Betrayal in the Tudor Court. Darcey Bonnette

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      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 could be so close to the happenings of court.

      There was not a more exciting place in the world, Cecily decided as they prepared to ride in the procession that would traverse Queen Anne from Cheapside to Westminster Hall. Merchants peddling souvenirs to commemorate the special event, ladies and gentleman of the nobility, urchins waiting to pick pockets, clerics and prelates, soldiers and shining knights, horses trimmed in the colours of their noble owners, cats and rats scampering about, eager to feast on any delicacy dropped in their midst.

      The streets, indeed the whole place, teemed with activity, with life.

      “Overflowing to stinking,” Lord Hal muttered as he surveyed the throng for the grand procession, but he was smiling.

      They had brought an entourage of their own for the ride, bedecked in the Pierce colours of yellow and white. Cecily’s horse and attendants wore her colours as Baroness Burkhart of brown and orange. In her russet gown with its brown kirtle threaded with cloth of gold and matching hood, Cecily felt every inch the grand lady. Mirabella, though disapproving of the whole enterprise, was dressed in her yellow and white gown and earned many an appreciative glance. She turned her nose up at each and every one while Cecily waved, thrilled to be favoured with such open admiration.

      At Cheapside Cecily took the opportunity to scrutinise her new queen. She had never seen the old one, who was rumoured to be quite beautiful in her time but after years of strife and suffering became overweight and dowdy. This queen was the antithesis of such descriptions. Bedecked in cloth of gold and wrapped in yards of soft ermine, the queen allowed her raven black hair to trail down her back in sleek waves brushed to a glossy sheen. On her dainty head was a bejeweled circlet and on her alabaster face a triumphant grin. Something about her features reminded Cecily of a mischievous and very satisfied cat. From the comfort of her litter, also swathed in cloth of gold, Queen Anne waved and blessed her new subjects, who seemed none too receptive.

      Cecily’s heart sank. It seemed a shame to think that after years of waiting to become queen she should not be received with more enthusiasm. She was what the king wanted, after all, and it was the duty of his people to accept her. Though a few doffed their caps, most stood silent, their faces a mingling of bewilderment and disgust.

      At one point Cecily heard the queen’s fool shout, “You all must have scurvy heads, since you so fear removing your caps!”

      Cecily cried, “God save the queen!” with extra enthusiasm, encouraging Brey to do likewise.

      Mirabella rode her horse, silent, head bowed.

      Cecily ignored her show of disrespect, turning to take in all around her. Tapestries were hung everywhere and the queen’s badge bearing her falcon symbol was in every corner the eye could fall upon. Hans Holbein, the renowned court painter, had designed a beautiful arch where a tableau was being performed. Apollo and the four Muses played instruments and sang, each a remarkable display of talent. Cecily clapped her hands, enthralled by the sight.

      All throughout the procession they were treated to similar displays of choirs and pageants. Cecily’s heart raced and her head tingled as she marvelled that they were included in such an event.

      “Look!” cried Brey as he pointed to one of the conduits. “Wine!”

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