Richard was not permitted to speak in his own defense. There were no witnesses who could give him an alibi for the time of the murder, or any other possible suspects. The court deliberated for a few minutes and then Robert Wilcox rose to pronounce the verdict.
“Richard Albert Carlisle, you are hereby sentenced to death by beheading for the murder of Sir Edward Norris, Charles Rigg, and Will Saunders. You will be executed a week from today on October 22, 1586. You will be taken from the Tower to the place of execution. May God have mercy on your soul.” With that the judges filed out of the courtroom. Richard was led away as the audience chatted excitedly, praising the wisdom of the judges. Tom walked out into the chilly morning, heading for the nearest ale house. He simply could not face Constance or Jane just yet.
Chapter 62
The morning of October 22nd dawned sunny and bright. The sky was a vast ocean of blue, with not a single cloud to mar its perfection. Crimson and persimmon colored leaves twirled in the light breeze, landing at the feet of the passersby oblivious to the heartbreaking beauty of the golden morning. It was unseasonably warm, and the frost crusting the puddles for the past week was nowhere in sight. Connie stepped outside, followed by Tom. They had argued bitterly for the past week, but today they would present a united front. Tom tried to keep Connie from going to the execution, but she would not hear of it. She would be there for Richard in his final moments even if it caused her unspeakable pain. Tom insisted on going with her, and she was secretly grateful to have him there standing next to her. She wasn’t sure she could do this alone. She could see the forbidding gray towers in the distance, a high wall separating the Tower from the rest of the town, the gates guarded by armor-clad soldiers.
Groups of people were already heading toward the Tower ready for their day’s entertainment. Their laughter cut through Connie’s heart like a knife. Tom pushed his way through the crowd gathered at the bottom of the scaffold, and maneuvered Connie to the front. She wanted Richard to see her one last time. The Tower ravens were cawing with glee and the executioner was already in place, sliding a practiced finger along the edge of the razor-sharp axe. Connie wrapped her arms around herself, more to hold herself together than because of the sudden chill off the river.
Heads turned as the soldiers escorted Richard out of the Tower. He walked by himself, head held high, his stride sure and relaxed as if he was just taking a walk in the autumn sunshine. His composure faltered when his eyes fell on Connie, but then he smiled and mouthed “I love you” to her before walking up the steps to the scaffold. He wore breeches and a clean white shirt opened at the neck, his hair tied back with a leather thong.
The crowd fell quiet as they prepared for the condemned man’s last words. To their extreme disappointment, Richard did not say anything about the murders. He looked at Connie for a long moment before speaking. “Today I die a happy man knowing that God had granted me the greatest gift a man can ask for. I did not get to enjoy it for long, but I will be waiting for you on the other side, my love, have no fear of that. I will wait forever if I must, for I am a patient man. We will be together again in this life or the next.” With that he kneeled in front of the block, laying his head down in submission. The executioner asked for his forgiveness and Richard granted it unreservedly.
Connie closed her eyes as the sunlight glinted off the swinging axe; as a sickening crunch was heard above the roar of the crowd. She opened her eyes, to see the axe man holding up Richard’s head, his eyes still open and staring out over the assembly, blood dripping from his severed neck. Connie felt a roaring in her ears and then the world spun, the ground rushing up to meet her. By the time she came to, the crowd had dispersed and Richard’s butchered body had been carted away. Life went on whether she wanted it to or not.
Chapter 63
October 2010
I wanted to finish the chapter, but my fingers wouldn’t obey, and I took them off the keyboard, covering my face with my hands. I’d seen executions in movies, but this had been completely different. I was shaking violently, tears running down my flushed face, and silent sobs wracking my body. I might have been sitting at the computer, but my soul had been far away. I had been there at the Tower, as Constance watched the man she loved brutally executed. I could still see his eyes as they’d been while he was speaking and then clouded and expressionless in death. He believed that they would meet again in another life and that brought him comfort in his final moments. Little did he know that he had seen the future. I knew now what Adrian meant when he said that he had been waiting for me. He’d been waiting a lot longer than I thought possible.
I looked at my wristwatch. It was just past 3am, but it didn’t matter. I picked up my mobile and dialed. He didn’t sound as if he had been sleeping when he answered the phone.
“I’ll be right over.” He hung up and I put down my phone. I had seen what happened to Richard, but there was still a lot I didn’t know. I paced the room willing him to come quicker. My mind was spinning out of control as I feverishly tried to analyze everything in search of answers. Finally, I heard the screech of tires outside and then the slamming of a car door. Adrian had come and now I would know the truth.
I stood in the doorway as Adrian got out of the car and ran up the path, crushing me in his embrace and drawing me inside. I looked up at him, caressing his face and looking for traces of Richard in his features. I didn’t see any, but then again, I didn’t look like Constance either.
“I know, Adrian. Now I know,” I whispered.
“I was dying to tell you, but I couldn’t. I needed you to see for yourself. You had to figure it out in order to truly believe it. Are you all right? It must have been brutal.”
“It was.” I was still shaking, tracks from dried tears lining my face. “How did you know? I don’t understand.”
Adrian took me by the hand and led me to the sofa, sitting down across from me on the armchair. He just looked at me for a moment before he began.
“I didn’t tell you the whole story in Scotland. It was too soon and honestly, I wanted you to care for me before you knew who I was. I needed to know that your love was for Adrian, and not only for Richard.” He paused for a moment, brushing his hair out of his face.
“When Kitty stepped on that land mine, my life changed forever -- in more ways than one. I woke up in the hospital, screaming and shaking, searching for her, and wanting only to die when I found out she was gone, but then something began to happen. At night, when all I heard around me were the sounds of men in pain, and the low conversation of doctors, I began to have visions. I kept seeing images of this woman with green eyes and chestnut curls, dressed in the clothes of a sixteenth century courtier. She was so beautiful that I was blinded by her, overcome with emotions I didn’t understand. I was supposed to be grieving my fiancée, and instead I was longing for this woman I’d never met. With every night, the visions became clearer and more detailed. I could see London as it had been then, and I seemed to be seeing things through the eyes of someone called Richard Carlisle.
I thought I was losing my mind. The only logical explanation was that I either suffered brain damage during the explosion, or I was having some reaction to the pain medication they were giving me. They didn’t have the equipment to do a CAT scan, but they stopped the medication to see if the visions would go away. I was willing to stand the pain, just to be rid of these nightly excursions. They didn’t stop. They became more and more detailed, and there was a whole cast of characters that seemed strangely familiar. I seemed to know more about Elizabethan politics than I ever thought possible, and I looked things up online to check the accuracy of my assumptions.
When I was well enough to travel, I flew back to London to visit my family and have a few tests. Everything came back normal, and there seemed to be no explanation for what was happening to me. I threw myself back into my work, thinking it was just a sideeffect of grief. The night I saw my own execution, I was shaking, my teeth rattling in my head, thinking I was really a
bout to die. It was the most real thing I had ever experienced despite being surrounded by death. Time went on and I eventually became reconciled to these “memories”. I had no choice but to live with them.
Things would have gone on like that if it wasn’t for my granddad summoning me home this past January. I was reluctant to take over the business, but felt like I had no choice. I owed him that much, and frankly I’d seen enough warfare and suffering to last me several lifetimes. My grandfather prepared a whole presentation for me, complete with annual reports, marketing strategies, and a list of our most prominent writers.
I saw your picture on the back of a book jacket and my heart nearly stopped. I knew you were Constance, even before I saw you wearing that locket. I don’t know how I knew -- I just did. My soul recognized you. I had no idea what to do and if I should do anything, when one day I was driving to the office and the road was closed off. The officer was directing traffic down Carter Lane and I passed this house. I knew it right away and that’s when it came to me. I thought that if I could somehow jog your memory, maybe you would remember too. It didn’t seem right somehow that I was burdened with this knowledge, but couldn’t do anything about it.
I bought the house from the present owners, offering them much more than they could ever hope to get and ordered the work on the kitchen. I hoped that if you saw the news story on TV you would remember, and you did. I sat in my car by that house for over twenty-four hours until I saw you coming. I knew then that something had been triggered in your mind, and put the house on the market, hoping you would take the bait. You did and here we are.”
“But why were you such a prick to me when we met, and who were the people I bought the house from?” I didn’t really care about the minor details, but I was curious.
“When I saw you walking into my office, wearing that locket, I got so nervous I thought my heart would fly out of my chest. I didn’t mean to be so rude, but I honestly had no idea what I was saying. I just wanted an excuse to come and see you and that just popped out. I nearly kicked myself after you left. I thought I might have ruined my chances with you forever. As to the people who sold you the house, they were the original owners. I talked them into playing the part. They didn’t mind doing it for a little extra cash.”
I got up off the sofa and sat down in Adrian’s lap, putting my arms around his neck. “I still can’t believe it’s you and that we’ve found each other after all this time.”
“Don’t you remember what I said? I promised that we would be reunited in the next life. Maybe this is the first time that we have actually lived in the same place at the same time. There is actually something that has been tormenting me all these years.”
“What?” I asked feeling apprehensive.
“I know only what happened up to my execution. I never knew what happened to Constance or our child, or how Tom and Jane fared in those dangerous times. I know they’re all long dead anyway, but I need to know.”
“I can tell you about Tom, but I haven’t seen what happened to Constance yet. Tom apparently became a master mason and was credited with building St. Ann’s Church right here in Carter Lane. It was destroyed in the Great Fire of London in 1666, but it seems that he was successful and probably well off. I’ve yet to see what happened to Connie after your death.”
“You look exhausted. Let’s get some sleep and then there is somewhere we need to visit.” Adrian didn’t have to tell me twice. I felt drained, and I fell asleep in his arms after he tenderly made love to me in the pearly light of the coming dawn.
Chapter 64
The Beefeaters were just opening the gates to the public and taking their places as Adrian and I approached the Tower of London. The sky overhead was a brilliant blue, and the October morning was chilly, a brisk wind blowing off the Thames. Leaves in various shades of gold and orange swirled at our feet as we walked down the cobblestone path through the gates, looking up at the gray towers, still looking grim after all these years. We were overtaken by a group of Japanese tourists, their guide waving a yellow umbrella and talking rapidly, as the enraptured people snapped photographs furiously, as if the Tower would suddenly disappear if they didn’t capture it quickly enough.
Adrian and I exchanged an amused glance and continued on our way. We didn’t bother going into the torture chambers or the church located in the courtyard of the Tower. We weren’t interested in the crown jewels either. Adrian stopped and looked around for a moment, before taking my hand and pulling me along to the center of the courtyard. The still green grass was littered with fallen leaves, and there was a plaque nearby commemorating the execution of Anne Boleyn. Adrian found the spot he was looking for and got down on one knee, pulling out a black velvet box.
“Cassandra, I lost my life in this place exactly four hundred and twenty four years ago, almost to the day. Before I died, I promised to love you forever and find you in the next life. I promise the same thing today, as I ask you to marry me and wait for my life to begin. Will you be my wife?”
“I will. Forever.”
Adrian slipped the ring on my finger and drew me to him, kissing me passionately to the approval of the tower ravens that were cawing in delight, and the Japanese tourists who were still snapping pictures.
Epilogue
The midwife wiped the sweat from Connie’s brow and smoothed away a strand of hair that was plastered to her forehead. “It won’t be long now, my dear. It won’t be long.” Rosy shafts of light were beginning to paint the room pink as another day dawned over London. Connie could hear birds chirping in the tree outside, and wished that she could open the window and take a breath of the fresh May air. The room was stuffy and overheated with a stifling fire still burning in the grate. Connie was drenched in sweat, her shift stuck to her heaving body. She had been laboring since the previous afternoon and she was exhausted and scared. Another contraction caught her in its grip, and she forgot everything except the unbearable pain that left her breathless and trembling.
“’Tis time to push now,” said the midwife. “Your babe is ready to come out.” The midwife came around and pressed on her stomach as Connie pushed with all her might. She fell back on the pillows, shaking with the effort.
“Again.”
Connie took a deep breath and pushed again and again, until she felt the child slither out between her legs. The midwife pulled the squirming, bloody infant from Connie’s body and cleaned out its nose and mouth, the room erupting in a furious howl of outrage from the baby.
“A lusty lad, Constance,” the midwife announced, beaming as she placed the wrapped bundle into Connie’s arm. “What will you be calling him?”
“Richard. Richard Carlisle after his father.”
“A fine name.”
Connie looked into the face of her newborn son. He was pink and wrinkled with blond fuzz covering his tiny head, but his eyes were bright and blue, and they stared at her with frightening intensity. They looked like Richard’s eyes and Connie kissed the wrinkled forehead and caressed the soft cheek, welcoming Richard’s son into the world.
The door opened slowly and Jane’s anxious face appeared. “May I come in?” She walked softly into the room holding baby Katherine on her shoulder. Jane’s baby was born the week before and named after Connie and Tom’s mother. Jane sat down on the bed next to Connie, smiling and offering congratulations as Tom came in to see his nephew.
“What now, Connie?” Tom asked as he gently touched the baby’s hand.
Connie knew what he was referring to. A few weeks after Richard’s death, Walsingham came to see her after she refused his summons to an interview at the Palace. Connie did not care to speak with him, but she didn’t turn the old man away. He could be a formidable enemy and she couldn’t take the risk of offending him. Walsingham asked to sit down and for Connie to close the door. She remained standing as she heard him out.
“Mistress Carlisle, I realize that you think I have failed both you and Richard, but truly there was nothing I could do to sa
ve your husband. Her Majesty was in no mood to be reasoned with at the time, and I value my head, despite it being old and gray. I did go to see Richard after the trial and I made him a promise that I would see you safe. If you wish to leave England, I will provide you with documents for your passage, and find a suitable arrangement for you abroad. I have allies in Paris who could find you a noble family to stay with, where you can raise your child in safety and practice your religion freely. The situation in England is not about to improve for Catholics, so think carefully on my offer. Should you choose to remain in England, I will ensure that you and your brother’s family are not harassed for as long as I am Secretary, which might not be much longer considering the state of my health. Please let me know what you decide.”
Walsingham rose with some difficulty, and Connie showed him to the door, then related the offer to Tom and Jane. Jane urged her to stay, but Tom thought she might be safer in France. Connie made him a promise that she would not make a final decision until the child was born. She would know then.
That February, the world watched as Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, was executed for treason. She was tried by a special committee who did not allow her to see the evidence against her, or provide her own defense. She was sentenced to death by beheading, but Elizabeth agonized about signing her death warrant, putting off the inevitable. She changed her mind and changed it again, until she finally signed it in a moment of passion. Walsingham gave the order to execute Mary before the Queen could change her mind again, and the sentence was carried out the following day. Mary stripped down to a petticoat and sleeves of crimson, the color of martyrdom, defiant to the last. As the axe man lifted the dead Queen’s head by the hair --not realizing it was a wig -- the queen’s head slipped out and rolled across the scaffold to the horror of the observers, her little dog licking its mistress’s face. It wasn’t a dignified end, but the threat of Mary was over.
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