From Absolution: A Question of Conviction:
“Catherine’s hands trembled as she set the letter aside and lifted the small wooden box beneath. Normally she would have considered it quite a pretty thing; its wax-polished surface gleaming, and the edges were carved with delicate scrollwork. A single acorn motif centred on the lid gave her a moment’s pause as she considered it.
Is that a clue to the identity of the sender? It is quite a common symbol representing growth or potential…
She realised she was just delaying the inevitable and so, with bated breath, she lifted the lid – the tiny hinges creaking in protest.
She gasped, part in dread and part in relief.
Inside the box, lying against black velvet, nestled a clump of golden curls. It was unmistakably Henry’s hair; they were the same wheat-coloured locks that she had tried to tame since first holding his tiny body in her arms.
The box slipped from her numb fingers, clattering to the floor as she pressed both hands to her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to tear from her throat.
He has Henry – he has my lovely boy, she thought hysterically.
Her mind was blank with terror.
Sinking to her knees, she gathered the scattered curls with desperate tenderness, as though collecting them was partly rescuing Henry himself.
Cutching the refilled box to her chest, she wept for Henry, a dark mass of despair threatening to engulf her.
Sniffling, she wiped her eyes. She took a couple of deep breaths to regain her composure and desperately tried to wrench her mind to the problem of locating him and his captor.
Where can he be? She agonised.
The moment she tried to focus on his whereabouts and the conditions he might be held in, her imagination betrayed her. She immediately thought the worst, and a great sob escaped her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture him on the sunny day when she’d left him at Cambridge, but all she could see was a foul pit with stagnant water and scurrying vermin.
She shivered violently and gulped down lungfuls of air.
As her panic subsided, a growing anger swelled from deep within her soul, banishing the tears, as it burned with an incandescent fury.
Rising, she shouted, “Lucy!” Her voice was hard, cutting like a whip. “Summon William and Thomas. I leave for Westminster within the hour.””