"Well, it seems it was not simply a casual afternoon of passion after all. I have a son, Rachel," he said quietly. "I saw him a few weeks ago when I was watching some heretics. I thought I had saved her; I sent a warning, but it seems they did not listen. I did not know before that why she had run away, but now it all makes sense." He looked so sad I wanted to reach out to him, but something told me he would not welcome it. "Yes, she will blame me."
"But Bethany does not know why she ran away, does she?"
"She does. She went to find her; that is why Anthony had to tell her about you, because she was determined to come to court and confront me with it."
That is when I got angry with him again. Why could he not see what damage he was causing?
"There is only one way to find out," I said. "Are you going home, to tell her about her sister?"
"No," he answered. "If she has not heard, let her have the comfort of not knowing."
Perhaps if he had taken the time to go and tell her in person, to comfort her as a husband should, none of what followed would ever have happened. Who knows?
"Are you not even going home to your wife at Christmas, Richard?" I pleaded. "You have not seen her or your daughter for many months. You are missing so much of her life."
"I think it would be better for Bethany if I kept my distance, just for now."
"What? Why?"
"I feel it would be better for her. She believes I have a mistress here at court, she will only resent my intrusion into her life."
"Rubbish!"
"Please, Rachel," he said softly, "let me do this my own way. The more you and I leave court on family trips, the more likelihood there is of someone finding out about us. Then where will any of us be?"
But he was unhappy, desperately unhappy with the whole situation and that tore at my heart. Now he did not even have the dalliances that he had had with Rosemary, for the whole palace believed his wife to be here at his side. He could have found company, but he made no attempt to and I thought I knew why.
It was almost a year before he wanted to make the trip.
"Can we go tomorrow, just for a day or two," he asked one evening. "I have told Mary that my wife is anxious to see her child."
"She accepted that?"
"She did. She is very jealous because she has no child herself, and now does not want to see either of us until she has got over it." He laughed at his own wit. Mary had said no such thing, but Richard knew exactly how her mind worked. "I need to go home, Rachel. I need to see my daughter, and more than that I need Bethany. If all I wanted was a warm bed and a willing partner, I need only walk a few paces. But that is not enough; only Bethany can satisfy me now."
I reached out to touch his arm and he turned and looked at me with a look of sheer dismay, as though shocked by his own emotions.
"I love her, Rachel," he said. "I wish I had met her at another time, after all this turmoil. I wish I could tell the Queen I was going home for good."
"Have you tried?"
"I have hinted, but she will not allow it. She likes to keep her loyal servants close and she has no reason to understand my need to return to Summerville. After all, my wife is here. She even asked the other day why I did not bring my child as well."
I gave him an enquiring look in reply.
"I told her I did not want Alicia exposed to the air of London," he said. "I thought it was a good answer."
So we left London together and at Finsbury we stopped at an inn, where I boarded another carriage to take me home to my own house, while he carried on to Suffolk. I could see he was looking forward very much to seeing his wife again and I was quite sure she would welcome him into her bed whether she believed him or not.
I hoped and prayed that he would make his wife understand about me without giving away my secrets, but somehow it did not seem possible. I would have to trust her with my most private memories.
I was glad of the respite away from the palace. I found it a strain beyond belief to listen to the ardent catholic talk in the Queen's chambers, to murmur agreement. The other ladies voiced their opinions, each one agreeing with Mary's of course, but I hoped I was giving the impression of the very quiet and shy Lady Summerville who merely did her duties to perfection and said little.
It was a relief to be home with Louisa. She knew what was happening, she had to, but I trusted her completely.
So I spent two blissful days in my own house, wondering if I had done the right thing by volunteering for this role at all. I thought it would make Richard happy, give him peace of mind, but instead it seemed that he was in even more turmoil than before.
I imagined him with his wife, holding her in his arms and making her understand that this charade was being performed for her sake, not mine. I smiled to think that perhaps he would feel happier on his return, yet he did not wait until the allotted day but arrived at my door late into the night. The look on his face was pure rage, a frightening look as though he could kill someone.
"Richard?" I asked carefully. "What is it? What has happened?"
He did not answer at first, just poured himself some wine and stood trembling while I waited for him to speak. I was very afraid; this man was not one I knew nor ever had.
"I have discovered," he said at last, "that my wife has been using my house and my church and my money to hide heretics and help them escape to France."
I had no idea what to say so I merely waited silently for him to continue. He was so angry I was afraid of where his words were leading.
"You remember that little cottage next to the church, the one where Father O'Neil used to live," he said at last. "That is where I found her, after I had stood half the night beneath the church altar and listened to the whole process. I have never been so angry in my entire life."
He turned and looked at me and a shiver ran down my spine. He looked devastated and full of regret, but he also looked violent, a look I had never seen in his eyes before. A vivid picture of my father appeared before me, the last time I had seen him, giving my mother the very last beating of her life. I shook my head slowly in denial - no. Richard could not have done that, no matter how angry he was. It just was not possible.
"What happened, Richard?" I asked fearfully, not really wanting to know. "What did you do?"
"How could she?" He shouted. "How could she do that to me? I shall never forgive her, never. And she will never forgive me for what I have done to her."
He sank down into a chair while I watched him, terrified of what he would tell me next, but I had to know.
"What have you done to her?"
His eyes met mine and I was thankful to see that they were calmer, but still he did not answer. He poured more wine and sat drinking it as though his life depended on it.
"She will not return to Summerville Hall," he said at last. "She will stay in the cottage, since she likes the place so much. I have told her what will happen if she leaves it. I have taken all the money and her jewels; she will be afraid to run with no means at all."
I had a vivid memory of that place. It was very old and very dark, being surrounded by trees, and it had no proper windows, just waxed screens over the openings. There was a circle of stones with a hole in the roof above it for a fire and a floor of impacted dirt.
When I had seen it first, I had wondered how a priest could bear to live there and now he was telling me he had condemned his Countess to stay in it, she who had lived her life with servants and fine clothes and comfort. I knew I had to argue on her behalf, no matter what she had done.
"She cannot stay there, Richard, for heaven's sake! How is she supposed to survive?"
He looked up at me then and his eyes were cold and angry.
"I have no interest in how she survives," he said quietly. "I have arranged to leave food in the church porch. She will have to learn how to cook it."
I was totally shocked, not only by this treatment of a woman I know he loved, but at his anger, at his callousness. But he could not mean it, could he?
He was just trying to frighten her.
"When do you plan to release her?" I asked after some thought.
His eyes met mine and I shivered once more.
"I do not plan to release her," he replied. "She has behaved like a peasant; I shall treat her like one. I told her at the beginning what would happen if she betrayed me."
As I watched him drinking his wine, it seemed as though I had never met this man before. He could not be the one who had rescued me, who had built me a house and given me the means to be independent. He could not be my dearest friend who I loved so much.
"I cannot believe that you can be so cruel," I protested, still not quite believing what he was telling me.
"Then perhaps you do not know me as well as you thought," he replied bitterly. He drew a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. "Rachel," he said angrily, "I had my hands around her throat! She is lucky to be alive."
I watched him carefully for any further sign that he did not yet have himself under control. I was afraid to ask my question again, but I had to know the answer no matter what it cost.
"You still have not answered my question, My Lord," I persisted. "What have you done to Bethany that is unforgivable?"
His eyes met mine and held my gaze for a few minutes before he replied, quietly, hesitantly.
"Rachel, you are the very last person in the whole world I would want to know the answer to that."
I knew then; I knew what he had done and the shock was immense. I spun around and fled from the room, wondering how I would ever face him again.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was two weeks before I returned to the palace and even then I was still undecided as to whether I should be there. His anger had terrified me, as had his actions, and he did not have his hands around my throat so I could only imagine how afraid his wife must have been.
Richard had gone from the house by the time I came out of my bedchamber the following morning and I never wanted to see him again, but as the days went by I started to think more rationally. Yes, Bethany had betrayed him in the worst possible way, but did she deserve that? He had gone to see her with anticipation and yearning for this one woman, nobody else would do, and he had found a colossal betrayal. How hurt must he have felt to do what he did? How devastated?
I settled myself into our apartments at the palace and waited for his return in the evening. I had no real idea if he was in the building at all; I half hoped he had returned to Summerville Hall to release his treacherous wife from her prison in the woods. A love as great as theirs could not end like this.
I felt sick with fear when I heard him coming and that feeling distressed me more than anything. I had learned to trust him, he was the only man in the world I did trust and now that trust had been shattered.
I felt myself go rigid as he opened the door, but he stood still when he saw me.
"You came back," he said. "Thank you."
He walked toward me and I cringed away. I hated myself for that but I had no help for it. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and stopped some distance away.
"You are perfectly safe, Rachel," he assured me. "My depravity does not extend to forgetting my responsibility to you."
He looked defeated, as though there was nothing more that life could do to him. I wanted to comfort him, to hold him in my arms, but I was afraid.
"I have no idea how I am ever going to make this up to her," he said at last as he poured himself some wine, then held the flagon up to offer it to me. I shook my head.
"You could start by letting her back into Summerville Hall," I answered.
"No," he replied in as tone that would bear no argument. "She is better off where she is."
"So you are still angry with her?"
"I am unsure how I feel about her now. I trapped her in the cottage to frighten her, yes, to punish her, but while she is afraid to leave it, she is safe. Do you understand?"
"I think so, but still it seems a little harsh. She is your wife, Richard, and you do love her."
"Do I?" He still looked defeated. "I am so ashamed, I have no idea what I feel apart from that. I used my strength to intimidate her; that is despicable. What has she turned me into? Or has this always been me, lurking beneath the charm?" He stopped talking and took a long drink from his goblet, then he looked at me with such distress in his dark eyes, I could have cried. "I raped her, Rachel!" He said. "How are you even speaking to me?"
Somehow just knowing that he was so ashamed made his actions seem so much more forgivable. And that hateful word just did not seem to apply. I sighed deeply, letting out some of the tension that was making me stiff and uncomfortable.
"She is a grown woman," I said at last, "and your wife. She will get over it."
His eyes met mine and I was saddened by the look of despair in them.
"Even Rosemary never made me this angry."
"That is because you did not love Rosemary," I told him.
"If this is what love does, then I was happier without it." He turned away from me and went to pour wine for us both. "Are you staying?" He asked, passing me the goblet.
"I will if you need me to," I replied.
"I would not blame you if you decided to go, to never see me again."
"Richard, I can only imagine how you feel right now, but you are a good man and Bethany knows that. She will forgive you."
"I cannot think of it now. Anthony's sister is coming from France in the next few weeks, a last visit before she takes the veil. She is fiercely pious, perhaps even more so than the Queen herself. Bethany will definitely be safer where she is." He paused and looked at me for a moment. "Besides, while she is trapped in the cottage, she will have no further opportunity to betray me."
He seemed to have calmed down a little, so I thought it might be my only chance to voice what I had been thinking.
"Richard, you married an independent woman then you let her believe that the man she loved, the man she worshipped, was risking his life to keep another woman close." I paused and watched his expression for signs of anger, but there was only interest in what I was saying. "What did you think she would do? Sit and wait for you to favour her with some attention?"
"So you are saying it was my fault?"
"Partly, yes, I think it was. I did ask you a long time ago to explain about me. I suppose you have not done that, even now?"
"There was no point," he answered despondently. "It is too late for that now."
"Why do you say that?"
"I would have thought it was obvious. She betrayed me, Rachel. She no longer loves me; I have destroyed that, it is gone."
"I doubt that very much, my dear," I told him and at last felt comfortable in putting my arm around him. "She still loves you and always will, no matter what you do. And that makes her courage all the more admirable."
"You admire her? You approve of what she has done?"
"I approve of the courage it took, yes. Do you believe that she risked so much just to avenge herself on you? Or do you think she did it to help her friends?"
He made no reply, so I waited, wondering whether he intended to reply at all.
"I am not sure," he said at last.
"Well, I am. I doubt she even thought about betraying you, much less getting revenge. She likely found out that her sister had died helping her cause and she felt she needed to do the same." He turned to face me and I was glad I had got his attention. "You were not there. You were in London, with another woman, one you loved enough to risk a charge of treason for. That is how she saw it because you thought it best not to tell her the truth. The blame is not all hers, Richard. Trust me on that."
***
That was our last year at court, of keeping up the charade of being man and wife, and the last year of Mary's reign. She had been looking ill for a long time and things went wrong, one after another. First two imaginary pregnancies and the loss of the Spanish prince, then the loss of Calais. She became less and less rational and began to see conspiracies everyw
here she looked, and she looked most at her ladies in waiting.
"You have never told me your own thoughts on the heretics, Lady Summerville," she said to me one day.
"No, Your Majesty," I replied nervously. "But I agree with you, of course."
"Do you? Does anyone really agree with me, or do they say that to keep me appeased?"
"I am sure I cannot speak for others, Your Majesty," I replied.
This talk was making me nervous and I longed to be out of her presence. Then she said something that turned my blood cold.
"Your husband is not as attentive as he once was, My Lady," she said coldly. "Does he too agree with me?"
"I could not say what he thinks, Your Majesty."
"Could you not? You are his wife are you not?"
There was something in the way she said it, in the emphasis of the words, that made me wonder if she had discovered something of the truth of our relationship. My heart started to thunder in my chest and I was grateful when one of the other ladies entered and began to talk of other things.
I met Richard in the gallery, anxious to tell him my concerns, but his expression stopped me.
"Alicia is ill," he said. "I need to return to Summerville today."
"I will get my things packed at once," I told him, then ran to our chambers to supervise. But I took more than enough for a stay, I took everything I owned. I was afraid and I had no intention of coming back.
We had no opportunity to talk until the carriage had moved away and even then I had to speak quietly, so that the coachman would not hear.
"The Queen is becoming suspicious," I told him.
He turned to me with eyes that were dull with sorrow. I had not realised when he said his little girl was ill, just how ill she was.
"Richard? What is it?"
"She has the smallpox. I have only just got this despatch, it went to Richmond first. She will likely not recover."
And he had missed so much time with her. This year had been a burden to him I know, after the terrible argument with his wife and now this. He needed to be home, he should have gone weeks ago.
The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) Page 11