“Enough, Cecily,” Lady Grace interposed. “God knows you have good intentions. But I am tired and you must go.”
Cecily rose, looking down upon the wraithlike creature with a mingling pity and frustration as she turned away and fled.
Grace was stunned. Little Cecily could bite! But such a gentle little bite. The child did mean well. Grace struggled to sit up in bed, drawing her bony knees to her chest as she thought.
Hal came to see her. For a time they had been as a husband and wife, but as her health deteriorated their relations did, too. He attempted to coax her out of her self-imposed prison with promises and fair words. When that failed, gentleness evolved into threats and curses. Then he stopped seeing her altogether. She did not blame him. If she could avoid seeing herself she would.
But the children came. Cecily and Brey every day, and Mirabella now and again, though they had little to say to each other. Mirabella usually prayed with her. Father Alec did the same, though he tried to offer counsel as well. But she did not know what to say to him any more. She had already said too much.
Yet Cecily said what none of them would.
I need you.
She had forgotten what it felt like, what it meant to be needed. She had forgotten that she once valued it.
I need you.
Grace sank back against her pillows. She ached all over. She had lost her beauty. She had lost her self. She would not emerge the woman she had been when she entered these apartments four years ago.
But she must come out. They needed her.
Why did it take a child’s simple words to make her understand? It mattered not. What mattered was that she would emerge, that she would live.
Because they needed her.
Thomas Cranmer, the newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, announced that the marriage between Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon was invalid in May of 1533. By now, the king’s intended’s belly swelled with what was hoped to be the Prince of Wales.
Anne Boleyn was Queen Consort of England. Her coronation was set for the first of June. The Earl of Sumerton and his family were invited to attend.
“We will go, won’t we, Lord Hal?” Cecily asked, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She found all gossip surrounding the new queen cruel and irrelevant. She wanted to attend the coronation, to see the beautiful woman who had brought a king and his kingdom to their knees.
Lord Hal sat before the fire in the solar, idly shuffling and reshuffling a deck of cards. “I am uncertain. … London will be overflowing to stinking.”
“But you have a home on the Strand,” Cecily persisted. “And I’ve never even seen it, not in all the years I’ve lived here. Couldn’t you open it up?”
“Oh, Father, but it would be grand!” Brey cried. “To see the court!”
“And the gowns!” Cecily added. “And all the pretty jewels. Oh, Lord Hal, you must take us!”
“Please!” Brey smiled, falling to his knee. He was growing tall. Angles and lean muscle had replaced puppy fat from hours of training with the sword while wearing a heavy suit of armour. The promise of becoming an intuitive young man shone out of a boy’s eyes.
“We will go.”
All heads turned toward the low voice.
From the doorway stood Lady Grace, dressed in a rose velvet gown. Her limp blond hair was pinned back in a chignon beneath a fashionable French hood. She was thin, her neck had aged considerably for one so young, and her skin was tinged with a yellow hue.
But she was there.
Lord Hal arose slowly, his eyes wide as though he was beholding a ghost. She may as well be for all he had seen of her these past years. A momentary onset of guilt surged through him as he regarded her. How much of this was on his head? He held out his hand.
“Grace … my God …”Tears clutched his throat.
“Mother!” Brey cried, running toward her, throwing his arms about her tiny waist. She was caught off balance and the boy all but held her up in his strong embrace.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as her eyes met those of Cecily, who offered an encouraging smile. Father Alec, who had been playing chess with Cecily, rose and offered an elegant bow.
Mirabella stood by the fire, her face sombre.
Lady Grace held out a hand to her.
Mirabella remained where she was. “Do you expect me to congratulate you on doing something you should have done years ago?” Her tone was laced with bitterness.
“Mirabella!” Brey cried.
Lady Grace’s arm fell to her side. “No, it is all right. Mirabella is … correct.”
Mirabella bowed her head. “Still, it is good to see you about, my lady,” she told her in grudging tones.
“Thank you,” Lady Grace said.
Father Alec addressed the matter at hand. “Are you certain you would want to make such a long trip, Lady Grace? It might be quite taxing.”
“I want to go,” said Lady Grace. “And the children deserve to go. We have all been shut up here long enough. And,” she added in thoughtful tones, “if I do not leave here now I never will. Those who were in attendance that night will scoff. Let them scoff. They will whisper. Let them whisper. I will go.”
“Oh, Lady Grace!” Cecily cried as she joined Brey in embracing her again. “We will all take care of you!”
“I am happily outnumbered,” said Lord Hal as he cast fond eyes upon his wife. “I suppose we best get packing.”
With this the children and priest left the room to sort through their belongings and prepare for the most exciting event in the kingdom.
Grace was about to do likewise when Hal caught her hands.
“Grace … you have no idea how proud of you I am,” he told her, his voice wavering with tears. “I admit that I had given up on you. I am sorry.”
“You were right to give up,” said Grace. “I did.”
“Is this our new start?” he asked her, his eyes lit with hope.
Grace nodded. “Yes, Hal. This is our new start.”
Hal drew her toward him, then pulled back. She was so fragile; he could feel every bone.
“Come now, you won’t break me,” Grace teased in sad tones.
He drew her near once more, holding her for a long time.
Cecily had never been to London before. The manor on the Strand overlooked the sparkling Thames and Cecily could watch the river traffic, a procession of barges making their way to the Tower of London, ships, and little rowboats containing delightful characters. The elegant manor stood as an understatement compared to the palaces that lined the famous street. Nonetheless, it was beautiful with its collection of Italian art of which Lord Hal was so fond. Sumerton Place had its own courtyard bearing lush gardens and a large fountain with porpoises on it that had been a gift from the Duke of Norfolk, a reward to Lord Hal’s father for fighting beside him at Flodden Field, where was slain James IV, King of Scots. Cecily marvelled that they did not visit the manor more often; she could not imagine returning to the isolation of the countryside when they