Betrayal in the Tudor Court (40 page)

C
ecily went straight to Lambeth Palace, not bothering to stop at her home on the Strand to refresh herself. There was no time. She requested a private audience with Archbishop Cranmer and was shown to his presence chamber. She could not sit, nor sip the sweet wine offered her. She could only pace and wring her hands in agony. It was all too much—Hal’s death, Mirabella’s betrayal, Father Alec’s arrest. She could not wrap her mind around any of it. There was no time to digest the shock, no time to grieve.

“What is troubling you, my dear?”

Cecily raised her eyes. She had not even seen the archbishop enter. He stood there, the picture of serenity and gentleness, his languid brown eyes filled with compassion.

The sincerity of his tone brought tears to her eyes and she dipped into her lowest curtsy, taking his hand to kiss his ring. “Your Grace,” she began. “I am Cecily Pierce, Countess of Sumerton.”

Cranmer held on to her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Sumerton, you say? I know of it well. Father Alec Cahill spoke so highly of it. How does he fare?”

Cecily bowed her head. “Oh, Your Grace, I fear he has come to harm. He has been betrayed in the cruellest of ways, his private papers confiscated and turned against him.” She met his eyes. “He is now imprisoned, suspected of heresy. I come to you to appeal for his life. I—I did not know where to turn.”

Cranmer’s mouth was set in a grim line. “This is very serious,” he said. “Many have perished in the fires at Smithfield for heresy. Oh, my dear friend …” His eyes grew distant. “I thought he’d be safe there. …” He shook his head. “I will see to it that the matter is adjourned to me personally.”

Cecily’s eyes lit with hope.

“He will not be freed,” Cranmer said, raising his hand as if to sustain her blind optimism. “But I will see that he is detained until I can review the evidence myself, that we might spare his life. There are changes on the wind, my lady. There may be hope for our friend yet.”

Cecily slid to her knees before him. “Your Grace, I have prayed and prayed for you to give me hope for him. I thank you. With all I am, I thank you.”

“You must not lower yourself, my lady,” Cranmer said, helping her to her feet. “I am not worthy of such a show. Rest now, dear, then get you back to Sumerton, that you might be a comfort to him.”

Cecily rose. “He told me you were a good man, Your Grace. I see his description could not be more accurate.”

“I am only a man,” he said, waving off the praise with flushing cheeks. “Subject to the pleas of a lovely lady.”

Cecily smiled as she made her exit. At the door, he stopped her.

“Lady Cecily.” His voice was soft. “I think Father Alec may have learned that it is not good for man to be alone. … I am glad it is you.”

Cecily was about to respond, but he smiled to his guard, who closed the door.

Somehow he knew. This should have troubled her, yet it did not. In a strange way, it relieved her.

The dungeons of Camden Manor may have been the only place the summer’s fire had not touched. Father Alec had not even been aware of their existence, but he supposed many homes of the gentry had some place to detain those who broke the peace. Now that the Sheriff of Sumerton had assumed the manor for his own, it was renovated as a jail, complete with instruments of torture, which Father Alec hoped to be spared.

Now he sat shackled at the wrists and ankles in a windowless cell on a bed of straw. Now and again a spider or mouse used him as a kind of bridge and he squirmed in discomfort. The straw had not been changed in a while and dampness seeped into his robes. He leaned his head against the stone wall and closed his eyes. He never thought it would end like this.

That his first visitor should be his ultimate betrayer did not surprise him at all. Mirabella stood before the bars of his cell, clutching her cloak about her. Father Alec resisted the urge to spit at her feet.
Compassion
, he urged himself.
No matter what, compassion.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice low.

“I have not yet turned over the evidence,” Mirabella told him.

“Then what have I been detained for?” he returned, struggling to remain calm.

“I revealed some statements that could be interpreted as heretical,” she said.

“Then I imagine that will be enough to see me to the stake,” he said.

“I can recant,” she said.

“For what?” Father Alec challenged. “What else can I give you besides my life, Mistress Mirabella? Have you not seen what your hatred has wrought upon Sumerton? You blamed yourself for your mother’s death. I told you it was not so; I still believe that. But your father … it seems you have enough to live with that you should add my death to your conscience.”

Mirabella met his eyes. “You try to divert the sin upon my shoulders when it is you who are the betrayer! You and Cecily.”

“That is our sin,” Father Alec told her. “Between us and God. He has not appointed you His judge on earth.”

“No, He has not,” Mirabella agreed. “But it is my duty to protect His faith and intervene when I see blasphemy and sin corrupting it.”

“Your duty?” Father Alec laughed. “You do nothing out of a sense of duty to the Lord. You are a female first, Mirabella Pierce, a jealous female, and that more than anything has been your motivation. Your jealousy will destroy us all. Years ago I knew of your unholy designs on me. I addressed it once, do you remember?”

Mirabella averted her eyes.

“And since you respected my office and remained my friend,” he went on. “How I rejoiced for you when I thought you had a man like James Reaves to give you the life that you so needed. But you refused him and clung to a dream, a silly confession of mine made when I thought—for a brief moment—that I could trust you. If only I had known then what my fatal lapse in judgement would cost me.”

“Don’t you see?” Mirabella cried. “It is that statement which will preserve your life!”

Father Alec shook his head. “What do you mean?” He understood too well what she meant. But he hoped, he prayed, that there was something still human in her, that she would not say it.

“You said you would marry, if the Church allowed,” she said. “I do not know if the Church will push those reforms through or not … but what I propose is that you renounce your collar and marry me. If the reforms go through, you can return to the priesthood, I promise you.”

Father Alec’s eyes grew wide in horror. “Satan once tempted our Lord with the whole world and what did he do?”

“We all know you are not our Lord.” Mirabella’s tone oozed with contempt. “This is your life we are talking about, Father. Your
life
! ” Her lips twisted into a sneer. “Are you so willing to become a martyr? With the evidence I have, you will burn, make no mistake of that.”

Father Alec shook his head. “Let us not forget who is first so willing to sacrifice this life of mine.” He sighed. “As far as martyrdom, it seems I am made one regardless. Either way I am doomed.”

“We are alike, Father, you know that,” Mirabella went on. “Both religious, both intelligent—there is no end to what we could accomplish for God together.”

“My God, you have lost your mind if you believe that I am anything like you.” Father Alec’s tone was thick with sadness. “I pity you more than any living being, Mistress Mirabella.”

Mirabella shook her head. “All I have to do is show your papers and no one—not the Archbishop of Canterbury himself—can save you. You know it in your soul. This is the only way.”

“You think because of one sin that I have no integrity, no honour, and that I value my life above all else,” Father Alec said. “Believe me when I tell you I would rather die than abandon my calling and marry you.”

“And Cecily and the children?” Mirabella retorted. “What of them? What will your death do to them after so much loss? Will you be responsible for breaking her heart and scarring the children for life?”

“How dare you?” he seethed. “How dare you use them against me when it is you who have caused their ultimate suffering? Do you not think that Lady Cecily’s heart would be broken anyway? Do you not think that it is broken already?”

“I know Cecily; we are as sisters,” Mirabella said. “She is a woman of practicality; she would rather see you live than die a saint, even if it means she cannot have you.” Mirabella cast her eyes toward the ceiling. “You have till sunset to decide. Die a nameless saint or live as my husband and have a chance at shaping this faith that means so much to you. I will stand by your decision,
Father
.”

With this she turned and in a swirl of skirts was gone.

Tears streamed down Father Alec’s cheeks, slick and warm. There was but to turn it over to God. What would He want? Father Alec knew what Archbishop Cranmer wanted; he wanted him to live, that he might be used in the future, when it was safe. But to give up the priesthood, to turn his back on his calling—was he being a coward? Was it God’s will that he become a martyr? Yet what God of love would will people to die so senselessly?

And Cecily, what of her? How much more loss could she take? Was it better to live with her resentment than die with her heartbreak?

Father Alec drew his knees to his chest, bowing his head and resting it upon them. If he married Mirabella to spare his life, he was cheating them both. He could never love Mirabella. It would never occur to him. The marriage would be a farce … and yet, in that was there hope? If it was a marriage in name only, it could be annulled. With little guilt.

Father Alec raised his head. He believed he was put on earth for a higher purpose, higher than human love, higher than marriage—it would have been an unexpected benefit to future reforms that he truly did not anticipate ever becoming an actuality. If Mirabella was right in one thing, it was that Cecily would want him to live. She was not so selfish as to rather see him dead than not belong to her. He would not have been hers anyway, had reality had its way. He would have departed for London, she would have remained at Sumerton. Till reforms were pushed through …

He could not allow his plans to revolve around a maybe. There was only here and now and what to do.

He could see his life and his goals go up in ashes or he could marry Mirabella … but at what cost to his soul! Was sparing the fire in life only saving him for an eternity of flame? He shook his head with vehemence, as if to shake himself from a nightmare.

But there was no waking, no sleeping.

There was but to choose.

Mirabella returned to Father Alec’s cell stony faced. She drew in a breath, daring him to answer. It may seem wrong, yes, but it was the only way! In time, when he worked through the resentment, he would see that they were meant to be, that they had always been meant to be.

She closed her eyes against what Cecily would make of the union. Could she bear to meet those teal orbs, Cecily’s betrayer once again? But what of Cecily’s betrayal?! Had she not been faithless perhaps this could have been avoided … and yet … had Mirabella waited for reforms that may never be pushed through how else could she save Father Alec from himself? That, more than anything, had been her ultimate goal—yes, that was it, truly. Cecily’s actions only spurred an inevitability.

She was not saving him from the sin of the flesh but from something far worse: the sin of abandoning his True Faith. She could bear him as a defrocked priest but not a man who sold out his calling to the devil in the guise of the New Learning. Even could he marry then it would not have been right. There was to be a priest or a man, never both. Someday he would see it her way, after time had dulled the sting. Someday …

If he made the right choice.

She steeled herself against the possibility that he would choose martyrdom. Could she bear it if he did? Could she ever forgive herself? Yet better to die a martyr than make the wrong choice in life, better to be spared that.

She had paid Sheriff Camden and his chaplain well should Father Alec make the right choice. Sheriff Camden had shaken his head at her, offering a wry, knowing smile when she made the proposition that should Father Alec renounce the priesthood and marry her, he would be dismissed from suspicion. She would guide Father Alec toward right and keep him, essentially, out of trouble. On its own the proposition would never have stood. Three hundred pounds and an emerald from her father’s coffers the size of her fist sweetened the deal considerably.

She would not allow guilt to creep in. The world would see her as trapping Father Alec; they would not see it as the selfless preservation of his soul. But no matter. God knew her heart. He knew her intentions and would bless them. … He had to.

Mirabella laced her fingers around one of the bars of the cell, peering in. Father Alec’s face was drawn, new lines etched upon its countenance as if overnight. She swallowed tears. Jesus endured three days of Hell to get to Heaven; Father Alec could stand a few days in a cell.

She could bear his silence no more. “Well?” she prodded, her tone husky.

His eyes were naught but hazel pools of regret.

“You win,” he said. She ignored the defeat in his voice. “I only hope you realise what your victory will cost us all.”

Relief flooded through Mirabella, sweet as wine. She tipped her head back, thanking God, before calling the guard. “Fetch the sheriff and Father Michael. Hurry!”

The guard did as he was bid and within minutes Sheriff Camden lumbered forth with the scrawny, fidgety chaplain.

Father Alec offered a bitter smirk. “So. You thought of everything.”

“She did,” Camden said with a slight chuckle as he unlocked the cell. “And I reckon you have more reason to fear life as her husband than pain of death at the stake any day.”

Father Alec shook his head, refusing the help of the sheriff as he scrambled to his feet. His shackles were unlocked and he took a moment to flex his chafed wrists.

“And now, my dear Father … Alec Cahill,” the chaplain began. “We shall begin.”

No
, thought Father Alec, his bitterness palpable as he fixed his eyes on Mirabella.
Now it shall end
. …

Cecily was exhausted. Cranmer’s assurance had eased her mind somewhat, but she could not bear to sleep at the house on the Strand. The sooner she conveyed the news to Father Alec, the better. She dozed in the carriage on the way back to Sumerton, hiring two drivers to switch shifts, that they may drive through the night, and arrived home earlier than expected.