‘You have been offered a position at the court of Margaret of Austria, Duchess of Savoy in Mechelen.’
Elizabeth and Anne had both gasped.
Mary had stared in surprise. ‘But, Papa, I’m the eldest,’ she had pouted.
‘I know, my sweet Mary,’ Thomas had said, gathering her into a hug, ‘but this is an opportunity for Anne to strengthen her language skills. You’ve often said yourself you find foreign tongues a chore and would rather speak English.’
‘True,’ Mary had agreed, equably. ‘Perhaps this means you will begin to discuss my betrothal instead?’
Thomas had laughed, tapping her on the nose. ‘Your mama and I discuss nothing else,’ he replied.
Elizabeth had watched her daughters and felt as though a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders. This news was a gift she had never expected, and she could barely constrain the relief her younger daughter would be safely abroad, away from the wandering eye of the king. However, her husband’s next words stung.
‘I shall speak to the king about a place for you in Queen Katherine’s court soon, Mary. It will be the ideal way for you to assess the young men from whom we shall be choosing your husband.’
Mary had giggled.
‘This will be a remarkable education for you, Anne,’ Elizabeth had said. ‘After all, Tom, you’ve said yourself, her skill with languages is second only to your own.’
‘Very well, if we’re all agreed, I’ll write to Duchess Margaret and accept,’ Thomas had replied. ‘The Flemish esquire, Claude Bouton, will be returning in June, he can accompany Anne to Margaret’s palace in Mechelen.’
Anne had shrieked in delight at this unexpected opportunity to enter such a vivid and forward-thinking environment. When she had made her request to visit Cerensthorpe Abbey a few weeks later, Elizabeth had not felt she could refuse.
Now, they followed Lady Reynolds across the worn flagstone floor of the old cloisters. The breeze brought the faint fragrance of lavender and rosemary from the stillroom as they passed and in the distance they heard a single bell tolling from the small chapel.
‘Our day continues to be guided by our old routines,’ said Lady Reynolds as they climbed the spiral stairs to her solar in the tower room. ‘The bells provide us with direction, and they are also a comfort.’
As she climbed, Lady Reynolds’s fingers traced the pitted stone of the tower walls, stroking it as though it were a beloved pet. Elizabeth felt a sense of peace settle over her.
They followed Lady Reynolds into her solar and accepted the chairs she offered beside the window. The views across the countryside were dazzling and Elizabeth felt as though she was experiencing the bird’s-eye view of the world she had often envied her white merlin when she soared into the endless blue.
There was a tentative knock on the door and, upon being bid enter, a girl of similar age to Anne and Mary came into the room. Dressed in a simple green gown, her appearance formed a stark contrast to the luxurious dresses of Elizabeth and her daughters. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and, despite her quiet entrance, she exuded a mischievous energy. The three young women eyed each other with friendly curiosity.
‘You requested I show our visitors to the scriptorium, Lady Reynolds,’ she said with a curtsy.
‘This is Isabel Wriothesley,’ said Lady Reynolds. ‘She has been sent to us while her father is abroad. Lady Boleyn, would your daughters care to visit the scriptorium with Isabel or wait for us to join them?’
‘They would far prefer Isabel’s company,’ said Elizabeth, who could sense Mary and Anne’s desire to explore. ‘We shall meet you later.’
‘Thank you, Mama,’ they murmured, curtsying first to Elizabeth, then Lady Reynolds.
Isabel beamed at them and the three girls hurried away, and within moments Elizabeth and Lady Reynolds heard a gale of swiftly suppressed laughter.
‘They will come to no harm with Isabel,’ said Lady Reynolds, ‘and Mistress Ellyn Godwyn, the Mistress of the Scriptorium, will ensure they enjoy their visit. She is keen to educate girls and it’s clear your daughters have scholarly natures.’
She reached for a jug of honey-sweetened wine and poured Elizabeth a glass before offering a plate of fresh rolls and honey, with dried figs.
‘These are from our tree, last year,’ said Lady Reynolds. ‘We dry them both to eat and use in preserves. Nothing here is wasted.’
‘Cerensthorpe is more gracious than I imagined,’ said Elizabeth. ‘From your letters, I believed you were further impoverished.’
‘We were, my lady,’ said Lady Reynolds. ‘The improvements you see are thanks to your generosity. There were always people who wished to help us, but as we were a poor house with few sisters, we could accept but a minimum of alms, making it impossible to repair and restore our beloved home. Your offer to convert the house, to restore our dignity, was a gift from God. You are our saviour, Lady Elizabeth.’
Elizabeth blushed at these softly spoken but nonetheless effusive comments.
‘You requested my help, and it was within my power to assist,’ she said.
The older woman gazed at her. ‘Cerensthorpe was built to endure and you are now part of its soul,’ Lady Reynolds said. ‘We were once a house of refuge. In the days when war swept the country like fire, women came here with their children or their secrets. We kept both safe.’
