by Sandra Heath
“What do you mean to do about it?”
“Do?”
“If you let this proceed without contesting, you’ll lose everything, but if you fight, you stand to gain. You are Lady Montacute, and you should remain so, for you aren’t in the wrong, Nicholas is.”
Verity lowered her eyes. “I still love him very much, Anna, and what I really want is a reconciliation, but I now know that that is out of the question. Perhaps it’s best if I simply bow out gracefully.”
“Verity—”
“Let’s go for that ride,” Verity interrupted brightly, then turned and hurried out, and after a moment Anna followed.
There were only a few riders in Hyde Park because it was early morning. The air was cold, especially beneath the trees, and a deep carpet of fallen leaves rustled against the horses’ hooves, but in spite of the late October chill, Verity felt uncomfortably hot.
The sun seemed to beat down on her as relentlessly as if it were high summer, and after a while she began to feel strangely detached. Sound seemed to echo a little, and then shadows began to close in on all sides. A shrill whistle sounded in her ears, and she felt herself slipping from the saddle. She heard Anna’s alarmed cry, and then knew nothing more.
Anna dismounted in dismay and knelt beside her among the leaves, then an elderly gentleman who was riding nearby urged his horse over and dismounted too. He introduced himself as Sir Henry Stowell, the fashionable physician, and Anna smiled with relief as he crouched to examine Verity.
“I’m so glad you were near, Sir Henry. I—I am Mrs. Oliver Henderson, I believe you and my husband are acquainted.”
He nodded. “Why, yes, indeed. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Henderson. May I inquire who your friend is?” he asked then, returning his attention to Verity, who had yet to regain consciousness.
“She is Lady Montacute,” Anna explained.
“Ah,” he murmured, for in common with the rest of London, he knew all about the Montacute match. Verity stirred, and he looked attentively into her eyes as she regained consciousness. “Please lie still, my lady, for I must ascertain if you’ve sustained any injuries.”
She gazed up in puzzlement at the sky and lacework of autumn leaves beyond him, then her eyes focused on his face. “Who—who are you?”
Anna leaned over. “It’s all right, Verity, he is Sir Henry Stowell.”
“What happened?”
“You fainted.”
Sir Henry examined her as best he could and soon concluded that she hadn’t broken any bones. He assisted her into a sitting position, and then looked intently into her eyes again. “How have you been feeling lately, my lady?”
“Feeling? Well, a little unwell, actually. No, not exactly unwell, just odd. Oh, I don’t really know, I just haven’t been feeling quite right, that’s all. Why do you ask?”
“Because I have the honor to be one of the capital’s foremost accoucheurs, and in years of experience I have learned that a woman’s eyes tell a great deal about the state of her health. There is no doubt in my mind that you are with child.”
Verity stared up at him. “With child?” she repeated.
He nodded. “A hardly impossible state of affairs, given that you are married.”
Anna felt close to tears. A child, and only that morning Verity had learned that Nicholas wished to divorce her!
Verity struggled to get up, and as Sir Henry helped to steady her, she looked anxiously at him. “Are you quite sure?”
“As sure as I can be without a full examination. When was your last monthly showing?”
Verity’s lips parted, for she hadn’t even given it thought. Now that she did, she realized she hadn’t seen anything since her stay in Kent, and heaven knew how many weeks ago that had been.
Sir Henry smiled a little. “I can see by your expression that you have all the necessary confirmation.”
She nodded.
“I will be delighted to attend you if you wish.”
“You—you are most kind, Sir Henry.”
“My advice now is that you go home and rest, for riding accidents are not to be recommended for ladies in your condition.”
Anna stepped forward. “I will see she rests, Sir Henry.”
He helped them both to remount and then rode away.
When Verity felt able, the two women rode slowly back to Grosvenor Square, where for a moment Anna prevented Verity from dismounting.
“You realize that divorce is now quite out of the question, don’t you? You have a child to think of now, and if it should be a son, the Montacute title and fortune will be his birthright. Even a girl should not have her future blighted by the stigma of divorce. At all costs you must remain Nicholas’s wife.”
“Anna—”
“Listen to what I’m saying, Verity. Oliver and I have been denied the joy of children, but you have not. As a mother, it is your duty to do all you can for your baby. And it is Nicholas’s duty to be a proper father,” she added fiercely.
Before Verity could say anything in reply, the door of the house opened and Charles the butler hurried out. “My lady, an urgent message has been delivered from his lordship!” He handed Nicholas’s letter up to her.
She broke the seal and read the hastily scrawled lines. Her already pale face went still more white, and she raised stricken eyes to Anna. “It’s my uncle, he’s so ill he’s not expected to live,” she whispered.
* * *
It was several days before she was able to set off for Wychavon, because Anna wouldn’t hear of her embarking upon an arduous journey so soon after her fall. To make certain Verity was sensible, Sir Henry was sent for, and he too forbade any traveling until he was content she was up to it. Anna stayed at Grosvenor Square to be sure the patient did as she was instructed.
Verity was racked with worry over her uncle. If he had been ill for so long, why hadn’t she been notified before? The incongruity of it having been Nicholas who had written would have been amusing, had it not been so painful.
He was the very last person she would have expected to show concern for her or her uncle, but she’d long since given up trying to understand the man she’d married. Nicholas Montacute was a mystery to her, and likely to remain so.
There were still four days to Halloween when at last Sir Henry relented and allowed her to leave London. She set off through the frosty dawn wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, with her feet resting on a warmed brick, and her hands thrust deep into a muff. Because of her condition, the swaying of the carriage soon proved very disagreeable, and by the time she reached Cheltenham, where she intended to stay overnight, she was relieved to be able to go to bed and close her eyes, but worry precluded much real sleep.
It was Sunday the following day, and when she arrived at Wychavon at dusk, the whole village seemed to be at evensong, for there wasn’t a soul to be seen, and she could hear the congregation singing at the church. On the green, preparations were already in hand for Halloween. The traditional bonfire had been commenced on the site of the maypole, and several mounds of leaves and old wood were ready to be added over the following day or so.
Verity alighted with a heavy heart, for she didn’t know what awaited her in the house. She wore a brown woolen spencer and a peach-and-white striped gown beneath her cloak, and her brown bonnet had a posy of artificial flowers pinned beneath the brim. She turned to collect her reticule from the carriage seat and didn’t notice that the drawstring hadn’t been properly closed. Nor did she notice as the snakestone slipped from the little bag into the carpet of leaves on the road.
She instructed the coachman to take the carriage around to the stables at the rear of the house, but as he urged the tired team forward again, the wheels rolled over the precious talisman, burying it still further under the leaves. From that moment on, Verity was without protection.
It was quiet in the house, with just the ticking of the clock in the shadowy hall to break the silence as she took off her cloak. She lit a candle at the fire in the library,
and then glanced around at the room that was so very much part of her uncle. Tears pricked her eyes, and she shielded the candle flame to go out into the hall again, then gathered her skirts to go upstairs to her uncle’s room.
She heard his labored breathing before she reached the door, and when she looked through the doorway, she was deeply dismayed to see how shrunken and frail he’d become. Martha was asleep in a chair by the fire and didn’t awaken as Verity put the candlestick on the mantelpiece and then went to take Joshua’s hand.
His sunken eyes flickered weakly open, and he looked up at her, but she didn’t know if he even recognized her. After a few seconds his eyes closed again, and tears wended down her cheeks as she knew Nicholas’s message hadn’t exaggerated, her uncle really was close to death.
The small sound she made disturbed Martha’s sleep, and the wisewoman looked up with a start. “Miss Verity!”
“Why didn’t you send for me sooner, Martha?” Verity asked accusingly.
The old nurse got up. “Mr. Windsor forbade me to, Miss Verity. He was adamant, and made me promise. I didn’t want to, for I thought you should be here.”
“Well, I’m here now. I came as quickly as I could.”
“But how did you know?”
Verity told her about the message from Nicholas, and then added, “I don’t know why he informed me, for it’s clear he feels nothing for me anymore. In fact, I don’t even know why he bothered to marry me at all, because I realize now that he certainly never loved me.”
Martha put a sympathetic hand on her arm. “Miss Verity, there are things I have to say, painful things that will hurt you. I would have said nothing, but you must be told now you’re here.”
Verity’s heart sank. What more could there be than had already happened?
Martha glanced at the bed and then turned toward the door. “Come downstairs, for we must talk.”
Verity followed her to the kitchens, where they sat on the settle by the inglenook as Martha made a cup of tea. The copper kettle sang on the fire, and Verity’s eyes reflected the flames as she listened to what the nurse had to tell.
She didn’t speak until Martha at last got up to pour the boiling water into the teapot. “You—you’re saying that Nicholas was spellbound by me because of the seal, and now he’s spellbound by Judith Villiers for the same reason?”
“There’s no doubt in my mind. As soon as Sadie took it from the church and returned it to the witch, your husband came back from London. It was no coincidence, I’d swear, and when I spoke to him that once at the manor house gate, I could tell he was bewitched. Oh, so darkly bewitched ...”
Verity lowered her eyes. “I think you’re right, Martha, for he changed toward me at Almack’s, it was so sudden and complete that he was like two different men.” She bit her lip sadly. “So he never loved me at all, he was only interested because he was enchanted by the seal.”
“That I cannot say, my dear,” Martha said gently, pressing a cup of tea into her hand, “but there’s no doubt in my mind that the seal has caused him to cleave to the witch now. She’s with him at the castle at this very moment.”
Verity struggled against the lump that rose in her throat, then gave the nurse a wistful smile. “But maybe he still feels a little for me? After all, he did send word to London.”
Martha drew a heavy breath. “I don’t want to hurt you more, Miss Verity, but I fear he may not have done so of his own volition. You see, Sadie and I are almost certain that your poor uncle has been overlooked, just as little Davey was, and the only reason I can think why the witch would do that would be to bring you back here when she found you could not be bewitched.
“She needs you here, my dear, because you stand in her way, just as that other Lady Montacute did two hundred years ago. She must be rid of you in order to take your place, so that when she wreaks full vengeance on the last of the Montacutes, she will inherit everything. She already possesses all that belonged to the Villiers’.”
“Nicholas is in great danger, isn’t he?”
“Not yet, my dear, you are the one in danger now. You must be on your guard where he is concerned. It’s clear you still love him, and that makes you vulnerable. Judith must know you’re protected against her sorcery, which is why she’s had to reach you through your poor uncle.
“I think she’s almost certain to use Nicholas next, so if he should come to you for any reason at all, you must not trust what he says, for it will not be the real Nicholas Montacute speaking. He is under enchantment and will always do Judith’s bidding.”
Verity blinked back tears. “I’m frightened, Martha.”
“Just be on your guard, my dear, and keep the snakestone close. You do still have it, don’t you?”
“Yes, it’s here in my reticule.” But when Verity set her cup of tea aside and looked in the reticule, she saw no sign of the talisman or its chain. “It’s gone! I swear it was there, but it’s gone now! Maybe it’s in the carriage. I must look!”
They both hurried outside, where dusk had darkened to night, but a quick search of the carriage revealed nothing, and Verity looked unhappily at the nurse in the shadows. “Oh, Martha, I’ve lost it. It must be at the Cheltenham Inn, for I know I had it with me when I arrived there.”
Martha was deeply anxious, but tried not to show it. “Well, the witch cannot know you’ve returned, indeed nobody knows yet, and we can keep it that way if we wish. The whole village is at the church this evening, because the Reverend Crawshaw is to say prayers for Mr. Windsor. I’m the only one not at the service, because someone had to stay here. Now, it’s a while yet until evensong ends, and if we send your carriage back to the last posting inn, no one will have seen anything suspicious. The other servants will say nothing if instructed, and if you stay in the house at all times ...”
“But how long for?”
Martha looked helplessly at her, for she didn’t know what to say. Her only thought was Verity’s immediate protection, beyond that, she had no solution.
Verity was quiet for a moment. “Martha, a few minutes ago you spoke of Nicholas as the last of the Montacutes, well, he isn’t, not anymore. I’m expecting his child.”
Martha stared at her. “Oh, my dear ...”
Verity gave a brave smile. “And according to the account of Meg Ashton’s trial that the vicar read out to you, the other Lady Montacute was carrying a child too, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, my dear, she was, but I won’t let the same fate befall you as befell her. If it’s the last thing on this earth that I do, I’ll shield you from the witch!”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Two days later, on the frosty morning of Halloween itself, Verity was awakened in very much the same way as on May Day all those months before. There was a great deal of activity on the village green as the final touches were put to the bonfire, and she got out of bed to look out, being sure to keep out of sight because no one as yet knew she had returned.
The sun was high, the sky a cloudless blue, and the seasonal colors magnificent. The willows by the ford were a clear shining yellow, while the woods beyond the village were a riot of every autumn hue, from the richest copper brown, through crimson and gold, to the palest pink and beige. Curls of smoke rose from cottage chimneys, and rooks soared around the church, their raucous calls echoing above the noise on the green.
The men had been working on the bonfire since first light, and it was now so tall that ladders were needed to reach the top. After dark tonight all the children would dress up as ghosts, witches, or devils, and turnip lanterns cut into fiendish faces would be set at every cottage window.
Then there would be a procession around the village, and torches and more turnip lanterns would be carried past every door. Everyone would sing at the tops of their voices, and when the procession returned to the green, the bonfire would be ceremonially lit.
All over England there would be similar festivities. Flaming wheels would be rolled down exposed slopes, and fires would flicker in eve
ry village and from every hilltop. Mulled ale would be drunk, potatoes would be roasted in the flames, and for the children there would be toffee apples and honey cakes.
All manner of Halloween games would be played, from bobbing apples, leaping over embers, to throwing marked stones into the flames to see what the future held. There would be dancing, and as much merry-making as on May Day, with morris bells jingling and hobby horses rushing to and fro to make the children squeal.
But all this, of course, was the respectable face of Halloween, for there was another, darker side, when all manner of mischievous pranks were played on the unsuspecting. Alarmingly dressed children would hurry around in groups trying to frighten the unwary, animals would be swapped around in barns, field gates would be removed, cottage doors would be tied together so they couldn’t be opened, and sometimes sods of earth were put on chimney tops to fill the dwellings below with smoke.
And all the time the leering turnip lanterns would shine like demons through the darkness, reminding everyone that this was the night when ghosts, witches, wizards, and even the Devil himself, went abroad.
A sad smile curved Verity’s lips at this last thought, for a year ago she would have laughed and called it superstition, but this Halloween was very different. She couldn’t laugh now, because she knew there were indeed such things as witches. And if there were witches, then probably all the other supernatural beings existed as well, and maybe they did come out on this special night. After all, Judith Villiers had appeared twelve months ago to the day….
Some of the village children dashed past the house, kicking the autumn leaves and laughing, and she was pleased to see Davey Cutler among them. How good it was to see him well again, although his return to health had been at the expense of her poor uncle.
Tears stung her eyes as she thought of Joshua, who hadn’t shown any signs of even recognizing her, let alone wishing to speak to her since her return. He sometimes seemed barely alive, and her heart was squeezed with wretchedness as she thought of the recent past, when he had been so hale and hearty. Except for his dyspepsia, of course ... Oh, if he were to recover now, she would never criticize his eating habits again, never!