The Sumerton Women

by D. L. Bogdan

  She drew in a breath. “Your father was a strong man, Kristina,” she told her. “And he lived through an apoplexy when first we ... married.” She swallowed at the word, wondering what Grace’s presence now meant for her marriage and the legitimacy of her children. She sighed. She would deal with that as it came. She went on. “He regained his speech and the use of his limbs. But this second apoplexy ... it was too much for him to bear at his age.”

  “It was Mirabella, wasn’t it?” Kristina’s voice was low.

  Cecily started, recalling the scene, Mirabella’s frenzied eyes and Grace’s shamed countenance. Was it? Could she blame Mirabella or was this apoplexy a long time coming?

  “Why do you say that, child?” Cecily prodded in gentle tones.

  “I am not a fool,” she told her. “I see how Mirabella is—so ... angry. She thinks no one notices. She’s a high-minded wench half the time, always wanting us to see things as she sees them. If we disagree, we are wrong. Isn’t that so?” She did not wait for an answer. “And I saw Mirabella heading for his apartments that day; she looked taken by the devil himself. I know she had something to do with it; you will not tell me different!”

  “I will not try,” Cecily said, giving her daughter a reassuring squeeze. “I do not know what forces work for and against us, Kristina. I can tell you it is God’s will and expect you to be satisfied with that ... but I would be a hypocrite.” She swallowed a sob. “It is hard for me to accept how life has turned out, hard for me to credit God for all of it when we have made our own mistakes and now must live with the consequence, not only to ourselves but to the innocent as well.” A vision of Emmy swirled before her mind’s eye. She bit her lip and shook her head. “At times, Kristina, I have acted out of my own self-interest and have made others suffer for it. Mirabella has done the same. Both of us will live with our sins the rest of our lives. The one thing I know for certain is that God will hold us accountable in His time.”

  “Oh, my lady, I cannot see you ever doing anything wrong,” Kristina assured her as she nuzzled against Cecily’s shoulder. “Not out of meanness like Mirabella. You may be selfish at times, but everyone is. And you are sorry. That is all God asks.”

  Cecily smiled. “If it were that simple ...” She wiped a tear that had strayed onto her cheek. “But I see that Father Alec has instructed you well.”

  “He is a good man, my lady,” Kristina said. She sighed. “I suppose he will marry you now and take care of us since we’ve no one.”

  Cecily’s heart pounded in her chest. “My darling, whatever would make you say such a thing? He is a priest.”

  Kristina shrugged. “He loves you,” she said simply. “And he needs you more than he needs to be a priest.”

  “It is not possible,” Cecily said, flustered. “And we must not speak of it. We are in mourning for your father. We will be taken care of, no matter what happens.”

  As she said the words she knew what her next course of action must be.

  It was time to confront Lady Grace.

  Cecily found Grace housed in a suite of apartments reserved for guests. She had not made an appearance since Hal’s death two days before; no one save Cecily, Mirabella, and Father Alec was aware of her existence.

  Now she sat before a small fire, clad in homespun, her hair, more white than blond now, arranged in a braid over her shoulder, looking every bit the opposite of a countess.

  When she saw Cecily she rose and dipped into a curtsy.

  Cecily waved for her to sit, taking a chair opposite her.

  “I do not know where to begin,” Cecily confessed as she gazed upon her. “I want to know everything.”

  Grace averted her head a long moment, taking in a quavering breath before starting. “Every dream I had was with Brey. Hal and I, we had no marriage. There was too much hurt; we could not be salvaged. Brey’s death drove home that fact. We would have made each other miserable and the cycle of pain would never have ended. I saw how far gone I was. I wanted to end my life. I tried to ... only to wash up down the Thames.” She offered a wry smile. “I could not even kill myself right.”

  Cecily shook her head, her gut churning in disgust.

  “I saw that it was my chance to begin anew,” Grace went on. “I began to make my way back to Sumerton; I wanted to be in a land familiar to me and near all of you, that I might monitor everyone’s progress. In the forest resided an old woman versed in herbs and white magic. She took me in and taught me her ways. I gave up the spirits. I took care of myself. The life of simplicity suited me far more, I realized, than the one of luxury that I once believed I craved more than anything. Not only did I have a new life, but I felt I was a new person, a better person.”

  “I am glad that you underwent such a transformation,” said Cecily. “But you must know what this means. You are still Hal’s wife; you are entitled to all this.”

  “I know that. Do you not think if I desired it I would have made my presence known long ago, before you ever married him and began a life together?” Grace shook her head. “You have no need to fear me, Cecily. I will not deprive you or your children of your rightful inheritance. Harry will remain Hal’s legitimate heir.” She bowed her head, sighing. “Mirabella underestimated the course of events that her hatred set into motion. She will be haunted by her choices, mark my words.”

  “And you?” Cecily asked. “What will you do?”

  “I will return to the forest. I only ask that now that you know of me, you will see me now and again. That you will be my friend.”

  Cecily hesitated, choosing her words with care. “I cannot say I condone any of your actions,” she confessed. “But we neither of us are innocent women and have to answer for our own sins. I am relieved to see you well; I appreciate the hardship you have known before making this choice and the hardship you have known since; it could not have been easy watching our lives progress and not taking part. But I am glad that you found yourself,” she added. “And I will be your friend. More than that, I will see that you are granted an annuity as such that will see you through the rest of your days.”

  “It is not necessary,” Grace told her.

  Cecily leaned forward, taking the older woman’s hand. “But it is right.”

  Grace dissolved into tears, clutching Cecily’s hands in hers. “You are a good woman, Cecily. I am proud of you.”

  Cecily’s lips quivered as she took her in her arms.

  Despite the conflicting emotions and the tragedy, it was a good reunion.

  Father Alec tried to quell his rising sense of dread. After all, what more could happen at Sumerton? How much worse could it get? He would leave. After he saw that Cecily’s affairs—the irony of the term was not lost on him—were put in order, he would return to London, Cranmer’s summons or not.

  He had ruined Cecily’s life and incurred Mirabella’s vengeance. Despite Hal’s touching display of forgiveness, he could not stay on. It was no longer proper. More than that, it was not right. He would go; what Cecily gave him was enough to sustain him the rest of his days. It had to be.

  The day Hal was to be interred in the family mausoleum, Father Alec went to his apartments that he might don the proper attire for the service. What he found made him gasp.

  The apartments had been ransacked. His possessions were thrown about everywhere; furniture was turned over, papers were strewn about. Father Alec shook his head. Whoever had been here was looking for something. He immediately went to his trunk with the false bottom where he kept his secret writings. Heart pounding, he lifted the bottom.

  Gone.

  Father Alec sat back on his haunches, his breathing shallow. Beads of perspiration gathered at his temples; his face tingled. Everything he had recorded, all of his thoughts and meditations that could be his death sentence, was gone.

  He rose. There was no time to investigate. He would do what he could after the interment.

  There was nothing to be done but to head to the mausoleum.

  When he arrived Ceci
ly reached him, her eyes wide with panic as she clutched his upper arm. “Mirabella is gone,” she whispered. “We cannot find her anywhere. The house has been searched, the stables—everywhere. Oh, how could she miss her own father’s interment?”

  “I am afraid it is more than that,” Father Alec returned. “My apartments have been turned upside down, my personal papers stolen.”

  “Oh, God, no... .” Cecily’s hand flew to her mouth. “Not even she would—”

  “Now is not the time,” he told her. “We will commence with the ceremony.”

  Cecily nodded and returned to the children as he began the service. After celebrating the requiem mass, Father Alec spoke.

  “Today we commend Harold Pierce, Lord Sumerton, to our Heavenly Father,” he said. “He was a husband, a father, a friend ... my friend. He gave me charge over two generations of his children, and all the while as I instructed them it was he who was doing the teaching.” His voice caught. “Lord Hal taught me what it is to be a family, a family who see each other through tragedy and triumph. His life serves as an example of what a Christian man should be, not because it was void of sin but because of how he handled it—both his sin and those who sinned against him. Unlike so many, Lord Hal lived by the true meaning of the words ‘forgive, that thou might be forgiven.’ ” He shook his head in wonder. “As a priest I celebrate his entrance into Heaven. But as a man, I shall miss his friendship and guidance more than he could know.” He paused a long moment, raising his eyes. Against his will they found Cecily. She stood, head bowed, tears glistening against her fair cheeks. The children were at her sides, all but baby Emmy, who remained in the nursery, protected by her innocence. Harry sobbed openly. Kristina kept her pain internal and looked on with a dignity beyond her years.

  He collected himself and commenced with the funeral mass and Hal was put to his eternal rest beside Brey.

  Good-bye again. How many more good-byes were they expected to endure?

  As the procession made their way from the mausoleum to Castle Sumerton, they were met by Sheriff William Camden and two guards. Mirabella was beside them.

  Cecily gripped Harry’s and Kristina’s hands as Sheriff Camden approached Father Alec. She shook her head, a scream trapped in her throat.

  “We come to detain you in the name of His Majesty, King Henry VIII, on suspicion of heresy,” the sheriff announced in a tone that suggested his perverse sense of pleasure at carrying out his duties.

  Father Alec met Mirabella’s eyes. Mirabella had the grace to bow her head.

  Cecily rushed forward, laying a hand on the armored wrist of Sheriff Camden. “You come here in the middle of my husband’s funeral to take away the officiant? How dare you?”

  Sheriff Camden withdrew his arm. “You have my deepest condolences, my lady; however, justice cannot wait. It is best you do not fight this, else you implicate yourself as a heretic as well.”

  “It is all right,” Father Alec said, directing his gaze at Cecily. “I will go in peace. Blessings to you all and not to worry. God’s will be done.”

  With this the guards seized his arms, escorting him from the gathering. Mirabella began to follow the sheriff, but Cecily caught up to her, holding her fast by the upper arm.

  “Does your hatred know no bounds?” she seethed.

  “Unhand me.” Mirabella’s tone was cool. “I am beholden to you no longer.”

  “I see that,” Cecily said, but did not free her. “I see you are beholden to none but your own thirst for revenge. Does not the verse ‘Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord’ mean anything to you? Or have you so completely abandoned your religious convictions?”

  Mirabella struggled against Cecily’s talonlike grip in vain.

  “Perhaps I have,” Mirabella confessed, her tone almost giddy. Her lips curved into a sneer. “I see how much good they have done the rest of the residents of Sumerton.”

  “It is not about faith at all with you, Mirabella,” Cecily told her, pulling her closer. “It is about not getting what you want. It has always been about that. What has seized you is as old as Eden itself: jealousy.”

  “Jealousy? Over what? Your sin?” Mirabella returned. She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “Have you no shame, Cecily? He was a man of God and you brought him down like a common whore—”

  “It is you who will bring him down!” Cecily hissed. “You will condemn him, possibly to death, and for what? To ensure he will not sin again? Tell me! For what?”

  “I loved him!” Mirabella cried, at last freeing herself from Cecily’s grasp.

  Cecily was taken aback. Her eyes widened in horror. “If this is how you punish those you love, I sorely fear for those you hate.”

  Mirabella shook her head, turning on her heel to rejoin the entourage.

  “Where are we going, my lady?” Harry asked.

  Cecily had ordered the carriage and was making ready in her apartments. The funeral guests, a-thrill with gossip over the latest happenings, ate their fill in her great hall.

  “You must stay behind,” Cecily told her son. “You will guard the castle for me like a shining knight. You are my shining knight, are you not?”

  Harry offered a proud nod.

  “Care for your sisters in my absence,” she went on, though she had instructed Nurse Matilda to care for all the children. “Comfort them in their grief, especially Kristina. She loved her father well.”

  “Did you, my lady?” Harry returned.

  Cecily was struck. “You know that I did. How could you ask that?”

  Harry shrugged. “I never doubted it ... it’s just that lately, before he died, you looked at him with sad eyes.”

  Cecily blinked back tears, images of her husband, so shocked and saddened when last she saw him, swirling before her mind’s eye. “Life is complicated, Harry. When you become a man, you will see.” She wrapped herself in the warm otter fur–lined cloak. The sky was gray; she did not doubt it would snow soon. “I am removing to London to appeal for Father Alec.”

  “But if he is a heretic, surely you cannot!” Harry said, his blue eyes wide with fear.

  “Harry, he has been your beloved tutor!” Cecily cried. “Do you think your father would ever engage a heretic for a tutor?”

  Harry shook his head. “But Mirabella says that heretics hide everywhere and are even sometimes people we love,” he explained. “She said it is our duty to preserve the True Faith by exposing them.”

  “Harry, I do not want to hurt you by disclosing your sister’s nature to you,” Cecily began. “But you must not listen to her, at least not in this. She has been much disappointed in life and bitterness has poisoned her heart. Keep in mind, also, that her ‘True Faith’ is also now considered heretical.”

  Harry bowed his head, expelling a sigh that betrayed his confusion. “Sometimes I do not know what to believe,” he confessed.

  Cecily took the boy in her arms, holding him close. She swayed from side to side. “When you are a man, you will decide for yourself in a land that will hopefully let you choose. Till then, we can only all of us do as we are bid by His Majesty, else we shall never know a day of peace.” She pulled away, stroking his blond curls from his forehead. So like Brey ... “Be brave, lad. We will endure to see better times. What makes men heretics are all matters of doctrine, technicalities. But if you have faith in God, He will know you are of a sincere heart and will see you through. That is what matters most.”

  Harry offered a solemn nod. “I will be brave, my lady,” he assured her. “And I will care for the girls.”

  “There’s my good lad,” Cecily said, ruffling his hair one last time as she pulled away.

  “My lady.” Harry seized her hand, pressing it to his lips. He raised his eyes to her. “Be brave as well.”

  Cecily swallowed an onset of tears as she squeezed his hand.

  She must be brave. For herself, for her children, and for Father Alec.

  20

  Cecily went straight to Lambeth Palace, not botheri
ng to stop at her home on the Strand to refresh herself. There was no time. She requested a private audience with Archbishop Cranmer and was shown to his presence chamber. She could not sit, nor sip the sweet wine offered her. She could only pace and wring her hands in agony. It was all too much—Hal’s death, Mirabella’s betrayal, Father Alec’s arrest. She could not wrap her mind around any of it. There was no time to digest the shock, no time to grieve.

  “What is troubling you, my dear?”

  Cecily raised her eyes. She had not even seen the archbishop enter. He stood there, the picture of serenity and gentleness, his languid brown eyes filled with compassion.

  The sincerity of his tone brought tears to her eyes and she dipped into her lowest curtsy, taking his hand to kiss his ring.

  “Your Grace,” she began. “I am Cecily Pierce, Countess of Sumerton.”

  Cranmer held on to her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Sumerton, you say? I know of it well. Father Alec Cahill spoke so highly of it. How does he fare?”

  Cecily bowed her head. “Oh, Your Grace, I fear he has come to harm. He has been betrayed in the cruelest of ways, his private papers confiscated and turned against him.” She met his eyes. “He is now imprisoned, suspected of heresy. I come to you to appeal for his life. I—I did not know where to turn.”

  Cranmer’s mouth was set in a grim line. “This is very serious,” he said. “Many have perished in the fires at Smithfield for heresy. Oh, my dear friend ...” His eyes grew distant. “I thought he’d be safe there... .” He shook his head. “I will see to it that the matter is adjourned to me personally.”

  Cecily’s eyes lit with hope.

  “He will not be freed,” Cranmer said, raising his hand as if to sustain her blind optimism. “But I will see that he is detained until I can review the evidence myself, that we might spare his life. There are changes on the wind, my lady. There may be hope for our friend yet.”