Читать книгу Rivals in the Tudor Court - Darcey Bonnette - Страница 14

Elizabeth Howard (née Stafford), January 1547

Every time I think of my husband, I want to dance the fleet, light steps of a maiden. Of course this urge to avail myself to such joyous abandon is only due to the fact that he is now keeping company with his like, the rats of the Tower of London.

In truth my mood is far from celebratory. One can be triumphant and unhappy at the same time; my husband is a prime example of that.

God gives and God takes. He gives me the peace I crave, but my son is made sacrifice for it, my son Henry, who also sits in the Tower awaiting his fate. No doubt he is blaming everyone but himself for the arrogant and impulsive actions that led him to that dark and evil place—he learned that from his father.

I imagine I will not attend the execution. Thomas made certain to turn my little boy against me years ago. I mourned his loss long before an Act of Attainder was passed against him.

I sift through a casket of sentiments. No one would believe me to be in possession of such a thing; indeed, I rarely look at it save for when they die. Now, faced with more death, I open it again to find the poems written by Henry when he was a child and could barely make his letters. Pictures Mary, guileless girl that she is, drew of our “happy family” when she was too young to know otherwise. My daughter Catherine’s wedding ring. A dried flower my son Thomas gave me when he was five.

A miniature of the third Duke of Norfolk.

He had given it to me years ago; indeed, I think he passed them out to half the kingdom in case anyone should be overcome with the urge to admire him.

I stare at it now. How grave and proud he looks, holding his staffs of office in those elegant hands! His face is an impervious mask; it is a perfect rendering.

I must stop crying. Where have tears ever got me?

I clutch the miniature to my heart a long moment before casting it across the room. Good God, would Thomas be seen crying over a portrait of me?

He may never have cried for me, but there was a time … oh, yes, there was a time….