Elizabeth clambered from the bed and pulled her stuffed owl into her arms. Walking across the room, she opened the leather satchel her mother had told her was for‘the things that are important to you, no matter what anyone else says’– during which time her mother’s eyes had strayed towards Owly. Elizabeth pushed her precious companion to the bottom.
The soft felt toy had been made by Elizabeth’s nurse, Mrs Crew, when Elizabeth had been three years old and scared of the dark.
‘Owly can see in the dark,’ Mrs Crew had whispered as she had placed the toy in Elizabeth’s bed. ‘He’ll watch over you while you sleep and stop anyone from hurting you in the darkness.’
‘It’s my turn to keep you safe, Owly,’ Elizabeth whispered as she covered him with a scarf before hurrying to the small table beside her bed where she had placed the pebble her father had given her before he’d left for battle.
‘It’s quartz,’ he had said, ‘and there are two pieces. I have the other and whenever you rub this piece, I’ll know you’re thinking of me.’
‘How?’ she had asked.
‘The angels who live in the sparkly parts of the stone will ensure I’m sent the message.’
‘What will happen to Papa?’ asked Elizabeth, as she rubbed the stone, praying to herself that her father was safe. ‘Will he be executed for treason?’
The tension left behind by their mother had seeped into her mind like an unwelcome miasma and though she was young, she was the daughter of an earl and the granddaughter of a duke; the realities of court life had been hers since the day of her birth. Despite the warm woollen shawl Anne had wrapped around her, Elizabeth could not stop shivering.
‘The new king can’t execute every noble who stood against him,’ replied Anne. ‘There would be nobody left to help him run the country. Your father may have to forfeit his title or pay a fine, but he’s a good man. I’m sure the new king will release him soon.’
An image of her father flashed before Elizabeth’s eyes, muddy but calm despite having his hands tied behind his back.
‘He will be put in the Tower of London,’ she murmured, ‘but one day he will be free and he’ll be one of the great men of the land again.’
Coming out of her reverie, Elizabeth realised Anne was staring at her, aghast.
‘Enough of your fancies and dreams,’ Anne snapped, clasping Elizabeth’s wrist. ‘Don’t say a word to Mama. She’s worried enough without you giving her false hope.’
‘But…’ Elizabeth began, only to have Anne silence her with a fierce look. Her heart told her the words about her father were correct, but her head warned against sharing her vision. ‘Of course, Anne,’ she demurred.
The abbey glowed in the afternoon sun. It comprised two adjacent churches joined by a cloisters and occupied the highest position on the otherwise flat island. Once three separate islands: Sheppey, Harty and Elmley, the channels dividing them had long since silted up, leaving one low-lying landmass.
The slow journey from Shurland Hall had felt longer than its eleven miles with the horses plodding through the increasingly clammy August air. A sense of unease pervaded the countryside as the news of King Richard’s defeat and Henry Tudor’s triumph spread across the country.
Tudor’s victory had been won on a battlefield in a land ravaged by years of civil war as the York brothers had battled for supremacy. What did the arguments of kings matter to the villagers of Kent? All they craved was to live in peace.
As they had negotiated the rutted roadways, Elizabeth felt hostile eyes upon them, but the phalanx of men sent by the Cheney family as protection meant no one dared to approach their small convoy.
A boat transported the Howard party across the Swale – the channel dividing the island from the mainland – where they made their way to the abbey gatehouse on foot. Elizabeth felt tears well in her eyes. She was tired, hungry and scared. Her youngest brother, Henry, was barely a year old, and he was grizzling in the arms of his wet nurse.
Beside him was one of their male servants, carrying two-year-old Charles, and behind him, another loyal retainer holding three-year-old John. Her eldest brother, Thomas, a young man of twelve, walked beside his mother and his elder half-sister, Anne, determined to show he was capable of taking on theresponsibilities of the man of the house. Edward and Edmund, nine and seven years old respectively, stood either side of Elizabeth, helping her over any difficult patches in the path.
Lady Howard stopped at the bolted doors, her face pale. Behind her, Elizabeth stared up at the wall surrounding the abbey. The clang of the bell broke the heavy silence, causing birds on the estuary to take flight, filling the air with their otherworldly cries.
‘Curlews,’ muttered Mrs Crew. ‘A bad omen. When you hear them in the day, it is a sign of death.’
Elizabeth shuddered.
‘What happens if they don’t allow us in?’ she whispered to Mrs Crew.
‘Don’t say such things,’ Mrs Crew replied.
The door to the abbey inched open and a nun peered out.
‘I am Lady Howard,’ Elizabeth heard her mother say. ‘My husband has been captured, and I fear for mine and my children’s lives.’
‘You and your children are welcome, Lady Howard,’ the nun said and opened the door wide enough for them all to enter.
‘My wet nurse must stay too,’ said Lady Howard.
