HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6

by Margaret Brazear

  She was even more afraid for him when in May of 1553, the Lord Protector married his son, Guildford Dudley, to Lady Jane Grey, the King’s cousin.

  She knew it would happen, most people did. The King had never been strong and recent maladies had proven to damage his health even more; Jane was the only Protestant in line to the succession. The Duke of Northumberland wanted to maintain control over the throne and by declaring Jane Queen when the time came, he would achieve that end through his son.

  Bethany was glad of the marriage. She did not want another Catholic monarch; just the ceremonies here had made her terrified she was damned, and if Mary Tudor was allowed to gain the throne, she need be very afraid of her wrath. But while she was glad, she was more and more concerned. Richard could be called to serve at the court at any time and should that happen he could easily be exposed.

  That was just one more thing she had known nothing about when she accepted an Earl for a husband, that his rank put him close to the throne, whoever sat upon it. She was used to a life of relative privacy; nobody of any importance cared what a merchant’s family were doing, but the King and his council wanted very much to know where the loyalties of a nobleman lay.

  ***

  When Richard had married this merchant’s daughter, elevated her to the rank of countess, he had intended a few short weeks of getting to know her, of learning who she really was and showing her who he was. After that he had intended to return to the life of a single man, hoping his bride would have conceived. His urgency about the wedding had been to have her wedded and bedded before the King died, before he would give his support to Mary. The King’s death and Mary’s accession had been foremost in his mind then; he never imagined he would want to spend every moment with his new countess, he never guessed he would long for her company, yearn for her body as he had never done for any other woman. Even her kisses sent a tremor of anticipation through him and he was afraid now that when the time came, he would not want to leave her to go and support Mary.

  He had felt her nervousness that first time, had been concerned he might frighten her and spend the remainder of their marriage having to bed a woman who did not return his desire. How delightful to be welcomed each night into her arms, into her bed and into her body, how wonderful to find she returned his passion with her own.

  She made him feel like the most important man on earth; what man could resist that? But he looked in vain for signs that she was with child. He had wanted that to happen before the King died and he had to go and fight for Mary.

  ***

  Bethany thought she could feel safe in the knowledge that if the King should die, a Protestant would still be on the throne. She was safe, but Richard attended mass every single day in his private and secret church and every time he did so, every time food was sent down to the priest who hid there, she feared for his safety.

  Life was good. She blessed the day the Earl of Summerville had noticed her even though she may never get to be presented at court. Richard was waiting for Mary Tudor to ascend the throne, but it would never happen and he would not willingly attend the court of a Protestant monarch. Somehow that was of little importance. She had the house, the people who treated her like their own private queen, and the most gentle, considerate and skilful lover she could possibly have wished for. Her heart still jumped when she saw him, she still thrilled to his touch just as she had the very first time. She had wanted his wealth and his title; she had never expected nor wanted his love, but now she felt sure she would not survive without him.

  Each night he would send the servants away until they stopped coming at all. Each night he helped her to remove her clothing, which she found provocative.

  “Why do you do that?” She asked him. “Why do you always send the servants away?”

  “Would you rather I did not?”

  “No. It is just not what I expected, not what I was told would happen.”

  He smiled then kissed her cheek affectionately before he responded.

  “When a man goes into his bedchamber with his wife, it should be an intensely private time, not one to be ritualised, and certainly not one to be shared.”

  ***

  Bethany wanted to visit her sister, had been thinking about it ever since she moved into Summerville Hall, but she could not bring herself to spend even an hour away from her new husband. He had taken this time away from his own work and she could spend time with Julia once that time was over and he went back to his estate business.

  Although she had been friendly enough at the wedding, wishing Bethany well, she still wanted to clear the air between them and be sure she had regretted those words which still rang in Bethany’s ears, you are no sister of mine.

  Bethany had seen nothing of her since the wedding despite her living so close. She had sent a servant there once, with an invitation to visit, but he had been told by Sir Geoffrey that his wife was in London, visiting with her parents. It hurt to know she might still be angry about the marriage, but Bethany could not allow her sister’s piety to spoil things for her. It was a shame though; they had always been so close.

  Still wanting to make up with her, one day when Richard had ridden out to inspect the work on the chimneys, Bethany decided to ride over to see her. Perhaps she could finally persuade her to accept what had happened.

  Although Winterton House was only a short distance, she did not feel confident as yet to ride alone, and wanted a servant to accompany her. Anthony was in the house, going over estate accounts as he often was and she wondered if he were preparing for the day he would be master here. There was so far no sign of a child, despite plentiful and vigorous attempts. Bethany worried about that, too, worried what would happen should she prove to be barren. Richard had married solely for an heir and if she failed to give him one, she had no idea what he would do.

  She had seen nothing of the mistresses he mentioned and he had not left her side long enough to have seen them behind her back. When she thought of him with another woman, she was torn by jealousy, not something she had expected. For now, he was concentrating all his efforts on conceiving an heir to his fortune and estates. Once that was done, things may well change, but it was not something she wanted to consider.

  “I am going to visit my sister,” she told Anthony as he looked up, hoping he would send for someone to go with her.

  “I will come with you,” he said quickly, rising to his feet. “Richard would not want you to confront Sir Geoffrey alone.”

  “If you wish,” she replied, but she thought it an odd thing to say. “A servant will suffice.”

  He shook his head.

  “No. I will come.”

  It seemed that he thought she might be in some sort of danger, but she could not think why. On arrival a servant showed them into the main hall where Sir Geoffrey was sitting before a dying fire. It may have been spring, but there was still a chill in the air. Seated at his feet was a handsome young man, perhaps no older than Anthony himself, and his blonde head was resting on Sir Geoffrey’s knee, while the latter stroked his face lovingly.

  She was shocked to realise it was true, there really were men who preferred other men and her poor sister had married one of them. It was not a myth after all.

  “Good afternoon, Sir Geoffrey,” Bethany said quickly, breaking the silence. She expected her words would make him start, embarrassed. She was wrong. He carried on stroking the boy’s hair as he glanced up at her then smiled at Anthony by her side.

  The smile was a provocative one and made her shudder. She was relieved to see that Anthony looked disgusted as he spoke.

  “We have come to see your wife, Sir Geoffrey,” Anthony said at once.

  Geoffrey bent down and kissed the boy hard on the lips, as though he were a woman, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he looked up at Bethany with a smile of contempt.

  “She has gone,” he said harshly. “She has been gone for weeks now. The last time you enquired, I lied. I thought then she would be b
ack and no one need ever know, but I was wrong.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “How should I know?” He said with a shrug. “She is not with you and I have enquired of your parents. I know not who else to ask. I only know she has gone and she will not be welcome back. She has taken my jewels, the ones that have been in my family for generations. They are not hers, but she took them anyway. A thief as well as a whore.”

  Why would he call her a whore? Perhaps he knew something Bethany did not, perhaps something which would explain the inappropriate intimacy between her sister and her husband.

  He picked up his goblet of wine from the hearth stone and carried on fondling his little friend, while she spun around and fled from the house, trembling with shock and distress.

  Anthony helped her on to her pony and they rode away in silence.

  “Where do you think she has gone?” she asked him. “Have you any idea? Why would she go?” She blushed then, remembering the scene they had both just witnessed. “Don’t answer that. I know why, but it was a foolish thing to do. She cannot survive alone with no money, no support. Why did no one tell me?”

  “I thought she may have left,” Anthony said quietly. “That is why I did not want you to come alone. She has most likely sold the jewels, so she will be all right for a little while. I’m sure Richard knows people who can track her down.”

  She turned to him hopefully, afraid he might just be trying to make her feel better, but then she heard her name being called. She reined in her horse and turned in the saddle to see a small, stout woman hurrying to catch up. She was waving a piece of parchment in her hand.

  “My Lady,” she said breathlessly, as she drew level with them. “I know where Lady Winterton has gone. She left this.” She handed Bethany the parchment then turned back toward the house nervously. “Sir Geoffrey must never know. I only found out by accident myself.”

  Bethany thanked her and began to read, then handed the parchment to Anthony.

  “Do you know this place?”

  “It is a small village some ten miles from here,” he replied. “I wonder why she would have gone there. Do you know? Do you have family or friends nearby?”

  She shook her head, still puzzled, but she determined to go in search of her at the first opportunity.

  Her plan was put on hold indefinitely when one morning a messenger arrived on horseback asking to see Richard. The man seemed to be in a panic and Bethany ordered refreshments for him, but he refused to tell her his message; that was for His Lordship’s ears only.

  A few minutes after he had gone, Richard came to join his wife in their bedchamber where she sat on the bed, wondering why the messenger had been so secretive. Her heart sank when she saw he was buckling a sword at his waist. He strode across the room and took her face in his warm hands, then they dropped to her shoulders and he lifted her to her feet.

  “King Edward is dead,” he announced. “Jane Grey has been proclaimed Queen in London.”

  She knew at once why he was wearing a sword and her heart almost stopped in her chest; he had come to say goodbye.

  “Mary has gathered forces at Framlingham and is even now on her way to London with an army. I will join her in Sawston where she will stay the night. There is little time, but you must promise me that you will not put yourself in any danger while I am away.”

  All she could think of was how to stop him, how to keep him here and safe where he belonged. But there was no way and she knew it. She felt certain these gloriously happy weeks would never come again.

  “What sort of danger?” She asked at last.

  “Rely only on Anthony for news, please. It is a dangerous time and if you say the wrong thing to the wrong people, it could be construed as treason.”

  Treason? He could speak to her of treason while he risked his precious life for the little papist woman?

  “Aren’t you the one in danger of being condemned for treason?” She was shivering with fear now and did not realise she was digging her fingernails into his arms. “You are going to support Queen Jane’s enemy against her. You are planning to ride to London with Mary Tudor, right into the lion’s den. The next time I see you could be in the Tower.” She reached up and kissed his lips, held her arms tightly about his waist, desperately trying to make him stay. She could not stop the tears which were brimming over and falling down her cheeks. “Please, Richard, do not go. I think I would die myself if I lost you.”

  So she had said it. She had taken those feelings out of their little box and thrown them at him, despite wanting very much to keep them safe inside, where he would never see. They had an agreement and this was not part of it.

  He held her away from him to look down into her eyes and smiled gently as he hugged her close. She could feel his heart beating rapidly against her cheek, could feel the shuddering sigh as he breathed in deeply.

  “You really love me,” he said, but with a little puzzled frown on his brow. “I had not expected that, but you do. You really love me.”

  Then he returned her kiss, a kiss that went on so long she thought she would faint, a kiss that took her breath away and aroused in her that longing she had so recently discovered. And she was so afraid it would be the last kiss.

  Gently, he took her arms from around his neck and pushed her away.

  “Pray for me,” he said swiftly, and with that he was gone while she wondered miserably if she would ever see him again.

  ***

  When the messenger had gone, Richard sat for a moment wondering why his heart failed to sing at the news of the King’s death. If only Mary had been declared Queen, as her father’s Will had decreed, he would not now have to leave his wife and risk his life to fight for her.

  He had waited for the Protestant boy to die, his allegiance was to Mary and until now he had longed for the day he could raise his sword in defence of her, the day he could help her to return England to the true faith. He had looked forward with joy and excitement to the day he would ride into London at Mary Tudor’s side, raise her flag before her army and claim the throne of England for the true heir and the true faith.

  Since he had invited Bethany into his life, he could summon no enthusiasm to leave her, no matter what the cause.

  He shook his head to clear it. He had no time for this; he would have to go, and go quickly. He took his sword from its place over the fireplace and buckled on his belt as he climbed the stairs to say goodbye to her. She waited, seated on their bed and looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her, and he could see in her eyes that she knew already what the news would be.

  He could not love her; he could not afford to risk his heart. He had no intention of ever loving her, only of giving her the respect due to his countess. He did not love her! It was not possible. It was merely an infatuation from which he would soon recover once he was away from her.

  But when she clung to him and begged him not to go, when he saw how much he meant to her, his resolve almost failed. He was always popular with women; he was handsome, well built and charming and with skills in the bedchamber they could find nowhere else, but he never had expected any of them to love him as this woman did.

  She had kept her side of the agreement, or tried to. She had followed all his instructions on how a countess must behave so that when he finally presented her to the monarch, she would move in court circles and not disgrace him. He knew there were many among those circles who gossiped about his choice of bride, who condemned her as being unworthy to wear the title, but he had little use for the opinions of others.

  She had stood beside him every day in his private church and said the mass as he had taught her but he knew she was uncomfortable with it, even afraid of it. She trembled with fear in that church, although she tried to hide it; she stared at the idols with terror in her eyes and she seemed no closer to embracing his beliefs.

  She had paid attention to the lessons his priest gave her, but he knew the subject was of academic interest to her, nothing more. She was a
n intelligent woman who enjoyed learning, but she was nowhere close to believing what she was taught and now he doubted she ever would be.

  He had been arrogant enough to believe her faith was unimportant and she would soon see the truth; it was a mistake, a big one.

  Now it was too late. His duty lie with Mary and he could not afford to be distracted from that duty. And there was still no sign of an heir.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Pray for me. Easy to say. When Richard left, Bethany lay on the bed and sobbed, certain she would never see him again. And she had let him see how she felt, something she swore she would never do. Now he would be concerned about her instead of concentrating on keeping himself alive. Or would he? Would he care enough about her feelings to let them detract him from his cause, the cause of putting a fanatical Catholic on the throne of England? Bethany was sure his cause would fail, and then what would become of him, what would become of them all?

  She tried to comply with his request, she tried to pray. But what was she praying for? She desperately wanted to pray for his safety, even though she felt God would never heed a prayer from her. But if Richard was safe, it would mean Mary on the throne and a return to the Roman church with its idolatry and corruption. If Mary lost, Richard would die, either in battle or on the block. She could not bear either thought, but she had to choose one. Irrationally, it seemed that it was all up to her, even though she knew that was nonsense. She could not lose Richard, no matter what she had to choose in exchange.

  So she waited, trying to pray, counting every minute until she would discover whether she was now a widow, or would soon be one. Because despite the fact that he had gone to fight for the Catholic cause, despite his risking his life for Mary, Bethany still did not believe she would prevail. She still did not believe the people would accept a Catholic monarch, and that meant the man she had fallen so desperately in love with would die, and her future with him. There would never be another and she would grieve for him for the rest of her days.

  And she believed she understood now his urgency about the marriage. He wanted an heir before he left to fight for Mary, before he was killed fighting for Mary. She had failed him in that and now she was so afraid he would never come back to forgive her.