The Price

Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own anything.

Chapter III: Monster

Bette tossed and turned all night, long after the babe inside her settled down for the night, her mother – in – law's words ringing in her head. Do not do as I have done. What could she have possibly done, it had sent her into hysterics that night, her body told a fearsome tale, and yet, for the life of her Elizabeth did not understand what was going on. With the dawn the babe rose and so too did Elizabeth, resolving to get to the bottom of all these bad feelings one way or another.

"Lord God, heavenly Father, bless us and these Your gifts which we receive from Your bountiful goodness, through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen" Father Thomas said the blessing over their fast breaking meal with added reverence, he was most blessed to be alive to share with them and he knew it. They all knew it. Even her child, the one not yet born seemed to know of the importance of the moment and remained still.

"Amen." The table said and the meal began. In silence. It continued in silence. Gregory, it seemed had given up on getting a conversation going amongst himself and his parents. His parents, had spoken nary a words to each other and only the most minimal of greetings to the others. With nothing to occupy their mouths with the meal was, at least, mercifully short.

"Gramma!" Henry exclaimed running full tilt to Elizabeth after they finished their meal. At three years old it was a little wobbly but still amazingly fast.

"H-Hen-" Elizabeth choked, unable to say the name of her eldest grandchild. She pulled him tight to her breast and hugged him although the motion was stiff, forced, as if she was torn between the love she should feel for him, her grandchild and an overwhelming force pushing her away from him. Her discomfort was blessedly short for a soon as the boy was out of her arms he was in to Thomas's.

"Popa! Popa! Up!" Popa complied lifting him high in the air before swinging him down, pulling him tightly to his chest.

"My boy! My Henry." Gregory beamed as he watched his father and his son interact, they would have so many years together to come, little Henry had much to learn from his grandfather. Elizabeth's attention remained on her mother – in – law, the once affectionate woman now as Lot's wife, petrified by a small child. She turned to her father in law, who once was unable to look at his wife, now saw straight through her. Both looked tired, as if they had not slept in a year. Father Thomas was dressed in his customary black, but it was more somber than usual, as if he mourned instead of rejoiced his life. Elizabeth, while never one to dress as a whore had never been more covered in all of her daughter's memory. She wore a high white collar and a dress of drab beige not her signature red or dazzling blues. Her hair was in the same loose knot as the night before, for a woman who once took pride in her appearance she now looked as if she'd refused a maid entrance to her chambers. The more Bette observed the more she did not like what she saw.

The day went by in sprints and stops, at times, when Gregory and Thomas discussed business, locked away in the study, the day progressed almost like normal. While men discussed the estate Elizabeth and Elizabeth played with the children. Bette watched as her mother – in – law, on the outside was the same as ever, showering young Henry and baby Francis with love and affection, she expertly perched babe on her hip as toddler told her a story. But in her eyes, daughter could see conflict, parts of the kind, wise blue eyes wanted to run, flee, cry; the emotions swirling. But they were being suppressed, suppressed by sheer force of will. She was making herself stay. But she couldn't make herself say Henry's name.

And then there were parts that drug on forever, when time stopped, the tension mounted until it smothered the occupants. It did not ease until Elizabeth was stricken with a headache, undoubtedly due to the stress of the room, and retired to her room. Elizabeth the younger watched her senior leave, defeated woman she was. The Cromwells were anything but normal, but this was abnormal – even for them.

***

Bette Cromwell rapped lightly on the door to her parent's champers. Bess had not been at dinner, nor had she sent for a tray. This had the young woman concerned; to her knowledge her mother had not eaten a full meal all day. She was drawn, exhausted looking and suddenly very thin. Thomas' imprisonment had been hard on them all but with his release did not come the expected joy.

"If yer looking for the Lady Cromwell, Lady Elizabeth, she won't be in there." Elizabeth turned to look at the speaker, Lady Joan Wynters.

The Lady Joan was a stately, melancholy matron, at times Elizabeth wondered if she was not in fact the famous Joan Larke in hiding. They said that the non-cannon wife of the cardinal died of a broken heart after her lover but there was something about Mistress Wynters' eyes that made Bette wonder if she did not live on.

"What do you mean Mistress Wynters?" Elizabeth asked.

"This morning when I came to ready the Lady for the day Master Cromwell said that the Missus was ill and was sleeping in another chamber to get uninterrupted rest." Elizabeth looked at her maid, who looked back, neither believed the story.

"Was Mother ill when you attended her?"

"I did not attend her." Elizabeth blinked, she knew that Joan was many things, incompetent not one of them. "Once I found where she was staying she would not allow me entrance, she was dressed when I arrived and she would allow me noting – not even to brush her hair." Joan reached out and placed one cool, firm, aged hand on Elizabeth's dainty shoulder, they were speaking woman to woman. "I am worried Elizabeth, this is not Beth, this is not the woman I remember, the woman I became friends with when our children were young. She is sick. She needs someone." Elizabeth nodded.

"What room is she in?"

***

Bette could hear the sobs as she reached the door and they broke her heart. Her instincts had been right – the ones she had prayed were wrong. Something had happened to break her family.

"Mother," Elizabeth called softly, "Mother, please, let me in."

"No." Bette was all in favor of personal space, between her parents and her siblings she learned very early that any moment you could be alone was something to be cherished, but this was moment that she would ruin. No was not an answer. Bette pulled a key from her pocket, one she had detoured through her husband's study to retrieve, just in case this was the situation she would encounter. Slowly she opened the door.

The room was dim, the only light what came filtering through the curtains closed tightly across the windows. Elizabeth the elder, sat compressed tightly on her bed, face wedged between her knees, as small as she could be. Elizabeth the younger shut the door quickly and rushed to her mother - in – law's side, only to be cut off by her rasping, shaking voice.

"Elizabeth, leave."

"No, not until you tell me what is wrong." Bette watched as her mother was able to produce more tears, a feat she doubted possible. What in the world could cause one woman such pain? "I will not leave until you tell me what troubles you so, until you tell me what I can do to help."

"There is no help for a monster like me." It was a whisper, Bette had surly not heard, nor understood.

"Monster? You are the slayer of monsters!" Elizabeth shook her head violently.

"I am one of Satan's own, I am a betrayer."

"Betrayer? I do not understand, who have you betrayed?" Bette took another few steps forward, Elizabeth looked up, her tearstained face the most painful thing to behold on the planet.

"I have betrayed my vows. She choked, "I was with another."

"No."