“You have a morbid fascination with death, sister,” she said trying to drag Pippa away.
“Not everyone can be the paragon of virtue that you claim to be,” answered Pippa saucily, and continued to watch as Mary stopped thrashing about and the crowd lost interest. Constance turned to leave when a commotion to her left caught her attention. She wasn’t sure who was accusing whom of what, but two men were beginning to throw punches, and it was time to get away from Tyburn Hill as quickly as possible. Connie tried to grab Pippa’s hand, but she was nowhere to be seen, and then all hell broke loose with people were screaming, running, and punching anyone who got in their way.
Connie was caught up by the mob and carried away from the gallows, until she lost her footing and fell hard, a large woman stepping on her hand in her desire to escape. She got kicked in the ribs and covered her face with her hands, breathless with panic. A pair of strong arms picked her up, and she was carried out of the melee to a side street where the stranger deposited her carefully on a crate.
“Are you all right, Mistress?” Connie was still shaking with fright, but she tried to compose herself enough to answer her rescuer.
“Thank you, sir. I am most grateful for your assistance. My sister…”
“If you mean the young lady who was with you when the trouble broke out, I saw her running the other way. I am sure she is quite safe.” Connie could have strangled Pippa at that moment, but she had other things to think about. Her hand was bleeding where it had been stepped on, and her ribs hurt from the blow she received. It was a long walk home, and she would have a lot of explaining to do once she got there.
The man took out his lace handkerchief and began to carefully clean her wounded hand, while Connie took the opportunity to study him from under her lashes. He was around twenty-five, with dark blond hair falling to his shoulders, slanted blue eyes and high cheekbones. His goatee hid his lips, but she was pretty sure he was smiling. He was dressed like a gentleman and a fat, tear-drop pearl hung front his left ear, swinging as his head moved. Suddenly he looked up at her.
“Please forgive my lack of manners. My name is Richard Carlisle.” With that he swept off his plumed hat and bowed to Constance.
“Constance Thorne,” Connie replied. She would have curtsied, but her ribs were too badly bruised.
“Mistress Thorne, please allow me to escort you home. My carriage is just in the next street.” Connie was about to protest, but she was too shaken to contemplate going home on her own, and he seemed trustworthy enough, although Tom would berate her for compromising her reputation by getting into the carriage with a strange man. Mr. Carlisle could see her doubts, and he rushed to reassure her. “I will ride with the coachman, so no impropriety can be implied.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s most kind of you.” Connie allowed herself to be escorted to the carriage, and sank down on the cushioned seat gratefully as the carriage began to move toward Blackfriars. She thanked her rescuer again as he escorted her to the door, and walked into the house. Pippa came running out of the parlor looking pale and worried.
“Where have you been? I lost you in the crowd. I was afraid you were hurt.” She saw Connie’s bruised hand and grimace of pain as she sat down on a chair. “Was that a carriage I saw outside?” She ran to the window, but the carriage was already gone.
“I nearly got trampled by the mob, but a gentleman helped me and offered to escort me home. He rode with the coachman,” she added hastily as Tom walked into the room. Since the death of their parents, Tom had become the head of the family, and he took his responsibilities very seriously. He rarely had to worry about Connie, but Pippa was a constant source of concern. Being the youngest, she had always been spoiled by their parents and she grew up to be wayward and reckless. Tom was always worried she would do something to betray their secret, and he was making discreet inquiries among their acquaintances regarding a position for her. They could use the extra income, and working for a respectable family would keep Pippa out of trouble.
“Oh, stop fussing, Tom. Tell me about the gentleman, Connie. Was he handsome? With a carriage like that it almost doesn’t matter,” she giggled. Pippa danced around the room, frustrating poor Tom even further, but Connie just laughed. She was so good-natured that you couldn’t stay angry with her for long.
Chapter 6
Richard sat back in the carriage and looked out the window as he rode toward Whitehall Palace. It was slow going as the wheels kept sinking into deep mud, which was mixed with muck caused by the melting snow. His presence at the hanging had not been accidental and the only reason he saw Constance Thorne fall under the feet of the mob was because he had been watching her. He had spent the past few years working for Secretary Francis Walsingham as an agent in his spy network, and he was stalking his target when the brawl broke out. Most days Richard was proud of what he did, but today wasn’t one of them. He told himself that it was all in the name of Queen and country, but spying on two young girls left him feeling soiled and disenchanted.
The Thornes weren’t actually suspected of anything yet, but Walsingham believed they might lead Richard to bigger fish. The family hid their devotion to popish rituals, and was staunch Catholics. That within itself wasn’t a crime, not yet anyway, but people like that invariably led to people who did more than pray. Many Catholics hid priests coming over from Rome, and secretly financed plots against the Queen, hoping to put Mary, Queen of Scots, on the throne of England instead of Elizabeth; whom they believed to be a bastard and a heretic. These plots were numerous and potentially lethal to the Queen and the perpetrators had to be rooted out and eliminated.
As Richard looked in Constance’s guileless green eyes, he couldn’t believe someone as young and lovely as her would be capable of plotting anything, but he had to do his duty. Helping Mistress Thorne was an opportunity to get closer to the family and see what was afoot. Richard resolved to go visit her tomorrow under the guise of concern for her well-being. He felt like a total cad by the time he stepped out of the carriage and went to report to his superior.
Chapter 7
Connie blew out the candle and climbed into bed, snuggling next to Pippa who was already snoring softly. The room was cold and Connie thought it might snow again tomorrow. Moonlight streamed through the casement window, painting their small bedchamber in shades of blue and silver. Constance was wakeful, and her thoughts kept turning to Richard Carlisle. His hands had been warm and gentle as he held her injured one, and his smile left her feeling vulnerable and confused. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts, Connie thought miserably. I should be married, with at least one child by now.
Constance was weeks away from her wedding to Henry when their mother fell seriously ill. Katherine Thorne never complained, but this time there was no doubt she needed care. Connie begged Henry to understand, and postponed their nuptials until her mother’s recovery. Pippa was only thirteen, and her father and brother were away from the house working all day. Her father was a master mason and Tom was still working as an apprentice on the same building site. Her family needed her. As the winter snows came, Katherine got worse and Connie hardly left the house, spoon-feeding her mother, reading her passages from the Bible and wiping her brow. She hardly noticed when Henry’s visits became less frequent, and she heard news of his marriage to Betty Marlowe the same week she prepared her mother’s body for burial.
The loss of Katherine had been devastating for the family, and Thomas Sr. did his best to care for his children and nurture their Catholic faith in accordance with his late wife’s wishes. He liked to remind them that their mother chose names for them that held special meaning for her, and they owed it to her to make her proud. Constance had been named for her mother’s constant faith in Jesus Christ, the Savior, and his mother, Virgin Mary. Tom was named for Thomas Aquinas whom Katherine greatly admired, and Pippa was named Phillipa after the King of Spain, who would invade England and save her people from the blasphemous beliefs of its heretic Queen.
&nbs
p; It wasn’t long until Thomas Sr. joined his wife in the little cemetery behind their parish church. A large block of stone tumbled down from one of the walls of the house they were building for an important nobleman and crushed his chest. Mercifully, death came quickly, and the Thorne children were left on their own. Not only did they lose both parents within a few months of each other, but they also lost their main source of income, leaving them struggling to make ends meet. Tom informed them over supper that a position had been found for Pippa. She would work as a governess in the household of Hugh Milton, a prominent Catholic, and teach reading and writing to his two daughters, Mary and Anne. Pippa would reside with the Miltons during the week, and come home on Saturday nights in order to spend Sundays with her family. Pippa wasn’t happy with the idea of having to work for a living, but residing in a big house with lots of lovely furnishings and priceless works of art softened the blow just a little. Phillipa was fond of children, and Connie knew she would enjoy spending time with the girls. They were sweet and well-mannered and would no doubt think the world of their pretty young governess.
Connie knew it was necessary for Phillipa to work, but she would miss her little sister. With both Tom and Pippa working, Connie would be alone all day looking after the house and after Tom. What would happen to her once Tom married? She knew he was courting Jane Simm, the butcher’s daughter, and would marry her as soon as their finances permitted him to start a family. Jane would become the mistress, and Constance would just be the unmarried sister-in-law -- and a burden. In the distance, Connie heard the night watchman calling out, “Midnight and all is well.” She sighed and turned away from the window, praying for sleep to come.
Chapter 8
March 2010
I was just cracking the eggs into a bowl to make an omelet for Tristan when I heard the word “Blackfriars” from the living room. I left the bowl on the counter and raced into the other room just in time to catch the latest developments. This time the reporter was in the studio, and she was recounting the details of the “Bones of Blackfriars”, as the case came to be known.
“Today we have Dr. Anthony Downs joining us in the studio. He is one of several forensic experts who worked on the case and he will do his best to clarify this mystery for us. Dr. Downs...” The camera panned to the distinguished looking doctor who looked a little uncomfortable in a television studio. Finally, he got his bearings and began, “After running various tests on the two skeletons, we found that they are not connected to any recent crime. As a matter of fact, they date back to the late sixteenth century.
The adult skeleton is of a young woman, I would say between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one, and she appears to have died from having her neck broken. She was approximately twenty-five weeks pregnant, and the infant died in utero once the mother was dead. Based on the examination of the alcove where the two skeletons were found and the remains of the victim, I think it’s safe to say she was dead before being walled in, since there seem to be no signs of struggle, blood or scratches on the stones that would indicate that she was trying to claw her way out of her tomb. There was hardly anything left of her clothing, but we did find a leather thong with a wooden cross on it.”
“Is there any way to identify who the young woman had been?”
“No, there isn’t. There was nothing on the body that would give any clue as to her identity. There were some scraps of fabric and lace clinging to the bones, but we cannot say more than that they were of good quality. Most likely she was the daughter of the house and not a serving girl, but that’s just an assumption.”
The doctor stopped abruptly and looked back at the reporter, who instantly began to babble. She thanked the doctor for his accurate report, and went on to say that although the house was no longer suspected of being a crime scene, the owners no longer cared to live there and had put it up for sale. A brief shot of the house showed an estate agent’s sign out front, and I jotted down the number before they switched back to the studio. They might not want to live there, but I knew who did.
Chapter 9
March 1586
The sky was just beginning to lighten outside the window when Richard woke up. He wasn’t sure what woke him, but he didn’t mind. He liked the house like this, when it was dark and silent, just before Agnes stealthily made her way downstairs to start her morning routine. He had been dreaming of Constance Thorne and cursed himself for being a fool. He couldn’t afford to get personally involved, no matter how beautiful she was. He didn’t think she was guilty of anything, but that aside, he could hardly permit himself to court a Catholic. His position with Walsingham depended on his loyalty to Queen and the Realm, and keeping company with Catholics wouldn’t gain him any popularity, especially if Edward Norris caught a whiff of the affair.
Norris was another of Walsingham’s agents and hated Richard with an intensity born of religious fervor. He believed every Catholic in the country should be hanged, beheaded, or burned at the stake, and religious tolerance had no place in state politics. Despite his harsh views, he was a favorite of the Queen, and had been given the title of Earl by the grateful Monarch, who also happened to be a distant relation of his. Richard avoided Norris as much as he decently could without arousing suspicion, and secretly pitied his hapless victims.
Walsingham frequently reminded Norris that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth, had said she had no wish to make windows into men’s souls, and their beliefs made no difference to her, as long as they remained loyal subjects to the Crown, but Norris didn’t quite agree. He tortured many an innocent victim, but to Richard’s disgust, Mr. Secretary often covered for him because he got results. He had recently uncovered a plot against Her Majesty’s person, and was still basking in the glow of having her thank him personally for saving her life and protecting the Realm.
Richard’s brooding was interrupted by the creak of the stairs as Agnes crept to the kitchen. He realized he was hungry and hoped she would have breakfast ready soon. Agnes was a lovely lass in her early twenties, and in his lonelier moments Richard wondered what it would be like to wake up next to her warm and willing body. She had been with him for almost five years now, since he first came to London from Yorkshire where his family had their seat for generations. He wasn’t sure how she found out so quickly that he was looking for a servant, but there she was; the day after he moved into his house, looking for work. She stood on the step looking frightened and scrawny, with a squirming bundle wrapped in dirty rags clutched to her meager bosom. Agnes’ husband had been a sailor whose ship went down in a squall somewhere off the coast of Portugal, and Agnes was left with no money and a newborn child. She began looking for work, but most people turned her away because of the babe. Richard was about to do the same, when he saw a pair of round, blue eyes regarding him thoughtfully out of the thin, pale face of the infant.
“Boy or girl?” he inquired.
“Boy, sir. William is his name, after his father. I am willing to work for no wages, sir. Just food and a roof over our heads. We have nowhere to go,” she added desperately. Agnes was shaking with the cold and probably lack of food, and Richard took pity on her. He never regretted his decision. She was a good girl, and the little lad was an added bonus. Richard loved children and came close to being a father himself some years ago. He was fond of the boy, and now that he was five, he took time to teach him his letters and numbers and a few words of Latin. Any education would help him in the future, and Richard meant to give him whatever assistance he could.
Agnes had filled out over the years, and now she was a picture of health with glossy blond curls, rosy cheeks, and creamy breasts spilling over her bodice. Richard was greeted with the sight of her ample bottom as he walked into the kitchen and sat down at the scrubbed wooden table. Agnes straightened up, having picked up the knife she dropped, and bid him good morrow. The kitchen was pleasantly warm, and Richard braced himself for a blast of icy air as John let himself in through the back door and joined him at the table.
They w
ere an informal household, and Richard liked it that way. John Coombs had been his father’s groom, but when Henry sent his son to London, he sent John with him. The boy wanted to see something of the big city and Richard was glad of the company. John slept over the stable, took care of the horses and carriage, and helped Agnes with whatever heavy work needed doing. As of late, Richard was beginning to suspect that an attraction had developed between the two, and if that was the case, he was happy for them. He would not stand in the way of their union.
Agnes put a plate of thickly cut brown bread in front of the two men, a plate of cold meat and a jug of small ale.
“Will you be needing the carriage this morning, sir?” John asked through a mouthful of bread.
“I have a meeting in Whitehall, but I think I’ll walk. I might require the carriage later.” Richard was planning to pay a call on Constance Thorne that afternoon to further his acquaintance. Maybe she would consent to going for a ride. He should probably ask her sister along too, as a chaperone.
William appeared in the doorway looking sleepy and disheveled. He was still in his nightshirt and his mother gave him a disapproving look.
“I had a bad dream,” he said by way of explanation and slid onto the bench, reaching for a slice of bread. Richard tousled his hair and went to get dressed and ready for his day.
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