Tudor Rose

vii. wheel of misfortune

March 28, 1519

Court was an echo of its former self when we returned. More than a month had gone by, and the days we spent exiled from our home became a blurry, distant, hazy memory that I longed to forget. It was like a nightmare, really, like a dream you'd like nothing more than to wake up from. Resilient as England was, we would need time to mend our issues. Our country had been ravaged by the disease, and it was left crippled and impoverished. This was something that couldn't be banished from our minds indefinitely, as though it never happened in the first place. No, this was more than that. This was devastating and it caused losses throughout the whole of our country. People lined the streets, mourning, praying, and crying. It seemed like there was not a person in the country who escaped the outbreak unscathed.

The first thing that I noticed upon my return was the vast sea of black mourning clothes. Henry and I were among them, of course, but it didn't  prevent my sheer surprise when the true amount of mourning was revealed. Court was a dark and sad place.

My sister's funeral was a small, sad affair. My parents were there, along with my family and Lizzie's ever growing family. She now had five children- three boys and two girls. All eyes were on my niece, though. Lucy, now twelve and growing into a fine girl, looked so lost and out of place. I hadn't seen her in over a year, and in that time she'd blossomed into a true lady. She was petite, with dark blonde hair falling in tight ringlets just below her shoulders. She had her mother's blue eyes and hair color, but the rest of her was so distinctly Lord Rowlett that it was shocking she was related to my late sister at all. She wore a rich, silky black gown, and a gable hood in a matching color. The ensemble looked quite expensive, but it probably seemed like a very small cost to her. The Duchess of Marlborough in her own right, she was probably the richest young girl in all of England. 

Beatrice was incredibly proud of Lucy, but like me, she lacked male issue. Her and her husband, a quiet and kind man, wanted a son more than anything. The orphan they cared for was a miracle in their eyes, though they always seemed to always place their precious Lucy above him. Now it was Lucy who was the orphan, sent to Hatfield to live with her royal cousins until she was of age. I pitied Lucy. She was too young to be orphaned.

The ceremony and events following were dull and grim. No more than two sentences were exchanged between any two people, and we all refused to voice our true thoughts. It was a dreadful and unexpected loss. Celebrating a past with Beatrice in it seemed so difficult when it came time to envision a future without her. 

I clung to Lizzie's heels, and we went for a walk in the dewy gardens afterwards. I was even more grateful to have a good relationship with her, even though it had once seemed impossible for us to agree on even the smallest, most irrelevant matters. Elizabeth was sad, too, and she didn't try to hide it. Lizzie and Beatrice got along significantly better than Beatrice and I ever did, and so the death affected her much more than it did me. As we walked, neither said a word. We were both thinking similar thoughts, but didn't dare to speak them. 

Two Holbrook sisters remained in the world, and just death would reunite us all.

__

March 29, 1519

Henry and I spent an evening playing cards by the fireside, basking in the warmth that the fire provided. It was a chilly night, though it was hardly unexpected as the March weather was rarely pleasant. It was incredibly therapeutic and relieving to play a card game with him. It reminded me of my first few weeks at court when that was practically the only thing I did. I missed that part of my life, as it was so peaceful and chaotic at once. I lived for the thrill of being the newest contender for queen, even if I wouldn't have admitted it then and there. I knew it, though. The exhilarating rush of adrenaline I'd experienced those first few months was something I'd come to miss.