A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry for the late update - I'm in London at the moment, and I was in the Galleries last night. Today, however, thanks to the wonder of the interwebs, your next chapter comes live from the Beauchamp Tower at the Tower of London! It was going to be Tower Green - but it's raining. Sorry about that.
Plague was endemic in England throughout the Tudor period, alas; and, by sheer chance, I discovered that this particular year was a 'bad' one. I only made this discovery after I started writing this chapter, though - so it's a happy chance. Well, happy for me - not for them...
CHAPTER FORTY
Into the Dark
The noise in the courtyard is extensive - as it would have been had matters been different, for the Court was scheduled to depart today. The baggage carts have been loaded with all the accoutrements that were brought from Whitehall, while Elizabeth herself has opted to commence the journey to their next accommodation upon horseback. Her ladies are busy with the last arrangements before departure, while the Queen remains in her mother's privy chamber for as long as she can.
She says nothing, but it could not be more evident to her mother that she is frightened to leave. They have not been apart for such a time since Anne left for Canterbury, and the risk of sickness now is far greater, and more dreaded. In spite of her previous protests, Elizabeth has consented to obey her mother - but nonetheless the requirement to depart is now upon her, and she grasps what little time she has left before she leaves.
"Pray for me, my dearest." Anne smiles at her, holding her close, "With God's aid, we shall win through, and I shall come to York to escort you home."
"Yes, Mama. I promise that I shall."
Rochford stands nearby, Mary at his side, "We have arranged for her to be housed at Middleham castle - for it remains in the hands of the Crown following its surrender to her Majesty's grandfather. Works are under way to make it comfortable; for while it is habitable, it is in some disrepair."
Anne nods, relieved. While it is not perhaps the grandest of the royal possessions, it has the virtue of being isolated in the countryside, more than forty miles north of York, and that in itself is the best protection that one can hope for. The time that shall be taken to reach it should be more than sufficient to ensure the comfort of the Queen upon her arrival.
"I am looking to you both to protect her." Her own eyes are tearful now, "Keep her safe - not merely for England, but for me."
There would have been a time when Rochford would have laughed at her, or dismissed her concerns with some scorn; but those days are long past, "I give you my word as a Gentleman, and your brother. I shall give my all to do so - even if it be at the cost of my own life."
His words are solemn, and heartfelt. Rising from her daughter's side, Anne huddles into his embrace. Elizabeth is not the only Queen who is afraid for the life of the other, "No my brother - do not so; for I could not wish for your dear wife to be so bereft."
Now he smiles, "No, Majesty - I am a brave man in many aspects, but not in face of the plague. We shall move as swiftly as we may to keep from it."
And there is no more time. Her eyes pained, but her face calm, Anne turns to Elizabeth, "Go safely, my precious girl. The weeks to come shall be hard - but trust in God for his guidance and comfort. I give you my word that I shall not put myself in unnecessary danger."
Her daughter is trembling with unshed tears, but that mantle of royalty has settled itself upon her, and already she has learned to set her feelings aside in favour of her obligations as a Queen. Forcibly containing her emotion, she stands and curtseys to her mother, "God's protection be upon you, your Majesty. I shall do my duty as a daughter and Queen, and obey your command."
Rising, Anne returns the curtsey, "And also upon you, your Majesty. As you do your duty, so shall I do mine. I shall stand with your Councillors and ensure that whatever trials are to come shall not bring England to destruction. It may yet be that the sickness shall abate - and, if so, I shall depart from here to join you."
She watches, her eyes agonised, as Elizabeth turns, takes Rochford's arm, and departs from the chamber with a Queenly dignity that belies her years, "Madge, call in Mr Cromwell please. There is much that must be arranged."
Mary reaches out and rests a hand upon her arm, "I promise you, we shall take care of her - for she is our niece as much as our Queen."
"Thank you, Mary. I am so glad that you are here. I am sorry for all that I have said against you - for banishing you from my presence when you did naught but follow your heart."
"It is behind us, Anne. I shall carry your love for her with me, and she shall know always that you love her." Curtseying again, Mary withdraws, and she is alone.
Cromwell's expression is bemused as he enters the chamber, "Do you not wish to see her Majesty off? The column is shortly to depart."
Anne shakes her head, turning aside and biting her lip as the tears build to more than she can bear.
"Majesty?" Concerned, he steps forth, only to stare at her in shock as she falls into him, sobbing. Hesitantly, fearful of any conjecture should they be seen, he lifts his arms and embraces her, allowing her to weep into his shoulder. Even though there are few nearby who would consider anything untoward in the scene they present, the fear of scandal is so ingrained that he cannot let it go even now.
No - he is a fool. She has fled to him not as to a lover, but as to a father. Her own is exiled in Flanders, and plots against her, and now she looks to the only other man that she feels safe to trust the midst of that paternal void, "Come now, Majesty - be seated. Shall I call one of your ladies? Perhaps a glass of eau de vie?" He fumbles into his scrip for a kerchief, grateful that it is clean and unused.
Eventually, the tears dry - as tears always do - and she mops at her flushed face with the kerchief, "Forgive me, Mr Cromwell. I was not prepared for…" she struggles to articulate the cause of her distress.
"It is hard, Majesty." He admits, quietly, "Do not feel shame for your behaviour - she is your daughter and must flee the greatest danger England has seen since the loss of your late Liege Lord. Greater even than Mary's foolishness, or the people who sought to protect Becket. It seems that we are now to be tested - and it is no sin to be fearful."
"You are not fearful." She hiccups.
"I am merely a capable actor, Majesty. To live as I have done requires much skill at artifice."
Slowly, she regains her composure, and rises from his side, "That is enough. I have permitted myself a time of foolishness - now I must do as my daughter has done, and set such womanish behaviour aside. I am an anointed Queen, and that must guide my actions from this moment."
Rising to his feet, he turns to face her, and bows deeply, "Then let us get down to business."
There are but four around the table - Queen, Lord Chancellor, Lord Treasurer and Lord Privy Seal. Fenton is nearby, awaiting instructions upon what is to be done, or to offer information upon the nature of his estate.
"I think it best that we prepare for the worst, but hope for the best." Sussex muses, looking over the latest missive to have arrived from London, "It is clear that we are to face a bad time - for the plague shows signs only of worsening, and it continues to travel northwards. There is also a tract which proclaims that the contagion is spread by a badness of the air, so I think we are as well placed as we can be, for there is naught but clean air here."
Cromwell nods, "Do you have the tract? I did not know that the means by which the sickness spreads had been identified."
Sussex nods, and passes over a rather battered pamphlet. Sitting beside him, Rich looks rather less nervous at the prospect of being protected from the sickness by their rural location.
"Nonetheless, I think it wise that we take precautions." Anne continues, "Sir James - is there a site upon your estate where we might contain any such bad air that is brought to us through the passage of those who flee? A house, perhaps, that is distant from the manor?"
"Yes Majesty." Fenton nods, "There is a disused dower house a mile from here - it is secluded, and the prevailing wind blows from this house towards it. Thus it should protect us from such bad air should it reach us. If it please you, I shall see to its preparation. Your honour guard shall remain housed in the converted Abbey barns, while we shall occupy the main house."
She nods, "Thank you."
Once he has departed, she turns back to her advisers "Is it likely that our neighbours across the channel might see this as an opportunity to strike against us?"
Cromwell shakes his head, "I suspect that the fear of contagion shall stay their hands. Instead they shall watch from afar and proclaim it to be God's judgement against us. Only once the sickness has passed shall they consider the prospect."
"Then we shall take steps to ensure that we are not weakened. What of Parliament?"
"A few of the members remain at Windsor, but most have taken flight to their shires as the sickness has advanced." Rich advises, "I think it is safe to say that Parliament is dissolved for this session."
"Then we shall manage without them - as my late Lord was wont to do. What of the Council?"
"The Lord President and Lord Admiral remain at Windsor as instructed, Majesty." Cromwell answers, "Sir John and Sir William have sent word that they shall join us as soon as can be arranged, while Sir Anthony has remained with the Queen's train to manage the horses - but has indicated that he shall return to us should he be summoned. Lord Sandys is - he advises - already en route, while no word has been received from Sir John Baker or from Audley, which suggests to me that they shall not come. Mr Cranmer asks to remain in London, for he has no wish to flee while expecting his fellow clerics to stay."
"Though I suspect much of his bravery is bolstered by the distance of his Palace from the stricken rookeries of Eastcheap." Sussex adds, dryly.
"Then we have done all that we can for the time being." Anne sighs, "Not that it seems to be much - have any further preventative measures been identified?"
Silence. But then, she expected that.
They turn at the sound of a knock upon the door, and Margery enters, "Majesty, Lady Fenton has asked me to advise that dinner shall be served in a quarter of the hour."
The small gathering exchange nervous glances. They have set in place what few preparations they can. All else that they can do now is hope, and pray that matters shall improve.
It is unpleasant to be cooped up in a garret again - but with so many refugees, there are few other places left to rent - certainly there are no houses of substance between Ieper and Poperinghe that are open to those who have fled Brugge as the plague has taken an ever tighter grip.
Boleyn scowls as he struggles with the heavy strongbox that contains the funds they have accumulated. It had been held securely by the Banker he engaged, but the arrival of plague, and its stronger spread than in previous years ensured that most turned upon their Jewish neighbours, and he was obliged to fight to recoup the monies he had deposited as many shut up their houses and fled. The last he knew, a mob had accused the inoffensive man of poisoning wells, and strung him up from a nearby tree. Perhaps he should feel regret at the cruel murder of an innocent, but his primary concern is his money - and at least he has recovered that.
With the cloth halls closed, their first means of income has faltered - and their flight has ensured that additional funds from Norfolk's coffers shall be unlikely to follow them.
A large number of English traders have also fled to Poperinghe, alongside a number of merchants from Brugge and Gent, so a degree of trade is being carried out - but the real concern now is news. News of the contagion, news of how far it has spread, news of whether it is coming towards them.
Nearby, Brandon is sitting at the grubby dormer, staring out of it with a bizarrely dead expression. Quite why he does so is a mystery that Boleyn cannot - and has no wish to - fathom. It is probably another of his fits of brooding over his lost ascendancy, and the requirement to be a common man. Continuing to scowl, he returns his attention to the strongbox and lugs it across to a small cupboard set into the wall, where he locks it safely away.
At the window, Brandon sighs to himself, despondently. Regardless of Boleyn's grumpiness, his feelings are inspired not by that which he no longer has, but instead by the knowledge that they are no further forward than they had been when first they were obliged to share a roof in Brugge. Worse, the few friends still prepared to risk association with him have advised that England is stable, peaceful and is beginning to prosper as never before. Consequently, it is of no interest to Englishmen that their Queen is a Godless heretic. Not even the exhortation of the Holy Father seems to have stirred them to act.
Mary's only hope of winning England shall be at the head of an army to oust the usurper and her child - but a contented realm might well see not salvation - but invasion. Regardless of her determination to reclaim her throne, Brandon knows Mary shall never agree to do so if the cost is the blood of her Subjects. Thus he cannot see a way to keep the promise that he made to her, and that failure bites at his conscience very deeply.
Matters are not aided by his enforced ignorance of the Queen's wishes. She is a mother now - would she even wish to abandon her son and husband in order to reclaim England for herself? There might well be two boys now in the succession, but there is always a wish to bear more, and she may well consider it her duty to provide them. God's wounds - it rankles not to know!
He is roused from his musings by the sound of a knock upon the door of their garret, which Boleyn opens to reveal one of his acquaintances from the Cloth Hall, "What is it - is there plague here?"
The man shakes his head, "Not that I know of, Thomas - but I have heard from England. It seems that Flanders is not alone in this time of trial, for a group of merchants have recently arrived. They fled from Hastings upon the first ship they could find, for there is also plague in England, and it is worse even than here."
"Worse?" Boleyn's eyes widen, "It has spread beyond London?"
"Indeed so - when I took ship, I heard that it had reached Hertford, Chelmsford and Reading - sending people fleeing ahead of it. There was even word that it had appeared in Rye, and thus I felt it wise to remove myself from the danger."
"And run into it here." Boleyn snorts.
"There is no sign of it west of Brugge." The man shrugs, "Should that change, I shall move again." From his garments, it is clear that he can afford to do so. "Before I do, however, I was asked to give you this." He reaches into a satchel at his side and retrieves a packet, "Sent from Arundel."
Even Brandon turns at that, and he watches as Boleyn takes the packet, "I shall not stay." The stranger advises, "I am to meet with my Factor this evening. Thus I shall depart."
Nodding, distracted, Boleyn nods, and almost shuts the door in the man's face.
"Well?" Brandon asks, as his unwanted colleague breaks the seal and reads the letter within.
"More funds from the Duke. We are to visit a cloth carder in Ieper before the end of this month in order to obtain them."
"And what of this outbreak of plague?"
"Impossible to say - but if it is as bad as suggested, it may be that England shall find herself without a Queen, or a Regent; and thus there shall be but one heir." Boleyn sounds horribly clinical about the possibility that his daughter and granddaughter might die. It seems that he has entirely washed his hands of the pair of them. In spite of the possibility that Mary might well benefit from such an outcome, Brandon struggles to hide his disgust.
Looking up, Boleyn notices his expression, "You think me reprehensible - but I do not forgive betrayal. You have not experienced the failure of filial duty in your offspring; and, until you do, you cannot know what it is to be turned upon by your own progeny. My daughter is a daughter no longer. Not in the moment that she insulted me by removing my privileges. Had I not reached the heights I achieved, then she would not have worn a Crown. Her ingratitude is unforgivable."
And instead, he looks to the child of the woman that his abandoned daughter displaced. Brandon opts not to speak, for fear that he might say something that he shall regret. Much as he despises Boleyn, they both know that they must stand together. Divided, they shall fall - and Mary shall never gain her throne.
Or shall she? It may yet be that the plague shall achieve that which they seek - for if Elizabeth dies, and she has no issue, then who shall remain of Henry's blood to claim the crown?
Perhaps nature shall solve the problem - and then they can greet their new Queen, and lead her to her Kingdom.
The afternoon sun is warm, and the herber is a pleasantly fragrant spot in which to sit, surrounded by the aromas of rosemary, lavender and thyme, while bees make their way amongst the borage and lovage flowers in blissful ignorance of the hovering calamity that threatens the realm in which they work so diligently.
It is strange to be alone; for Anne has others in her presence at all times - even when she sleeps, for one of her ladies rests upon a truckle at the foot of her bed. Now, however, she has demanded solitude, and all have retreated in obedience to her request.
She has not been apart from her daughter now for some years, except for the enforced departure to Canterbury. Such closeness to one's child is a rare gift for a noblewoman, and certainly for a Queen, but she has treasured it, and to be without it is painful to bear.
The news from London remains grim, and there is word that other cities on the continent are equally afflicted, with the wealthy fleeing to their country estates to escape the bad air, while the poor remain - and suffer for it. She shudders at the thought - trapped in a house with a deadly sickness whose source cannot be determined; what must that be like? It seems unimaginable.
She hears the crunching of footsteps upon gravel and sits very still, hoping that they shall retreat - but it is merely a garden-boy, who carries on his way without knowing of her presence. Relieved, she relaxes again.
Lord Sandys arrived this afternoon, while they have received word that Sir John Gage and Sir William Petre have both departed from their houses and shall be here within the week. Baker and Audley remain conspicuous by their absence, and she has already struck them from her list of councillors - a veto that shall stay in effect once this storm has abated. Such poltroonery forever barring them from the Palaces of the Queen.
For a while, her thoughts touch upon her father: far away in Flanders, which - she is told - is facing the same fire as England. Has he thought of her at any time since he left court? Does he still despise her and look to her late rival's child in order to reclaim that which he believes himself to have been denied? She knows from long experience that her father has never been one to let even an imagined slight by - and there is no escaping the truth that he views her actions as the greatest slight of all.
More crunching upon gravel; her head comes up, but she tenses again in hopes that the intruder shall again pass by.
"You are well hidden from where I stand, Majesty - but not from my chambers upon the first floor, I fear."
Mr Cromwell.
Anne looks up to see the black-clad shape beyond the vine-draped trellis, "Perhaps I should have sought refuge in one of the stables."
Smiling, he enters the herber, "I fear so, Majesty. They are, for all their disadvantages, blessed with a roof that can conceal you from above." The smile becomes a frown, "What ails you, Majesty?"
She sighs, "Naught but wishing for that which is past; which serves nothing, and no one. What news of London?" she indicates that he sit upon the bench opposite.
"Nothing good, I fear." He admits as he seats himself, "My Lord of Southampton is dispatching messengers twice a day, as the news warrants it, while the Lord Admiral has taken it upon himself to receive reports from the countryside to add to the Lord President's dispatches."
"They are good men."
He nods, "Very good - for they have remained at their posts even as the plague has closed in upon the town. To do so in the face of such danger is a true and loyal act."
"In which case, I shall ensure that they, or their families should they miscarry, are rewarded for it when all is done - or, if I cannot, then Elizabeth shall know of my request and act upon it."
"I shall ensure that your request is noted." Cromwell reaches for some papers in his ever-present portfolio, "Your brother has written. Her Majesty the Queen continues to progress northwards with her reduced train, and her train is dispensing alms as they do so, while ensuring that there are refuges for those who flee the contagion that shall shelter them - but also keep them apart from nearby towns. I have seen great cruelties inflicted upon those who flee sickness when they look to others for aid - out of fear that they bring the sickness with them."
"Are matters equally poor outside England? Or are the rumours false?"
"It is hard to say, Majesty." He admits, "My sources are unusually silent; which suggests to me that they have more pressing concerns. It is likely that we shall have nothing to fear from foreign powers, for those who are most close to our borders are as afflicted as we."
Anne's eyes widen, "And I take it that such silence glowers over Flanders also?"
He nods.
She tries to smile, "If I know my father, he shall already have fled to better accommodation. He has always been a consummate survivor." The smile falters as her fears come to the fore. In spite of all, the fear that he might die has struck at her heart rather more brutally than she anticipated, and her voice wavers slightly, "He is all that remains of my family other than my brother and sister, Mr Cromwell. Regardless of his behaviour to me, in the face of this crisis, I find myself afraid for him and wish that he were with me."
He regards her kindly, "It is natural for us to wish for the reassurance of our parents when we are endangered, Majesty. Even though my own father was capable of great brutality towards me, when I was at my most desperate - half starved and in rags upon the streets of Florence, the angry words I spoke to him before my departure were forgotten, and I wished that I was with him again." He pauses, and smiles slightly, "Though it was only out of desperation that I thought so, for he showed love to me only rarely, though I think that I regarded it as such when it was instead merely a short cessation of his temper."
"What a pair of malcontents we are, Mr Cromwell." She smiles at him then, "England faces great danger, and we are complaining about our lot in life. Come - walk with me awhile. The sun is warm and the birds know nothing of our problems. Thus I shall share their peaceful ignorance for this afternoon, and let the world encroach upon me again in the morning.
The grooms are busy, leading horses to the stables as Sir John Gage, accompanied by his Steward and a page, makes his way into the house, "Forgive my delay, Mr Cromwell; I wished to ensure that my family were safely ensconced at our Country manor."
Petre arrived yesterday, and has already met with the reduced Council to offer his own view of matters in the countryside. HIs observations are grim, and it looks likely from Gage's face that his own tidings are little better. Sighing, Cromwell nods, "We shall meet after the midday meal. Take the time to refresh yourself from your ride - I shall inform her Majesty that you are here."
"Audley is under a rock somewhere, I think - none have heard from him, while Baker was last seen in Coventry, heading north." His voice is riven with scorn at their apparent cowardice.
"We assumed that they were not interested in joining us."
"You assumed correctly." Gage snorts cheerfully, before turning to follow one of Felton's stewards to his allotted chambers, and addressing him, "Have my page's bedding brought in - I assume there are quarters for the boys?"
Anne is sitting in the largest of the smaller chambers alongside the hall, reading a long letter from her daughter, which has observations of its own, "The news is spreading, Mr Cromwell; even where the sickness has not been seen, people know of it, and are fearful."
"That is inevitable, I fear, Majesty. As those who flee stricken towns make their way through the realm in search of safety, they carry the dread tidings with them; but they are moving in such numbers that the sickness is travelling with them, and thus it has been reported in Cambridge, Ely and Peterborough, as well as Norwich. There are refugees being turned away from Oxford, which has led to some outbreaks of disorder that local militias have put down. The mood of Englishmen is fearful and thus all look to protect themselves as best they may."
She nods, "Should any pass by here, they should be accommodated in the Dower House that we have set aside. I shall not emulate the poltroonery of the Oxford Aldermen."
He nods, though his expression is far from happy. In such times, refugees bring sickness with them - and, regardless of her claims, England would be poorly served by the loss of the Regent while the Queen is still a maid. Her decision is made, however, and thus he shall abide by it, and work with all his will - and skill - to keep her safe.
Dinner is a quiet affair; the conversation subdued at best, as no one can think of anything to say that does not touch upon the danger that England faces. Another message from the Lord President has arrived in Gage's wake to advise that, in spite of their efforts to keep people out, Oxford has also succumbed, and the sickness is reported there.
With little talk to slow down consumption of the victuals, the diners rise within an hour, and are soon gathered again in the makeshift Council chamber.
"Even in the light of the news from Oxford," Cromwell begins, "We must endeavour to look beyond this calamity and consider how we shall respond once the storm abates. We know that - eventually - the sickness always subsides, and thus we must be prepared for fear that there shall be insufficient men to bring in the harvest. Equally, while we are - at present - a poor prospect for invasion, there is the risk that this shall change once the sickness has passed, and thus I am examining the reports from the survey of the ports that was so hastily abandoned by the former Earl of Wiltshire, but continued by my own commissioners. We have sufficient ships to form a naval force, and the Lord Admiral ordered that as many ships as could be spared put to sea as soon as the extent of the plague became clear, in hopes that their separation from the shore might protect the sailors from infection."
"You think an invasion likely?" Sussex asks.
"I suspect not." Cromwell admits, "The Emperor and King Francis remain very much engaged upon one another in their quests to increase their territories at one another's expense. They are most likely to look upon our shores with hungry eyes - but at present they are looking in other directions. It does not, however, do to be unprepared."
There is little else that they can discuss. All that they can do, they have done - and there is nothing much now left but to sit tight, like birds facing a storm, and wait for the tempest to pass.
"Thank you Gentlemen." Anne sighs, "We shall meet again upon the morrow if there is more news. Until then, I shall retire to my apartments and spend some time at prayer for those who are facing this sickness." It is, after all, the only remaining option that is open to her to at least attempt to bring aid to those in need.
They rise as she does, and bow as she departs.
As he gathers his papers, Cromwell turns to see that Rich is staring out of the window, apparently oblivious to the shufflings of his fellow councillors as they make their way back to their own chambers. The Lord Privy Seal has said nothing throughout the discussions, and it could not be more obvious to him that his colleague is becoming ever more frightened at what might lie ahead.
"I cannot help them, Mr Cromwell." He says, eventually, "My wife is with child, and my family are gathered around her - but I am here, and I know nothing of their welfare." He does not add the words and I am afraid. He does not need to - for he is not alone in that fear.
Crossing to stand beside his colleague, he sighs, "We have done all that we can. All that remains for us now is to look to God, and ask Him to look upon us with kindness and mercy. Equally, we must be strong; for England needs us to be."
"I am not strong."
"You remain here though Audley and Baker have fled."
"I was already here - thus that is not a valid assurance." Cromwell turns to see that Rich is smiling slightly, well aware of his faults.
"Then perhaps a few hands of cards shall distract you." He smiles back, rather more cheerfully than the circumstances might suggest, "I am interested to see if you can win when there are no ladies at the table."
The moon is a sliver of a crescent, leaving the gardens below shrouded in darkness. Seated in a windowseat, wrapped in a thick cloak over her night garment, Anne watches over the silent world of the night, lost in thought.
It has been a long time since she last endured such wakefulness, and emerging from her bed without waking Margery as she snored lightly on the truckle at the end of it was something of a challenge; but sleep seems to be an elusive companion tonight, and thus she sits quietly and attempts - vainly - to think of other things.
How many are sick tonight? How many have died? Who of her subjects have fled warm houses to lie under bushes and attempt to sleep in the open? Is Elizabeth safe? Has she kept herself ahead of the spreading contagion? Questions, questions, questions. Endlessly repeating and always without answers.
The oriel window gives her a fine view across the house frontage - a grand half-square of two great wings linked by a single, centre range, while the court is enclosed only by a wall and gatehouse. Once, the entire square would have been made up by ranges of chambers; but Sir James is keen to emulate new building styles, and thus the house is divided into three.
Such is the determination to keep her safe from gossip that all of her councilmen are housed in the opposite wing, and she looks across at the unlit windows with minor envy for the lack of a reciprocal candle to show that any others share her wakefulness. The family have given up their chambers for her, and thus reside in lesser accommodation in the centre range. Her view is too restricted to see if any of the Fenton brood are equally held from the comforting silence of sleep.
There is insufficient light from the tiny moon to illuminate the clock upon the gatehouse, but the small bell within strikes twice. Sighing to herself, she moves from the window and settles into the larger of the chairs, leaning her head against a wing and continuing to fail to put her fears from her mind. God have mercy…how can she ever hope to sleep?
"Majesty."
The word startles her, and she looks up sharply to find that it is daylight, and Margery is standing over her; but her Lady's face is absolutely alabaster white, and her eyes are wide with fear.
"What is it, Madge? What is the time?"
"It is half an hour past five…" Margery's voice is shaking. Nervous now, Anne looks up at her, "What has happened?"
"Mr Cromwell has sent a message across from his chambers." Her hand shaking, Margery clutches a note. That in itself is a warning of what the message shall be, but Anne snatches it fearfully and unfolds it.
Majesty, I fear that our precautions have not spared us. The page who arrived with Sir John yesterday has taken sick. The other pages in the dormitory attempted to rouse him from his bed to commence their duties for the day, only to find that he is stricken with a fever. He has shown other signs of plague, and thus I must ask that you keep from this part of the house at all costs. I have asked that the exits from the Western wing of the house be barred in hopes that the contagion shall be held within. I had thought to use the Dower House to contain those who were sick - but instead I ask that you remove there immediately, and do not permit any to enter once you are there. Lady Fenton has ensured that there are victuals stored there, and all is prepared. Move there without delay, and do not seek to return to the house until the sickness is past. I have ordered that Sir James and Lord Sandys escort you there, as he was quartered in the Gatehouse and thus should not return here.
C
Her eyes widen in horror, "No - I will not do so. I must offer aid! Madge, select a gown, I care not which, I must dress quickly and attend to them!"
"Majesty!" Margery's expression is appalled, "You cannot - England needs you; her Majesty needs you!"
Fenton is in the doorway, his own face shocked, "It is decided, Majesty - you shall remove to the Dower House immediately, while my wife shall remain to care for those who are sick. I shall wait for you to be dressed; while your servants gather those belongings that you require for your immediate comfort."
She stares at him, a little helplessly. He is right - Mr Cromwell is right; but to flee from her Council when they are facing a trial such as this? How can she do so? But she must. He has asked it of her - and she has promised to accept his advice.
"Very well, Sir James. I shall do as advised - but whatever succour I can offer, I demand to be permitted to offer it. Whatever physics can be provided to ease those who are sick, I shall pay for them. Whatever is needed, it shall be at my expense. See to it."
"I shall, Majesty. As soon are you are ready, we shall depart." He turns as one of Sandy's Stewards approaches to report that his master is without, waiting to escort the Regent to her refuge.
Shaking, Anne retreats to her bedchamber, where Margery has selected a simple kirtle of Mary blue and an ivory overgown. They are not entirely meant for one another, but who is going to care at a time like this? Her mind racing with worries, she allows her maids to dress her, before retrieving a cross and a prayerbook and struggling not to give into the anguished tears that threaten to drown her.
She had promised her Lord Treasurer that they would walk together into the valley of the shadow of death. But now she is being forced to flee, and leaving him to make that cruel journey alone.