The Secret Diary of Anne Boleyn
Page 31
The vision began to dim.
“No!” cried Elizabeth aloud, for she wished fervendy to bask for a few moments more in her mother’s sight.
The eyes smiled merrily then, and Elizabeth’s heart soared, for she could see they were filled with great and unspoken joy, reflecting in them the love of a tiny red-haired girl toddling with outstretched arms into her mother’s warm embrace.
“Hold, stay with me, Mother!”
She reached out her hand toward the vision, but the ghosdy eyes were fading. They grew faint … and then vanished entirely until all that was left was a shaft of light streaming in through the clerestory window. And as a great cloud moved to cover the sun, that disappeared as well.
Elizabeth stood in the chapel still as a statue of the Virgin. The vision was gone, but she had remembered. Remembered and taken within her a piece of her mother’s spirit, one that would forever be a part of herself — a second spine to keep her strong throughout the coming years, a second heart to beat within her breast. For she would surely need greatheartedness to be the Queen that the Nun of Kent had clearly prophesied. The Tudor sun who, risen from the belly of Anne Boleyn, would shine as England’s brightest star.
Elizabeth turned and swept from the chapel with the strength of destiny at her back, pulling the heavy doors closed with a resounding crash.
Yes, she thought as she strode out into the now sunlit afternoon, I am my mother’s daughter. And I shall make her proud.
Acknowledgments
This book is the result of twenty-five years of passionate interest in the brilliant world of Tudor England. My indoctrination began with a pair of novels by Norah Lofts that introduced me to the two female titans of the early sixteenth century, Anne Boleyn and Katharine of Aragon.
When simple interest turned to serious research I gained invaluable knowledge and insight into the life and times of my characters from biographies by Carolly Erickson, Marie Louise Bruce, Elizabeth Jenkins, and Paul Johnson. William Manchester’s World Lit Only by Fire was my source for understanding Luther and the Protestant Reformation.
I heartily thank my editor, Jeannette Seaver, for her deep understanding of this work; my copy editor, Ann Marlowe, for knowing more about the sixteenth century than I did; and my agent, Kim Witherspoon, for her dedication in finding the book its prefer home.
In the personal realm I owe enormous debts of gratitude to several people. My teacher, Deena Metzger, helped me leap the formidable hurdle from screenwriting to novel writing. Billie Morton, dear friend and fifteen-year partner in crime, not only offered the original suggestion that I write this book but dogged me eternally with kind but scathingly honest criticism and with admonishments against missed opportunities. My mother, “Skippy the lionhearted,” was the earliest and fiercest champion of my writing career, and remains my greatest inspiration.
To my husband, friend, teacher, and ally, Max Thomas, I owe the most profound debt of love and appreciation. With unfaltering loyalty and graciousness he has supported me physically, emotionally, spiritually, and materially throughout our years together.