Oxford Shadows

Published 2013 by Carlux Publishing

Copyright © 2012 by Marion Croslydon

All rights reserved.

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or the publisher.

ISBN: 978-0-9572824-4-5

Cover design by
PhatPuppyArt.com

Formatting by
BookCoverCafe.com

Dedication

For my mother.

You roar and you kick butt like nobody else.

You are my warrior.

And for my father,

who showed me how a real man and

a strong hero should live and love.

Je vous aime.

Author’s Note

IF ANYONE MENTIONS the name of Henry the Eighth to you, you are meant to grow pale and have those familiar visions of a red-bearded ogre, a nasty, cruel, and not-so-sweet Shrek. And it is true that the man was responsible—directly or indirectly—for breaking countless hearts and having a terrifying number of pretty heads chopped off.

That said there is more to the king than this gruesome legend. He was a true man of the Renaissance, an artist, a linguist, a poet …

He married six times but I am convinced that his truest and most passionate love of all was Anne Boleyn, his first real victim. One of my favorite melodies, “Greensleeves,” is rumored to have been composed by Henry himself to court Anne, although historians have contested this fact. They might be right … but not according to
Oxford Shadows
and Liliana’s tragic tale.

To help put the story in perspective, I have selected a few important dates relevant to the events in this book. It must be noted that until Henry acceded to the throne in 1509, his father kept him out of public life. He was rarely seen at court.

28 June 1491 ~ Birth of Henry Tudor, son of Henry the Seventh.

November 1501 ~ Marriage of Arthur, Henry’s oldest brother and future king, to Catherine of Aragon, youngest surviving child of King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen
Isabella I of Castile
.

1502 ~ Death of Arthur (aged fifteen) after only twenty weeks of marriage. Henry becomes Duke of Cornwall, then Prince of Wales.

23 June 1503 ~ A treaty was signed for the marriage of Henry and Catherine.  They were betrothed two days later.

1505 ~ Prince Henry (aged fourteen) rejects Catherine. She remains in England as an ambassador of her father, King Ferdinand.

22 April 1509 ~ Death of Henry the Seventh.

10 May 1509 ~ The new Henry the Eighth announces he will marry Catherine of Aragon after all. The marriage is kept low key.

23 June 1509 ~ Coronation of Henry the Eighth, with his wife Catherine at his side.

February 1516 ~ Birth of a girl,
Princess Mary
, after three previous miscarriages, stillbirths, or early deaths.

June 1519 ~ Birth of Henry’s illegitimate son, Fitzroy.

1 June 1533 ~ Catherine formally stripped of her title as queen, and Anne Boleyn crowned
queen consort
.

7 September 1533 ~ Birth of Elizabeth of York (the future Elizabeth the First).

1534 ~ Henry the Eighth becomes the head of the Church of England. Start of the English Reformation.

19 May 1536 ~ Anne Boleyn executed at the Tower of London.

29 May 1536 ~ Marriage of Henry the Eighth with Jane Seymour.

12 October 1537 ~ Birth of Prince Edward.

24 October 1537 ~ Death of Jane Seymour.

6 January 1540 ~ Marriage with Anne of Cleves.

9 July 1540 ~ Annulment of the marriage with Anne of Cleves.

28 July 1540 ~ Marriage with Catherine Howard.

23 November 1541 ~ Annulment of the marriage with Catherine Howard.

13 February 1542 ~ Catherine beheaded.

12 July 1543 ~ Marriage with Catherine Parr.

28 January 1547 ~ Death of Henry the Eighth, aged fifty-five. His son, Edward, becomes Edward the Sixth.

6 July 1553 ~ Death of Edward the Sixth.

Prologue

Florence ~ June 1533

THE RIVER ARNO swallows my body. I float, I fly, I fall. I do not try to move or fight. The stream engulfs the pleats of my billowing dress and drags me closer to the darkness. My arms are spread wide; my eyes stare at the unknown.

Whatever—whoever—awaits me on the other side, I will bow and curtsy. I will bid farewell to the despair that has wrecked my hopes, trampled on my love. The wait has been so long, so lonely, and in vain.

He did not come back for me but wedded another. A prettier one, a younger one, a luckier one. With fading strength, I unclench my fingers and let the lily drift away. The flower vanishes in the tumultuous waters. My sight has become blurred, and my chest burns until the pain disappears.

Death is an escape.

Death will be my new beginning. 

1

Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford ~ Today

MADISON STARED at the man, her eyes glued to the blood smeared across his face. His lips mouthed words that the music of the orchestra rendered silent. Dread wrapped a heavy blanket around her heart and numbed her brain. Her fingers dug into her thighs. She forced herself to swallow, only for her mouth to turn bone dry.

He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be.

Rupert, by her side, hadn’t reacted to the apparition. His stepmother, Camilla, over whom the bloodied man hovered, didn’t even twitch at his proximity.

Camilla sat beside Rupert’s father Hugo, opposite Madison and Rupert, on the other side of the chancel,
The Martyrdom of Saint Thomas Becket
spread across the window above them. Camilla paid attention only to the musicians and singers who performed in front of the High Altar. She caressed the curve of her swollen belly, pregnancy giving her a contented glow.

The melody—a Renaissance ballad—had faded from Madison’s consciousness. She couldn’t distinguish the lute from the harp or the violin. They meshed into a distant noise. She registered only the details of the man’s ancient clothing. A reddish hat with two golden buttons topped hair that he wore chin length. A jeweled collar of roses crowned his purple overcoat, trimmed with dark fur.

To break the spell the vision had cast, Madison shifted her gaze upwards to the vaulted ceiling from which lantern-shaped pendants appeared to hang in midair. Ribs and stone met at the center of the vault to form pointed stars, a tease of heaven for the faithful.

Rupert’s fingers were intertwined with hers. The warm contact gave her strength. Madison turned her face and studied his profile. Her heartbeat stalled, then restarted. Rupert Vance was her boyfriend, confidant, and unofficial bodyguard.

Suddenly darkness collapsed around her. Shapes and forms blurred, although the ballad kept resonating through Christ Church Cathedral. A chilled rush of air brushed over her face, and the short hair on the nape of her neck rose in apprehension. Candlelight flickered instead of the electric lamps that had illuminated the room seconds earlier.

And then, silence.

Someone—the ghost, for that was what her vision had shown—had pressed the mute button. Madison was the only audience for his show. He shook his head. Was it in anger or frustration? Madison didn’t know. He leaned forward, his head now above Camilla’s shoulder. He stared at her from the corner of his eyes. His gaze slowly moved across the chancel, from the pregnant woman to Madison.

Air was trapped in Madison’s lungs. She let out a lungful of oxygen. Fear played havoc with her breathing.

The man opened his mouth and started talking. His words came like the delayed echo of thunder across a summer sky. “The girl will die before she is born. So will her mother.”

The threat punched Madison in the stomach. She bent under the shock and let out a moan. A woman sitting in front of her threw a frown back at her. Rupert’s hold on her hand tightened. Her eyes shut, she blocked out the world around her, even him. She had to. Survival mode. When her eyelids lifted again, she checked the spot where the ghost had been.

He was gone.

Camilla wasn’t her friend, but she didn’t deserve to die at the hands of a homicidal ghost. Nor did her unborn daughter: Rupert’s sister. Rupert’s blood.

2

RUPERT SIGHED. Why was everyone so damned determined to go through this dinner as silently as possible? The concert had gone smoothly enough. Apart from Madison’s I-saw-an-undead-freak-out moment, the first part of Rupert’s family get-together had been a success, probably because they didn’t have to talk to each other. They would have to, though. Rupert had the right to a semi-functioning family. He deserved it, and he wanted Madison to be part of it.

“Madison graduated from Yale last year. We’ve been paired up since she arrived here at Oxford at the start of Michaelmas. She’s the one who got me back on the straight and narrow.”