Authors: Eliza Dean
Chapter
19
I
stood outside of
Westminster Abbey and stared up in amazement at the entrance.
It was breathtaking.
There were a few tour groups surrounding us
at the main entrance but Ronan took us in another way which bypassed the
crowds.
“How
old is this?” I asked him, mesmerized by the stained glass murals and the sheer
size of the church.
Without
hesitation, Ronan answered, “It was built in 1245, although a church has stood
on this site since the 7
th
century.”
I
gazed at him in wonder, “You’re like a walking Wikipedia.”
“Only
on this stuff.
Ask me anything about
modern art or entertainment and I’ll be at a loss,” he took me by the hand and
led me towards a small corner where the crowds had not gathered, “I wanted you
to see this before the tourists infiltrate.”
I
saw an old wooden chair, placed on a high pedestal, the chair itself supported
by gold lions at its feet, “This looks important,” I said, looking for a sign
to read.
“It
is.
It’s King Edward’s Chair, the
coronation chair.
It’s been used by
every monarch at their coronation since 1308.”
“That’s
it?” I exclaimed as I looked at the simple wood chair.
Ronan
chuckled, “Not impressed?”
“I
don’t know.
I was expecting something a
little more flashy.”
“She
was crowned on that chair, as was her father and his father before him.
She was so small and frightened when she sat
there.
Pale with fear and unable to
fathom how her life would play out over the next 45 years.”
I
looked at Ronan who appeared lost in thought as he looked at the chair, “Are
there paintings of her in it?
Is it how
you described it?” I asked as I looked at the chair and imagined Elizabeth
small frame swallowed by it.
“There
are, but none that capture the moment,” he squeezed my hand and led me around
the hall to Poets Corner.
“How
many people are buried here?” I asked, looking around me at the all the plaques
and monuments.
“In
the entire church, over 3,000,” Ronan answered, pointing out the beautiful
statues dedicated to the men and women of the art world.
“There are people everywhere, in the floors,
in the walls, stacked 3 and 4 high.”
“So,
obviously it was a big deal to be buried here,” I remarked, looking beneath my
feet and seeing a name I didn’t recognize.
I wanted to step off of it, being brought up with the knowledge that
stepping on a grave was disrespectful, but truthfully, there was nowhere else
to go.
“I
don’t think you and I would make the cut, if that’s what you mean,” Ronan
grinned.
“So,
she was crowned here?” I asked, remembering what he said about the coronation
chair.
“She
was,” he answered, “And she’s still here, I guess you could say.
Would you like to see her?” he asked me.
I
nodded, contemplating what could go wrong.
So far I had not had the first vision or recollection of anything since
walking through the entry doors of the Abbey.
We walked through the hoards of people that were milling around and
snapping pictures, some with headsets on listening to the audio tour.
We stopped along the way as Ronan pointed out
things to me that the everyday person wouldn’t even notice.
There was a large tomb on my left which Ronan
pointed out was the tomb and monument of Edward the Confessor.
As we went further down the crowds started to
thin until we reached yet another chapel inside the church.
Henry VII Chapel, I read on the wall as we
entered.
The chapel was incredible with
beautiful ceilings and a magnificent stained glass casting prisms of light
around the room.
There were flags
hanging from the ceiling, their significance lost on me.
At the far end of the chapel was a massive
black tomb surrounded by gold cherubs.
Atop was yet another set of bronze effigies.
“That’s
Henry VII and his wife Elizabeth.
Your
Elizabeth’s paternal grandparents and the father and mother of King Henry
VIII,” Ronan whispered in my ear as we walked closer.
I
looked around, looking for another tomb, one worthy of the woman who seemed to
be controlling my thoughts.
Ronan
noticed this and pointed towards the wall on my right, “She’s in here,” he led
me towards a doorway that was roped off with a priest standing quietly at the
door.
Ronan pulled out some sort of
badge from his pocket and showed the priest who simply acknowledged with a
slight nod of his bald head as he unhooked the velvet rope.
“Why
is it roped off?
Is no one allowed in
here?” I whispered, treading softly on the black and white checkerboard floor.
“At
times when the abbey is crowded they close off smaller sections to avoid too
many people.
This is one of the first
they close off.
I imagine it will just
be the two of us in here for our visit.”
My
heart hammered in my ears as we entered the quiet room.
Velvet curtains closed us off from the small
crowd of people beginning to filter into the larger section of the chapel.
This room was darker than the others with
fewer windows allowing in natural light.
In the center of the narrow space was a large marbled tomb encased with
black pillars that stood 20 feet high.
I
could see her marble effigy lying on two pillows, the slab supported by resting
lions on all four corners.
In her hand
she carried an orb and scepter and a crown rested on her head.
There were jewels on her neck and on her
dress along with a strand of pearls and I couldn’t help but wonder if they
represented the ones she received from Dudley.
I studied her marble face, and a deep sigh escaped me, “She looks old,”
I whispered sadly, “She wouldn’t like that.”
Ronan
offered a hint of a smile when he answered, “She does.
It’s thought that James the 1
st
did that on purpose, circumventing the allure that she had masterminded
regarding her never ending youth in paintings throughout her lifetime.”
I
looked down and saw words I was unable to read, “What does it say?”
“This
entire monument was placed here by James the 1
st
.
This particular plaque says “Consorts both in
throne and grave, here we rest two sisters, Elizabeth and Mary, in hope of our
resurrection.”
I
turned to him in shock, “Mary?”
“Yes,
the very sister that had her imprisoned and almost executed,” Ronan shrugged,
“Perhaps it was another jab at Elizabeth from beyond the grave.
He couldn’t outwardly slander the woman that
had been loved by her country for the 45 years she reigned, especially when the
people of England still openly mourned her in the streets.
And she had named him her successor, after
all, or according to Cecil she did.
Only
once had she ever verbally named a successor or made mention of putting the
Country in the hands of another, and it certainly wasn’t James.
According to Cecil, on her deathbed when she
could no longer speak, she gave a sign indicating James I to succeed her on the
throne.
Historians wonder if Cecil said
this as a way of easing the transition between the monarchs and the people of
England.
But in the end, Elizabeth had
no heirs, and James was the only person suitable in the Tudor line to succeed.”
“And
he was?” I asked, unsure of his connection to the Tudor family.
“He
was the son of Mary Queen of Scots, who was Elizabeth’s cousin whom she had
begrudgingly executed after 15 years in custody.”
“So
there was no love lost between the two of them , was there?”
“James
never knew his mother.
He was taken from
her when he was a few months old.
Mary
surrounded herself with people who encouraged her to make very bad decisions.
Elizabeth never wanted to execute her, but in
the end, she left her no choice.
She
agonized over the decision for years and never relented.
And even when she did she tried to call the
orders back but it was too late.
She was
devastated when she heard Mary was already dead.”
I
was soaking in all this new information, sorting the names and trying to
remember anything I had ever read about it.
“So she’s there, with her sister Mary, in this tomb?”
“She
is.
Nearly 10 feet under the floor, if
not more, but they are both there.
She’s
in a lead coffin which she was put in immediately after death.
All monarchs of the realm upon death were
immediately opened and inspected, much like a modern day autopsy.
Elizabeth had left strict instructions that
her body was not to be opened for any reason and her ladies of the bedchamber
were loyal to the very end.
Even in
death, as she lay in state at Whitehall, she was never left alone.
Her ladies attended her every second of every
day.”
“She
was protecting her image, wasn’t she?
Afraid of what they would find if they looked,” I remarked as I stared
at the lifelike marble statute before me.
“You
are correct,” he answered, “She was always in control, till the very end.”
I reached
out and ran my finger along the black pillars guarding her likeness.
Almost immediately I felt a searing pain in
my throat.
I swallowed hard to try and
ease it away and as I did I saw flashes of people hovering around me.
I was on the floor, surrounded by pillows and
blankets.
Someone was stroking my head
gently, another person was fanning me.
I
felt as if I were burning alive.
My
breathing was shallow, I was so weak with exhaustion but I yearned to
speak.
Why couldn’t I speak?
They
were asking me questions, whispering around me and crying.
But I had something to say
!
Listen!
My arms were so weak
I could not move and my entire body burned with pain.
A man was there, hovering worriedly over me,
“Please rest in bed, Your Grace,” he begged.
I closed my eyes against him, not wishing to
move.
I looked towards the window and
blinked.
I was there, standing right
there only a few short days ago.
I
looked at my finger which still carried the ruby and diamond ring that held the
picture of my mother.
Had I done my best?
Had I been the leader they deserved?
I began thinking of all the things I wish I
could have done differently.
Faces
flashed before my eyes of the people who had preceded me in death.
I wanted to weep for them but I had no energy.
Suddenly he was there, his arm extended
towards me, his hand reaching for me.
It’s time.
I
snatched my hand away from the tomb with a gasp.
Ronan
reached out tentatively and rubbed a hand along my arm, “I was afraid to bring
you here, afraid of what you would see.”
I
took a deep breath, processing all I’d seen, “She was in so much pain.
She wanted to speak but couldn’t,” I held a
hand to my throat, “what was wrong with her throat?”
Ronan’s
eyes betrayed his disbelief, “She could have had strep or pneumonia, there are
reports that she was in a lot of pain and refused food because of a pain or
ulcer in her throat.”
I
nodded.
It made sense, “She was weak,
lying on the floor.
There was a man
there, trying to get her into bed.
She
wanted to tell them to leave her alone but she couldn’t speak.
There was a window there and she remembered
standing at the window a few days before.”
Ronan
smiled, “She stood at the window for 4 days before she moved to the floor.
At first I think she refused to get into bed
because she knew it was the end.”
“She
wondered if she had ruled well and was loved by her people.
She questioned all of her decisions in those
moments, thinking of all the things she could have done differently.
She thought about the people in her life that
were already gone.
She knew it was
time.”