavengers, both human and animal. Father Alec officiated an informal burial as what remained of the staff and tenants who had come to assist stood by, sobbing for the disaster, the fiery veil for an even greater tragedy.
Cecily was overcome by weakness. She trudged away from the graves toward the stables, wishing she would faint, wishing there was some escape from this madness. When at last she came to Father Alec’s horse, she leaned her head against its neck and sobbed anew.
“My lady.”
Cecily started at the warm hand on her shoulder. She turned to find Father Alec, covered in dust and soot.
“Oh, Father, the sorrow we have known!” she cried.
Without a word he gathered her in his arms, holding her tight as he swayed from side to side in a gentle rhythm. His nearness comforted and tortured her at once; the feel of his body against hers amplified the intensity of their shared experience. She pulled away.
“Oh, please take me home,” she begged, her voice raspy with tears.
He nodded, lifting her onto the horse and seating himself behind her. She leaned against his chest and he wrapped his arm about her waist.
Together they rode from one hell toward another, subtler kind of anguish.
They arrived home, where Cecily ordered baths for the both of them. She immersed herself in the hot water, scrubbing away the grime and pain of the day with vigour, as though with it she could scour away the emotions that raged within her. When at last she was cleansed, she found herself plagued with restlessness. There was nothing to distract her, no one with whom she could share her grief. Emmy was asleep, Mirabella and Kristina gone with Hal.
She was left with no choice. She would go where she had always gone in times of trouble, to the only one who understood. She gathered fresh clothes for Father Alec and, almost against her will, made for his apartments. When he did not answer her knock, she let herself in, recalling her childhood when she sneaked into his rooms to leave him little gifts. How far away those days did seem. …
Cecily’s heart pounded as she beheld Father Alec, still in the large copper washtub.
“I’m sorry—I—” She bowed her head, cheeks burning. For some reason, her feet remained rooted in place. “I only meant to bring you some clothes.”
Father Alec lowered his eyes. “I thank you.”
Cecily approached, meaning to set the clothing on his dressing table, but as she tried to pass him he seized her wrist. His hand was warm and wet on her skin. She trembled; the clothes slipped from fingers gone limp onto the floor. Without hesitation she leaned in, pressing her mouth to his. He cupped her cheek in his other hand, devouring her mouth in his own urgent kiss. He pulled Cecily atop him into the water, both working frantically to free her of her gown. They discarded the sopping wet garment to the floor beside the abandoned change of clothes.
Cecily did not think. She suspended reality and consequence, yielding to the moment. She roved his body with her hands, stroking every inch of him as he explored her. Unlike the tender couplings with Hal, this union was infused with passion and a yearning so long denied. She staved off her guilt. She had the rest of her life for penance; had not every day become an atonement of sorts? She could not wonder if she would be damned. She could only gaze into Alec’s loving hazel eyes, immerse herself in his kisses, savour the feel of him, the taste of him, the scent of him. Alec … how long had she loved him like this? How long had she needed him? There was no need for examination. There was but to lose herself in him, if only for this one sacred night.
When at last they were sated, gasping for breath, their sweat and tears mingling with the water, the two settled back into the bath. Father Alec’s arms wound tight about her as she laid her head on his chest.
“God forgive me,” he said. “I should leave.”
“And take my sanity with you?” Cecily asked, leaning her chin on his chest to look up at him. “No. We acted of our own free will. We chose this. Now we must carry our sin with us, as I carry all of my sins with me. … Still,” she added in soft tones, “I do not regret it.”
“God help me, nor do I,” Father Alec said. “Years ago I learned that Cranmer had a secret wife,” he went on after a while.
“The archbishop?”
He nodded as with one idle hand he stroked her hair. “Do not tell a soul or you will condemn him to death at the stake,” he warned.
Cecily offered a wry smile. He knew she would guard his secret.
“And I challenged him about it,” he said. “But Cranmer made me understand that to be in true service to God, one must be a true man.” He sighed. “Not that it gives licence to sin … but ever since that insight I could not help but hope for the day when our reforms would both allow me to serve my God and grant me a helpmate of my own.” His voice broke. “Cecily, you must know that you are the first woman for whom I have broken my vows.”
“Oh, Father …” Cecily trailed off. She could no longer call him that. “Alec …” she whispered. “I am honoured.” She reached up to stroke his cheek. He covered her hand with his.
Father Alec swallowed. “We must not sin again,” he told her. “I pray your forgiveness and God’s that I took you in such an emotional state. But by God, Cecily, I have loved you since the day I helped you out of your mother’s wardrobe as a little girl.” Tears coursed slick trails down his cheeks. “Not as it is now, but in innocence. I do not think I knew the depth of it till you married my lord. That is why I left that first time. And then I returned to find you so …” He shook his head. “So much a lady … so beautiful. The love that was but a seedling when I left grew. I fought it; believe me I fought it. But I can fight no longer. What is worst is I no longer want to.”
Cecily leaned up to kiss his cheek. “We have both lost this battle,” she said. “And betrayed a man we love well. We can neither of us abandon Hal. He has been nothing but good and forgiving of me and a true friend to you.” She sighed. “We will not sin again.” She drew in a quavering breath. “But we have tonight.”
She tilted her face to his to receive his kiss once more.
Tomorrow it would end.
Though they carried themselves with honour, each look, each touch, each word was fraught with a new meaning. Cecily relived the night again and again, using it as a distraction from her grief and guilt. She would not think of Alice and her daughters, charred in their graves. She would not think of her own little Emmy, who had taken to crawling quite adeptly despite her deformity.
She met Hal’s eyes, trying to put forth the effort they had abandoned after Emmy’s birth. He was kind and helped ease the pain of the loss of her dear friend Alice, whom he grieved for as well. Together they achieved a semblance of what they had known in the beginning, but the façade lacked a key element they could not seem to recapture: their friendship. Cecily told herself it would change. In time. For now there was but to pretend and hope they would someday believe their own charade.
Moments alone with Father Alec were rare. Yet every now and again he and Cecily would allow their gaze to linger, a testimony to what was and what could never be.
One day in late autumn Cecily came upon Father Alec in the stables. He was about to go riding and had shed hi
s cassock for breeches and boots. When he saw Cecily he smiled.
“How are you, my lady?” he asked, his tone soft.
“I am well,” she answered. “Better.” Her voice broke on the last word. She bowed her head.
Father Alec approached her, taking her hands. “I am thinking of returning to London. After the king spared Queen Catherine this summer from heresy charges, my hope is renewed.”
“I thought you told me that it was too dangerous, that you must wait for Cranmer to send for you,” she said. “He—he hasn’t, then?”
Father Alec shook his head. “Not yet. But I can live conspicuously. I can wait there.” He drew her to his chest. “It is better for us, Cecily. I cannot bear to remain here, to see you and not … I cannot live in such agony and temptation. Despite my sin, I respect Lord Hal. And I respect you too much to compromise you further.”
Cecily’s shoulders slumped as she nuzzled in his chest. “I know,” she answered, her tone rich with anguish. “I trust you to do what is best.” She pulled back in his embrace, raising her head to meet his face. His hazel eyes were luminous with unshed tears. She reached up to trace the line of his jaw. “Stay safe, my dear friend. Promise me.”
“I promise,” he whispered, reaching up to cup her face between his hands. He pulled her close, pressing a soft kiss against her lips, which yielded to his, hoping to trap one last moment before it was gone forever.
The clomp of hooves against the earth startled them. They turned to find Mirabella in the doorway, returned from a ride. Her face was contorted as though she had borne witness to a great horror, her eyes fiery with accusation. She shook her head as she jerked the reins, whirling the horse about and riding from the stable as though it had burst into flames.
Cecily chased after her, crying her name in vain.
Everything, all good purposes, had all been in vain.
Mirabella rode through the forest at breakneck speed, listening to the pounding of the hooves against the fallen leaves. Her blood raced. It was confirmed, that which she had tried so hard to deny, all brought to light at last. Father Alec was a man as any other, a lustful, sinful man, and Cecily, the woman she loved so dear, no better than a common whore. It was just like Sister Julia and her father, sin upon sin. Betrayal upon betrayal. The cycle never ended. Oh, God. …
Betrayal in the Tudor Court Page 27
