by Meghan Sloan
“Enough, Mr Mitchell,” said the bishop, quite sharply. “I think that we have heard quite enough on that count. Your client makes many claims about the lady but cannot prove any of them.” His face was like thunder. “Your client also shows disrespect to this court by not making the effort to attend these proceedings …”
“My client did try, my lord,” interjected the solicitor. “He was unable to book passage …”
“Fiddlesticks,” said the bishop, his voice contemptuous. “He could have been here if he wanted to. He fled the country, with his mistress, and does not even have the decency to face the wife that he abandoned to account for his actions …”
The solicitor swallowed, quite visibly. He didn’t look comfortable at all.
“We shall reconvene in an hour,” said the bishop crisply. “I shall confer with my colleagues about these latest developments.” He paused, pursing his lips. “We shall present our findings, then, on this whole sorry mess.”
***
Louis pulled her aside as they waited in the foyer, while the judges convened. His green eyes were sparkling with joy. It took all of her willpower to stop herself from flinging her arms around him.
“You clever girl,” he breathed, gazing at her with admiration. “I do believe that you have turned the tables quite nicely.” He paused. “How did you think of it?”
She smiled slowly. “Well, it is the truth,” she replied. “I am still a virgin, and I can prove it if they make me. But I never put two and two together, that it is grounds for an annulment, rather than a divorce until you mentioned Henry the Eighth, last evening.”
His smile widened. “I was wondering why you looked so happy all of a sudden when you had been weeping in my arms, just seconds before…”
Her eyes glittered, with fierce triumph. “It was talking about the king’s first marriage, to Catherine of Aragon, that it suddenly struck me,” she said. “The king tried to claim that she had not been a virgin when he married her, as she had been previously married to his late brother. She asserted that she was, that her marriage to his brother was never valid, as they had not lain together, as he had been sickly. And that was when it came to me that I could argue for an annulment on the grounds that I was a virgin …”
He shook his head in wonder. “A brilliant tactic,” he whispered. “And I must say, just as an aside, that it warmed my heart to hear that the rake of a husband of yours never lay with you.” He lowered his voice. “That you will truly be mine, on our wedding night …”
She shivered at his words, her heart soaring with hope. Was it possible? Had she done enough to lay this to rest once and for all, and finally be free to get on with her life the way that she yearned to?
“We must not celebrate yet,” she said quietly. “They are still convening. And I have learnt the hard way that we must assume nothing of life.”
She gazed towards the closed door. A flurry of butterflies leapt to life in her belly. Every minute, every second, was agony now until it opened again, and they could walk back in and hear what the judges had decided.
***
The judges were grim-faced, as they walked back into the court. Hetty shivered in sudden fear. She couldn’t read a thing from their expressions.
When they were settled, the bishop took a deep breath. He turned and addressed her.
“This has been a rather messy business,” he declared. “As I said at the beginning of these proceedings, the Church values the sanctity of marriage, and extenuating circumstances must be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt, for the holy vows between a man and a woman to be broken, in the eyes of God.” He paused for a long time, gazing at her steadily. “My colleagues and I were rather divided after your revelations this morning, madam. I must inform you that before you spoke, we had made the decision that your marriage should be upheld …”
Hetty’s heart flipped over in her chest.
“One of my colleagues argued that your reputation is still compromised by the allegations Mr Blackmore made against you,” he continued. “That there is no smoke without fire, and that there is the strongest possibility that he did believe you were unchaste and acted accordingly. This court, as you know, takes a grim view of a woman’s infidelity. In the matter of marriage, we must be scrupulous on this count. The question of paternity of offspring arises. A man must know that his children are his own, without a shadow of a doubt, or else it rips asunder the very fabric of civilised society.”
Hetty’s felt a flickering of anger. After all that she had said, they still doubted her chasteness?
“My colleague argued that we should compel you to undergo an examination, to prove that you are, indeed, still a maiden, as you claim,” he said slowly. “He also argued that we should dig deeper, to investigate Mr Blackmore’s assertions about you, and put before this court anyone who has witnessed you acting in the way that Mr Blackmore described in his letter.”
Hetty’s heart sank. This was not sounding good. If they did that, this could drag on for many more months. But then, she rallied. She had truth on her side. If they made her take an examination, it would prove that she was not lying. And there was no one who could claim she had acted inappropriately while she was engaged because she hadn’t.
“But I have vetoed all of that,” he continued in a firm voice. “As bishop, I have the final say, and it is my will, that you should not be subjected to an examination, madam.” He paused. “I believe that you have endured enough and that your testimony is sufficient. I believe that you are telling the truth and that you are still a maiden. I also believe that there is sufficient evidence that your husband intended to desert you, to live with his mistress, and that what he wrote in his letter about your infidelities, and the fact that he was not involved with his mistress at the time of your engagement, are all lies.”
Hetty’s heart began to swell. She reeled, almost swooning. Her mother let out a little yelp of joy. Her father grasped her arm tightly.
The bishop took a deep breath. “It is the finding of this court that Miss Henrietta Arnold’s marriage to Mr Frank Blackmore was never consummated, and therefore, is not valid,” he declared. “The court declares that Mr Blackmore is required, by law, to return Miss Arnold’s dowry to her father, so that she has proper funds in which to secure a new marriage if she so desires.” He paused, gazing steadily at Hetty. “The marriage is declared annulled, as of today’s date. Good luck, Miss Arnold. I rather think that you deserve it.”
Hetty smiled at him, tremulously, her eyes filling with tears. The bishop smiled back. And then all three clerics stood, sweeping out of the room without another word.
She was free. The bishop had just declared it. He had called her Miss Arnold. She was no longer Mrs Frank Blackmore. The past had been erased as if it had never existed at all. As if it had been merely chalk scribblings on a slate, wiped clean by a rag.
She was on her feet now, being embraced by her mother and father. They squeezed her tightly. The tears started to flow as she sobbed in their arms. They had never given up on her. They had been the ones who had fought for this victory, alongside her. They had picked her up, when she had been at her lowest ebb, and protected her. She was the luckiest woman in the world to have such parents.
Through her tears, she saw Mr Mitchell, Frank’s solicitor, walk out of the room, a grim look on his face. No doubt, he was not looking forward to writing to his client and informing him of what had happened here today. The man had been so very confident that his character assassination of her would work. He might have even suggested it to Frank, that it was the only way to win this case.
She took a deep breath. She no longer cared whether Frank hated her, or was indifferent to her, or what he thought about her at all. He could have his French mistress, and his child, and his new home in another country. It was no longer any of her business.
She was free. She was free!
Finally, her eyes found him. Louis. He was standing in the gallery. Just watching her. His face was re
splendent with joy.
It was not the time to embrace him publicly. Not yet. But that time was coming very soon. And she simply could not wait for it.
He had saved her. He had brought her back to life. And she simply couldn’t live without him now. She knew that, in the depths of her innermost heart.
Chapter 19
Hetty swung the basket against her hip as she walked down the garden path. It was officially the last day of summer. Tomorrow, it would be a new month and a new season. Tomorrow, it would be autumn, and the leaves on the apple tree would slowly start to change colour and fall to the ground.
She hummed softly under her breath as she swung the rusty old garden gate open. Della, who was trotting at her heels, barked suddenly, scrambling in her haste, to run through the field. Hetty laughed, so full of joy that she could barely contain it.
She looked down at her gown and the white apron that covered it. A day at home, at Hillsworth Manor, before she left the house, forever. She did not know when Louis would arrive to claim her, to whisk her away to Scotland, so that they could get married, but she knew that it was going to happen. She had patience, and she had faith.
As she walked slowly, basking in the rays of the sun on her skin, she thought of Louis, at Warwick Manor, with Ben. The last day of the hearing, when the court had decided that her marriage to Frank Blackmore was to be annulled, he had received a letter by urgent messenger. Benjamin had taken ill again, and was fretful, wanting his father. Louis had been torn between wanting to spend the day with her, celebrating, and wishing to see his son.
“Go,” she had urged him. “There is plenty of time for us to be together now. Ben needs you, more than I do, at the moment.”
He had left her, regretfully. That had been over a week ago. She received letters from him every day, telling her how much he missed her, how much he longed for her, and how Ben was improving, but still wasn’t fully recovered. The physician thought he might have croup; apparently, he had a barking cough that would become uncontrollable, and he would struggle for breath. The physician had assured him that many young children caught it and recovered. But Hetty could read between the lines of Louis’s letters, that he was worried.
She was worried about Ben, too. But since she was not there, at Warwick Manor, she could not ascertain with her own eyes how serious it was. And she knew that Louis panicked about his son, as was normal. Her mother had told her that Hetty had suffered croup as a baby, and made a full recovery. She had prayed for the little boy, but there was little else she could do.
It had been on her mind, daily, to just journey to Warwick Manor, so that she could help nurse him. But her father had shaken his head, saying that even though the court had announced her annulment, there was still the slight possibility that Frank Blackmore might lodge an objection. She could not risk journeying to Warwick Manor, as he might get wind of it, and use it against her. They would only be safe once Louis had finally put that ring on her finger to make her his wife.
She was almost to the apple tree. She stopped, gazing upon it. The apples were nearly gone; most had fallen to the ground, and there were very few good ones left, the ones that remained on the branches mostly rotting, or picked clean, by birds. The cycle of fruition was almost over for another year.
She kept walking, feeling a slight breeze ruffling her hair. She would miss this place and all it had meant to her. She smiled faintly, thinking about Louis, again.
The apple tree had always been a favourite place of hers since childhood. But it had taken on new meaning now. Vividly, she remembered when Louis had pushed her on the swing, and it had collapsed. How they had laughed together as he pulled her to her feet, and they had shared a special moment of connection. It had been the very first time that had foreshadowed how deeply they would come to feel about each other.
She blushed. And there was another memory, of when he had kissed her, for the very first time, beneath this tree. How he had fiercely gathered her up in his arms and explored her body, giving her the first inclination that there was hunger of another sort. That touch was a language, all of its own. Once she had opened her ears to the words of that language, it was as if she was born again, as a new person, entirely.
She sat against the tree trunk, gazing into the distance, the basket on her arm discarded. She had a vague inclination when she left the house to pick the last of the good fruit on the tree for the cook to make into apple cobbler. But now that she was here, a lethargy had overtaken her, and all that she wanted to do was watch the rolling green hills and be at one with the day.
The last day of summer. All things pass.
Della ran off, nose to the ground, possibly following the scent of a rabbit. Hetty closed her eyes for a brief moment. There was the low rumble of thunder in the distance. She opened her eyes again, frowning slightly as she saw the grey clouds rolling over the horizon, marring the perfect blue of the sky. But it was far off and might pass over, in any case. She had time, still, to enjoy the day before she returned to the house.
It was done. It was over. She was a free woman.
Every day, as soon as she opened her eyes, and the fog of sleep passed, those same words rushed into her head. She would feel the same overwhelming relief that she had felt, in that court, when the bishop had finally proclaimed that she was no longer a married woman. The sheer, overwhelming joy of it that she had managed to pull it off.
She still couldn’t quite believe it. She had to pinch herself that it was real, and that she was finally free to marry Louis. She wanted it, more than life itself. But there was also pure joy in the vindication that she had cleared her name, as well.
That she was no longer the abandoned wife, the disgraced wife, the woman who had been made a fool of. Now, she had never been married at all. She was not divorced. Her marriage had been annulled, been declared null and void. For all intents and purposes, it was as if it had never happened.
She breathed deeply, overwhelmed with that sweet relief and joy, once more. Perhaps the joy of it would never truly leave her, even as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months. Even after she had left all of this behind, and it was just a dim memory, perhaps a kernel of that pure joy would still be there, buried deep within her.
She had been given the chance to live again.
Her eyelids started to droop slightly. It was warm beneath the sun, despite those ominous rumblings of thunder from far away. She heard the drone of bees buzzing, collecting their nectar from the last wildflowers in the field, and the trill of birds in the trees. She closed her eyes, her head tilting against the rough bark of the tree.
I miss Louis so much, she thought, as her mind began to drift. I know that I shall see him again very soon, but it does not change the fact. When, oh when, can we finally be together?
She shivered beneath the warm sun, missing him so very badly that it was like a physical ache in her chest. It had only been a week, but it felt like a year. She shivered again, thinking of his hands touching her body. His lips, searing her skin. How she wanted him. How much she would give to be lying in his arms now, and for his mouth to be drifting down her body like a chain of fire, scorching her flesh …
***
She woke suddenly, jolting upright, her heart pounding hard within her chest. Where was she?
Slowly, consciousness returned, and with it, an ache in her back and neck. Ruefully, she massaged her neck, releasing the muscles. She gazed around. She had fallen asleep beneath the apple tree. Della was asleep, too, snoring gently, her golden head upon her lap. Hetty let out a sigh of relief. The dog could easily have run away into the hills.
She blinked. The sky had changed. It was no longer the deep, pure blue it had been, marred by the grey clouds. Now, it was almost completely metallic grey, the colour of a musket, and just as foreboding. A single raindrop fell on her forearm. She should get back to the house before it started pelting down.
She got up abruptly, causing Della to awake with a yelp, shaking herself. Hea
ding down the track, that same yearning for Louis nipped at her. Another lonely night without him. How could she endure it?