Marietta inclined her head. ‘You sent for me. I am ready.’
‘Then we should leave. Today you will ride pillion with me.’
‘Do you think I might try to escape?’
Anton smiled briefly as he saw the flash of pride in her eyes. ‘Many might in your position, but it would be useless. I shall deliver you to the court, as I must—but I have promised to speak for you, and I shall see His Majesty first.’
‘I thank you for your goodness, sir.’
Anton hesitated. ‘I would do more for you.’ It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he wished to offer her his hand and fortune, but at the last he drew back. ‘Do not fear too much. I have a little influence, and I shall use it on your behalf.’
‘Thank you.’ She glanced at his hand. ‘I see you no longer wear my husband’s ring. Did it come off easily?’
‘With some effort. It is in my pocket. I shall give it to the King before he speaks to you.’
‘I do not know why it is so important.’
‘Perhaps that is a secret known only to your husband and the King of England.’
Marietta’s eyes widened. ‘My husband went often to court in France. Do you think …?’
‘I think it is not for us to speculate.’ Anton held out his hand. ‘Come, we must leave, for if we are late the King’s temper will not improve.’
‘Anton of Gifford. We are glad to welcome you back to court, sir.’ Henry looked at him. ‘We are pleased that you have succeeded in both the commissions we gave you.’
Anton bent his head. ‘I hope this is the ring you sought, Sire.’
He held it out to Henry, who took it, twisted the gold-encased cabochon and took something from the cavity inside. He glanced at the small piece of parchment, seemed to read something, and then threw it into the fire with a grunt of satisfaction.
‘You did not discover the secret, then?’
‘If I had, Sire, I should not have disclosed it to anyone else—but I was unable to solve the mystery.’ Anton’s tone was bland, his expression unchanging, but there was a hint of something in his eyes.
Henry’s gaze narrowed, an expression of anger mixed with appreciation about his mouth. ‘We thank you for your loyalty, sir. There are things I would not have my ministers know concerning certain negotiations … if you understand me?’
‘How should I understand, Sire? I have heard rumours that you seek an annulment of your marriage to the Queen from the Holy Father, but that is not my affair …’
‘Indeed—though others seek to make it theirs. I shall not be thwarted, Gifford. In this I shall have my way—the future of England depends upon it. I need a son!’ Henry had dropped the royal we to speak plainly.
‘Yes, Sire. A King must have a son to follow him.’
‘Then you understand that this business must remain within this room?’
‘You have my word as a gentleman and nobleman of England.’
‘Then this is done.’ Henry’s gaze narrowed as he slipped the ring inside his jerkin, returning to his royal stance. ‘You have served us well, sir. Have you a request of us?’
‘Yes, Sire.’ Anton met his eyes. ‘There is something I would ask of you …’
Marietta looked around the small chamber where she had been told to wait. The walls were hung with rich silk tapestries, perhaps from France, she thought, for the work was very fine. There was but one small table in the room, and a Bible lay on its surface.
Had it been placed there to comfort or to threaten? The priests threatened the pain of everlasting hell for the crimes of murder and witchcraft. Marietta wished that she might sit down. Her throat was dry, and she would have liked a cup of water or ale, but there was no one to ask. She felt like running away, but she suspected there were guards outside the door. She would not get far, and it would seem to prove her guilt. She must wait and pray.
She walked to the window to look down, and saw several ladies walking together. They were laughing and talking, clustered about one very beautiful lady who seemed to be the centre of attention. The sun had decided to shine and the rain of the previous day had gone.
How much longer was she to be kept waiting? Marietta paced the floor, her nerves as tight as the archer’s string. Anton had been with the King for so long. When would it be her turn—and would His Majesty listen?
She turned in sudden fright as she heard footsteps, and her heart raced when she saw the servant. He did not smile as he beckoned to her and she feared the worst.
‘Will His Majesty see me now?’
‘You are to come this way, lady.’
Marietta followed him down the narrow passage. He stopped in front of a pair of large doors, which were gilded and embossed with symbols of royalty. The man pushed open the doors and indicated that she should go in, closing them behind her with a sharp bang that made her jump.
At first glance she thought that the room was empty. It was richly furnished with hangings and heavy furniture; some pieces were fashioned of walnut and carved, the legs twisted in the Dutch manner, some oak, plainer, and clearly English. Then, as she hesitated, a heavy curtain moved at the far end of the room and a man entered.
She knew at once that this must be the King of England. He was a tall, well-built man, handsome, with red hair and beard, his clothes richly embroidered with jewels. As he came nearer she was aware of his eyes on her. For a moment she met them, then she sank into a deep curtsey, her head bent.
‘So you are the Comtesse Montcrief. Your husband was our good friend, madame. We are glad to have been of service to you. Sir Anton tells us that he snatched you from the bastard who stole your son’s inheritance.’
‘Yes, Sire. I owe everything to Sir Anton.’
‘He has performed a service for us. In return he asks that we give you a fair hearing—which we are inclined to do. Tell me, madame—did you cause your husband’s death?’
Marietta’s head came up, her face proud. ‘No, Sire. I was a good and faithful wife to the Comte, and nursed him through more than one illness. Without my nursing he would have died last winter. Why should I take his life? He was good to me, and I had no reason to want him dead.’
‘We know he appreciated your skills and your worth as a wife,’ Henry said. ‘There have been charges of witchcraft made against you, madame. Some say that you could not have saved your husband’s life if you had not used the black arts—what do you say to this charge?’
‘If the use of herbs and devoted care is witchcraft, Sire—I am guilty. I used nothing that cannot be readily found in the hedgerows or the woods.’
‘And you did not use incantations to aid his recovery?’
‘Had I known one that would save his life I would not have hesitated, but I am not a witch and I have no magic—just a little skill with herbs and healing.’
‘It is as we imagined. Your husband was no fool, madame. He praised you in his letters to us. We thought you innocent, and that was the reason we asked Sir Anton to find you and bring you here. Your husband, the Comte of Montcrief, has done service for us in the past. Tell us how we may serve you. Sir Anton tells us the Bastard of Rouen has seized the castle and will take your son’s inheritance if he can.’
‘I would have justice for my son, Sire. My husband lodged his gold with the Jews, who are court goldsmiths in France. Rouen seeks to gain control of it, but it belongs to my son.’
‘And it shall be secured to him if England’s influence weighs with our brother of France. Your home is another matter. We do not approve of fighting amongst the barons, and to instigate a siege at Montcrief would cost many lives. However, we shall see what can be done.’ Henry held out his hand to her. Marietta curtsied once more, and kissed his ring—very like that her husband had worn, she noticed.
‘You are gracious, Sire.’ She hesitated. ‘Am I acquitted of all charges?’
‘There were none to face. We had you brought here for your safety. You may remain at court if you wish—unless you have somewhere to live?’
‘My father’s cousin, Lady Claire Melford, would take me.’
‘The choice is yours. You are free to leave, but we would see you again in the future—and the lady you claim as cousin. The Earl of Rundle and his wife are always welcome at court.’
Marietta curtsied deeply. ‘I am so grateful, Sire. I shall hope to visit the court with my kinsfolk another time.’
Henry waved a hand at her. ‘Go, then. You may attend the banquet with Sir Anton this evening if you choose.’
Marietta thanked him again, curtsied, and left the chamber. Outside the door, she found Anton waiting for her. His eyes searched her face and he nodded.
‘Henry has used his good sense. You are acquitted.’
‘I am free to stay at court or go.’
‘And you choose?’
‘I shall go back to your uncle’s home. My son is there, and I am anxious for his safety. Before that.’ She shook her head. ‘His Majesty said there was a banquet at court this evening.’
‘I am to take you with me?’ Anton inclined his head. ‘If you wish to attend?’
‘Yes, I should like that,’ Marietta said, suddenly shy and unsure. ‘If you would wish to take me?’
‘We accede to Henry’s wishes,’ Anton said, his expression giving her nothing. ‘He has been gracious, and it would be foolish to ignore his command.’
Marietta looked at him. ‘Afterwards, you will take me to the Lady Claire and my son?’
‘Of course. Why should I abandon you now?’
‘I thought … I have already been a great deal of trouble to you …’ Her eyes searched his face, but she could not read what was in his mind. ‘You spoke once of your daughter. Do you not wish to go to her?’
‘In good time. Madeline is safe with my mother for the moment. In the other matter, I have but done my duty. Henry commanded me to bring you to court. I acted in his name. You have nothing to thank me for, Comtesse.’
‘My name is Marietta.’
‘It would not be fitting now. His Majesty has seen fit to restore your good name. You are the Comtesse de Montcrief and must be treated as your rank deserves.’
‘I see …’ Marietta shot a glance at his profile as they left the palace. She sensed a barrier between them. Anton looked stern, a little pulse flicking at his temple. It was quite clear to her that nothing had changed. The King had declared her innocent because of his friendship with her husband—but that did not mean that Anton Gifford believed it. She knew that he desired her, but did he feel anything more?
She sighed inwardly. If he cared for her his reaction would surely have been very different.
Anton refrained from looking at the woman who rode her horse so proudly. He had wanted to sweep her into his arms and shout with joy when she told him she was acquitted, but his conscience had held him back.
She was innocent of murder, but he was not. His anger had driven Isabella to her death that day—at least that had always been his belief. Miguel’s suggestion that she might have been pushed down those steps had set him wondering. If Isabella had been pushed, it meant that he was not directly guilty of her death. Yet there must have been a reason for her murder.
Marietta glanced round the large room. It was filled with richly dressed courtiers, light flashing from the magnificent jewels they wore about their person. She had been seated with some other ladies at a table close to the high board, where the King and his favoured nobles were seated. Anton had been so honoured, as had the striking woman Marietta had noticed in the garden earlier that morning.
She touched the arm of a young woman sitting next to her. Bertha had been friendly when they met, and she felt able to ask a question.
‘Who is that lady sitting two places from the King? He seems to look at her often, and she is beautiful—her face is lit up from inside when she smiles.’
Bertha giggled. ‘Do you not know that she is Anne Boleyn? She is His Majesty’s favourite of the moment. Some say that he will marry her.’
‘I thought he had a queen?’
‘He does, but.’ Bertha shook her head. ‘You should not ask such questions.’
Marietta looked at the young woman sitting at the high table. She was beautiful, but also proud. Did she think that the King would put his wife aside to marry her? The church forbade such things. Marietta did not see how it could be done, though it would be easy enough for the lady to become his mistress. Perhaps she was too proud for that. But a divorce might rock the security of the English throne.
It was not for Marietta to judge what the King did. She put the thought aside and glanced round the room once more, becoming aware that she was being watched. Miguel’s eyes were on her. His expression was so severe that she wondered if he hated her—yet why should he?
Had he hoped that she would be imprisoned and condemned as a witch? Was he angry because she had been released?
Marietta turned away. Course after course of rich food had been brought to table as the evening wore on. Feeling it wiser not to touch some of the richer dishes, Marietta had supped but lightly. She enjoyed the entertainment, laughing at the antics of the jugglers and the fool. He was a dwarf, and ran about the room hitting people with a pig’s bladder that was tied to a stick and filled with air.
Towards the end of the evening musicians began to play, and some people got up to dance. Marietta declined one offer with a young, rather handsome gentleman, preferring to watch. In her heart she hoped that Anton might ask her, but he was in deep conversation with His Majesty. At one point he left the hall with the King.
Marietta felt uneasy. Had he forgotten her? What ought she to do? She was not sure that she could manage to find her way back to Lord Melford’s house alone. She wandered over to a window and glanced out. The view was of a secluded courtyard. In the moonlight it looked mysterious and peaceful. However, her reverie was interrupted as a young page approached her.
‘You are the lady Comtesse de Montcrief?’
‘Yes. Do you have a message for me?’
‘Sir Anton Gifford awaits you in the courtyard, madame. I am to take you to him.’
‘Thank you …’ Marietta smiled her relief. She had been foolish to worry. Anton would not forget her. ‘Please lead the way. I shall follow you.’
The page started off, and Marietta followed. She had thought he might mean the courtyard overlooked by the Great Hall, but it seemed he did not for he led her down a long dark passage which seemed to go on endlessly and take several twists and turns. Eventually they reached a door, which the page indicated.
‘The courtyard is beyond, madame. You will find the gentleman waiting.’
As he turned away, Marietta noticed a smirk on his face. Did he imagine she was meeting a lover in secret?
She opened the door and peered through it. The night air was very cool, but the moon was full. Somehow reassured because of the light, Marietta ventured outside.
‘Anton … are you here?’ she asked, for although there was a small fountain, a stone bench and what looked like beds of rose bushes and lavender, as yet not in bloom, she could see no one. The courtyard was bordered with high walls. ‘Anton. I have come.’ She took a few steps into the open space and then heard the door slam behind her. Suddenly fearful, she rushed to the door and tugged at the latch; it would not budge. Someone had locked it from inside. ‘Open this at once!’ she cried, and beat on the door with her fists. ‘I am locked out here and it is cold …’
No answer came. Marietta felt an icy trickle down her spine. She was trapped, because she could see that there was no other way out of the courtyard. Someone had sent the page in Anton’s name to lure her here—but why?
She shivered, feeling the cold of the night air begin to seep into her flesh. Who had trapped her here? Was it the Bastard of Rouen? A moment or two of reflection told her that had it been he she would already have been dead or his captive. Someone else had done this—but who could it be?
Marietta began to walk around the perimeter of the small co
urtyard, hoping that she might find a gate, or some other way of leaving it. However, there was none. Someone had planned this well, but why shut her out here? Was it merely to frighten her, or were they hoping that she would remain here all night? She shivered, crossing her arms over her breasts, hugging herself to try to keep warm. She must move about or she would not be able to bear the cold. If only she had found a servant to send for her cloak—but she had not given it a thought. Usually Anton did these things for her. He had taken care of her and she ought not to have doubted him.
Tears caught in her throat. Anton was often stern, and sometimes harsh, but he was a man of honour. Surely he would look for her when he realised that she was missing?
She went back to the door and banged on it again and again, calling out for help.
‘Please help me. I am locked out…’ she cried. ‘Please help me …’
‘I shall wish Your Majesty goodnight,’ Anton said. ‘The hour is late, and the Comtesse will wonder where I am.’
‘Forgive us, Gifford. We have kept you too long. The lady will begin to think that you have deserted her.’
Anton bowed and left him. He was thoughtful as he returned to the Great Hall to look for Marietta. He had made up his mind that he would ask her to marry him. She needed the protection of an honourable man, and their night of passion had shown him that she would be a wonderful wife. His hesitation had been because he was afraid to trust again, but now he decided that he must take the chance. No other woman would satisfy him. He must have Marietta or no one.
Glancing round the huge hall, he saw that it was almost empty now, for people had begun to drift away after the King’s departure. A brief glance told him that she was not here, but he saw Miguel talking to one of the ladies and went up to him.
‘Have you seen the Comtesse?’
‘Not for some time,’ Miguel replied. ‘Perhaps she tired of waiting and went home?’
Anton’s gaze narrowed for a moment, then he shook his head. ‘She would have no idea of how to get there. She would have waited for me to take her.’
A Wayward Woman Page 38