The Other Henry VIII

In Their Thrall

When Clara awoke, she found herself tucked up in her own bed, deliciously warm beneath the fur-lined coverlet and copious silk sheets. A strong fire crackled in the hearth on the opposite wall, and the air smelled faintly of smoke and lavender. Someone must have drawn the curtains, for the chamber was bathed in a soft aureate glow that could only belong to the morning sun. A full day had passed, Clara estimated, though in her unconscious state she had not felt a single moment. Those long hours seemed more like minutes. Seconds. Heartbeats.

At the sound of a small sigh which did not belong to her, she realised with a start that another girl was lying on top of the covers beside her: Lizzie. Her face was buried in a pillow, but Clara would recognise that long rope of red hair anywhere. Come to think of it, she could not imagine anyone else who would fall asleep fully-clothed on her bed with her still in it. Clara felt a sudden surge of affection for her younger sister as she lay there, snoozing gently. After so many months of loneliness and estrangement, it was heartening to see that someone still cared for her.

Lizzie did not stir for a while and Clara made no move to rouse her. In this chamber, she felt safe. Secure. At ease. Detached from the rest of the world, perhaps, but out of harm's way. An image of her blood-stained gown flashed through her mind, accelerating her heartbeat like a horse under a coachman's whip, but she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind. It would not do to dwell on memories of that day. She must force herself to look to the future instead.

Eventually, Lizzie's eyes flickered open and settled upon her sister with a kind of dazed surprise. "Clara?" she said groggily, stifling a yawn, "Papa'll be pleased you're awake."
"I doubt that," replied Clara quietly.
"Don't be silly, of course he will! Everyone was worried sick about you! Even the physician was utterly baffled. You slept for almost two days!"
"Two?"

Lizzie nodded vigorously, wide awake now.
"I've only been here since last evening," she explained breathlessly. "Papa wouldn't let me in before. He said seeing you like that would upset me — as if I get upset. He hardly left your side for a whole day. Finally Leia convinced him to get some rest, then she took over. I'm glad of it, because Papa was beginning to look dreadfully pale — he even needed a pageboy to help him to his rooms! And Leia thought I should see you — I always knew she had more sense than Papa — so I sat with you until I got tired, then I thought you wouldn't mind if I slept in your bed. You don't, do you?"
"No... no, of course not."
"And then since yesterday afternoon, Papa's been planning some sort of parade in the city. I expect he wants to show everyone that he isn't frightened, though I think he should be. We weren't sure if you could come, but now you're awake — do you think you can be ready to ride in a couple of hours? Papa would be delighted."

Clara found she could not reply. She felt as if someone had bound her tongue. Of course there was much she had to say, but somehow she could not bring herself to voice one word of it. Each moment was better spent battling against her own recollection, lest it all come flooding back. The bolt... the blood... the tremble of her frigid fingers... No, she must think of something else. Something happier. A new image drifted into her head, of her and James rolling on the grass at Westhorpe, laughing in the sun. The memory filled her like warm, sweet honey; it had been a happy childhood, she thought with a weak smile. James had been right, in her dream — nothing in the present, however ghastly, could tarnish those memories now.

"I'll tell Papa you're not ready," proclaimed Lizzie determinedly, reading her sister's silence, "That you need more time. He'll listen to me, I think, if I lay on the charm. Cheer up, Clara — no-one's going to force you to leave here if you don't want to. And if anyone tries, they'll have me to answer to."
Clara's smile broadened, bringing a gentle flush to her cheeks. "Woe betide anyone who crosses you," she murmured, taking her sister's hand. "Thank you, Lizzie. I... I confess I cannot face anyone else at the present."