‘I know of a plot, of sorts. I think it is to destroy you.’

Thus I told Henry, in hard, cold words what I knew and what I feared. I betrayed John Holland and told Henry all I knew, to stop the plot coming to its terrible fruition. And after the telling I had pleaded that my brother would forgive John’s treachery. That he would safeguard Richard’s life, for was he not of our own blood? That he would diffuse the plot without bloodshed. Even now I could see, in my mind, Henry taking my hand and, as he held it tight and kissed it, he had promised that all would be well.

But all was not well. All would never be well again. John and Richard were dead.

Then, as the scenes faded, my confession to the Virgin began, haltingly at first, but not once did I look away from her painted eyes, so beautifully azure like the cloak that fell in folds from shoulder to feet, eyes that would or would not judge me.

‘I was to blame for John Holland’s death. I betrayed him. I took vows as his wife, I loved him more than life, but I betrayed him to Henry. I knew enough of the planned rebellion and in the end I could not allow my brother to be killed. John said it would not be death, but I knew how these things worked and …’

For a moment I lost the words I wished to say in a morass of renewed despair, but then continued.

‘I blame myself for John’s death. I knew there would be retribution against John, but I thought I could persuade Henry to be pragmatic. He promised me. But it was impossible in the end. The FitzAlans would claim their revenge and Henry did not care enough to stop them. He said he did try, but I’m not sure … I think when power is in the balance, no man can be trusted.’ I gave a little hopeless shrug. ‘Perhaps I made the wrong judgement. I could not let Henry be done to death, but it was John and all the rest who paid with their lives. And Richard, too.’

There it was. The weight of my guilt must be carried with grim fortitude to the day of my death, in endless punishment. No priest could give me absolution. I would never rid myself of my betrayal of him. Almost, almost I had confessed at the end, in that dreadful room at Pleshey, but he had not let me, and I had been too afraid of the horror I would read in his eyes.

‘I knew how much hatred was directed against John by those who would destroy King Richard and all he stood for.’ I could not stop. Having started, it had to be said. ‘I was beyond foolish to believe that he could escape the bloody revenge taken against him.’ I took a breath, my tongue passing over my dry lips as I confessed the worst. ‘I think that John knew I was the one to betray him, but he never said. He was hurt and angry, reduced by physical pain, but he never accused me. I cannot forgive myself. I don’t deserve forgiveness.’

There. It was said, despite the knot of tears in my throat, and I bowed my head in true contrition. I had wept so little, and now it seemed I could not stop.

Silence stretched out around me, a daunting stillness when I had hoped for a sense of release, nothing but the air moving as a distant door opened and closed. When I raised my head there was no change in the serene features turned to her baby son. One hand, opened in welcome, made me speak again.

‘I ask forgiveness. I can ask no more. And that John will know what I did and why, and he will find it in his heart to forgive me too.’

The serenity did not change, nor did the texture of cool air on my skin, but I continued to kneel, watching the light cast coloured mosaics over the Virgin’s robes, until soft footsteps grew closer, and there was Katherine sinking to kneel beside me with a catch of her breath at the rude advance of age.

‘Well?’

‘I told her everything.’

‘And do you feel her peace and compassion in your heart?’

I shook my head. Relief, yes, that I had at last spoken of it, but no peace.

‘It’s John, isn’t it?’ Katherine said.

I turned my head to look at her, absorbing the implicit knowledge in those keen, intelligent eyes, and I instinctively stiffened, but there was no condemnation there.

‘Oh Elizabeth, I know you better than you know yourself,’ she murmured. ‘There are many who would praise you for what you did.’

‘I betrayed John,’ I said simply. ‘I betrayed the man I loved to his death.’

‘Yours was not the hand that slew him. Did you not fight for him? Did you not beg for his release? I can’t imagine that you didn’t.’

I closed my eyes tight to shut out all the memories. ‘I sent him to his death. I was party to it, however cunning your arguments.’

‘He put himself there. He knew the risks and took them. You can’t blame yourself.’

‘He would not expect his wife to destroy him.’

‘Look at me,’ she admonished, taking my hands in hers, holding them palm to palm within her own. ‘He would not blame you.’

‘How do I know that?’ Grief built again within me.

‘You have to trust, Elizabeth. In the love you had for Holland and that he had for you. And in the Virgin’s incomparable mercy.’ She tightened her grip a little when I would have pulled away. ‘There is nothing I can say to alleviate your hurt, is there?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘This I will say. If you had not spoken out to Henry, you would have been mourning your brother here today. And his four sons. Is that what you would prefer? Would that have been any easier for you to tolerate?’

Nothing here that I had not already considered. ‘No.’

‘There is no easy way out of this for you. But the Virgin will give you her peace. And then you must forgive yourself. You cannot live with this for the rest of your life. It would not be good for you, Elizabeth.’

For a little while we simply sat until I was calm again.

‘Come and stay with me.’ Katherine smiled, and at last she leaned and softly kissed my cheek, the gentlest of caresses. ‘Is this young man of Henry’s choice a man of strong will?’

‘I think he might be,’ I said. ‘Why?’

‘Just that he would have to be a man of strong will to take you!’

Which made me return the smile, if wanly. ‘John had. John stood up to everyone to wed me.’ And the tears flowed again, for all the hurts and travails of the past months. ‘He would not let me stay with him when he died.’

‘And quite right, too. Remember him in life, not in ignominious death. He would not want that.’

No, of course he would not. Katherine drew me into her arms, keeping her clasp light in case I resisted, but I did not.

‘I will espouse my widowhood,’ I announced at last when I was worn out with weeping.

‘But not for too long. Don’t let the past overshadow the future. I know how easy it is to do that. Who would know better?’

I returned with her, with some degree of peace, and for those days in Lincoln I let my mind rest. Had I been touched by the Virgin’s forgiveness? I did not think so, but neither was I torn by such vicious guilt. I had no more decisions to make other than where I would go when I left. We were simply two women from different generations recalling the past. Healing in its way.



Chapter Eighteen

I must pick up the reins of my life again. If nothing else, in those tranquil days in Lincoln Katherine had taught me that there was no going back and I must step into the future. First I must go to Dartington, despite all the memories and the simple fact that I had no right to be there. I did not think Henry would mind.