Betrayal in the Tudor Court. Darcey Bonnette

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СКАЧАТЬ squinted against the painful light and retreated farther back within its reaches. Meaty, chapped hands parted the gowns, revealing Mistress Fitzgerald’s broad face and teary brown eyes.

      “Lady Cecily,” she said in gentle tones. “What have they done with my mother?” Cecily asked, sniffling.

      Mistress Fitzgerald expelled a heavy sigh. “Lady Ashley has been promptly put to rest, to help contain the spread of the Sickness.” She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Blast the king for bringing God’s wrath upon us and all for lust of that Boleyn Whore, witch and heretic that she is! And blast your parents for supporting him! That’s why God took them, you know. They supported the Boleyns and their despicable lot.”

      Cecily covered her ears against this gloomy interpretation of God’s will, averting her head from the round-faced maid.

      “I’m sorry, my lady,” Mistress Fitzgerald said. “It’s just me being mad with grief is all. This sweating sickness came into our country with the Tudors … and sometimes I’m afraid it won’t leave till the last Tudor is—” At this she cast her eyes to and fro, then crossed herself. It was treason to predict the death of any monarch and Mistress Fitzgerald had enough problems.

      Cecily uncovered her ears and stared the maid in the face. “Then I am Baroness Burkhart now,” she said as she realised the fact for the first time. “I am the lady of this house … of everything. …”

      “Yes,” said Mistress Fitzgerald. “Though this is hardly the time to gloat about it.”

      Cecily scowled. “I mean to say, madam, that I am the mistress of this house,” she explained.

      Mistress Fitzgerald bowed her head. “Of course, my lady. What can I do for you?”

      “Close these wardrobe doors and leave me alone!” Cecily ordered.

      Mistress Fitzgerald screwed up her face in confusion, shrugged her shoulders, and closed the doors.

      In the darkness of the wardrobe, Cecily inhaled the traces of perfume on her mother’s gowns. She wrapped herself up in them and pretended they were the beloved arms of the woman she would never see again.

      Father Alec Cahill saw no valid reason for having to fetch the Earl of Sumerton’s new ward. Now that the threat of the dread sweating sickness was on the decline he couldn’t understand why the Pierces could not get the girl themselves. It was the least they could do for her, a child all alone in the world with no one to care for her. As for the Pierces, while a stag lived in Sumerton Forest they were not to be disturbed. Not when there was hunting and entertainments to be had.

      Yet Father Alec liked the Pierces. They were warm and merry, and since being engaged as tutor to their children he could not say he didn’t enjoy being a member of their household. The children were intelligent and eager to learn, the employers were generous and freethinking enough to allow him to teach in the progressive manner he felt would someday benefit the children in what was becoming a fast-changing world.

      If there was any fault to be found with the Pierces it was that they were upper gentry and, as with most upper gentry, an inherent selfishness accompanied their station. It would not occur to them to fetch the Baroness Burkhart themselves, not because they were cold and unfeeling but because the thought would never cross their minds. He supposed it didn’t matter. He would endeavour to make the child feel as comfortable as possible until her delivery to the Pierces, where he was confident they would do the same.

      Father Alec drifted in and out of a listless sleep as the coach lurched and bounced along the rutted road. When not sleeping, he prayed for the girl’s smooth transition, and it was as he was praying, eyes closed, mouthing the words, that the coach rambled up to Burkhart Manor. He opened his eyes to a sprawling green vista. The manor house was set on a hill surrounded by lush gardens and an imposing stone wall. Vines climbed the walls of the house toward the heavens and Father Alec inhaled the sweet smell of fresh rain and green things.

      He was shown into the house, where he was instructed to wait in the great hall for the girl. It was a stunning hall, outfitted with imported Turkish carpets, intricate tapestries, and stained-glass windows bearing the Burkhart coat of arms. He shook his head, awed as always by such opulence. It, along with all of the treasures within, belonged to a single little girl now. Quite heady.

      “I’m afraid she won’t come down, Father,” a stout servant informed him with a huffing sigh. “She’s been devastated since her loss, sequestering herself in her mother’s wardrobe. She takes her meals in there and everything—only leaving to use the chamber pot!” With this the round face flushed deep crimson. “If I may be begging your pardon, Father.”

      Father Alec smiled and waved a hand in dismissal. “Perhaps you should take me to the girl.”

      “I apologise, Father,” the servant continued as she led him up the stairs to the chamber that used to belong to Baroness Ashley Burkhart. “Lady Cecily has always had a bit of a stubborn streak in her and now aggrieved as she is—”

      “I am not worried, mistress,” assured the young priest with a slight chuckle.

      The servant entered the chambers first. “Lady Cecily, there’s a priest here waiting to see you, a servant of God! You’ll not want to be angering a servant of God!”

      “We’re all servants of God, so I expect he should not want to anger me, either!” a little voice shot back.

      Father Alec’s lips twitched, but he refrained from breaking into a smile.

      The servant balled her thick hand into a fist and pounded on the heavy oaken doors of the wardrobe. “Now we’ve indulged you long enough! You come out of there!”

      At this Father Alec rushed forward, laying his hands upon the doughy shoulders of the servant. “Please, mistress, perhaps you should allow me. If you wouldn’t mind stepping out?”

      Scowling, the servant scuffled out of the room, slamming the chamber door so that the little girl within the wardrobe was certain her displeasure was heard.

      Father Alec laid a slim-fingered hand on the door. “Lady Cecily, my name is Father Alec Cahill. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind coming out and speaking with me awhile? If you do not like what I have to say you can go back in if it pleases you.”

      “No!”

      Father Alec leaned his forehead on the door. He found himself wishing with more fervency that the Pierces had come to collect the girl.

      “Then perhaps you will allow me to come in there and talk to you,” he suggested in gentle tones.

      Silence.

      “All right, you may come in,” she conceded.

      “Thank you, my lady,” said Father Alec as he opened the door and crawled inside the cramped, stuffy wardrobe. He folded his knees up under his cassock and thanked God he didn’t have gout. “This is a rather nice spot, my lady, if I may say so.”

      “Thank you,” the child replied, her voice thick with reluctance.

      “I’m told you’ve made it a second home,” he said. “Small for gentry folk, but I suppose it has all the amenities.”

      “Yes,” she agreed. “My … my … lady’s gowns are here so I stay here to СКАЧАТЬ