Precious Bones (16 page)

Chapter 45

The bells began to peal around noon to alert Londoners that the traitors had been punished to the full severity of the law.  There were shouts of joy in the streets, and the pubs began to fill with hungry spectators, who were ready for a hearty meal and a strong drink after the tiring business of watching men die.  Snatches of bawdy songs could be heard from outside, and Pippa finally roused herself and slowly trudged upstairs.  Connie rose to follow her, but Pippa held up her hand.

“I just need to be alone for a while,
sister, to mourn my Anthony in private.”  Connie sat back down, respecting her sister’s wishes.  She couldn’t begin to understand the anguish that she must be feeling, and knew that trite words of comfort would only upset her further at a time like this.  Pippa’s footsteps receded, and Constance and Jane settled down to their sewing.  They had a meal prepared, but neither one of them could even think of eating it for fear they would be sick.  They sat in silence, each one lost in her own thoughts. 

The shadows in the room began to lengthen
, and Jane lit several candles to dispel the gloom.  Tom would be home soon and they would sup together and bid farewell to this horrible day. 

“Pippa must have fallen asleep.  She has been up there for hours. 
Shall I wake her?”  asked Connie.  She hated to disturb her.  Sleep was probably the only thing that could offer her any oblivion at this time. 

“Let her sleep a while longer, Connie.  Wakefulness can only bring her torment.  We
will wake her when Tom gets home.”  Connie nodded consent.  Richard had already written to Charlotte, and with any luck, Pippa would be on her way north by tomorrow morning.  The sooner she left London, the better.  They would instruct the coachman not to pass any portions of the city where Anthony’s remains might be seen mounted on spikes, and take her promptly out into the country and away from the horror she had endured.  Connie continued to sew a baby gown as Jane rose to go into the kitchen and see to their supper. 

Tom came in a few moments later, brushing droplets of rain from his coat and taking off his hat.  He looked ashen as he stepped into the parlor, no doubt having heard nothing but tales of the execution from his co-workers all day long.  Tom sank onto a chair by the hearth and took a deep breath as Jane brought him a cup of ale.  He drained it in one gulp and asked after Pippa.

“She went up several hours ago to rest.  She has been sleeping, and we dared not wake her.  I will go fetch her down now, although I doubt she will be able to eat.”  Jane walked up the stairs carrying a single candle in front of her.  They heard her moving around upstairs, and then she called down, “She is not here.”  Jane sounded scared, so both Connie and Tom ran up the stairs to the bedroom.  The bed was still made and there was no sign that Pippa had ever been lying down.  They checked the other rooms quickly, not really expecting to find her there. 

“The attic,” Tom said as he made for the stairs.  They hardly ever used the attic, except for storing old trunks and broken furniture.  There used to be a servant’s room up there, but they hadn’t had a servant in so long,
that no one ever went up there.  Jane had just been saying earlier that they should check the attic to see if Pippa’s old cradle might still be up there.  Maybe Pippa went up to look for the crib.  She might be planning to stay on in London and would want a cradle for the infant. 

Tom pushed open the door and Jane came in with the candle
, illuminating the gruesome scene before them.  Pippa’s lifeless body hung from a beam in the rafters, turning slowly on its own accord.  Her eyes were wide open and full of horror, her tongue already turning black.  There were no scratches on her oddly angled neck.  She had not fought for her life once the air ran out.  She simply died, choosing death over a life without her beloved.  Tom ran downstairs for a knife and raced back upstairs.  He stood on a crate to cut Pippa down, and Connie and Jane helped him ease her down, so her body would not come crashing to the floor.  She was obviously dead.  Her skin was cold and white beneath her chemise, her bare feet like marble when Connie touched them.  Tom carried her downstairs and laid her down gently on the bed.  He was choking back sobs and Jane turned her face away to hide her sorrow. 

Connie felt numb.  She should have know
n, should have stopped her.  Pippa would still be alive if Connie had followed her instinct and went upstairs with her earlier, rather than respecting her wishes and leaving her alone.  How foolish she had been, and it had cost Pippa her life.  It was all her fault; first for suggesting that Tom find their sister employment, then not doing anything to stop Phillipa’s involvement with Anthony Babington.  She was too preoccupied with her own affairs to prevent her sister from ruining her life, and now she was an unwed, pregnant, suicide who would not even be buried in consecrated ground.  They would bury her at a crossroads with no marker, as the sinner the Church would proclaim her to be.  Well, she would not allow it.  They would keep Pippa with them -- at home. 

“Tom, are there still
stones out back from when father meant to build a new shed?”

Tom looked at her as if she had taken leave of her senses.  “Yes, why would you ask after them now?”

“I mean to build a tomb for our sister.  I will not allow her to be buried in the middle of nowhere with no marker and no grave.  We will bury her right here.”

Both Tom and Jane gaped at her.  “Connie, have you gone mad?  Are you suggesting we bury her in the back yard next to the dog?”  Jane wiped her eyes with her apron as Tom sank down into a chair.  Constance knew it would take some
persuading, but her mind was made up.  She would not abandon Pippa in death.

“Not in the backyard.  I
will not have her bones disturbed by anyone.  I propose we clear out the scullery and lay her to rest there.  We will build a wall around her, making sure her rest is not disturbed.  We can conduct a funeral service and light candles to her in our own home.  No one needs to know.  Pippa and her baby will be safe here with us.”

“I must admit, she has a point, Tom,” said Jane sadly.  “Phillipa will not be buried in the cemetery next to
your parents.  They will bury her at some crossroads, condemning her soul to an eternity in Purgatory.  We cannot save her soul, but maybe, at least we can save her body.  She can have a proper grave and someone to pray over her, and beg forgiveness for her transgressions.  She was young and foolish, and she made a mistake.  She is no sinner.  She was just a girl in love for the first time with a man who used her cruelly and drove her to despair.”

“All right.  I will need some help.  Can we trust John to keep silent on this matter?”

“John won’t breathe a word to anyone.” 

“Please ask him to come in, Connie.  I will need help to carry in the stones.  Jane, go clear out the scullery and then help Connie prepare our sister for burial.  We need to do this quickly before anyone finds out.  We would have a lot of explaining to do if the Church gets wind of this.  We will just tell everyone that Pippa went to Richard’s sister and decided to stay there.  No one needs to know the truth.”

Jane went downstairs to clear the scullery.  She emptied the space and then swept it clean, preparing it to receive Pippa.  The kitchen floor was already covered with rocks and Tom was busy mixing mortar, while John came up to help carry Pippa downstairs.  Constance washed her body, removing the chemise that was soiled when Pippa’s bowels let go at the moment of death.  She brushed her sister’s long, golden hair until it shone and dressed her in her favorite gown.  She put their mother’s wooden cross around her broken neck, and said a silent prayer begging for her sister’s salvation. 

John lifted Pippa off the bed and carried her downstairs, placing her in a sitting position inside the small space.  He leaned her head
against the wall, putting her hands over her belly.  Constance couldn’t help wondering if the child was still alive inside her body.  There was nothing they could do to save it.  It would take a surgeon to cut it out, and it was too premature to have much chance of survival.  Tom took out the Bible, and they bent their heads as he read the funeral service, commending Pippa’s soul to God.  After he was finished, he and John went to work steadily laying the stones until Pippa’s body disappeared from view and the wall was complete.  It would take a few days to set fully, but the deed was done and no one need be the wiser.  They would tell Richard, of course, but that was it.  As far as the world was concerned, Pippa had left London forever.

Chapter
46

September 2010

I shut off the computer and blew out the candle.  It was still dark outside, but sunrise was not far off.  I felt terribly sad
, as hot tears slid down my cheeks.  I’d known all along it was Pippa behind that wall, but now I’d seen it happen.  I had visualized her body hanging in the attic, and experienced the horror of her death.  She had been no more than a child, and her death was so cruel. 

I hadn
’t gone up to the attic since I moved in, but now I got up from my chair and walked to the stairs leading up.  The staircase was narrow and steep, so I walked up slowly, holding on to the banister.  I dreaded going up there, but I felt a strange need to see the place where she died.  I turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, flipping the light switch.  I don’t know what I’d been expecting to find, but the attic was completely empty.  The walls had been painted white, and the dark beams stood out like veins against pale skin.  I could see the sky lightening through the dormer windows, and I walked to the center and stood directly beneath the spot where Pippa hanged herself.  The thick beam was still there, running under the ceiling all across the space.  I could still see Pippa’s horrified face as she hung there in her soiled chemise, urine dripping down her leg onto the dusty floor.  I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and hurried out of the attic.  I would never go in there again. 

I went downstairs and
climbed into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come.  Images of Pippa and the rest of the Thornes were swirling in my head, and I wished Adrian was here to hold me.  Since coming back from Scotland, we’d been inseparable.  It was as if we’d been a couple all along.  When I looked at Adrian or touched his body, I couldn’t imagine that I had ever wanted to touch Tristan.  Now that I looked back on it, it seemed all wrong somehow.  Our lovemaking had been forced and mechanical, as compared with the unbridled passion I felt with Adrian.  It wasn’t just that first night.  It was every night after that.  He seemed to understand my needs without me ever saying a word, and he elicited reactions from my body that I didn’t think were possible.  We fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, and he seemed to read my thoughts with just one look. 

Tristan had called me several times, but there really was nothing left to say.  He was still with Joanna
, and I wished them joy of each other.  My hurt had dissipated under the tender care of Adrian, and when I was in his arms I felt as if I’d come home. 

I finally shared my secret with him
, and he stayed away some nights, letting me write.  He was fascinated by what was happening to me, and encouraged me to finish the novel.  He said it would bring me closure, and he was probably right.  Now I finally knew how Pippa died, and although I felt unbearably sad, I also felt better.  I could finally lay her to rest.  I had read in the paper that her remains would be buried at the parish church in Carter Lane and I desperately wished I could tell them her name, so that they could put in on her gravestone.  Of course, that was out of the question, so I would go to the cemetery and take flowers to her grave after all the gawkers had gone. 

By now I knew that Pippa’s death was not the only tragedy that struck the Thornes
, and I was bracing myself for what was to follow.  I wished Adrian could be here when I saw it unfold, but I was afraid that he would interfere, and I would miss something.  I needed to do this on my own, but in the meantime I would finally pay that long overdue call to the church.

Chapter 47

September
1586

Constance sat in the dim confines of the carriage, her eyes closed and her head leaning back.  When her parents died within months of each other, she thought that nothing on Earth could be as terrible as what she endured then, but today had proven her wrong.  The sight of Pippa’s body slowly rotating on its thick rope tormented her, and she wished she could just block out the horrible expression on her sister’s face.  She had seen people hang before.  You could not live in London and not see a hanging from time to time, but those people were strangers.  They were not a beloved sister, who you had cared for and nurtured since birth.  Pippa probably found some strange comfort in the fact that she died on the same day as Babington, finding symbolism in their joint departure from the mortal world. 

The carriage rolled through the darkening streets
, and the strain of the day began to take its toll.  Connie dozed off, her eyes fluttering open when the carriage stopped for a while and a strange thump was heard as the vehicle shuddered and then came back to life.  She closed her eyes again.  It had probably been a wagon passing in front of them, or a child who ran into the road and forced John to rein in the horses.  They would be home soon, and Richard would be there to offer whatever meager comfort he could.  Connie’s head jerked as the carriage came to a stop again, and she opened her eyes thinking they were finally at home. 

Constance
looked out of the window to find herself in an unfamiliar neighborhood, dark and strangely silent.  The door opened, and Connie gasped as she saw a man framed in the opening.  He pulled her out by the arm and half dragged her to a small, stone church set far apart from other buildings.  It was surrounded by a high stone wall, and she nearly tripped on a gnarled root as her captor forced her through the arched doorway of the wall, and down the narrow path toward the church.   Another man jumped off the box and came after them, his sword gleaming in the light of the distant stars.  Connie tried to look around to see if John was there as well, but the man just dragged her along.  He led her into the darkened porch of the small church, then opened the door and pushed her inside. 

The church was small and lit by a dozen candles casting their shadows onto the stained
glass windows set high in the walls.   The saints depicted in the colorful scenes seemed to be moving in the flickering light, and it wasn’t until a shadow detached itself from the altar that Connie realized there was someone else inside.  She saw the man walk slowly down the nave toward her, his hood covering his face; and felt a quiver of fear.  He stopped in front of her, standing still for a long moment before finally pushing back the hood from his face.  Connie gasped as she recognized his gentle brown eyes and satisfied smile.  Edward Norris stood silently in front of her, letting her absorb his menacing presence until he finally spoke.

“Welcome, Mistress Carlisle.  I have been expecting you.  I do hope my men did not inconvenience you too much or handle you roughly.”  He gave her a pleasant smile, waiting for her to respond.

“Where is John?”

“
Do not trouble yourself on his account.  John is alive and well; if slightly less attractive than he had been this morning, and no doubt on the way to your husband to convey my message.  We will await him in the crypt, if you do not object, so no one interrupts us.”  Norris took her by the arm and pulled her toward an opening in the floor at the far side of the church that led to the ancient crypt.  A few candles had been lit to dispel the gloom, but the cavernous space was still lost in shadows; silent and sinister.  The two men remained behind to guard the door, leaving Constance alone with Norris.  The crypt was cold and damp, making her shiver, both from cold and fear. 

“Why have you brought me here, Sir Edward?  Surely I have done you no harm.”
  Norris looked at her appraisingly, deciding whether to bother answering.  He seemed to decide in favor of conversation and began to speak. 

“You see, Mistress Carlisle, your religion alone is enough to cause me harm, but that is not the main reason you are here.  Your husband shamed and humiliated me in front of Secretary Walsingham when he interfered with my investigation and now he has done it again.  It seems that your fair sister, whom I meant to arrest and question at length
using any means available to me, has disappeared and I see Richard’s hand in all of this.  Your groom did not seem to know where Mistress Thorne had gone, but I have no doubt that your husband will reveal her whereabouts when faced with a choice between her and your lovely self.  In the meantime, perhaps we can get better acquainted.” 

Norris
shoved her against a stone casket, and she could see the malice in his eyes.  His breath smelled of liquor and onions, and Constance tried not to gag as he kissed her roughly, bruising her lip.   Constance squeezed her thighs together as she felt his hand reach under her skirt, but he shoved his knee between her legs forcing them open.  She had to think of the baby.  If she fought, he would most likely strike her, so she willed herself to stay still as his fingers entered her roughly, causing her to cry out.  If that was the worst he would do, she could bear it.

 
Connie’s mind was racing.  Richard would get Norris’s message and rush to the church walking straight into an ambush, one man against three.  Connie had no doubt that Norris did not intend to let them leave unharmed.  She ground her teeth as Norris probed deeper and deeper, panting and pushing himself up against her.  She could feel his arousal and forced down a wave of nausea that threatened to engulf her.  His free hand found its way inside her bodice and he was kneading her breast and pinching her nipple, his eyes never leaving hers.  She tried to look away, but he ordered her to look at him.

“I intend to enjoy this, Mistress Carlisle
, and I don’t get as much pleasure if I can’t see you squirm.”  He gave her an evil smile and forced another finger between her legs.  Connie tried to ignore the pain and concentrated on staring him down.  She would not give him the satisfaction of squirming or cowering before him.  She knew he had the power to hurt her, but showing fear would not make him stop.  He was a man who thrived on the fear of others, and she would deny him his aphrodisiac. 

Time seemed to stand still
, and Connie wondered how long it had been since she left the house in Carter Lane.  How far had they gone?  Would Richard find her soon?  She tried to pray in her head, but found it impossible.   Norris seemed to notice her detachment and it fueled his fury.  He grabbed her by the arms with both hands and shook her hard. 

“You will look at me when I talk to you, you Catholic whore!”

He gave her a nasty smile.  “I think we have time for some further entertainment before your husband gets here, and if he happens to find us still occupied, all the better.  I intend for him to see how whores should be treated.” 

He dragged Connie toward a low stone
sarcophagus, forcing her over it and raising her skirts.  She heard him panting as he fumbled with his laces and closed her eyes praying to the Virgin that he would not harm her baby.  She bit back a scream as he grabbed her hips and shoved himself inside her, thrusting viciously.  Connie’s breasts scraped painfully against the carving on the stone lid with every thrust, and her head began to spin from being upside down.  She squeezed her teeth together to prevent herself from biting her tongue and prayed that Richard would not see this.