Mary felt an urge to strike back at this woman she had never thought she would see again, but she did not. In memory of poor Will’s delirious calling for the only woman he truly loved as he stood on the dark step of death, well, for that she would hold her tongue.
“The favor is hardly for money, Lady Rochford. I have been a holy sister these many years and have no desire for things of the world. ‘Semper transit gloria mundi’ is my motto, and has been since the Careys lost Durham and all that went with it.”
“Then, what aid did you think I could lend?”
“There is a struggle in my priory, lady, a very important one. I have worked long to be the prioress of Wilton—you never visited me there with Will, I believe. You were always too tied to the court.”
“I never saw Wilton, sister.”
“Will knew the importance and influence of Wilton as a priory in its area and it is a rich house—in relics and artifacts, I mean. Will would have told you that.”
“Yes.”
“There is to be a new appointment—the old abbess is dying and the appointment should be mine. I know in the eyes of God it is meant to be mine!”
“And you had wanted me to ask the king to help you. I am sorry, Eleanor, but I never even speak with him anymore. That is just the way it is. You must believe me.”
“Oh, I do believe you. Only, you have the obvious connections yet. Your sister could ask him for you. They say she gets whatever she will have.”
“Dresses and palaces, perhaps, but she can hardly tamper with political or church business.”
“But Will said she hated Cardinal Wolsey since he took her first love away. You see, that would attract her to my cause. The great Cardinal Wolsey puts forth his own candidate in competition to me, not that he even knows about me, but the other woman is from his favored abbey at Salisbury. She cares nothing for Wilton and her appointment would be so unfair! For Will’s sake, for the Carey children, please say you will aid me!” Her long-fingered hands smoothed her gray skirts over her knees. “Besides, Lady Rochford, I have heard the Lady Anne, Marquise of Pembroke, does involve herself with things political and still she rides high in his favor. Can you help me?”
“The most I could do is tell my sister, Eleanor. What she or His Grace will do, I cannot say. That much will have to suffice.”
Eleanor Carey breathed an audible sigh of relief. “That will be of great aid in a righteous cause, I assure you. I knew this chilly trip would be worth it.”
“Will you stay here at Whitehall the night? I am certain it can be arranged.”
“No, I would not wish that. I have long been uncomfortable in secular surroundings. I shall visit with the sisters at the Abbey near Westminster and hurry back to Wilton.”
“I remember you used to stay weeks with us at the court at Greenwich.” Mary smiled, then wished she had resisted the temptation to goad her.
“Will and I needed time together,” she returned icily. “We—he had such fine plans. And now his lands are taken from his son. How strange the king would take a father’s lands from his son...if the boy is indeed the Carey heir, lady.”
An angry knot twisted in Mary and she gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to shout at this cold, gray creature who sat, leaning forward, her stony eyes trying to pierce her thoughts. Mary returned her stare and feared her long pent-up anger would show on her face. She has hated me ever since her poor brother took me to his bed, she thought wildly.
“His Grace and your dear dead brother would both tell you the child is a Carey heir, Sister Eleanor. Henry is raised with His Grace’s only son at Hatfield as a companion. My father and Will arranged long ago for the child’s education.” Mary rose, afraid to trust her voice further, afraid to show the contempt which swelled within her. It was like seeing Will again and feeling the frustration and anger she had carried toward his bitterness. Maybe she had idolized Will too much in her mind after his awful death. Yes, Will had never really loved her and his sister’s stone-gray eyes brought it all back.
Eleanor Carey stood in a rustle of skirts. She swung her dark full woolen gray pelisse around her shoulders and turned to regard Mary calmly from the doorway. “I fear I am the last of the Careys with the burden of Will’s dream. Do not fail me in this, I pray you, Lady Rochford. Penance can be salvation.”
Mary stood wide-eyed, gripping her fists in helpless tight balls as the door closed behind the woman. All the anger she had buried since Will’s death spilled out against Eleanor Carey. She sobbed and beat feebly, futilely on the door. She had never cried like this over his death, hardly cried at all. This release of pent-up hatred was the penance of salvation perhaps, her salvation with Staff. Yes, she would ask Anne for the favor, but that would be enough. Then she would be free of the Carey curse of guilt that always lay between her and Staff, even when she felt the comfort of his unquestioning love stronger even than his arms around her.