Heartsease

Ann Turner

Description

An ordinary woman's struggle to cope in extraordinary places, surrounded by power, greed, danger and lust... At only 16, Mary Hawke is married to the handsome Henry Crawford and goes to live with him in his Essex home.But her husband is a vicious brute who sees his innocent young wife as his property, to beat and abuse at his will. The appearance of a debonair Spaniard, old enough to be Mary's father, awakens within her a passionate nature. Asudden twist of fate releases Mary from her violent marriage and she arrives at court as a lady-in-waiting to QueenCatharine of Aragon. There, she befriends the young and vivacious Anne Boleyn. The handsome Spaniard re-enters her life, and Mary finds herself moving to an opulent life in Spain as his wife. But life in Spain is dangerous and her new husband has a secret past.Arriving back inEngland, Mary returns to the court of King Henry VIII as Anne Boleyn's star is rising. While living there, she encounters Gregory, a reclusive lawyer. Together they witness, and are involved in, some of Tudor history's greatest moments. The book's thrilling climax involves Mary's brother Robert and a dangerous obsession that threatens to tear her family apart.The Tower waits silently for its next victim... Heartsease is a gripping novel, inspired by Jean Plaidy, that emulates the novels of Philippa Gregory.It will appeal to fans of historical romance fiction, and those especially interested in the Tudor period.

Sujets

• Historical romance

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 01 décembre 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781784628284
• Langue: English

Extrait

Heartsease
Ann Turner

Copyright © 2013 Ann Turner
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in
any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the
publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with
the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries
concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
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ISBN 978 1784628 284
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Matador ® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

Converted to eBook by EasyEPUB

This book is dedicated to Brian, John and Caroline for putting
up with my incessant scribblings for years.
Contents

Cover


Author’s Note


Preface


Winter 1497


Spring 1513


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Author’s Note

The following people mentioned here have been a help to me during the process of the creation of Heartsease and they all deserve my thanks.
The church of Saint Nicholas featured in this book is an actual living church in Essex. I would like to thank the Reverend Diane Ricketts, vicar of Saint Nicholas in the parish of Laindon with Dunton for giving me permission to use the name and location of this fantastic 13 th century church.
I would also like to thank Rosie Munro for her original ideas for the cover, Simon Cuckow for his help and Lara Eakins for her assistance.
Preface


It stands solid, glowering. The Tower built by command of the Conqueror. A fortress with a reputation so potent, the mention of its name strikes terror into the hearts of the bravest men in England. The ominous shadow it casts falls like a suffocating pall across the country. Those who enter the sinister, unyielding walls as living, breathing beings never taste freedom again. To be condemned to the Tower means certain death. The Tower does not care who it incarcerates. All you can expect is that swift ride on the flood tide. The Watergate would open out, like welcoming arms, ready to gather you to the breast; only this breast is not warm or soft. There would be pain, excruciating pain. Pain as stretched limbs tear mercilessly from sockets, pain as white-hot pokers blister skin. Flames lick your flesh as a kitten licks milk. Here the heartiest resolution would crumble; here there is no chivalry, no respect of rank or title. You die as you were born, in torment and blood. Your last awareness would be exquisite pain as the axe sliced through your neck. Your last sound heard were the crowds baying as hounds’ bay at the trapped fox. Then finally, blessed escape from the nightmare.
Stay nobody; stay living a peaceful, tranquil life, away from corruption and greed. The coiling, snatching, grasping tendrils of doom from the Tower may not reach you if you stay true and honest. Stay nobody.
vii
Winter 1497

Essex

A nurse tucks her small charge into his warm, safe bed. The wilful child complains he does not want to sleep. He wants to play, wants to be disobedient.
‘Master Robert, if you do not go to sleep, the axeman will come and take you away to the Tower,’ the nurse warns. ‘He will put you in his sack, carry you away and cut off your head. No one will ever see you again. Your parents and baby Mary will forget you.’
The boy pulls the counterpane up to his nose to hide, and he shuts his eyes tight, now willing himself to sleep. He is scared. No one escapes the axeman once he has taken you to the Tower, certainly not a small, insignificant, disobedient child.
Spring 1513

Essex


England on a spring afternoon was an exquisite place. Birds sang from the branches of trees that hung heavy with fragrant blossom, and bumbles hummed lazily around the garden, searching for early nectar.
Seated on a bench, Lady Margaret Hawke gazed languorously around this haven of tranquillity. Primroses had flowered, followed by the daffodils and now blue harebells were taking over. On a low wall nearby, an old tabby cat and a young, deaf white cat basked in the warm sunshine. On days like this, Margaret liked nothing better than to reflect upon her life.
She and her husband were proud of their son, Robert. He had entered court as a squire to a local knight, and had promoted himself enough to receive a position as an attendant in the king’s household. The position held no title, but the men whose sway was paramount to the king surrounded Robert. On his rare visits home from court, he would amuse the family with hearsay, what woman had caught the king’s eye, and then for how long she kept his attention. Who was visiting from Europe, and there was always scandal.
Margaret’s daughter, Mary, was a girl of sixteen and soon to be married. The young man chosen for her was Henry Crawford. She was a substitute bride; the original had died suddenly of a fever. The match was advantageous for the Hawke family. Her husband Sir Anthony, had quickly stepped in and offered his daughter to the wealthy Crawford’s son. The two young people were to meet for the first time this very day. Henry, it was rumoured, was conceited beyond his years, and had already gained a reputation for womanising. The only use he would have for a wife would be to bear the next generation of Crawfords.
A voice calling brought Margaret back to the present; Mary was running across the lawn towards her, waving. Beside her ran a small dog, its tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth as it raced to keep up. Margaret raised a hand and waved back. Mary, her cheeks flushed, her hazel eyes sparkling, sat down with a flounce on the bench beside her mother. The dog leapt into her lap, tail wagging excitedly and she began to stroke it lovingly. She had inherited her mother’s fair complexion, and her father’s dark brown hair. Mary’s hair fell in heavy tresses over her shoulders and an errant strand dangled over her eyes, which she absently brushed aside.
‘Are we leaving soon?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘I don’t want to be late, I need to give Henry a good impression of me,’ Mary laughed, and sprang to her feet, tumbling the dog off her lap. She was so happy at the thought of marriage, Margaret thought. The gossip about Henry’s indiscretions had not appeared to reach her ears. She was a naive child going out into the adult world. For now, let the girl enjoy these blithe moments. The world could be a pitiless place; would she discover that for herself eventually?
Margaret allowed herself to be pulled to her feet by her excited daughter. ‘It is nearly time, Mary. Where is your father?’
‘Oh, he’s busy in his study; he should be here with us,’ Mary complained, but all good humour was quickly restored and she began to dance around the bench. The tabby cat looked up lazily at the commotion. The deaf cat sensing the movements by her side also stirred. The dog raced over, yapping noisily at the cats, the tabby growled angrily and struck out with a paw, claws unsheathed, scratching the dog’s nose. It turned and ran back to its mistress howling.
‘Silly, Belle,’ Mary chided, scooping the dog up. ‘Come on, Mother.’ She urged and danced towards the house. The two cats relaxed once again, now that the dog had learnt not to interrupt them.
Once inside, Mary, childlike, ran through the rooms to find her father, and brought him into the entrance hall, impatient to be away. Briefly, Margaret wondered whether her daughter was ready to be married. She had been raised on stories of courtly love, of chivalrous knights in gleaming armour, astride magnificent caparisoned white chargers, saving fair maidens locked in towers from fire-breathing dragons. She had been told of the legend of King Arthur, Queen Guinivere and Camelot. She was still very young for her age, would this match be good for her? It was to be good for the family, bringing wealth to them. She sighed; arrangements were almost finished, making the wedding unavoidable now. Whether the young couple were compatible or not did not matter. Few marriages started with love. Mary was fastening her cloak, chattering excitedly. Together, Margaret and Anthony pulled their cloaks over their shoulders and they made their way out to the courtyard and the waiting carriage.

*
Sir William and Lady Eleanor Crawford welcomed their guests warmly and offered wine to them when they had entered the lobby. Eleanor led the way into the solarium. William and Anthony followed behind talking business. The solarium radiated sociability and calm, Mary liked this room instantly; she could imagine herself in years to come as the Lady of the manor residing in here, holding court over the local villagers. A kind and gracious mistress, who was amenable and just in all matters.
‘Markham is a happy place, my dear; you will like living here with us. Henry is looking forward to meeting you; he will be with us presently,’ Eleanor said proudly.
‘Our son had business to attend to in Bastelden,’ William continued. He turned to Anthony and Margaret. ‘Come; take some food while we wait.’
The parents talked while Mary sat in deferential, silence gazing out of the window at the gardens that spread out below and watching as birds flew past the window