Читать книгу Betrayal in the Tudor Court - Darcey Bonnette - Страница 8

Summer passed, fading into autumn. Time did nothing to alleviate the pain permeating every pore of the Pierce household. It seemed to ooze forth from the very castle itself, chokingly pungent as the pus of a plague sore.

A year passed. Then another and another.

Father Alec marvelled at how one night, one incident, no matter how outrageous, could impact so much. What had been a vivacious, energetic household was sluggish, strained. The halls no longer teemed with the erudite and noble guests who once had flocked to the Pierces’ door. It had once been an honour to receive an invite to the Pierce table; indeed, it was something of a competition and those who had been fortunate to stay on at Sumerton always returned to their respective homes boasting of the privilege, thus elevating their own status by association.

Now the extra apartments, which had always been kept ready and waiting for occupants, were empty. The great hall was vacant. The voices of the children echoed in rooms too big, rooms meant to be warmed by the bodies of friends. But had the Pierces any true friends they would have remained. It was a sad illustration of human nature to Father Alec, a lesson of hypocrisy and judgement at its apex. Bile rose in his throat whenever he thought of it.

Lord Hal was slowly welcomed back into the arms of a society moved to pity and he found other locales in which to gamble.

Except now he was losing. More and more, a piece of art could be seen missing, an expensive vase, a portrait, plate that had once belonged to Lord Hal’s grandmother. Gone in a night. Jewels began to disappear as well and soon Lord Hal’s fingers were bare.

Lady Grace remained cloistered in her apartments. She never went out of doors again after that night. She no longer took her meals with the family. She escaped her shame, or wallowed in it, alone in a world she created for herself, a hard world softened by decanters of wine no one refused her till she remained in her bed, quivering, drooling, and incapacitated.

Though Father Alec visited her, attempting to bring what comfort he could, she stayed her course with a steely determination that would have been admirable had it been directed into a more honourable pursuit.

“We all make our choices, Father,” she had told him. Father Alec stared at her in bewildered consternation. She took in little nourishment, save bread and broth, and was reduced to a white, sore-covered, skeletal wraith. “This is my life. This is what I want.”

It churned Father Alec’s gut with both frustration and agony to see her willingly render herself mad. He shook his head. “You cannot mean that, my lady. You are destroying yourself and the body God lovingly fashioned for you.” He retrieved a hand glass and held it before her. She averted her head as though she had just looked into the depths of Hell. Father Alec seized her chin and with gentle force faced her toward the glass again. She closed her eyes.

“Open your eyes, my lady,” he urged her. “Open your eyes!”

Grace submitted, slowly opening her glazed eyes, struggling to hold her image in focus.

“Look what you have done to yourself,” he told her, sitting beside her. “Lady Sumerton, you have children in your care and a husband. You must reconcile yourself with past transgressions that you might recover and be of some good to them!”

Grace offered a bitter, hoarse laugh. “No, no,” she said in offhanded tones. She rolled on her side. “Your counsel is appreciated, Father. But I no longer require it.”

He was dismissed.

And so he left, shoulders slumped, weighed down by the anguish of the household. Thus Father Alec took to distracting the children. They must be protected from the stranglehold of despair, and since no one else had stepped in, he considered it his sacred duty.

Mirabella was found in the chapel or praying before her priedieu. Her interactions with the rest of the family were limited and she saw Lady Grace as little as possible. But Mirabella still confided in Father Alec and he listened, trying his best to soothe her anger with urgings that she forgive and find peace in God. The ritual of her prayer and incantations became as much her escape as wine was Grace’s. Father Alec did not know if this was a good thing. He had always fancied that the true calling to God should be taken up with a peaceful heart, not one filled with the acute desire to avoid reality. But then he could not judge Mirabella. His reasons for entering the priesthood had been no better.

The glimpses of hope and indeed the only place from which a measure of sanity prevailed came from Cecily and Brey, whose light seemed so misplaced in this dark place. Yet there it was, white, shining, emitted like rays of sunshine bursting through the clouds in their giggles and plots and shrill, happy voices. Bosom companions, Cecily and Brey collected animals and insects together, making the nursery a veritable menagerie. No one stopped them, and if anyone dared, Father Alec would have had their head. The children would be allowed their happiness and Father Alec thanked God they found it in each other. Cecily emanated joy; it came natural to her. She was by no means simpleminded. Her wise eyes could be seen making their observations and Father Alec wondered what went on behind them. What conclusions had she drawn about this place so tinged by tragedy? She did not reveal them. Instead she smiled her sweet smile, she laughed her infectious, lilting laugh, and pressed on, always inventing new ways to spread cheer.

Father Alec continued to pray for her and Brey, hoping nothing would invade the world Cecily so lovingly created.

For his part, he kept them busy. They took many of their lessons out of doors during the warm months. He utilised anything he could think of to tie in his lessons with the wonders of nature. Instead of studying astronomy in the stuffy library, they spread blankets out in the garden and looked up at the dazzling array of sparkling stars littering the night sky. The children snuggled against him as they pointed out each of the constellations and discussed navigation, astrology, and the myths from which the constellations derived their names.

Father Alec loved to discuss military history and reenacted battles with toy soldiers. This became a favourite sport of Brey’s and together they spent many hours fashioning their soldiers and kings out of wood, painting them, and reliving the battles of old just as Father Alec described them.

The children learned of flora and faunae by taking long walks through the forest. Father Alec taught them about herbs and mushrooms with medicinal properties, in which Cecily took great interest.

With them the knot in his heart eased. They were the hope of this broken household. With love and guidance, they could still prevail to be productive, successful individuals.

What’s more, and what was most important to Father Alec, they could be happy.

“The king has broken from Rome!” Lord Hal cried one evening as he burst into the solar where Father Alec had been engaging Mirabella in a game of chess while Brey and Cecily drew purposefully unflattering pictures of the servants.

Mirabella rose. “No!”

Lord Hal nodded, his handsome face ruddy from riding. “King Henry has been named Supreme Head of the Church of England by Parliament. It is because of the Boleyn woman, of course. It is almost certain he will marry her.”

“But the Pope—” Father Alec began, rendered breathless at the prospect. He was more than interested in the whole affair. The king’s will intrigued him. He seemed so intoxicated by this Anne Boleyn that he would rearrange the world for her. Father Alec could not imagine the power she must have over him. He wondered after her beauty. She must be in possession of something extraordinary for the king to be so taken with her. Father Alec had heard she held the New Learning in high esteem and for this he admired her. He wondered what influence that had on His Majesty’s startling decision.

Lord Hal shook his head. “Is no more, not for England, anyway.”

Father Alec could not imagine it. But others had broken away, though not on such large scale. It was interesting. “This could create a great deal of strife. Catholics loyal to His Holiness will never abide it.” He wondered if he could abide it. He was alarmed at how unperturbed he was by the news. But what did he know of the Pope? Was he not as corrupt as every other church official jealously guarding his ill-gotten gains? Yet was he not God’s representative on earth? Wasn’t the king? What an opportunity this could be! Imagine the possibilities of reform he could be bringing! Imagine the new age of thought he could be ushering in, an age where simplicity replaced extravagance, an age where priests could not be bought, an age of humility and true devotion to God, not under the grandeur and illusion the Church provided. It did not have to be Lutheran per se but something different, something tailored for English people and English needs. … Oh, bless this King Henry!

Father Alec tried to rein in his enthusiasm as he speculated, focusing on the reactions of the room.

“Oh, Father,” Mirabella interposed, addressing Lord Hal. “What is going to happen to poor Queen Catherine?”

“No one is sure yet, lamb,” Lord Hal told her. “I suppose all we can do is wait it out.”

“Oh, that Boleyn woman!” Mirabella cried, narrowing her eyes. “I have heard the names they have called her—all fitting, it seems! For her to corrupt His Majesty this way … she is an abomination!”

“Whatever she is or isn’t, Mirabella, we are the king’s subjects, you must remember,” said Lord Hal. “And we are beholden to him. He is not one to tolerate differences in opinion.”

“So we accept it? The displacement of an anointed queen and a split with the Holy Father?” Mirabella asked, eyes wide, incredulous.

Her father nodded. “Yes, Mirabella. Whatever the king’s pleasure. If we want to keep our place, if we want to keep our heads, we keep silent.”

“But you cannot think this is right!” she cried, appalled.

Lord Hal shook his head again, running a hand through his dark hair. “I am not one to judge what is right, Mirabella.”

“Your father is wise,” Father Alec said. “None of us can know God’s will. There could be a message in this for us, a sign that things are meant to change—”

“But to break with His Holiness, Father Alec?” she cried, scandalised. “Let alone the notion of divorce!”

Father Alec pursed his lips. “You know that as a priest I do not support divorce in most cases. However, the king is far from most cases. He needs a legitimate male heir to succeed him and unfortunately the queen has not been able to provide that. In matters of state, my child, sometimes exceptions have to be made. I do not condone it, but to a degree I can understand its need for the stability of the realm. And as your father said, it is not for us to judge.” He paused. “Regarding the situation with the Holy Father …” He drew in a breath. “I must pray on that.”

“Oh, Father …” Mirabella’s eyes were lit with disillusionment as she regarded him, causing his heart to lurch in unexpected regret.

But he could not change his opinion. Ever since his tour of Europe, observing the change and the excitement the New Learning was bringing, he knew he could support the king’s split with the Pope. Likewise, he understood the king’s Great Matter. And he felt he understood humanity. He was no fool. He knew it was not all about the succession. But he could not explain matters of lust to a young girl and disillusion her even more. Best cloak it in a (semi) noble cause.

“Pray for them, Lady Mirabella,” Father Alec urged her. “Pray for all involved. And you must be confident that whatever happens, even if it is beyond your understanding, even if you do not agree with it, is the will of God.”

Helped along by men, he added silently.

But it consoled Mirabella to the desired degree and she quit the room to indulge in her favourite pastime.

Father Alec excused himself to do likewise.

Unlike Mirabella, he did not pray for the preservation of the Church in England.

He prayed for continued change.

Cecily affected genuine cheer in Brey’s gentle presence. With him there were no complications. The rest of the household had sunken into general decline, save Father Alec, who scrambled to uphold a façade of normalcy in the hopes of preserving some semblance of happiness. Cecily did the same. She steered Brey away from unhappy introspection with games and smiles. They rode, they composed little songs and plays together, they lay awake in the nursery, talking and conspiring about the next day’s adventures till the sun began to filter through the bay window. Together they visited Lady Grace in her apartments, always an experience Cecily approached with a measure of dread and hope—dread that she must see the poor woman in such estate, hope that it had somehow improved. It never did. Though Brey was brave when he saw his mother, he cried in Cecily’s arms afterwards. Cecily always let him. She would never tell him not to cry. If Lady Grace were her mother, she’d have cried, too.

Lord Hal attempted to cheer them by taking them hawking and hunting. Cecily proved an archer unmatched in her abilities, earning admiration and praise by all. With Lord Hal the children also indulged in games of dice and cards. Brey challenged him to games of chess that the boy always won, while Cecily had the luck of beating Lord Hal at cards. Lord Hal, who made the effort to be in good cheer around the children, smiled and laughed. “Two little cheaters I’ve got!” he would exclaim at the close of each game he lost. He’d shake his finger at them. “I don’t know how, but wait till I have you figured out! Then we’ll see who emerges the victor!”

Cecily and Brey exchanged a triumphant glance. They would never let Lord Hal win if they could help it.

It went along like this, a little routine of emotional preservation and survival that the children had fallen into until the beginning of their early teens. And then one ordinary day, for a perfectly ordinary reason, everything changed.

Cecily woke up with her courses.

She knew what had happened. For weeks her tummy had been cramping, her back aching, and the two tiny swells that served as breasts hurt so much she could not even cross her arms. For a while she just lay there, contemplating her new status.

She was something resembling a woman. It was an overwhelming thought. She did not feel altogether grown-up. She had imagined that when a woman began her menses she received some kind of epiphany, as though with the ability to bear children came the innate knowledge of how to be everything woman. She was disappointed. There were no divine awakenings; she was, in fact, quite uninspired, hungry, and irritable.

Mirabella had been removed from the nursery years before for just this reason. This meant she, too, would be given her own chamber. Her nursery days were over. No more conspiring with Brey until the wee hours of the morning, no more behaving as the carefree child. Everything was going to change. She closed her eyes, squeezing back hot tears.

At last she called for Nurse Matilda, who cleaned her up and gave her instructions on how to care for her new plight.

“What’s happening?” Brey inquired upon hearing the commotion. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Cecily?”

“Nothing!” Cecily and Matilda shouted at once.

The startled lad pouted and went back to bed.

Cecily, now cleansed and uncomfortable, quit the nursery.

She needed to be alone. She needed to think about womanhood.

“You will have to wear the proper corset now,” Mirabella told her after Cecily imparted the unhappy news of her ascendance to Venus. They were in Mirabella’s chamber, which was as unlike the nursery as a pup to a mule. There was a prie-dieu, of course, and several portraits of the Blessed Virgin, one of her holding baby Jesus to her breast, all surrounded in a halo of golden light, another of her alone with a sparkling rose. Cecily’s eyes were treated to an ensemble of saints and statues the like of which belonged at the chapel. She could not imagine why Mirabella needed the convent with all this about her.

Cecily’s thoughts were drawn from the décor to her own estate. Acorset. Her shoulders slumped. She had not been looking forward to that. “I won’t be able to breathe. How will I play with Brey wearing a corset?”

Mirabella laughed, but it was full of affection. “Poor girl, you can’t play with Brey anymore, not like you used to. No rough-and-tumble, no children’s pastimes. You are to be reared as a lady now and if my mother chooses to remain too incapacitated to guide you then I shall have to.”

Cecily’s throat went dry. Her timid smile reflected a mingling of gratitude and dread. “I thank you,” she said in small tones.

Mirabella rose and in a flurry of black skirts went to her wardrobe. “Now! Let me see what I have. You’re such a willowy girl … but I think I have some things you can get by on until we have you measured.”

Mirabella smiled at the girl, pleased that she had come to her. She was happy to have someone to take under her wing. Now that Cecily was unable to be coddled as a child she would have a proper ally. Mirabella rifled through her wardrobe until she arrived at some corsets she had grown out of and had failed to give to the poor. God must have meant for her to save them for Cecily.

“Here,” she said. “We should put it on you.”

“Now?” Cecily asked, eyes wide. “Today? But I am not going anywhere today.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re going anywhere,” Mirabella explained patiently. “You must always be a lady, modest and goodly as God intends.”

Cecily grimaced as she allowed Mirabella to dress her. The stiff shafts of wood that would confine and shape her body could be felt through the linen and they dug into her hips. Her breathing was restricted and her cheeks flushed as she struggled to modulate it.

“You’re thinking about it too much,” Mirabella said, resting her hands on Cecily’s shoulders. “Just breathe. You will grow accustomed to it. If you think about it, though, you will swoon.”

Cecily closed her eyes. Specks of light danced against the backs of her eyelids, or wherever her eyes went when she closed them. In, out, in, out. “It’s too tight,” she told Mirabella.

“It certainly is not. You will get used to it,” said Mirabella. “Just as we all have to.”

Cecily took a step with caution. Everything was different, from sitting to walking—she could not imagine what it would be like to ride a horse. She wanted to slouch, but the corset held her upright. She regarded Mirabella, who seemed perfectly adapted to wearing this torture device. At eighteen, Mirabella filled out her gown with a figure Cecily had caught the male servants gawking at. What could be glimpsed of the breasts peeking out over the top of her neckline revealed a fullness Cecily envied; the Gypsy-toned skin was soft and flawless. Her black hair, though pinned up in an unflattering chignon under a stiff black gable hood, was shining and splendid when she let it fall down her shoulders. In addition to her figure, Mirabella’s face bore a full sensual mouth, small, straight nose, and intense green eyes that shone with determination. She could have any man she wanted and still she chose God, Cecily thought wistfully.

“I know what you are thinking. Stop looking at me,” Mirabella demanded.

“What are you about?” Cecily countered.

Mirabella bowed her head. “You are thinking, ‘What a waste, Mirabella going into the Church when she is so beautiful.’ ”

Cecily gaped at her. She hadn’t wanted to be so transparent.

“I hear the servants laughing at me, the piggish things the men say,” Mirabella told her. “You are just like them. You do not understand. I will be the bride of Christ, someone who will not paw at me and gape at me like some starved animal. Someone who will respect and cherish me for what is inside, for what is eternal, not for the beauty that will pass.”

“But Jesus … well, he is not exactly here, Mirabella,” Cecily dared observe. “He can never be to you what an earthly man can be.”

Mirabella clenched the material of her gown in frustration. “Oh, earthly men—such worthy creatures! Haven’t you witnessed enough marital bliss for you to see what it’s really about? Look to my parents. Look at my mother, shutting herself away that she might drink herself to death. Look at my blustering fool of a father, eking out what little pleasure he can find in his cards and dice while losing his fortune.” She shook her head. “And there are others even worse off. I will not be in their numbers, made the wife of someone who will be ungrateful for the children I give him, someone who will use mistresses and whores while I keep his house. Look what joy marriage brought poor Queen Catherine of Aragon. Now she is banished and made Princess Dowager, pushed aside so King Henry can elevate a common whore.” Mirabella sighed and shook her head. “I will not be put last for anyone and you can bet with a man that is just what you will be. Maybe that is a life for some.” Mirabella shook her head emphatically. “But not for me.”

“Of course not,” said Cecily. For the first time she began to understand Mirabella’s choice.

“Of course you will never have to worry about any of that,” Mirabella said in gentler tones. “You’re marrying Brey.”

Cecily smiled. “Yes … Brey.” She bowed her head, then. “It will have to be different with Brey now, won’t it?”

Mirabella nodded gravely. “Yes, yes, it will.”

Cecily suppressed a sob. She did not want it to be different.

Brey did not understand Cecily’s withdrawal. She did not chase him in the woods any more. They did not tumble down hills or hide in haystacks and she always rode sidesaddle, never astride as she used to. And she sat so despicably straight! Mirabella must be behind all of this; Cecily has been spending an inordinate amount of time with her of late. And now she didn’t even sleep in the nursery any more! Nurse Matilda told him she was a lady now and ladies must keep their own chambers. What did she know? He had heard Cecily fart before—she was a champion, for love of God! Who could hear that and call her a lady?

“I just don’t understand it, Father,” he told Father Alec when the two were riding alone one February day. Cecily was indoors doing some stupid thing that no doubt “ladies” occupied themselves with, so Brey took this opportunity to pour out his troubles to the caring tutor. “And it is not just that she won’t play most of our old games; she’s moody, too. She snaps at me and gets quite huffy like Mirabella. She never used to be like that!”

Father Alec laughed. “Cecily is at a crossroads, Brey; you must be patient with her.” He turned toward Brey as they slowed their mounts. They were riding in the snow-covered fields today, which glistened against the noonday sun, bright and blinding. The air was crisp but pleasant enough to enjoy.

“What kind of crossroads?” he persisted, annoyed. If he were at a similar sort of crossroads he’d be scolded no doubt.

Father Alec shifted in the saddle a moment, then cleared his throat. He shifted again. “Well … er … I’m surprised your father hasn’t made you aware of this, Brey, but there comes a time in a girl’s life when—”

“Oh, no!” Brey smacked his forehead with a chapped hand. “You don’t mean she’s—that she’s … oh, repulsive!”

“So you have heard about it.” Father Alec chuckled. “If it is repulsive to you imagine how it must be for them.”

“I don’t want to,” Brey said with a grimace. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I suppose I could not really imagine something like that happening to Cecily.” He turned to Father Alec, his face perfectly straight. “When do you suppose she’s going to have the baby?”

Father Alec sat stunned.

This was going to be a long ride.

“He did it!” cried Lord Hal as he rushed in from a day of visiting friends, no doubt his pockets much lighter than before. “The king has wed Anne Boleyn in secret!”

Father Alec and the children had been dining in the solar when he burst in, flushed from wine and excitement.

“What’s more, she’s with child!” Lord Hal cried. “They think it happened when she went to France with him to meet King Francois.”

“Then it is over?” asked Cecily. “All the trials to undo his marriage to Queen Catherine, everything? Lady Anne is queen now?”

“She will never be queen.” Mirabella glowered.

“She will be and you best respect it,” warned Lord Hal.

Cecily smiled. “My parents knew the Boleyns. They would be pleased at her ascension,” she said, her tone reminiscent as an image of her parents swirled before her mind’s eye. She could not quite latch on to it. Their forms evaded her, their faces no more than smudged paintings on miniatures. She smiled away the thought as she anticipated the reign of the young, witty Anne Boleyn.

“Support who the king supports is what I always say,” said Lord Hal.

Mirabella shook her head as she quit the room.

Cecily surveyed the faces in the room, one a bright-eyed, golden-haired boy, the other a handsome courtier, the other a humble tutor, all of them so dear to her. As she looked at them she thought of another, the forgotten one, lying alone in her chambers.

And went to her.

“Lady Grace, I thought you would like to know the news,” she told her, ignoring the stench of the room as she sat at Lady Grace’s bedside. As discreetly as possible she averted her eyes so she did not have to look at the withered, yellow figure that lay under the covers.

“News?” asked the raspy voice.

“The king has married the Lady Pembroke—Anne Boleyn—in secret!” she cried, forcing cheer into her voice. “Isn’t it exciting?”

“I should be scandalised,” said Lady Grace with a weak smile.

“Mirabella is scandalised enough for everyone,” Cecily told her with a slight giggle. “But Lord Hal doesn’t seem to mind. Neither does Father Alec.”

“Father Alec has taken all of this quite in stride, hasn’t he?” Lady Grace inquired. “The break with Rome. Now this. It is interesting.”

“Interesting, how, my lady?” asked Cecily, who could not see anything unusual in it. Father Alec’s nature always seemed so affable and accepting of whatever fate doled out that it did not seem peculiar to her.

“A man of the Church accepting the will of a mortal king … and such a peculiar will it is.” Lady Grace smiled. “He is a reformer.”

Cecily’s heart pounded. She knew the Church of England only differed from the Church of Rome in one way. It deferred to the king rather than the Pope. The Pope was referred to as the Bishop of Rome. Otherwise England was a Catholic kingdom; masses commenced as they had before the split. Anything else was considered heresy. Henry VIII, once called Defender of the Faith by the Pope, was a son of the Catholic Church. That matters of doctrine should cause this separation was said to have devastated him. Cecily began to shudder. England was not a safe place for reformers. The Church, under the king’s direction, was reformed enough. Those who opposed it fled or were executed.

“But, Lady Grace, it could be dangerous—”

Lady Grace nodded. “Which is why I won’t say a word. Who do I talk to besides? And why would I betray him whom I hold so dear?” She reached for her decanter, taking a gulp. Her chin was slick with liquid. Cecily retrieved her handkerchief and wiped it away, ashamed to be doing so, not for her own sake but for Lady Grace, that she had been reduced to this, that Lord Hal let her, and that there was nothing anyone could or would do about it.

“Maybe all these changes in the kingdom are a sign for all of us,” Cecily ventured with a nervous laugh. “Maybe … maybe we all need to change a bit. I know I have. Getting used to all these new undergarments—this corset!” She placed a slender hand to her belly and tried to laugh. “I swooned three times the first day I wore it!”

Lady Grace’s eyes closed.

At once Cecily was seized by an overpowering bravado she did not express save in the presence of Brey. She could not fight the words that came forth next. “Lady Grace, you must come out of your apartments now.” Her girlish voice was taut with urgency. She did not understand what emboldened her. Perhaps she was inspired by Anne Boleyn, a woman who got just what she wanted no matter if the world had to be set on its back for her to get it. Maybe it was being in the presence of the steely Mirabella. She did not know. All she knew was that if she did not intervene somehow, Lady Grace would die. She could not let her die.

Lady Grace’s eyes fluttered open. A lazy smile. “What on earth are you going on about, girl?”

Cecily took her hand. “You’ve punished yourself enough for your sins. You must come out now. You still do not have to leave your home, but at least come out of here. See Mirabella, what a beauty she has become. I know she does not visit you often—perhaps she is afraid.” Cecily drew in a breath, saddened that she must say it aloud. “It is frightening seeing you. Brey cries afterwards. Every single time.”

Lady Grace averted her eyes.

“Lord Hal is lost without you,” Cecily went on, hoping she was reaching her somewhere. “He probably does not know what to say or how to say it, but it shows in everything he does, in everything he does not say. It is not for me to know how it is between you and if you cannot come out for him alone I understand. Thus you must come out for us. I need you, too, Lady Grace. I am so overwhelmed with all of these changes. Soon I imagine we will want to begin planning my wedding to Brey. I know it will not happen for at least three or four years yet, but we should start planning my gown and I know you want to be a part of that—”

“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.