‘You’re a fool!’ Thamsine looked at him with contempt. ‘Now you have fallen into Ambrose Morton’s hands. I came to you because I trusted you. What tale did Ambrose spin for you to so turn against me?’
Roger passed his tongue over his dry lips and did not reply.
‘You told him I had come to you for refuge,’ she said. ‘You sent for him. If I hadn’t seen him arrive, you would have handed me over to him, like a prize.
‘Thamsine, I’m a lawyer. All I knew then was that you had a legal arrangement with Colonel Morton. I did what I thought was right. I didn’t know him,’ he added with bitterness in his voice. ‘I thought you were being obdurate. Are you going to tell me now why you won’t marry him? Why you tried to kill him?’
‘I shot him in self-defence, Roger. He tried to rape me.’ She tried to read Roger’s face, but it was a mask of lawyerly inscrutability. ‘Did you hear what I said, Roger? He tried to rape me and you want me to marry him.’
Roger’s pale face remained still. ‘Legally, you are contracted to marry him. Your father … ’
Thamsine looked up at the ceiling in despair. ‘My father? Oh, Roger, if you could have seen him in those last few months. Isabelle Morton was at him night and day. He needed a male heir. Edward was dead. He couldn’t leave the estate in the hands of a mere woman. Who better than her son? Every moment until he could bear it no longer and he signed my life away and even then Ambrose couldn’t wait – he is a rapist and probably worse! Roger, I cannot marry him.’
Knott shifted uneasily. His tongue ran around his dry lips. ‘Be thankful, Thamsine, that I persuaded him to let you stay here with me.’
‘Why? Why not just let him have me?’
‘Because none of us want scandal, Thamsine. Far better you go to the altar willingly than suffer a repeat of what occurred before.’
‘I wish to God I had killed him!’ Thamsine sank onto the bed. She looked up at Roger, her mouth twisted in anguish. ‘I came here to you for help and you betrayed me. With Ambrose in London, I have had no choice but to hide and while he controls the estate, I have no access to money. I’ve been living … surviving these past months on nothing.’
Roger looked away, his face unhappy. ‘Thamsine, I know you must think I have failed you, but you must see that my future and that of my family is my priority. I suggest you pray for guidance from God. I find him great comfort in such times of adversity. I have left a Bible for you to contemplate.’
He turned on his heel and left the room, locking the door behind him.
A long time later, she lay curled up on the bed, looking at a cold, clear moon rising over the trees through the square of the window. She had no more tears to cry. The nightmare had begun again. Nothing she had endured in London before her path had crossed that of Kit Lovell compared with the horror of finding herself back in the power of Ambrose Morton.
She put her hand on the cold leather of the binding of the Bible Roger had left for her. She had prayed before, prayed many times, but God never listened to her prayers. Was she so insignificant in the great scheme of things? Had she asked too much? She picked up the book and hurled it at the wall.
Hot tears welled again in her eyes and she gave a wail of despair. It seemed everyone she had ever trusted had betrayed her. Even Kit Lovell had betrayed her, but his motives were different and, it was possible, she thought, that he might actually care for her a little. Lucy had thought that. Lucy had removed her so she could have Kit to herself.
Kit, she thought, screwing her eyes tight shut, please, if you can hear me, come back. I need you.
She shook her head. She could not expect Kit to come to her rescue again. She turned her face to the bolster, her tears soaking the pillow. When Kit returned from Paris and found her gone, he would make a number of assumptions and they’d all be wrong. His life would continue without her. She had nothing but her own resources, and as parlous as her situation seemed to be, at least she was alive, and while she lived there remained the faintest hope for her to cling to.
Chapter 11
Thamsine lay on the narrow bed and looked up at the ceiling. She had been incarcerated for five long days with only the Bible and her thoughts for company, and in many ways this small, bare room was worse than the cell that she had endured in the Tower of London. At least since the first day Roger hadn’t raised a hand to her, but he seemed to think nothing of starving her into submission. He brought her just enough bread and water to keep her alive. She felt her physical and mental reserves of strength ebbing.
The sound of the key in the door made her flinch and she rose slowly to her feet, her head spinning. When she saw it was not Roger she fell back on the edge of the bed.
‘Oh Jane!’ Tears of relief filled her eyes at the sight of her sister. She had seen only Roger Knott in her whole incarceration.
‘Sister,’ Jane set the tray of food she carried on the table. ‘I have brought you some sustenance.’
Thamsine pulled herself up from the bed and sat on the stool at the table.
‘Does Roger know you are here?’ Thamsine lifted the cloth covering the tray. A simple meal of soup and bread but to Thamsine it looked like a King’s feast.
‘Roger has business in London. He will be gone all of the day.’
‘Ambrose?’
‘I haven’t seen him since the day he brought you here. It’s just you and I.’ Jane clasped her hands in front of her apron and frowned unhappily. ‘I don’t understand any of this, Thamsine. I remember before the war, you were so much in love with Ambrose Morton. You begged Father for the betrothal.’
‘That was before I knew what he was.’ Thamsine’s could not hide the bitterness in her voice.
‘Are you going to tell me?’
Thamsine looked up at her half-sister. After Thamsine’s mother had died, Jane had provided the much-needed love and affection the small child had sought. Jane’s marriage to Roger Knott had separated the sisters, but the war had torn them apart. Until the night she had turned up on Jane’s doorstep, hysterical because she thought she had killed a man, Thamsine had not seen her sister for more than ten years. Now, it seemed to her that the months since she had last seen her had wrought even greater changes in her sister. She looked thin and pale and there were dark shadows under her eyes.
Ambrose Morton brought a miasma of evil with him wherever he went. Jane deserved the truth about him.
Thamsine began, ‘You were right, Jane. In those months before the war, he flattered me and courted me. Stupid girl that I was, I fell for his charms and, as you say, begged Father for the betrothal. All through the war he wrote to me. Wonderful letters, full of professions of love. On the few occasions he could be spared he came to visit with presents and blandishments. I adored him.’ She took a breath, fighting back the memory of that childish infatuation. ‘All through those long years, I would ride over to Beverstock Hall to visit his mother and sister, Annie. Do you remember Annie?’
‘Oh yes, the poor idiot child,’ Jane said.
Thamsine felt the heat rise to her cheeks. ‘Annie may be a simpleton,’ she said, ‘but unlike her odious mother and vile brother, she has a pure and loving heart.’
Jane lowered her eyes. ‘Of course. I’m sorry, Thamsine. Go on.’
‘Early in ’46, one of the servants told me that Ambrose had returned to Beverstock, so I decided to ride over to see him and surprise him. All I could think about was that he was home, he had survived, and now we could get married. I didn’t wait to be announced. I walked into the parlour and I found him … ’ she swallowed ‘ … in congress with one of the maids.’
Jane’s eyes widened. ‘Oh! That must have been a shock, Thamsine, but these things happen. It was surely not sufficient … ’
‘You don’t understand, Jane.’ Thamsine felt the old anger well in her. ‘It was not consensual. She was not some buxom servant girl having a roll with the squire, it was rape. He had tied her to the table. Her face was turned towards the door, he had gagged h
er and she was crying and he … ’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘The look on his face, Jane, was of such unmerciful cruelty – I fled home and told Father the betrothal was finished. I didn’t tell him why. I thought I need never see Ambrose Morton again. The war was over and he went into exile. Then Father married Isabelle Morton.’ Thamsine gave a bitter sigh. ‘That was the blackest day of my life. Isabelle Morton wanted only one thing and that was Hartley Court, but she could never have it while Edward lived. I tried to make Edward stay, Jane, I pleaded with him not to go on the fool’s errand to the King’s cause, but his blood was up and he went and he died. I will never forgive him for that.’
Jane laid a hand on her sister’s arm. ‘Edward is dead, Thamsine, you must forgive him. He was young and idealistic. He did not die simply to spite you.’
‘I know,’ Thamsine said unhappily, ‘but he left me the heiress to the Granville fortune and the Hartley estate. It was hardly a surprise when Ambrose returned to England and re-established himself at Beverstock Hall. Isabelle began on our father. He relented for peace in his last days. Roger came, the paper was signed, the will was amended, and I was bound to Ambrose Morton again.’
‘But Thamsine,’ Jane frowned. ‘I know enough of the law to know he cannot marry you without your consent.’
‘After Father died in May last year, I tried to postpone the marriage. I claimed mourning as my excuse. For six months I managed to find some excuse or another until Ambrose finally lost patience.’
She took a deep breath. ‘He’d been drinking. He produced a pistol and I saw the look in his eye. I’d seen it before. That day I came upon him with his maid.’ Thamsine felt her voice constrict as the memory of the fear he had instilled in her came back. ‘We struggled – I knew what he was going to do, Jane, and I was powerless to prevent it. But he made one mistake. In order to tie me up, he set the pistol down on the table while he wrestled with me. Annie walked in on us and in that instant I was able to break free of him. Anne picked up the pistol and gave it to me. Poor, trusting Annie. When Ambrose came for me again, I fired. There was so much blood. I thought for certes he was dead. I took what few possessions I could carry and fled to you and the rest you know.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us any of this when you came to us?’ Jane stared at her sister with wide, horrified eyes.
‘Would it have made any difference?’ Thamsine said. ‘I was frightened – I had shot a man. I thought I’d killed him. I lived in dread of every knock on the door. Little did I know that the knock on the door would come from the man I thought I had killed. Roger had sent for him. It was just by pure chance that I saw him and was able to make my escape.’
Jane shook her head in disbelief. ‘If only I had known!’
‘What could you have done?’
Jane took her hand. There were tears in her eyes. ‘I had no idea. That is not the story Ambrose told us.’
‘He’s a very good liar, Jane.’
‘But Roger … ’
‘Roger will do whatever Ambrose wants and you are no match for either of them.’
‘I don’t understand what has happened to Roger. These last months, he’s changed.’ Jane looked away, and Thamsine thought she could see the glint of tears in her sister’s eyes.
‘He wants no scandal to touch his prospects.’ Thamsine held her tongue on the true reason for Roger’s uncharacteristic behaviour. Jane did not need to know that her husband was an adulterer. She changed the subject. ‘Let’s talk of other matters. How are the children? Are they here?’
Jane shook her head. ‘No, they have been staying with Roger’s mother. They are happy there.’
‘Are they well?’
Jane’s face lightened. Her world revolved around her daughters, who bore the biblical names of Rachel and Rebecca. ‘Oh, they’re fine, Thamsine. I wish you could see them. Rebecca is a good, dutiful daughter but Rachel … ’ Jane’s face softened at the mention of her youngest daughter. ‘Rachel is so like you. She’s always in trouble over some innocent misdemeanour or another, from climbing trees in the orchard to failing to learn her Bible verses.’
‘I would love to see them, Jane.’
‘Oh, I am sure you shall. Perhaps I could bring them to Hartley when … ’ Jane’s face tightened and Thamsine answered for her.
‘When I am married?’
Jane picked up the Bible. She frowned as she looked at the book, its spine broken when Thamsine had hurled it against the wall. ‘The Bible is not to blame for your woes, Thamsine,’ she said, rising to her feet.
She set the Bible down on the table, her hand resting on it momentarily.
‘A short passage for you to consider, Thamsine. Ephesians 4, Chapters 25 to 31.’
When she was gone, Thamsine picked up the book and turned to the passage. It was a lovely piece that spoke of forgiveness.
… Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamour, and evil speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you …
‘Oh Jane,’ she whispered. ‘Do you really think that will help?’
~ * ~
Jane returned the following morning. She smiled at Thamsine and held out her hands.
‘Roger says you can help me this morning.’
Thamsine raised her head and looked at her sister’s slight figure in the doorway. ‘You mean I am allowed out?’
‘Only to help me,’ Jane said hastily. ‘I am not to let you out of my sight.’
‘That’s very trusting of Roger. And how would you stop me if I made a bolt for freedom?’
Jane’s lips tightened. ‘I couldn’t, but please, Thamsine, if you do try to escape, I will answer for it. Roger has made that quite clear.’
Thamsine stood up and shook out her crumpled skirts. It would be good to be free of the four walls of her prison. Roger did not need keys or shackles. He knew that this sort of emotional blackmail would keep her subdued for the time being. She had one more day before Morton returned to claim her and no plan to make good her escape.
‘What do you need help with?’ she asked, tying the apron Jane handed to her as they went down the stairs.
‘The stillroom needs cleaning out in preparation for the summer herbs.’
Thamsine wandered around the little room, opening the pots and smelling the concoctions. At least it was an activity, and as much as Thamsine had always hated matters domestic, there was a certain pleasure in working with the sweet-smelling herbs. She opened a heavy earthenware crock and picked out a dried, slivered root. Mindful that she had paid scant attention to any lessons on the art of the stillroom, she held a piece up.
‘What’s this, Jane?’
Jane’s eyes widened. ‘Put that back at once. That is the root of monkshood.’
Thamsine dropped the root back into the crock as if it had bitten her. Even with her limited herbal knowledge, she knew that monkshood was a poison. ‘Why do you keep it?’
‘I make it up as a rat poison sometimes,’ Jane replied. ‘Now you had best wash your hands.’
Jane coughed and Thamsine looked at her sharply, watching as Jane’s thin chest rose in an effort to gain air. The dark shadows around her eyes seemed to grow deeper.
‘Jane, are you all right?’
Jane waited until the spasm had ended and gave Thamsine a thin smile. ‘I am fine. It is just the tail end of a winter ailment I can’t seem to shake.’
Thamsine picked up a pot. ‘Not even with the help of your own wonderful elixirs?’
For the first time her sister laughed. ‘All I need is some warm weather, Thamsine. Now, you have a good hand. Open that book and start transcribing these receipts.’
The two sisters worked in companionable silence for an hour before Thamsine straightened her back and stood up. ‘I’m stiff. Can we walk in the garden? I need fresh air.’
Jane looked surprised but raised one thin shoulder. ‘As long as you won’t … ’
‘I’m
not going to scale the garden wall. I just need to walk.’
As they stepped out into Jane’s peaceful garden, Thamsine tucked her arm into her sister’s and took a deep breath of fresh air. ‘I smell spring,’ she said.
Jane nodded. ‘Not long now.’ She stopped and took her sister’s hands, searching her face. ‘Thamsine, who is Christopher Lovell?’
The mention of Kit’s name caused Thamsine’s heart to jolt against her ribs. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I heard Ambrose mention his name in connection with you … and another person. I just wondered who he was.’
Thamsine smiled. ‘Kit Lovell is … a terrible scapegrace, Jane. A penniless gambler and worse. But … ’ She fought down the pain that gripped her chest. ‘… He was someone who was kind to me when I needed a friend. That’s all.’
‘Are you in love with him?’
Thamsine gave a bitter laugh. In love with Kit Lovell? The idea was absurd.
‘Of course not!’ she said. ‘He has half the women in London lusting for him.’
Jane’s face took on a pinched look. ‘And does he have a mistress called Lucy Talbot?’
Thamsine looked at her sister. ‘Jane, what do you know about Lucy Talbot?’
Jane’s face was still. ‘Roger was a friend of Martin Talbot. When he died, his widow relied on his help with the business and the estate.’
Thamsine suppressed the picture of the sort of help Lucy had required.
‘Have you ever met her?’ she asked, trying to keep her tone even.
Jane began to walk again. ‘She has visited here.’
Thamsine frowned. ‘Here?’
‘Oh yes, several times before Talbot’s death. She was very much younger than her husband, and I had never met anyone like her before. Such a pretty, vivacious little thing. Quite irresistible.’
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