Your Grief is My Grief [DM] sequel to Beauty and the Beast

Chapter Eleven

Lizzie's POV:

When life gets tough, I am blessed with a nice dream at night.

"Come on, slowpokes!" I laughed, hurrying ahead of my mum and Grayson, who were dragging behind.

It was the summer before fifth year and my mum had decided to take us out on a trip to the Tower of London, the castle fortress on the bank of the River Thames. I had never been and was more than excited to learn the history of such an old building.

I was racing ahead of my mum and Grayson, furiously reading each plaque of information available before racing to the next.

It had been a prison during the 16th and 17th centuries. It had a very lengthy and bloody history of torture and death, though only seven people had been executed inside its walls.

"Slow down, Liz! We have all day!" Gray groaned, already tired of trying to keep up with me.

"Oh, let her have her fun," my mum laughed.

I was dragging my family around the Tower Green towards the Scaffold Site, where executions used to take place.

When we reached the area, my eyes fell upon the memorial. It was a large circle of blue/green-tinged glass with a crystal pillow in the center with an indent in the center, as if something invisible were resting on it. The glass circle was suspended like a table above another circle, this one made of granite. Around this granite circle, words were engraved.

"'Gentle visitor pause awhile," I read aloud to my family, "where you stand death cut away the light of many days, here jewelled names were broken from the vivid thread of life, may they rest in peace while we walk the generations around their strife and courage, under there restless skies'."

"That's intense," Grayson cringed. He had never been one for history, especially the bloody kind.

"This is where the only executions in the Tower took place. There were seven," I explained. "Queen Anne Boleyn, the second wife of King Henry VIII (you know, the 'divorced, beheaded, died. Divorced, beheaded, survived.' thing); Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, the last Plantagenet Princess; Queen Katherine Howard, the fifth wife of King Henry VIII; Jane, Viscountess Rochford, wife of Anne Boleyn's brother; Lady Jane Grey, uncrowned queen of 9 days who was only 16; Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex; and Lord Hastings."

"Jeez," my mum muttered, "That's a lot of dead people."

"They were all beheaded with an axe, save for Queen Anne Boleyn, who was beheaded with a sword. All were clean and swift except for Margaret Pole's, who had her head and shoulders hacked to pieces."

"Too much information," Gray visibly winced.

"A lot of the people who died here are still here supposedly," I smirked at Grayson, knowing this particular piece of information would unnerve him. "Queen Anne Boleyn haunts that chapel over there." I pointed to the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula across the Tower Green. "She's said to walk around with her head under her arm. Henry VI, Margaret Pole, Lady Jane Grey, and the Princes in the Tower are also said to still be here."

"The Princes in the Tower?" my mum questioned curiously. Unlike Grayson, she shared my fascination with history and ghosts.

"Mum, no," Gray groaned, knowing I was about to launch into another bloody story.

"Oh, this is a good one," I grinned.

"Can we pass this story?" Gray begged, looking a bit woozy.

"The Princes in the Tower are the two brothers Edward V of England and Richard of Shrewsbury. They were the only sons of Edward IV of England and Elizabeth Woodville surviving at the time of their father's death in 1483. When they were 12 and 9, they were staying here at the orders of their uncle, Lord Protector: Richard, Duke of Gloucester, until they disappeared."

"They disappeared?" Mum cocked her head to the side.

"They just disappeared. To this day, no one knows what happened to them. Edward was about to be coronated and it is said their uncle murdered them to take the throne for himself."

"What kind of uncle is that cruel?" Gray asked, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead, which had collected a thin sheen of sweat.

"In 1674, workmen dug up a wooden box that had two human skeletons inside. They were found buried 10 feet under the stairs leading to the chapel of the White Tower."

"Those have to be the Princes. You said they were 12 and 9 when they died and the skeletons were small." My mum seemed convinced that those skeletons were the Princes.

"Those weren't the first children's skeletons found here though. Two other kids were found in an old chamber that had been walled up."

"So which were the Princes?" Mum asked hungrily.

"No one knows." I grinned at my family. I was sure I looked like a madman.

"What?!" Grayson exclaimed. "You can't tell a story like that and end it with 'no one knows'!"

"Well, no one does," I defended myself.

"Bloody hell," Grayson huffed, upset with my story.

"In 1789, workmen repairing St. George's Chapel in Windsor, rediscovered the vault of Edward IV and Queen Elizabeth Woodville, discovering an attached vault. This vault was found to contain the coffins of two unidentified children. However, no inspection or examination was carried out and the tomb was resealed. The tomb was inscribed with the names of two of Edward IV's children: George, 1st Duke of Bedford who had died at the age of 2, and Mary of York who had died at the age of 14; both had died before their father. However, two lead coffins clearly labelled as George Plantagenet and Mary Plantagenet were discovered elsewhere in the Chapel, and were moved into the adjoining vault of Edward IV's, but no one made any effort to identify the other children."

"Bloody hell," Grayson said.

"Long story short, no one knows what happened to the Princes of the Tower."

Though most find this dream to be creepy or unnerving, I found it calming. I was with my family before our lives took a turn for the worst and we were happy. What I wouldn't give to go back...