When the Heavens Fall

by Gilbert, Morris

“She’s a woman who thinks she’s found love for the first time in her life,” Heather said. “She’s how old now? Thirty-eight? Thirty-nine? And as far as I can tell, she’s never had a romance. A woman’s heart is a tender thing.”

  “I fear you are right,” Stuart said. “Her father used her as a pawn, hoping to marry her to this duke or that king or some other prince, and most of them young enough to be her sons or old enough to be her grandfather. She’s never had a romance, and now she thinks she’s found it.”

  “What do you think of Philip? You’ve met him, haven’t you, Brother?” Quentin asked

  “Just once briefly, and some years ago. It’s difficult to tell. He’s one of those men who hide everything behind an agreeable smile. And now the people are in an uproar.”

  “As far as Dover,” Brandon put in, “people are saying nasty things. They claim that Spaniards are thieves, a natural enemy of the British, that there are more Spanish than English in the streets of London. England for the English is what they cry.”

  “Even in London,” Stuart said, “children shout insults as the royals go through the street and even throw stones at them.”

  “What was Mary thinking?” Heather shook her head. “She must have wanted a husband dreadfully.”

  “So she did, and I believe she still harbors the dream of having children,” Stuart said

  “She’s far too old for that,” Heather said

  “It’s possible.” Quentin shrugged his shoulders and gave Heather a direct look. “Women in their forties in my flock routinely give birth. And it would give England an heir who would be entirely Catholic. If that occurs, the current uproar will seem like nothing in comparison with what is to come.”

  “I don’t know what’s to be done,” Stuart said. “But I want to ask you to do something, and please don’t say no.”

  “I will do anything I can for you, my brother, of course. Now, what is it?”

  “I’d like you to take a holiday, go on an excursion. There is some Stoneybrook business that I hoped you would resolve for me.”

  “A holiday?” Suddenly Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “You want to get me out of the country until this matter of burning of parsons and Protestants is over.”

  “Yes, I do,” Stuart said adamantly. “Go to Ireland or the Low Countries. You’ve been working hard all your life. It wouldn’t hurt you to take a year’s absence.”

  “I’m not sure a year would do it, Stuart, but in any case, I can’t go. You already know that.”

  “You must, Uncle,” Brandon said. “Men—and women—are being arrested everywhere. Most of them are ministers of the new religion.”

  “They’re called protestants now,” Quentin said. “But I cannot flee. I must stay here and do what I can to help others during these trying times.”

  “Think, Brother. Think!” Stuart said. “Mary is far too aware of your affiliation with the protestants. I can only believe that she has spared you so far because of our family’s long-term friendship with her. I think your four who were executed was a warning shot. She will not keep her dogs on a leash for long.”

  “I am aware of the danger. I choose to place my life in the hands of God.”

  Brandon leaned forward, his head in his hands. “Uncle, those people yesterday placed their lives in the hands of God.”

  “Yes, they did.” He smiled. His eyes had a far-off look in them

  “It’s so dangerous, Quentin,” Heather tried. “Please, do what Stuart has asked.”

  Quentin’s smile faded. “I appreciate your concern. But you all must think back. Think back to when Stuart was smuggling bibles into England for William Tyndale. Even Father and Uncle Edmund took part. You, Heather, endured the intrigue and danger then. Did we falter? Did we fail our God then?”

  “No, we did not.” All eyes turned to Claiborn, who had remained silent until now. “We believed in what you were doing, Stuart, as God’s will, just as I believe Quentin is now under his will.”

  The argument went on for some time, but in the end, as they feared, Quentin refused to even consider a retreat

  Stuart and Heather saw the men to the door

  “Brandon, you could stay the night,” Heather suggested

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I came. In the end I was of no use.”

  “No use?” Quentin said. He looked up at his nephew. “You gave me strength, man, standing beside me.”

  “But I came for you, to help you, Uncle. If all this did nothing to spare your life—”

  “Our lives are not our own,” Quentin said, looking about at the three of them. “How many times must I say this? And you, Brandon, your very presence brings me succor.”

  “I—Forgive me, Mother, Father. Obviously I have brought you pain.”

  “It is good to see you, Son,” Stuart said. “Your mother and I wish to see you whenever possible, for whatever reason. Please, will you not stay the night? Resume your journey in the morning?”

  Brandon shook his head. “I must be off.”

  “God be with you,” Quentin said. “God be with us all.”

  Winter fell across England like an iron curtain. The skies were iron gray, and snowflakes as large as shillings shook loose from the clouds and covered the countryside in white. It made a beautiful scene, but it also made life difficult, especially for the poor. With no money to buy fuel, many foraged for anything that would burn

  The weather seemed to cast a deeper chill within Brandon. Lupa had known something was wrong with him ever since he had come back from his visit to his family. She suspected that the executions that took place daily intensified his fears. She had tried to talk to him about these moods, but he had simply refused to discuss the subject. She watched him now as he walked along a path that led to the open fields

  Rez was standing to one side by the fire, warming himself. “He’s not himself, is he, Lupa?”

  “He’s shut tight and won’t say a word.”

  Rez was gloomy too, for he hated the winter weather. “We ought to leave this place. We could go to Spain. It’s sunny there most of the time. And business might be better.”

  “Yes, they’re always so kind to gypsies in Spain, aren’t they,” Lupa said sarcastically. “No, I can’t leave here. But you could go, Rez.”

  “I couldn’t make it now without you and Brandon.”

  His words found a refrain in Lupa. She leaned closer to the window. The snow was at least eight inches deep and even deeper in drifts. Brandon was looking down and paying no attention to any of the activities that were going on around him. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. I’d like to get him to go with us somewhere. Somewhere where gypsies aren’t hated.”

  “I’d like to know where that is,” Rez said, with a short, bitter laugh. “Heaven maybe. You think gypsies have a standing in heaven?”

  Lupa managed a small grin. “You don’t have to worry about that. You’ll never see heaven.”

  “Me? Well, why not? I’m as good as some of those popes that go there.”

  Lupa shrugged and turned back to stare blankly out the window

  Finally Rez asked, “What are we going to do? He don’t care about gambling no more. He just does it enough to see that we have cash.”

  “I don’t know, Rez. I thought I could make any man forget his troubles, but he’s different from other men.”

  “He’s a deep one, he is. I didn’t think so at first. Seemed right shallow. But now you can see he’s wrestling with something deep inside. Think it’s that uncle of his?” Rez came over and joined her at the window. “Look at him. He’s all stooped over like he’s got the world on his shoulders. Worried, he is. You can see it on him like a blanket.”

  Lupa did not answer, but she knew this was the truth. “I’ll fix us something to eat.”

  “That’s right. Maybe some meat in his belly will help him.”

  Lupa was a good cook, and by the time Brandon came in, she had the meal ready to put before him. “Look, fres
h beef, and I made you an eel pie. You always like that.”

  “It sounds good,” Brandon said

  His voice was cheerful, and he had a smile, but Lupa saw that it did not go all the way to his eyes. “Sit down here,” she said

  “All right. Where’s Rez?”

  “Out trying to find our next game, I suppose.”

  “You ever think about God, Lupa?” Brandon asked abruptly

  She hesitated. “I try not to.”

  “Would you be afraid to die?”

  “Of course I would. Only a fool’s unafraid of death.”

  For a time Brandon was silent. He cut up his meat into small pieces but merely picked at his food. Lupa didn’t comment, knowing there was no sense in urging him to eat. She desperately searched her mind for some way to give him comfort. All she had was physical love, and he already had that. He was the only man she ever saw who seemed to want more from her, but she did not know how to give it, and now she simply waited. To her relief he began to speak

  “I was never afraid on the battlefield, men falling all about me, but for some reason it never occurred to me that I might die there—or if it did, it didn’t matter. But while I was visiting my uncle, I went to one of the burnings at Smithfield. They burned four people, one of them an old woman.”

  “I hear they are burning even children now.”

  A savage look crossed Brandon Winslow’s face. “I’d like to take them apart, those that are responsible.”

  “You’d have to take the queen apart, then. It’s her and that Spanish husband of hers who are behind it all. You can’t fight them, Brandon.”

  Brandon did not answer. He picked up a mug of ale, took a swallow, and then put it down. “I suppose that’s true. I think I’ll go visit my parents again. Would you want to go?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “It might be a change for you. Pretty grim in this place.”

  “They might not want to see me.”

  “They’ll be glad enough. I’m the one they probably don’t want to see. It’s not you who’s failed them, Lupa. It’s me.”

  She leaned back in her chair and studied him. “Yes, I’ll go with you.” Better to be beside him than to sit back here, waiting and wondering if he would ever return to her again

  December brought a break in the bitter-cold weather. By the time Brandon and Lupa arrived at Stoneybrook, much of the snow had melted. It left the roads a soft, gooey mud, which made it hard on the horses. They arrived at Stoneybrook late in the afternoon, and at once, as they dismounted, James Campbell, the head groom, came up to them with a smile. Campbell was a short, muscular man in his midforties. He had black hair without a gray hair in it and sharp, dark eyes. He was always glad to see Brandon, for the two had been companions in poaching. Campbell’s eyes lit up as he said, “Well, now, Master Brandon, a pleasure it is to see you, sir. And you, too, my lady.”

  Lupa obviously liked ‘my lady.’ “Thank you.”

  “Is my father at home?” Brandon asked

  “That he is, sir. Let me take the horses. I’ll groom them and see that they get a good feed. You go on in to meet your family.” He turned to the horses, and then a sorrowful expression crossed his features. “I’m worried about your uncle. I’m afraid he’s in for trouble.”

  “You mean because of his religious stand?”

  “That’s what it is. There were eight burnings right over in Canterbury yesterday. All of them were preachers. If you can, talk to you father about getting Master Quentin away from here.”

  “I’ll do my best, but you know how stubborn he can be sometimes, James.”

  “I know, sir, but it may be a real matter of life or death.” He led the horses away

  Twenty minutes later the visitors were greeting Brandon’s parents, who were clearly overjoyed by his visit, even though he had Lupa in tow. Brandon was torn. He knew he would probably cause his parents less pain if he disappeared and remained away; but more and more, he couldn’t resist the call to come home

  Claiborn came in next, looking a bit more feeble than last time and leaning hard on his cane

  They chatted for some time about Stoneybrook, about politics, but carefully avoiding any reference to Brandon’s or Lupa’s life in Dover. Indeed, Stuart and Heather didn’t even ask where they were living now, perhaps not wishing to know

  Eventually Stuart said, “I’ve got a new bird I’d like you to see. A peregrine falcon.”

  “Against the law for anyone to own a peregrine except an earl. You haven’t become an earl, have you, sir?”

  “Not very likely,” Stuart said, with a boyish grin. “That law is probably the most violated law in England. Come along. Maybe tomorrow we’ll take him out, and you can fly him.”

  The two men left at once, and Claiborn dozed in his chair by the fire

  Lupa had great difficulty in meeting Heather’s eyes. As a rule she had a fierce dislike of aristocracy, but Brandon’s parents were different from what she expected. She knew that not all nobles and their wives were as gracious as these two, but it gave her an odd feeling to be in this situation

  Heather said, “It’s good to see you, Lupa. You’re looking so well.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “I’ve been hoping you’d come. As you must know, we’re terribly worried about Brandon.”

  “I know you are.” She hesitated, then said, “I’m worried about him, too.”

  “Worried about him? In what way?”

  “He’s not himself. He’s changed. Something happened to him on his last visit to you, I think, when he went to see his uncle. When he came back, I could hardly get a word out of him. He’s unhappy—miserable really. I thought maybe you knew why.”

  “I think it has something to do with the experience he had.”

  “You mean watching the people burn?”

  “Yes. Did he speak of it?”

  “Only once, and when I tried to question him, he told me he couldn’t talk about it.”

  “How do you feel about Brandon, Lupa?”

  Instantly Lupa grew defensive. “I know you’d rather he had never met me,” she said

  “I never said that. You deserve something good, Lupa.”

  “He’ll never marry me.”

  “Nobody knows about things like that.”

  “Would you ever accept me as a daughter-in-law?” Lupa said, and her dark eyes burned as she stared at Heather. “You’d probably be ostracized for having a gypsy in your family.”

  “I want the best for Brandon, as every mother does. I want to see you both find something good in your life, and as far as I can tell, the best comes from serving God.”

  “We have different thoughts on that.” Lupa managed to meet her eyes but not for long. She quickly turned her head. There was something essentially good in Heather Winslow, and to Lupa goodness was a rather frightening thing. She had always denied it existed. It had been the way she justified her own immoral life. But now she knew…

  Out in the mews where the falcons and hawks were kept, the two men were talking. They talked about the birds for quite a bit, and then Brandon said, “Father, you must do something about Uncle Quentin.”

  “What would you propose? Short of kidnapping him and spiriting him away in chains. He’s as stubborn as—well, as stubborn as I am. Even as stubborn as you are, Son.”

  “I can’t understand why he deliberately would court death. Such a horrible death.”

  “He’s doing what God is telling him to do.”

  “But what if he dies? I haven’t ever been able to get over that execution.”

  “I know it must have been terrible.”

  “The old woman! She reminded me of Grandmother. She had a sweet face. She went to her death with a smile. I couldn’t do that.”

  “We’ll do all we can, but now’s the time that God wants our prayers.”

  Brandon shook his head. “You know I can’t pray, Father.”

  “I know you’d better start praying.
Everybody in England had better start praying or we’re a lost nation.”

  They went back into the house, and the rest of the visit was almost meaningless to Brandon. He had thought it would help to see his father and mother, but it simply sent his spirits spiralling down. They had a faith he did not have, the same kind of faith, he knew, that could send them to the stake themselves. But it was Quentin who was in ever-present danger. When he told Lupa about it, he said, “They’ll kill my uncle. They’ll burn him just as they did the other people I saw.”

  “You can’t do anything about that, right? What did your father say?”

  “He said that God lets his favorites go through hard times. He said the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church. I don’t understand that, but I’ll tell you this, Lupa. If my uncle is arrested, I will do something.”

  “They’ll kill you if you try.”

  “Would it matter if they did?”

  “Yes,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “It would. To me, Brandon.”

  He sighed and gently extricated himself from her embrace. The last thing he needed now was a woman in love with him. No one should love him. He was untrustworthy. A failure. A liar and a cheat. And considering the steadfastness of his family, utterly lost

  Mary clung to Philip. She did not know if she pleased Philip in bed or not. He was a young man with the lust of a young man, and she was an older woman, too old to begin learning the secrets of a marital bed. But for the first time in her life she was in love

  The two of them walked along a garden path despite the inclement weather. Philip talked platitudes and of things that were taking place in the court and back in his native Spain, but when they returned to the house, she turned to him as they stood before the fire to gain some warmth. “We’re making headway, Husband. We’re destroying Protestantism.”

  “The people don’t like it—your people, I mean.”

  “They don’t understand. I’ve come to understand my father and the decisions he made. Heretics must be executed. They must face the fact that they are not serving God unless they are Catholic.”

  “Have you considered this?” Philip asked. “When the people see someone go to his death praising God as he is consumed, maybe they think he has something of God already?”