The Thornless Rose (43 page)

“He?” Anne questioned.

“Well, whatever.”

Keeping her eyes closed, letting herself drift, she mumbled, “Mary has already ordered me a ‘petticoat bodies’ that allows for growing bellies.” Anne opened her eyes, giggling. “Oh, by the way, she offered to bind my ring with hyssop and chamomile buds and dangle it over my middle, to see whether we’re having a boy or a girl.”

“Ha! God bless her, she knows all the tricks.” Jonathan chuckled. “Let’s say, I give her even odds she comes up right.”

Anne smiled, closing her eyes again. “She has appointed herself mother hen, but really, she’s going to be invaluable.”

There was a long moment of silence, and Anne was just about to look around, when she felt the faintest brush of his lips on her hair, her neck.

“Mmm.”

He pushed back the folds of her dressing gown, exposing her bare shoulders and back. A sensation of heat touched the skin between her shoulder blades; the velvety-sweet scent of roses filled the air, and his strong hands massaged the heated oil over her back, down her arms, up her neck, slowly kneading away the aches of the day.

“Mmm.”

He gently pulled the coverlet and gown completely away from her and drizzled more oil onto the small of her back. His hands worked over the rise of her bottom, down her thighs, her calves, kneading away the tiredness in her feet, slowly, thoughtfully, thoroughly, relaxing, invigorating every muscle he touched.

When he started back up her legs, Anne could feel the soft touch of his lips again, preceding his hands as they found their way.

“Mmmm.”

His hands lifted away from her body, and Anne could hear the rustle of fabric as he slipped off his clothes. When he lay down beside her, she turned to face him. Her gaze took in every inch of him as her finger traced his jaw line, his lips, then his scar, before she looked into his wonderfully blue eyes.

Words unspoken, love beyond measure.

She touched the dark beard on his face, then pushed her fingers into his hair and pulled him to her, kissing, kissing.

Their bodies came together, hot, familiar, needy, comfortable, until time lost its meaning and they knew nothing, cared for nothing, beyond each other and this life they shared.

Epilogue

2014, London

Over Scotch whisky on the rocks, Catherine Hastings Howard and Trudy Leach sat on the sofa in the library, gazing at the photograph of a gentleman in Elizabethan courtly attire, the very snap taken by Anne just the week before at Hampton Court. Although blurry and ethereal, Catherine could discern a real resemblance between this image and the host of portraits found in the history books scattered over the coffee table.

There was no doubt in her mind the man was indeed Robert Dudley.

She looked down at the thornless rose resting in her lap. Despite the fact her botanist friend had not yet confirmed it, she knew it was also genuine proof of Anne’s visit to the past.

It was staggering! Catherine tossed back the rest of her glass. Trudy also finished her whisky, dribbling the last drops onto her chin and down the front of her blouse, then hiccupping.

It was Catherine’s second, Trudy’s fourth. The housekeeper was definitely feeling no pain.

Trudy wiped her eyes on her sleeve, then slurred, “Weel, Mrs. Howard, I canna see how anyone’ll believe ye ’bout Anne, eyewitnesses or no. The truth o’ the matter is, they’ll all think ye’ve gone barkin’ mad, you an’ that bloke at Bankside, who told the coppers she disappeared at his fingertips.”

Catherine sighed, grateful the woman’s crying jag had finally come to an end. She agreed with Trudy, but realized she didn’t care what anyone thought about the state of her mental health, with the exception of Richard and Joan. How would she explain to them what she knew about their daughter’s disappearance? About Jonnie? About everything?

Her son and daughter-in-law were due to arrive at Heathrow this evening. Hordes of reporters, television crews, ne’er-do-wells, and gossipmongers had already taken up residence outside her Chelsea townhouse. Anne’s vanishing had been so public, after all. So many witnessed it.

The crowd was kept under control by a bright young bobby and an older, hardened, plain-clothes detective from Scotland Yard.

Catherine raised her glass. “Would you mind?”

“Och, aye,” Trudy said with another hiccup. “I’ll get ye another, an’ a wee dram fer meself.”

There was a knock at the door. Catherine shoved the Dudley photograph into her skirt pocket, then covered the rose with a napkin. “Yes?” she called out.

The fresh-faced bobby poked his head inside the room. “Mrs. Howard, there’s a chap to see you. A priest.”

Catherine looked at Trudy. “What in the world? Mrs. Leach, did you call for a priest?” When Trudy shook her head, Catherine turned back to the bobby. “Did you verify his credentials?”

“Yes, ma’am. His papers are in order, quite official. He’s from the Vatican.”

“Christ defend us! The Vatican?” Trudy exclaimed.

Catherine pursed her lips, considering. “All right,” she finally said. “Do send him in, but if he is here as a self-appointed grief counselor––”

“I’ll send him in, ma’am,” the bobby said, shutting the door.

“This could be verra interesting.” Trudy rose unsteadily to her feet. “I’ll see to those drinks.”

Catherine waved her hand. “Not now, Mrs. Leach. Let me speak to the gentleman alone.”

Trudy’s left eyebrow arched.

“Now, do let me have some privacy,” Catherine went on. “I’ll tell you all about his visit as soon as he leaves. Please, would you check on Duffy? He’s out in the garden.”

“As ye wish, Mrs. Howard,” Trudy muttered.

“That’s awfully good of you. We’ll have another whisky later.”

“Aye.” Trudy clucked her tongue and shuffled to the door.

When it clicked shut, Catherine stood and smoothed her skirt. Another knock. She walked to the desk, sat in the leather chair, and said in a carefully controlled voice, “Please, do come in.”

A slim man with salt and pepper hair entered the room. He was dressed in an elegant, charcoal-gray Armani business suit and clerical collar.

“It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said with a soft accent.

Catherine’s eyes narrowed, concentrating on his exotic intonation. Italian—yes—but with something else thrown in besides. British? A touch of Oxfordshire?

The priest reached into his inner breast pocket, withdrew a business card, and added, “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

Frowning, she stared at the card, which displayed the papal insignia and a simple appellation:
Fr. Daniel Traveler, S.J. The Vatican
.

“I don’t understand, Father. How may I help you? I’ve not called for a priest.”

He smiled. “I met your granddaughter in London.”

Oh, no!
Catherine held up her hand. “Please, there’s been a mistake. The lunatics have been coming out of the woodwork, and I don’t care if you claim to have seen her in the last week––”

“Mrs. Howard,” he said quietly.

Something in his voice caught Catherine’s attention.

“I met Anne twice, in the year 1560.”

The business card fluttered to the desk. Astounded, Catherine could only stare at Father Daniel.

“May I?” the priest asked as he indicated a chair.

She barely registered what happened next as he took the initiative and sat down across from her.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Howard?” He glanced around. “Shall I call for your housekeeper? Would you like some water?”

“N—no,” she sputtered. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say 1560?”

“I realize this must be a shock, but, please, do hear me out. Yes. I traveled through time, from 1560 to 1978. When I arrived in this era, I didn’t know where to find Anne’s family, since I only knew her by her married name.”

“What?” Catherine whispered. “Married?”

“Yes. When I met her, she was the wife of Dr. Jonathan Brandon.”

“Oh, dear Lord!”

“Allow me to get you that glass of water––”

“Whisky. I’m drinking whisky. It’s over there on the shelf, by the silver loving cup.”

Catherine watched as Daniel stood, scanned the room, and found the little bar tucked into the bookshelves. A moment later, he had two glasses in hand, poured straight up and neat. He returned to the desk, placed one drink before her, and then settled back into his chair with the other.

“I hope you don’t mind, ma’am. At this moment, whisky sounds rather good to me, too.”

“No, of course I don’t mind,” Catherine said.

He held forth his glass. “Cheers, then?”

Still feeling numb, fingers trembling, she took up her glass. “Cheers.”

He smiled and tasted his. Nodding with pleasure, he said, “I’m here to offer my assistance, Mrs. Howard.”

“But how?”

He pointed to his card. “As far as is known, there are only a few time travelers in the world today. In 1560, I was a Benedictine monk, recently gone into hiding. Anne told me about the religious freedom of this era, so I found a way and escaped.”

Catherine was stunned. “Then, there’s a way out? Could Anne come home?”

The priest shrugged. “I don’t know. There may be an issue with timing at these, er, portals. But you must know, when I last saw her she had no desire to follow me.”

“What? Whyever not?”

“It’s a complicated story. Let me just say the circumstances weren’t right for her at that moment.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “When I arrived in 1978, the Catholic Church took me in. They attempted to check the legitimacy of my claims by testing my clothing, leather shoes, wooden cane, hair, and blood. Eventually, they concluded I was telling the truth. I was given an education then, and I opted to study for the priesthood. I’ve held my current position at the Vatican for the past twenty-three years.”

He shifted in his seat, crossing his legs before going on. “You see, we travelers are few, serving the Holy See in various capacities, but with one main objective. I’m a Jesuit scholar, ma’am. I took a Ph.D. in European history from Oxford. In addition to assisting at the Vatican with the everyday work of investigating miracles, researching claims for sainthood, and the like, I keep track of changes in the historical time line. I knew from personal experience that Anne was married to Jonathan Brandon. I also heard him claim to have time traveled.”

“Yes, I know all about that,” Catherine said.

“Right. You were his fiancée and––”

“Young man,” she interjected, “I’ve sat here patiently listening to you for several minutes, now. Tell me, aside from a history lesson, what is the exact purpose of your call?”

“I’m getting there, ma’am. After some investigation, I was able to determine Brandon’s point of origin. However, this still left me unable to trace Anne’s family, which was quite frustrating, I can assure you.

“I knew about you as Brandon’s fiancée from the old newspaper accounts after he went missing. But I’d no idea of your connection to Anne until the story of her disappearance broke in the international press.” He paused and then, with a self-effacing smile, continued, “It was right under my nose the entire time, wasn’t it?”

“Just so, Father.”

He cleared his throat self-consciously. “Yes, well, I had determined that something changed in the time line, but, as I said, it was Anne’s very public disappearance that led me to you.” He took another sip of his whisky. “There are now references to Dr. Brandon in the historical record. He is listed among the royal physicians of Elizabeth I. He wasn’t there before.”

Catherine frowned. “I don’t understand. Are you telling me the rest of the world doesn’t notice these so-called changes in the time line?”

“Precisely, ma’am. Only those of us touched by time.”

Catherine placed her glass on the desk and hurried to the coffee table to retrieve a history book. “Could Jonnie be in here?” She scoured through the pages.

Daniel stood and glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ve been searching through primary sources, first at the Vatican, then in the British Library, and also at the Royal Archives in Windsor. I haven’t begun to look in ordinary history texts.”

Catherine drew in her breath when a familiar face stared back at her, a portrait of a bearded man, a handsome man with a scar on his cheek.

There was a coat of arms beneath his portrait, a mingling of the physician’s insignia—a serpent entwined about a staff—a rose, and the Latin motto,
Spero in Deo
. Trust in God.

She read the footnote aloud, “Sir Jonathan Edward Brandon, royal physician of Queen Elizabeth I. Brandon married Anne Howard in 1560. One known child, their daughter, Catherine Rose, was a goddaughter of the queen.”

Catherine swayed and the priest caught her arm. “Would you help me to sit?” she croaked.

He lowered her to the sofa. “Ma’am, I know this is a shock, and I’m sorry. Should I call for your housekeeper?”

Smiling, she shook her head. “No, you don’t understand, Father. I’m so happy. I can’t tell you how happy this has made me.” She glanced at the desk. “There’s a photograph of Jonnie in his military uniform in the top drawer. It’s wrapped in tissue paper. Would you please get it for me?”

The priest retrieved the frame, then joined her on the sofa. She took the Dudley photograph from her pocket and unwrapped the thornless rose, while explaining the significance of each.

Daniel peered at the rose. “I should very much like to have this flower and the photograph analyzed.”

Catherine nodded. “Yes, of course.” She took the frame from the priest and added, “Jonnie was very resourceful, Father. He sent a message to me from 1559.”

“Really?” Daniel’s gaze was rapt as she tore the tissue away from the double-sided frame. After allowing him to study Jonnie’s photograph, she flipped it over.

She gasped. Two new messages were scrawled across the bottom in Anne’s hand!

Together, they leaned forward to read.

Dear Grandma,

I’m safe with Jonathan. He’s doing very well, as am I. So far, we haven’t found a way back. I’ll try to send more messages. Maybe you should buy the Hastings’s Bible, so you’ll be able to get any new notes. Meanwhile, I’ll write at the bottom of Jonathan’s letter. Tell Mom and Dad I miss them. Reassure them I’m okay.

I love you,

Anne

Dear Grandma,

I know you will understand. Jonathan and I have made a life together. We are married and deeply in love. We’re expecting a baby in June 1561. I’ve never been happier!

Love to you, Mom, Dad, Trudy, Uncle Reggie, and everyone. Give Duffy a hug for me!

Anne Brandon

P.S. I hope you have purchased this Bible by now.

“Oh, Anne!” Catherine touched the frame, then picked up the thornless rose, tenderly fingering the wilted petals. “You know, Father, she named her baby after me. I’m thrilled for her and Jonnie. I only wish they were here.”

Daniel crossed himself. “I believe it is for that reason God brought me into this era.”

Catherine made a move to rise from her chair, but then sank back, shaking her head in astonishment. “Yes, excuse me, Father. I must call my solicitor and begin the search for the Bible.”

His calm, steady gaze locked onto hers. “I’ll help you. You shall have the full resources of the Vatican at your disposal. And mayhap,” he smiled, “we’ll find a way of bringing Anne and her family here.”

“Good gracious, could it happen?”

“Anything is possible, ma’am. Consider what happened to me.”

He reached out and patted her hand, and the warmth of his smile filled Catherine with hope.

“I’ll move heaven and earth if I have to,’ he added softly. “I believe we’ll find the answer, in time.”

Catherine caught the sweet scent of the thornless rose—now the scent of joy! At last she knew those she cherished were safe and happy, realizing
their
love was meant to be.

.