Precious Bones (22 page)

Chapter 64

The Beefeaters were just opening the gates to the public and taking their places as Adrian and I approached the Tower of London.  The sky overhead was a brilliant blue, and the October morning was chilly, a brisk wind blowing off the Thames.  Leaves in various shades of gold and orange swirled at our feet as we walked down the cobblestone path through the gates, looking up at the gray towers, still looking grim after all these years.  We were overtaken by a group of Japanese tourists, their guide waving a yellow umbrella and talking rapidly, as the enraptured people snapped photographs furiously, as if the Tower would suddenly disappear if they didn’t capture it quickly enough. 

Adrian and I exchanged an amused glance and continued on our way.  We
didn’t bother going into the torture chambers or the church located in the courtyard of the Tower.  We weren’t interested in the crown jewels either.  Adrian stopped and looked around for a moment, before taking my hand and pulling me along to the center of the courtyard.  The still green grass was littered with fallen leaves, and there was a plaque nearby commemorating the execution of Anne Boleyn.  Adrian found the spot he was looking for and got down on one knee, pulling out a black velvet box.

“Cassandra, I lost my life in this place exactly four hundred and twenty four years ago
, almost to the day.  Before I died, I promised to love you forever and find you in the next life.  I promise the same thing today, as I ask you to marry me and wait for my life to begin.  Will you be my wife?”

“I will.  Forever.”

Adrian slipped the ring on my finger and drew me to him, kissing me passionately to the approval of the tower ravens that were cawing in delight, and the Japanese tourists who were still snapping pictures. 

Epilogue

The midwife wiped the sweat from Connie’s brow and smoothed away a strand of hair that was plastered to her forehead.  “It won’t be long now, my dear.  It won’t be long.”  Rosy shafts of light were beginning to paint the room pink as another day dawned over London.  Connie could hear birds chirping in the tree outside
, and wished that she could open the window and take a breath of the fresh May air.  The room was stuffy and overheated with a stifling fire still burning in the grate.  Connie was drenched in sweat, her shift stuck to her heaving body.  She had been laboring since the previous afternoon and she was exhausted and scared.  Another contraction caught her in its grip, and she forgot everything except the unbearable pain that left her breathless and trembling. 

“
’Tis time to push now,” said the midwife.  “Your babe is ready to come out.”   The midwife came around and pressed on her stomach as Connie pushed with all her might.  She fell back on the pillows, shaking with the effort.

“Again.”

Connie took a deep breath and pushed again and again, until she felt the child slither out between her legs.  The midwife pulled the squirming, bloody infant from Connie’s body and cleaned out its nose and mouth, the room erupting in a furious howl of outrage from the baby.

“A lusty lad, Constance,” the midwife announced
, beaming as she placed the wrapped bundle into Connie’s arm.  “What will you be calling him?”

“Richard.  Richard Carlisle after his father.”

“A fine name.” 

Connie looked into the face of her newborn son.  He was pink and wrinkled with blond fuzz covering his tiny head, but his eyes were bright and blue
, and they stared at her with frightening intensity.  They looked like Richard’s eyes and Connie kissed the wrinkled forehead and caressed the soft cheek, welcoming Richard’s son into the world. 

The
door opened slowly and Jane’s anxious face appeared.  “May I come in?”  She walked softly into the room holding baby Katherine on her shoulder.  Jane’s baby was born the week before and named after Connie and Tom’s mother.  Jane sat down on the bed next to Connie, smiling and offering congratulations as Tom came in to see his nephew. 

“What now, Connie?”  Tom asked
as he gently touched the baby’s hand.

Connie knew what he was referring to.  A few weeks after Richard’s death, Walsingham came to see her after she refused his summons to an interview at the Palace.  Connie did not care to speak with him, but she didn’t turn the old man away.  He could be a formidable enemy and she couldn’t take the risk of offending him.  Walsingham asked to sit down and for Connie to close the door.  She remained standing as she heard him out.

“Mistress Carlisle, I realize that you think I have failed both you and Richard, but truly there was nothing I could do to save your husband.  Her Majesty was in no mood to be reasoned with at the time, and I value my head, despite it being old and gray.  I did go to see Richard after the trial and I made him a promise that I would see you safe.  If you wish to leave England, I will provide you with documents for your passage, and find a suitable arrangement for you abroad.  I have allies in Paris who could find you a noble family to stay with, where you can raise your child in safety and practice your religion freely.   The situation in England is not about to improve for Catholics, so think carefully on my offer.  Should you choose to remain in England, I will ensure that you and your brother’s family are not harassed for as long as I am Secretary, which might not be much longer considering the state of my health.  Please let me know what you decide.”

Walsingham rose with some difficulty
, and Connie showed him to the door, then related the offer to Tom and Jane.  Jane urged her to stay, but Tom thought she might be safer in France.  Connie made him a promise that she would not make a final decision until the child was born.  She would know then.

That February, the world watched as Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots
, was executed for treason.  She was tried by a special committee who did not allow her to see the evidence against her, or provide her own defense.  She was sentenced to death by beheading, but Elizabeth agonized about signing her death warrant, putting off the inevitable.  She changed her mind and changed it again, until she finally signed it in a moment of passion.  Walsingham gave the order to execute Mary before the Queen could change her mind again, and the sentence was carried out the following day.  Mary stripped down to a petticoat and sleeves of crimson, the color of martyrdom, defiant to the last.  As the axe man lifted the dead Queen’s head by the hair --not realizing it was a wig -- the queen’s head slipped out and rolled across the scaffold to the horror of the observers, her little dog licking its mistress’s face.  It wasn’t a dignified end, but the threat of Mary was over.

With the death of Mary, many Catholics lost heart.  The next Catholic descendant to the
throne was Mary’s son James, and he was not nearly as calculating or daring as his mother.  James would prefer to keep his head and let Elizabeth rule in peace.  English Catholics would still need to practice in secret and live a lie.

“So Connie
, will you take Walsingham up on his offer?  You have enough money from the sale of Richard’s house and goods to live comfortably in France, and raise young Richard in safety and freedom.  It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”  Tom looked sadly at his little nephew, dreading the answer.

“No, T
om.  I will stay and raise my son here in England.  I need to remain close to the precious bones of my husband and sister.   They are the only martyrs I need.”

The End

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