A Green Bay Tree

by Margaret James

  Why did he spend so much time at Easton Hall? Just recently, it seemed he was there every day. Almost every single meal was eaten under his scrutiny. Watching Rebecca — judging her, perhaps — his pale blue eyes roamed freely over her face and body. But, if she ever met that baleful gaze, he looked sharply away. Sometimes, he even shuddered.

  He hardly ever spoke to her. If directly addressed, he replied as briefly as possible, then turned away. For Ellis's sake, Rebecca would have been happy to conciliate Alex Lowell. But it appeared Alex had no desire to be friends with her.

  * * * *

  ‘Becky, my dear? You're very thoughtful today.’ Shaking out his table napkin, Ellis nodded to Simmons and the footman to serve dinner. ‘What's bothering you?’

  ‘What? Oh — nothing.’ Jolted out of her anxious contemplation of Alex Lowell's bland, blond features, Rebecca shook her head. ‘My mind was quite empty.’

  ‘That, I can't believe.’ Ellis broke bread. ‘Well, now we have your attention, tell us what you think of our plan. Since the weather is so fine, we wondered if a couple of days’ rambling might not be the very thing?’

  ‘Rambling?’ repeated Rebecca, blankly.

  ‘Yes.’ Ellis smiled. ‘We shan't go very far afield,’ he went on, for now Rebecca looked doubtful. ‘We thought we might take you to Warwick. We'll show you the castle, which is very splendid — you'll admire it, I'm sure. Then we could go on to Stratford. Put up at an inn, maybe. Spend two or three days there.’

  ‘Do say you'll come.’ Lalage's sharp, clear voice chimed in on Rebecca's left. Grabbing at her sister–in–law's hand, she held it. ‘It's taken Alex weeks to talk Ellis into this.’

  ‘I see.’ Rebecca shrugged. ‘Ellis, can you spare the time?’

  ‘Of course he can.’ Lalage tossed her black curls. ‘You and I will ride in the new carriage,’ she said. ‘The men will go on horseback, I expect. But we two shall travel in style.’

  ‘Ah.’ Rebecca met her husband's gaze. ‘When did you mean to set out?’ she asked.

  ‘On Tuesday.’ Reassuringly, Ellis smiled again. ‘You won't find it arduous, I promise you. Such easy travelling as this will not harm the child.’

  They drove to Warwick and took rooms in a pleasant, half– timbered coaching inn. Taken to see the castle, Rebecca wondered aloud what such a magnificent place could be like inside. So, always anxious to please her, Ellis asked if the family were in residence. Told the earl and countess were abroad, he enquired if the housekeeper could show their party round. The housekeeper proved delighted to oblige.

  Rebecca stared, amazed. Such wall–hangings! Such massive, splendid plate! Such enormous, lofty apartments, so thickly carpeted and draped — so much luxury, in fact, that it made the blacksmith's grand–daughter feel quite faint. She concluded her tour looking solemn, and thoughtful indeed.

  ‘I hated it all,’ she murmured, when Ellis asked what she had liked best. ‘Here, in this very town, people go hungry. Some even die for lack of shelter and food. While there is so much want and starvation at their very gates, it's wicked to live in the style which the earl and countess do.’

  ‘Well — where would your factory be, if the aristocracy had no money to spend?’ Ellis took his wife's hand. ‘Your own workmen are engaged in the manufacture of toys and trinkets for the rich. Searle's finely–wrought snuff–boxes and pretty candlesticks all help contribute towards the sinful luxury of the age.’

  ‘Ellis, that's not so!’ Rebecca stared at him. ‘My factory makes plain buttons. Steel buckles. We strike tradesmen's tokens. We may help to make life easier for ordinary people — but we do not pander to the whims of earls or dukes. We've never sought the patronage of the great!’

  ‘No.’ Ellis had been teasing, but now he saw Rebecca was really upset. So he changed the subject.

  The sun came out. Rebecca's mood lightened. Unable to hear Alex Lowell and Lalage muttering about radicals, levellers and revolutionaries in general, and low–born bastards in particular, she looked and listened with great interest as Ellis pointed out the landmarks of the pretty mediaeval town.

  Reaching the market, she bargained for some ribbons, inspected fat, yellow cheeses and chatted to a farmer's wife, who sold her a bunch of sweet herbs. As the sun shone down, Rebecca's pretty face glowed too.

  But then, walking past Lord Leycester's Hospital, she had to negotiate some narrow steps. There, she tripped.

  She was sure she'd been pushed. Even as Ellis caught her arm, even as she heard him exclaim and ask if she were hurt, she knew Alex Lowell had nudged her. For all his politely concerned smile, for all his offer of his arm to lean on, it was as much as she could do to bite her lip. To stop herself crying out, ‘you pushed me! I know you did. Don't grin like that, you hypocrite. You meant to hurt me just then!’

  She stared at him. But Alex's blue eyes were opaque. His smile did not waver. Turning away, she leaned on Ellis's arm, flushed and upset.

  Later, back at the inn, when Alex and Lalage had gone to their own room and Ellis and Rebecca were alone in theirs, Ellis took his wife's hands in his. ‘What's the matter?’ he asked, his voice low with concern. ‘Were you hurt this afternoon?’

  ‘Hurt?’ Rebecca shrugged. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When you tripped. Did you twist your ankle, maybe?’

  ‘No.’ Rebecca forced a smile. ‘I'm a little tired, that's all. I think I'll go to bed.’

  ‘I'll have the girl make you some chocolate.’ Ellis let her go. ‘I shall take a turn about the streets, breathe in a little night air. Then I'll join you.’

  When Ellis finally came to bed, Rebecca was still awake. Sitting up against her pillows, she was obviously brooding, and frowned as he walked in. ‘There is something wrong,’ said Ellis. ‘Is it what I said about the factory? I was teasing, you know.’

  ‘It's not that.’

  ‘Then won't you tell me what is bothering you?’

  ‘It's your brother–in–law.’ Rebecca looked down at her hands. ‘He frightens me.’

  ‘Old Alex?’ Ellis shook his head. ‘Why's that?’

  ‘He stares at me.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘It's enough.’ Miserably, Rebecca sniffed. ‘I don't know what he means by it.’

  ‘He thinks you're pretty. Worth staring at.’ Reassuringly, Ellis smiled. ‘He means no harm.’

  ‘He doesn't like me.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’ Taking her in his arms, Ellis hugged her. ‘What's he done? What has he said to you?’

  ‘Nothing. But he hates me, all the same. So, if Alex dislikes me, I expect Lalage — ’

  ‘You're being ridiculous now.’ Ellis kissed her cheek. ‘You're with child,’ he murmured. ‘Women in your condition often have strange fancies. Absurd ideas. Lalage loves you dearly — she's told me so time and again. Alex has no reason to dislike you.’

  ‘All the same, he — ’

  ‘You cannot pretend he avoids your company. Or criticises, or slights you. If he stares, he means no harm. He's rather near–sighted, as it happens. I doubt if he realises how disconcerting his gaze can be.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Drawing away, Rebecca looked into his eyes. ‘I'm safe with you, aren't I? You love me?’

  ‘Of course I do. I've loved you from the moment we met.’

  * * * *

  Far from hating her, Alex found his half–sister quite likeable. Of course she was vulgar, of course she was ill– bred, of course her horrible Birmingham accent and coarse expressions grated unmercifully on his refined sensibilities. But Rebecca had a sparkle and vitality which he found rather charming, and he thought she was, on the whole, quite a dear little thing.

  She was pretty, too. Not beautiful, of course. She was too well–rounded and healthy–looking to be a beauty. But she was a sweet little armful. Dark, slender women were Alex's fancy, and Rebecca's blonde, milkmaid looks did not attract him at all — but he could see why Ellis was besotted. Rebecca looked edible. Making love to a woma
n like that, thought Alex, must be like eating a perfect, ripe peach.

  But as for Lalage, she abused the peach all the time, moaning about her morning, noon and night. ‘I do wish she'd make more effort with her hair,’ she muttered, as she and Alex stepped from Ellis's carriage one Sunday morning. Collected early so that the four of them could go to church together, the Lowells had been obliged to rise betimes. Alex was still yawning and rather dozy. He would have preferred to stay in bed.

  Now, Lalage watched Rebecca and her brother crossing the wide lawns which lay to the west of the Hall. She wondered where they'd been. Rebecca wore a cloak and stout shoes. Ellis was clad in his usual outdoor rig of boots and a heavy frieze great–coat, so he looked more like a parson than ever. She pinched Alex's arm. ‘Just look at her,’ she hissed. ‘What an absolute fright!’

  Alex rubbed his arm. He grimaced. ‘I wish you wouldn't nip me like that,’ he complained. ‘You make quite a bruise. I think Rebecca looks charming. That simple style of dress becomes her very well.’

  ‘It suits her simple heart and simple mind.’ Lalage glared at him. ‘So I suppose you think I am too fine? Far too elaborate for your exquisite taste?’

  ‘You're perfectly lovely. You always are.’ Looking at his wife, Alex saw that today she was dressed from head to foot in violets, mauves and purples. Her black hair was elaborately coiled and plaited. Her milky complexion was flawless, and as pale as the ivory combs at her temples — or perhaps even paler still. Huge, dark eyes burned like glowing coals in her beautiful face. Her neck was an alabaster pillar. Her shoulders were white as swan's wings.

  Her full skirts billowed and rustled in satin cascades. Her sleeves, by contrast, were cut very narrow, to show off the elegant slenderness of her arms. As was the fashion, her bodice was laced tight.

  Since Lalage was extremely proud of her snow–white bosom, she always had her stomachers cut so low that her little round breasts were almost bare. But today, Alex observed, even her nipples were on view. Intentionally so, it seemed. Painted a soft, raspberry red, they glowed invitingly through a cloudy trimming of fine Brussells lace.

  Alex decided he would like to bite them. Damn the woman, he thought. Damn the church and vicar, too. Couldn't Ellis and Rebecca go to divine service alone? Then, he and Lalage would go back to bed.

  But now, to his annoyance, Ellis and Rebecca stood before them. ‘Good God, Lalage!’ Staring at his sister in amused derision, Ellis laughed like a jackass. ‘Where do you think you're going today?’

  ‘Good morning, Ellis.’ Coldly, Lalage met his startled gaze. ‘What do you mean? I'm going to church, of course. With you.’

  ‘I see.’ Still Ellis grinned. ‘Well — you'll give the vicar apoplexy. You'll frighten the choirboys. You'll strike the curate dead.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Becky, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, Ellis?’

  ‘Could you lend this wanton a scarf? Poor silly creature — she's always forgetting hers.’

  ‘I don't need to borrow anything from Rebecca.’ Lalage squared her shoulders. She turned her glorious profile towards her husband.

  Alex groaned.

  ‘Tell me, Ellis dear,’ said Lalage, as she got back into the coach, ‘where have you been, so early in the morning? Picking mushrooms? Gathering herbs? Or showing Rebecca some of your old trysting places, where you used to take trollops from the village? I'm agog to know.’

  ‘We've been over to Hensham. One of the cottagers is sick, so we went to enquire after his progress.’ Meeting Lalage's eyes, Rebecca smiled. ‘He's very much better today.’

  ‘I'm so glad.’ Lalage's own smile would have frozen oil. ‘Do hurry up, Rebecca dear. We're late as it is.’

  ‘We could call in again on our way home,’ suggested Ellis, as he handed his wife into the coach. ‘I reckon a sight of Lalage here could bring a corpse back to life. She'll have poor Harry Brewer back on his feet and scampering around, in no time at all.’

  * * * *

  After morning service, Lalage lagged behind. There'd been whispering and pointing all through the psalms and responses, so she knew her beautiful new ensemble had struck just the right note.

  What a bore Ellis was these days! Droning on about scarves and looking at her as if she were some kind of freak. One would have thought he was about to take holy orders himself.

  It was all that woman's fault. Before he was married, Ellis had loved to see a pretty bosom on elegant display. He'd gawped at hers almost as much as Alex did.

  But now he was bewitched. He must be. How else could his behaviour be explained? How could a man like him even have fancied, let alone fallen in love with, a vulgar little woman whose coarse Midlands accent and unpolished manners must disgust any gentleman of education or taste?

  Then there was his house. That horrible heap of bricks, timber and plaster on which he had lavished so much time, energy and money, it was a wonder he hadn't bankrupted himself.

  She saw Ellis take Rebecca's hand. Her breakfast rose in her throat.

  ‘Lally!’ Standing on the steps of the Hall, Ellis called to her. ‘Oh, Lally! Do come along. Don't dawdle so.’

  ‘I'm coming.’ Lalage quickened her pace. Suddenly, she felt such hatred for Rebecca that it almost choked her. Looking at Ellis, she hated him, too.

  He was a traitor. He had betrayed his class, his name, his inheritance. By marrying that upstart, he had disgraced his entire family.

  Traitors should be arraigned and sentenced, if only to discourage further betrayals. How could Ellis best be punished? Wondering, Lalage licked her lips.

  Chapter 16

  Standing on the steps of her little house, Lalage watched Ellis hand Rebecca out of the gig. The fat blonde baggage was almost spherical these days. The slightest nudge would send her sprawling and rolling in the dirt. The idea of Rebecca helpless on her back, kicking and wriggling like some giant ladybird, amused Lalage so much that she was able to greet her sister–in–law with a perfectly brilliant smile. She bade her enter the little sitting room with such an excess of cordiality that Rebecca was bemused.

  ‘Alex will not be long,’ she told her guests, as Betty brought in the tea things and arranged the china just so. ‘Dear Ellis! Darling Rebecca. It's so good of you to come. I know how busy you are.’

  ‘We'll always make time for you, Lally.’ Ellis took a dish of tea. ‘What did Alex wish to discuss?’

  ‘He's got some scheme or other.’ Lalage poured her own tea. ‘I don't know exactly what it is, he won't tell me. But I believe it affects the East India business.’

  ‘Oh. That.’ Ellis shrugged. ‘Well, if there's any chance of recouping some of your capital, I'll be glad to give him all the assistance I can.’

  ‘So kind.’ Lalage turned to her sister–in–law. ‘You're looking very pretty today,’ she observed. ‘I trust you're well?’

  ‘Quite well, I thank you.’ Rebecca smiled.

  ‘I'm so glad.’ Lalage bared her teeth.

  * * * *

  Had she lived in a more superstitious age, Lalage might have brewed up magical potions, danced naked in the moonlight, or sacrificed to some ancient deity who'd lived in the greenwood since before time began. Anything, to make Rebecca miscarry.

  Indeed, as a child she'd had a nurse who was a witch. Hannah Jewell had the witch–mark on her neck, the witch–spot deep inside her private parts, and devil's kisses all over her left breast.

  But Lalage's mother was a modern woman who didn't believe in witches. Hannah was a good nurse, and Mrs Darrow wasn't at all perturbed when a frightened chambermaid told her the witch was corrupting her daughter. For Hannah nursed her own fat, healthy son at her right breast, while she offered poor weazen Lalage devil's milk only, from her left.

  Whispering spells over her little charge, she'd charmed away all Lalage's infant maladies. Years later, she put the evil eye on a housemaid. The girl was pregnant, so Hannah bewitched her womb. The child was born a monster, with long, yellow teeth and nails like claws. Yes, Hanna
h Jewell would have known a charm powerful enough to abort any child. But alas, poor Hannah was dead these five years.

  Left to herself, Rebecca seemed most unlikely to lose her baby. Her cheeks glowed pink with health. Perfect happiness gave her a radiance with which even the most cunning painting could not have supplied. As for Alex, who had recently referred to a heavily pregnant neighbour as Madam Cow and refused to sit next to her in church because she sweated so much — he thought Rebecca looked quite lovely. He even told Lalage so.

  In her less rational moments, Lalage seriously considered murder. She would stick a knife between her sister–in–law's shoulder blades, perhaps, or spike a dagger through her heart. A sharp stab, followed by a downward thrust into the belly, would kill both mother and child at once.

  For days on end, Lalage had brooded. But then one evening, as Betty prepared her for bed, inspiration dawned. She had her marvellous, her brilliant idea.

  As she watched her flickering bedside candle, she realised she need hardly go as far as murder. All it needed was a sudden shock. A bad fright would certainly bring on a disastrously premature birth.

  Lalage smiled to herself. The creature was about six months gone. Perfect. She'd miscarry of a dead child, and maybe even bleed to death herself. How could a fright be arranged? Lalage ranged the options and tried to decide.

  * * * *

  ‘Another thing, too. She's turned him into a peasant. He looks like one, talks like one, eats like one. It's odious, Alex. Quite vile.’ Picking crossly at a piece of chicken wing, Lalage lost patience with the bones, and tossed the whole thing into the fire.

  ‘I wish you wouldn't waste so much food.’ Partial to chicken wings himself, Alex frowned. ‘Lally, we can't afford to throw good meat away.’

  ‘Oh, I quite forgot. I am to eat, and grow fat. Like Rebecca.’ Grabbing a piece of bread, Lalage stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed vigorously. ‘He's clean and decent, I suppose,’ she continued, speaking with her mouth full and spewing crumbs everywhere. ‘But he looks like a dispossessed labourer these days. He's always without a hat. In fact, he's so sunburnt I'm ashamed to be seen with him. I've half a mind to tell him so.’