No title yet, but some new bits from Book IV. I've found myself drawn recently to some of the characters that aren't the four heroes, and have spent a bit of time plotting and planning for them. This is from a scene between Edward Seymour, the Duke of Somerset, Edward VI, as we see, Anne (known across the board as Stanhope, despite the fact that she would have been Seymour) his wife.
After a brief moment, Edward Seymour’s wife, Anne, enters the room. She is wearing some jewels that once belonged to Queen Catherine, Henry’s widow, before she died in childbirth the previous year, and an expression on her face that suggests that her aggression towards the guard outside will continue in the presence of both her husband and the king himself. “Edward,” she says, looking at Somerset, “have you sent anyone to Mary yet? I have just had another letter to say that she is still hearing the Mass every day.” “Anne,” Seymour says, rising from his chair, “I wonder if it is truly your place to spy for me? I know that she hears the Mass, as does his Majesty the king. So if you hoped to surprise us with this information, you have not succeeded.” “No, Edward,” she says, still ignoring the king, who is watching her with narrowed eyes, “I bring you this information to remind you that Mary still does as she pleases, and it is time that you brought a stop to it. She behaves like she is queen.” Edward Seymour takes a half-step closer to his wife, and turns her towards the door. “His Majesty and I have much state business to attend, Anne. We appreciate your concern,” he adds, dragging her away from the king, “and we shall be pleased to inform you of the outcome of the actions we are taking in so far as they concern you. Good night, Madam.” Anne turns again in the doorway, looks at the king with an expression approaching disdain, and then at her husband. “This realm needs an iron fist, Edward, not a velvet glove.” “My Lady, if you persist in addressing me by my Christian name and not my title, I shall remove you to the bedroom where it might be more appropriate. You,” he adds, pointing at the guard, “are not in future to credit the lady’s suggestion that she has urgent business of the most significant kind with me or the king.” Seymour smiles, dismissing his wife with a gesture. She glowers back at him, then arranges her face into haughty contempt, and sweeps away. “The next time,” Seymour adds to the guard when she is out of earshot, “you remove her, by force if necessary.” This is (SPOILER ALERT: IF YOU HAVEN'T READ BOOKS 1-3, GO AND DO THAT BEFORE READING THIS NEXT BIT!!!) Strelley's mother having a go at him for reappearing six months after apparently drowning in the Thames. “Edward,” his mother says, finding a moment of composure, “why did the Baron of Sudeley want you dead?” “Because I was a rival for the affections of someone. Someone important.” “Please do not be cryptic, Edward.” Margaret Strelley sits herself upright. “You have never been good at dissimulating.” Then, she considers, frowning. “Edward…” “Mother,” he returns. “Yes. Her.” “She is a princess of royal blood. You are not to meddle with her. It is treason.” Her tone is even and calm. “I understand your need to to hide yourself away. Do not now commit the crime for which you have served this sentence.” “I will not. For her sake.” Strelley’s mother screws up her eyes closed. “Damn you, Edward!” Behind him, Longshawe raises his eyebrows at de Winter. Strelley himself stands still, waiting for whatever comes next. “We have mourned you for six months, my son. Your father has gone back to Berwick thinking you are gone.” “My father,” Strelley interrupts, a real edge in his voice, “does not reckon me worth a hair.” “This is not,” Margaret Strelley says, with the ghost of a smile, “the time for quoting dead poets.” She stops, and smiles properly. “I am glad to see you, Edward. Now it is your responsibility to ensure that the rest of your life is of value.” Edward Strelley bows, but says nothing. “Go and see your sister.” “She is with Caroline and Lucy, is she? At the old house?” “She is.” “With my books.” “They had finished with that library years ago. It is not only you that has a mind to read, Edward. Those books are back where you left them.” Strelley looks a little put out, but does not speak again. He nods his head. “Edward, I am unwell, but I am not dying. You can do me the most good by going now to see her, and coming back to me once more before you go away again. I shall make you promise to be good, and to be careful. I cannot lose you a second time.” And, finally, shortly after the scene above, Strelley talking to his sister about her namesake Elizabeth: “Did you tell her?” Elizabeth Strelley’s voice isn’t indignant, with no hint of accusation or jealousy. She watches his face. “You did. Well, perhaps you shouldn’t have. It might have been easier on her if she thought you were dead and gone.” “I thought that too. But Grindal was dying. She had to have some comfort. I did not go to her to tell her… But I made sure she knew I was alive. Before I went, I didn’t understand how I felt.” “What do you mean?” “It was only when I was a thousand miles away,” Edward Strelley says, “without her, and thinking about what to do next. Then I realised. Then I knew. And when I came back, she was in prison, alone and frightened. And I could not bear to hold it in me any longer.” “You love her.” “Desperately. So that I can think of little else.” “Does she know that?” “Yes.” “And? Does she feel the same?” “I hope not.” “Edward?” “I hope that the feeling has gone. I hope that she no longer thinks of me, or if she does, it is a distant and faded memory. That she is free of this, whatever it is.” “So that she does not suffer. I see. And you refuse to entertain any hope of being together. She may not. I mean, she may continue to wish for it.” “She may. I hope rather that God has heard me when I say that I would gladly bear suffering enough for both of us, and granted me my wish.” “You are a fool, Edward. If she felt as you did, it will not have gone away. She will wish that you were with her, she will plot and plan ways that she might see you, or spend hours lamenting that she cannot.” “Then what do I do? How do I protect her from this feeling?” Elizabeth Strelley puts her hand gently on her brother’s arm. “Perhaps you can’t. You shouldn’t underestimate her strength. Perhaps the best you can do is to protect yourself.” “How? It is as though every place in my mind has her in it. I can’t consider anything for a minute without her wandering into my thoughts. I smile when I see her face in my mind’s eye. And then I remember, and I am sad again.” “You must take your mind elsewhere. Find something to do. Something important.” “I shall try.” “I have never seen you like this before, Edward. Lost.” “I don’t think I’ve ever been lost before. I will write.” “That may be true. But it will not be often.” Leave a Reply. |
Andy RichardsonWhen to the sessions of sweet silent thought Archives
March 2022
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