Betrayal in the Tudor Court

by Darcey Bonnette

  He had ruined Cecily’s life and incurred Mirabella’s vengeance. Despite Hal’s touching display of forgiveness, he could not stay on. It was no longer proper. More than that, it was not right. He would go; what Cecily gave him was enough to sustain him the rest of his days. It had to be.

  The day Hal was to be interred in the family mausoleum, Father Alec went to his apartments that he might don the proper attire for the service. What he found made him gasp.

  The apartments had been ransacked. His possessions were thrown about everywhere; furniture was turned over, papers were strewn about. Father Alec shook his head. Whoever had been here was looking for something. He immediately went to his trunk with the false bottom where he kept his secret writings. Heart pounding, he lifted the bottom.

  Gone.

  Father Alec sat back on his haunches, his breathing shallow. Beads of perspiration gathered at his temples; his face tingled. Everything he had recorded, all of his thoughts and meditations that could be his death sentence, was gone.

  He rose. There was no time to investigate. He would do what he could after the interment.

  There was nothing to be done but to head to the mausoleum.

  When he arrived Cecily reached him, her eyes wide with panic as she clutched his upper arm. “Mirabella is gone,” she whispered. “We cannot find her anywhere. The house has been searched, the stables—everywhere. Oh, how could she miss her own father’s interment?”

  “I am afraid it is more than that,” Father Alec returned. “My apartments have been turned upside down, my personal papers stolen.”

  “Oh, God, no. …” Cecily’s hand flew to her mouth. “Not even she would—”

  “Now is not the time,” he told her. “We will commence with the ceremony.”

  Cecily nodded and returned to the children as he began the service. After celebrating the requiem mass, Father Alec spoke.

  “Today we commend Harold Pierce, Lord Sumerton, to our Heavenly Father,” he said. “He was a husband, a father, a friend … my friend. He gave me charge over two generations of his children, and all the while as I instructed them it was he who was doing the teaching.” His voice caught. “Lord Hal taught me what it is to be a family, a family who see each other through tragedy and triumph. His life serves as an example of what a Christian man should be, not because it was void of sin but because of how he handled it—both his sin and those who sinned against him. Unlike so many, Lord Hal lived by the true meaning of the words ‘forgive, that thou might be forgiven’. ” He shook his head in wonder. “As a priest I celebrate his entrance into Heaven. But as a man, I shall miss his friendship and guidance more than he could know.” He paused a long moment, raising his eyes. Against his will they found Cecily. She stood, head bowed, tears glistening against her fair cheeks. The children were at her sides, all but baby Emmy, who remained in the nursery, protected by her innocence. Harry sobbed openly. Kristina kept her pain internal and looked on with a dignity beyond her years.

  He collected himself and commenced with the funeral mass and Hal was put to his eternal rest beside Brey.

  Good-bye again. How many more good-byes were they expected to endure?

  As the procession made their way from the mausoleum to Castle Sumerton, they were met by Sheriff William Camden and two guards. Mirabella was beside them.

  Cecily gripped Harry’s and Kristina’s hands as Sheriff Camden approached Father Alec. She shook her head, a scream trapped in her throat.

  “We come to detain you in the name of His Majesty, King Henry VIII, on suspicion of heresy,” the sheriff announced in a tone that suggested his perverse sense of pleasure at carrying out his duties.

  Father Alec met Mirabella’s eyes. Mirabella had the grace to bow her head.

  Cecily rushed forward, laying a hand on the armoured wrist of Sheriff Camden. “You come here in the middle of my husband’s funeral to take away the officiant? How dare you?”

  Sheriff Camden withdrew his arm. “You have my deepest condolences, my lady; however, justice cannot wait. It is best you do not fight this, else you implicate yourself as a heretic as well.”

  “It is all right,” Father Alec said, directing his gaze at Cecily. “I will go in peace. Blessings to you all and not to worry. God’s will be done.”

  With this the guards seized his arms, escorting him from the gathering. Mirabella began to follow the sheriff, but Cecily caught up to her, holding her fast by the upper arm.

  “Does your hatred know no bounds?” she seethed.

  “Unhand me.” Mirabella’s tone was cool. “I am beholden to you no longer.”

  “I see that,” Cecily said, but did not free her. “I see you are beholden to none but your own thirst for revenge. Does not the verse ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord’ mean anything to you? Or have you so completely abandoned your religious convictions?”

  Mirabella struggled against Cecily’s talon-like grip in vain.

  “Perhaps I have,” Mirabella confessed, her tone almost giddy. Her lips curved into a sneer. “I see how much good they have done the rest of the residents of Sumerton.”

  “It is not about faith at all with you, Mirabella,” Cecily told her, pulling her closer. “It is about not getting what you want. It has always been about that. What has seized you is as old as Eden itself: jealousy.”

  “Jealousy? Over what? Your sin?” Mirabella returned. She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “Have you no shame, Cecily? He was a man of God and you brought him down like a common whore—”

  “It is you who will bring him down!” Cecily hissed. “You will condemn him, possibly to death, and for what? To ensure he will not sin again? Tell me! For what?”

  “I loved him!” Mirabella cried, at last freeing herself from Cecily’s grasp.

  Cecily was taken aback. Her eyes widened in horror. “If this is how you punish those you love, I sorely fear for those you hate.”

  Mirabella shook her head, turning on her heel to rejoin the entourage.

  “Where are we going, my lady?” Harry asked.

  Cecily had ordered the carriage and was making ready in her apartments. The funeral guests, a-thrill with gossip over the latest happenings, ate their fill in her great hall.

  “You must stay behind,” Cecily told her son. “You will guard the castle for me like a shining knight. You are my shining knight, are you not?”

  Harry offered a proud nod.

  “Care for your sisters in my absence,” she went on, though she had instructed Nurse Matilda to care for all the children. “Comfort them in their grief, especially Kristina. She loved her father well.”

  “Did you, my lady?” Harry returned.

  Cecily was struck. “You know that I did. How could you ask that?”

  Harry shrugged. “I never doubted it … it’s just that lately, before he died, you looked at him with sad eyes.”

  Cecily blinked back tears, images of her husband, so shocked and saddened when last she saw him, swirling before her mind’s eye. “Life is complicated, Harry. When you become a man, you will see.” She wrapped herself in the warm otter fur-lined cloak. The sky was grey; she did not doubt it would snow soon. “I am removing to London to appeal for Father Alec.”

  “But if he is a heretic, surely you cannot!” Harry said, his blue eyes wide with fear.

  “Harry, he has been your beloved tutor!” Cecily cried. “Do you think your father would ever engage a heretic for a tutor?”

  Harry shook his head. “But Mirabella says that heretics hide everywhere and are even sometimes people we love,” he explained. “She said it is our duty to preserve the True Faith by exposing them.”

  “Harry, I do not want to hurt you by disclosing your sister’s nature to you,” Cecily began. “But you must not listen to her, at least not in this. She has been much disappointed in life and bitterness has poisoned her heart. Keep in mind, also, that her ‘True Faith’ is also now considered heretical.”

  Harry bowed his head, expelling a sig
h that betrayed his confusion. “Sometimes I do not know what to believe,” he confessed.

  Cecily took the boy in her arms, holding him close. She swayed from side to side. “When you are a man, you will decide for yourself in a land that will hopefully let you choose. Till then, we can only all of us do as we are bid by His Majesty, else we shall never know a day of peace.” She pulled away, stroking his blond curls from his forehead. So like Brey …“Be brave, lad. We will endure to see better times. What makes men heretics are all matters of doctrine, technicalities. But if you have faith in God, He will know you are of a sincere heart and will see you through. That is what matters most.”

  Harry offered a solemn nod. “I will be brave, my lady,” he assured her. “And I will care for the girls.”

  “There’s my good lad,” Cecily said, ruffling his hair one last time as she pulled away.

  “My lady.” Harry seized her hand, pressing it to his lips. He raised his eyes to her. “Be brave as well.”

  Cecily swallowed an onset of tears as she squeezed his hand.

  She must be brave. For herself, for her children, and for Father Alec.

  20

  Cecily went straight to Lambeth Palace, not bothering to stop at her home on the Strand to refresh herself. There was no time. She requested a private audience with Archbishop Cranmer and was shown to his presence chamber. She could not sit, nor sip the sweet wine offered her. She could only pace and wring her hands in agony. It was all too much—Hal’s death, Mirabella’s betrayal, Father Alec’s arrest. She could not wrap her mind around any of it. There was no time to digest the shock, no time to grieve.

  “What is troubling you, my dear?”

  Cecily raised her eyes. She had not even seen the archbishop enter. He stood there, the picture of serenity and gentleness, his languid brown eyes filled with compassion.

  The sincerity of his tone brought tears to her eyes and she dipped into her lowest curtsy, taking his hand to kiss his ring. “Your Grace,” she began. “I am Cecily Pierce, Countess of Sumerton.”

  Cranmer held on to her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Sumerton, you say? I know of it well. Father Alec Cahill spoke so highly of it. How does he fare?”

  Cecily bowed her head. “Oh, Your Grace, I fear he has come to harm. He has been betrayed in the cruellest of ways, his private papers confiscated and turned against him.” She met his eyes. “He is now imprisoned, suspected of heresy. I come to you to appeal for his life. I—I did not know where to turn.”

  Cranmer’s mouth was set in a grim line. “This is very serious,” he said. “Many have perished in the fires at Smithfield for heresy. Oh, my dear friend …” His eyes grew distant. “I thought he’d be safe there. …” He shook his head. “I will see to it that the matter is adjourned to me personally.”

  Cecily’s eyes lit with hope.

  “He will not be freed,” Cranmer said, raising his hand as if to sustain her blind optimism. “But I will see that he is detained until I can review the evidence myself, that we might spare his life. There are changes on the wind, my lady. There may be hope for our friend yet.”

  Cecily slid to her knees before him. “Your Grace, I have prayed and prayed for you to give me hope for him. I thank you. With all I am, I thank you.”

  “You must not lower yourself, my lady,” Cranmer said, helping her to her feet. “I am not worthy of such a show. Rest now, dear, then get you back to Sumerton, that you might be a comfort to him.”

  Cecily rose. “He told me you were a good man, Your Grace. I see his description could not be more accurate.”

  “I am only a man,” he said, waving off the praise with flushing cheeks. “Subject to the pleas of a lovely lady.”

  Cecily smiled as she made her exit. At the door, he stopped her.

  “Lady Cecily.” His voice was soft. “I think Father Alec may have learned that it is not good for man to be alone. … I am glad it is you.”

  Cecily was about to respond, but he smiled to his guard, who closed the door.

  Somehow he knew. This should have troubled her, yet it did not. In a strange way, it relieved her.

  The dungeons of Camden Manor may have been the only place the summer’s fire had not touched. Father Alec had not even been aware of their existence, but he supposed many homes of the gentry had some place to detain those who broke the peace. Now that the Sheriff of Sumerton had assumed the manor for his own, it was renovated as a jail, complete with instruments of torture, which Father Alec hoped to be spared.

  Now he sat shackled at the wrists and ankles in a windowless cell on a bed of straw. Now and again a spider or mouse used him as a kind of bridge and he squirmed in discomfort. The straw had not been changed in a while and dampness seeped into his robes. He leaned his head against the stone wall and closed his eyes. He never thought it would end like this.

  That his first visitor should be his ultimate betrayer did not surprise him at all. Mirabella stood before the bars of his cell, clutching her cloak about her. Father Alec resisted the urge to spit at her feet. Compassion, he urged himself. No matter what, compassion.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice low.

  “I have not yet turned over the evidence,” Mirabella told him.

  “Then what have I been detained for?” he returned, struggling to remain calm.

  “I revealed some statements that could be interpreted as heretical,” she said.

  “Then I imagine that will be enough to see me to the stake,” he said.

  “I can recant,” she said.

  “For what?” Father Alec challenged. “What else can I give you besides my life, Mistress Mirabella? Have you not seen what your hatred has wrought upon Sumerton? You blamed yourself for your mother’s death. I told you it was not so; I still believe that. But your father … it seems you have enough to live with that you should add my death to your conscience.”

  Mirabella met his eyes. “You try to divert the sin upon my shoulders when it is you who are the betrayer! You and Cecily.”

  “That is our sin,” Father Alec told her. “Between us and God. He has not appointed you His judge on earth.”

  “No, He has not,” Mirabella agreed. “But it is my duty to protect His faith and intervene when I see blasphemy and sin corrupting it.”

  “Your duty?” Father Alec laughed. “You do nothing out of a sense of duty to the Lord. You are a female first, Mirabella Pierce, a jealous female, and that more than anything has been your motivation. Your jealousy will destroy us all. Years ago I knew of your unholy designs on me. I addressed it once, do you remember?”

  Mirabella averted her eyes.

  “And since you respected my office and remained my friend,” he went on. “How I rejoiced for you when I thought you had a man like James Reaves to give you the life that you so needed. But you refused him and clung to a dream, a silly confession of mine made when I thought—for a brief moment—that I could trust you. If only I had known then what my fatal lapse in judgement would cost me.”

  “Don’t you see?” Mirabella cried. “It is that statement which will preserve your life!”

  Father Alec shook his head. “What do you mean?” He understood too well what she meant. But he hoped, he prayed, that there was something still human in her, that she would not say it.

  “You said you would marry, if the Church allowed,” she said. “I do not know if the Church will push those reforms through or not … but what I propose is that you renounce your collar and marry me. If the reforms go through, you can return to the priesthood, I promise you.”

  Father Alec’s eyes grew wide in horror. “Satan once tempted our Lord with the whole world and what did he do?”

  “We all know you are not our Lord.” Mirabella’s tone oozed with contempt. “This is your life we are talking about, Father. Your life! ” Her lips twisted into a sneer. “Are you so willing to become a martyr? With the evidence I have, you will burn, make no mistake of that.”

  Father Alec sho
ok his head. “Let us not forget who is first so willing to sacrifice this life of mine.” He sighed. “As far as martyrdom, it seems I am made one regardless. Either way I am doomed.”

  “We are alike, Father, you know that,” Mirabella went on. “Both religious, both intelligent—there is no end to what we could accomplish for God together.”

  “My God, you have lost your mind if you believe that I am anything like you.” Father Alec’s tone was thick with sadness. “I pity you more than any living being, Mistress Mirabella.”

  Mirabella shook her head. “All I have to do is show your papers and no one—not the Archbishop of Canterbury himself—can save you. You know it in your soul. This is the only way.”

  “You think because of one sin that I have no integrity, no honour, and that I value my life above all else,” Father Alec said. “Believe me when I tell you I would rather die than abandon my calling and marry you.”

  “And Cecily and the children?” Mirabella retorted. “What of them? What will your death do to them after so much loss? Will you be responsible for breaking her heart and scarring the children for life?”

  “How dare you?” he seethed. “How dare you use them against me when it is you who have caused their ultimate suffering? Do you not think that Lady Cecily’s heart would be broken anyway? Do you not think that it is broken already?”

  “I know Cecily; we are as sisters,” Mirabella said. “She is a woman of practicality; she would rather see you live than die a saint, even if it means she cannot have you.” Mirabella cast her eyes toward the ceiling. “You have till sunset to decide. Die a nameless saint or live as my husband and have a chance at shaping this faith that means so much to you. I will stand by your decision, Father.”

  With this she turned and in a swirl of skirts was gone.

  Tears streamed down Father Alec’s cheeks, slick and warm. There was but to turn it over to God. What would He want? Father Alec knew what Archbishop Cranmer wanted; he wanted him to live, that he might be used in the future, when it was safe. But to give up the priesthood, to turn his back on his calling—was he being a coward? Was it God’s will that he become a martyr? Yet what God of love would will people to die so senselessly?