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

by Margaret Brazear

  She had not been able to ride out in search of her sister, but she had sent servants looking for her and carrying funds in case she should need them. They had been told she had moved on, that no word of her was now known. They had also been told that she had given birth to a son whom she had naturally taken with her.

  There was but one reason Julia would run away to fend for herself with a baby, and that reason was clear. The child did not belong to her husband and judging by the display Bethany had witnessed in Sir Geoffrey’s house he most probably knew it. But although she tried to deny it to herself, it was clear to her just whose child it was. It was certainly possible. There had been an unseemly familiarity between the two and it would certainly explain her outrage at the marriage. She pushed the treacherous thought away, hoping she was wrong, but there was no one else. She would not think of it now, not when she was about to see Richard for the first time in months.

  She was waiting outside when he rode up on his beautiful black horse and swung himself out of the saddle. A groom came swiftly to take the reins and lead the animal away, while Richard caught Bethany in his arms and held her close.

  Anthony was behind her, waiting to greet his cousin with enthusiasm.

  “I have missed you,” he declared, shaking Richard’s hand vigorously. “I hope I have not made too much of a mess of things.”

  “I am sure you have not.” He put his arm around his wife and they all walked inside together. “You are cold,” he said. “You should not have been waiting outside in that flimsy gown.”

  He ordered wine and bread and they sat around a roaring fire, Richard next to her on the settle. He put his hand on her swollen stomach and felt the child kick, then smiled with satisfaction.

  “All is well?” He asked.

  “I hope so. There have been no problems.”

  He nodded, then turned to Anthony.

  “I will hear whether you have left me penniless when I have rested,” he told him with a laugh. “For now, I need to be alone with my wife.”

  Her heart leapt at his words. She wanted desperately to be alone with him, too, but she doubted he had the same thing in mind, not considering her condition. She was soon to discover his intentions could not be farther from hers.

  Anthony cheerfully went away while Richard turned and kissed her, then pulled her head down onto his shoulder. She thought he might tell her he had missed her but she was wrong. He had something to say which he did not want Anthony or anyone else to hear.

  “We have guests coming for the festive period,” he began at once. “There are some things I need you to know before they come so you will not behave in an unseemly manner should you find out from them.”

  She looked up at him, hurt at this slight and that hurt clearly showed in her eyes.

  “Why have you invited guests when you know I cannot be seen?”

  His dark eyes swept over her stomach again and he took her hand.

  “I had little choice. These are important people and the Queen asked me to have them here; she seems to think they should get to know me better.”

  He suspected there was another reason, but Bethany had no need to know of it.

  “The Queen is becoming zealous in her efforts to wipe out heresy,” he told her. “You may have heard that more people have been put to death in the last weeks.”

  “I have,” she replied. “It is not something I want to think about.”

  “So you do not believe their deaths are deserved? You do not believe that by suffering the flames here on earth, they will be spared them in purgatory?”

  “Of course not. Do you?”

  He pushed her away then.

  “I knew you would never be able to follow me,” he said harshly. “I was attracted to you because you were so open and honest, because you could not pretend. And here I thought I could make you into something you are not.” He got to his feet, shaking his head. “It is my fault. It is unlikely you will be required to voice an opinion before our guests, but if you are, have a care what you say.”

  “But Richard! You do not believe that, do you?”

  “I wanted to see what your reaction would be, as this is the sort of talk that will be heard from our guests. Your condition will be a good enough reason for your absence.”

  Then he bowed to her and disappeared upstairs, leaving her to wonder how her future would turn out, or indeed if she even had a future.

  The house was full of high born Catholic lords and ladies in the days leading up to and after Christmas and she waited in vain for Richard to join her in her bedchamber. She had so looked forward to spending a quiet Christmas together, but now all she could do was have her meals sent to her chamber and listen to the chatter coming from the great hall, the minstrels and the music.

  She was upset that he had invited all these people, knowing that by custom she could not show herself. Not once was she alone with him, not once did she have an opportunity to talk to him and she felt he had arranged things that way. Just like when she met him in London, he seemed to be trying to push her away, trying to distance himself from her and damage the love he knew she felt for him.

  There was no longer any need to follow the underground passage to the church, so the guests donned their outdoor clothing and walked across the field to the woods. She had hoped that, since she could not be seen for the festivities, she would not be expected to attend mass either, but her hope was in vain. Richard ordered the carriage for her, deeming it too much walking, and she was heavily cloaked to conceal her figure. It seemed that even a woman heavily pregnant was not to be excused the midnight mass on Christmas Eve.

  The masses she had so far knelt through had been tedious and each one had made her feel farther and farther away from God, but this mass was the worst of all. She could no longer kneel, she was too heavy, but she stood for hours for the service, the most important one, and when it was over, she half expected the gates of hell to be awaiting her on the other side of the doors.

  Although she had been given a chair halfway through, she was still exhausted and had difficulty getting to her feet. She looked about for a servant to help her, assuming her husband to be too busy with his guests to notice. But Richard was at her side at once, gripping her around the waist and helping her up. She felt the first sharp pain in that church and was sure she was about to be punished at last for her betrayal.

  “Quickly!” He called to whoever wanted to hear. “Her Ladyship is ill. Bring the carriage up to the door at once.”

  Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her outside, where he climbed into the carriage beside her, calling to his servants to send for a physician. It was much too early for the child to be born.

  He sat beside the bed holding his wife’s hand while they waited for the physician to arrive and by the time he did, the pain had stopped.

  “The strain of the mass, My Lady,” the physician said confidently. “All that standing is too much for a woman of your delicate condition. You should rest, stay in bed until the time for your confinement.”

  “That is months away!”

  “No matter,” Richard said. “You must not risk your safety again, nor that of the child.”

  He felt sure this early danger sign was his fault. He had been unkind to her when he arrived, partly because he was more afraid than ever now to get too close, but also because the Queen was still insisting his wife serve her once she had recovered from the birth. He did not want to admit that he harboured some resentment about her failure to behave as she had promised him. It was not her fault yet he knew his attitude to her had caused her pain, and now this risk to their child was the result.

  When the physician had gone and he leaned over the bed to kiss her goodnight, she clasped his hand and held it against her lips. He sat on the bed beside her.

  “Stay with me,” she said. “I have not seen you for months and here you bring all these strangers into our home and do not even spend one night with me. Is that really too much to ask?”
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br />   Tears brimmed in her eyes and she tried desperately to keep the misery out of her voice, but she could not help it. She was showing him weakness she felt he would not approve of, she was afraid such weakness would arouse his pity, but soon he would return to London and she would not see him again for weeks. All she wanted was one night alone with him.

  “Bethany,” he said soothingly. “Forgive me, please. You are heavy with child.”

  “And repulsive to you?”

  “Of course not. But it is not customary for a man to spend time in his wife’s bed when she is so close to the birth.”

  Ah, so this was another custom of the nobility she had failed to observe.

  “I want nothing from you,” she said. “Only your arms around me, only your comfort. But if that is beneath your noble dignity, I quite understand. You had best go before I disgrace you further.”

  The catch in her voice almost brought him to tears. Why had he not realised she would think him uncaring?

  “I honestly thought you would not want me here at this time,” he said.

  He swung his legs up to lie beside her and gathered her into his arms, his lips came down on hers and he kissed her before pulling her head onto his chest where she listened to the rapid pulsing of his heart as she drifted into sleep.

  He returned to London a few days later, only waiting to be sure she was fully recovered. She did rest, but she only stayed in bed long enough to feel the child move once more. Perhaps the physician had been right; perhaps it had been the strain of standing for too long.

  Or perhaps God was telling her it was not to be. She would not know until the birth. She would shut herself away with her women before that, she would disappear into her confinement chamber where no man was allowed.

  The first pains came at the beginning of March when the wind whipped around the house but the dark chamber was airless. The midwife came and ran her rough old hands over Bethany’s stomach, squeezing to test if the baby was in the birth position.

  “Lord Summerville?” She asked quietly. “Has he been sent for?”

  “I believe so, My Lady,” she replied. “Mr Anthony sent a messenger this morning. He should have arrived in London by now.” She carried on examining her patient, shaking her head as she did so. Bethany got the impression she did not approve of sending for a father when a baby was about to be born.

  “Is it all well?” She asked her.

  “It is, My Lady. You will have an easy birth, I think, God willing.” Then she produced a dish of jet and poured some water into it. “Drink this, My Lady. It will ease the pain.”

  Bethany had heard of such things as jet dishes to ease the pain of childbirth, but she did not know they were still used. She was even more surprised, and fearful, to see what the woman did next.

  She took the dish and put it aside, while from her bag she produced a scroll. It was a prayer scroll of St Margaret, the patron saint of women in labour. She placed it over Bethany’s stomach to ease the pain of childbirth. This was a catholic custom, one which had been abandoned and was now frowned upon, or at least it had been during King Edward’s reign.

  She felt it was papist superstition, even felt it might harm her baby, and she longed to pull it off and throw it away, but of course she could not refuse. Perhaps it could do no harm; after all, women had used this same protection for centuries and harm had not befallen all of them. But God was already angry with her and she was afraid.

  Where was Richard? This was what he had been waiting for, this is what he had married her for, so why was he not here? She wanted him, she needed him. He knew when the child was likely to be born, so why had he not come already?

  Many women died in childbirth. It was a dangerous time, especially for a first child, and she wanted him to sit by her side and feel some of the fear that was hers, but even if he had arrived, he would not be allowed inside the birthing chamber. That was a place for females only. But she recalled his abrupt dismissal of the women on their wedding night, recalled the affront of the older one when he ignored the custom of centuries. She was sure that if he wanted to come in, no midwife would keep him out.

  The birth was easy compared to some of the horror stories she had heard throughout her life. It was not so many hours before her daughter was born and afterwards she slept, exhausted.

  She awoke to see Richard bending over the wooden crib which was placed beside the bed, the tiny hand wrapped around his finger, and recalled why he had married her. He had wanted an heir, someone who could take over when he was gone, someone who would inherit the title. He must be so disappointed! That thought distressed her terribly, despite his recent scathing remarks.

  “I am sorry, My Lord,” she whispered.

  She felt distanced from him now and did not feel comfortable in using his first name. He turned to face her, then came and sat on the bed taking her hand.

  “For what?”

  “For the baby being a girl.”

  “Do you think I mind that?” He said with a gentle smile. “I was concerned that you may not conceive at all, I will confess, but you have proved yourself capable of producing a healthy child.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “A boy next time, perhaps. If God is willing.”

  Her immediate thought was to ask why God should want to help either of them, but she knew it would be a dangerous thing to say. That was why she could no longer use his Christian name. He had changed since living at court, since being close to the Queen and she feared him now, feared what he would do should she speak her thoughts.

  But his mention of a boy next time had cheered her. At least he intended to return, if only for that.

  He climbed up beside her, rested his head on the headboard and sat on the bed beside her, put his arm around her, and took from his purse a small, velvet pouch, which he gave to her. She tipped the contents into her hand and found herself gazing at a sparkling, diamond ring.

  “A gift for the mother of my child,” he said.

  He took it from her hand and slipped it onto her finger.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “It is beautiful.”

  “I hope it fits. I had it made specially.”

  She felt his fingers on her chin, tilting her face up and his lips came down and kissed her, that special kiss which only he could give, and for the first time in months she felt that perhaps he did love her after all.

  “I must return to London tomorrow,” he said after a moment. “The Queen is asking for her advisors to be ready for her impending marriage. I would like to have a say in proceedings, for all our sakes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He seemed about to tell her, then he changed his mind and just shook his head slowly.

  “It is better that you not know,” he said. “I want you to promise that you will take care of yourself, and of the little one. Have you arranged for a wet nurse?”

  It was not something she had considered and she realised someone should have been found long before this. She supposed it was not the accepted thing for a countess to breastfeed her child herself. Once again, she found herself wondering how best to reply, and this was not a situation she enjoyed.

  “I do not want one, My Lord,” she replied.

  “Good.”

  “You approve? I am surprised.”

  “Why? It is not natural to allow another woman so much intimacy with one’s child. You are her mother, after all. I do not approve of your sudden reversion to my title, though. What is that all about?”

  “It seemed you were angry with me the last time you were here.”

  He leaned across and kissed her gently.

  “I was and I was wrong to be angry. Will you forgive me?”

  She only nodded then decided to change the subject.

  “What name would you like for your daughter, Richard?” The name stuck in her throat a little, but he seemed not to notice. “I would like Elizabeth, after my mother.”

  “No,” he said at once. “The Queen would tak
e that as the greatest insult.”

  Of course she would; why had she not thought of that? Her sister was her greatest rival and enemy.

  “I do not want her called Mary,” she said quickly, then wondered if she had made him angry, but his expression remained unchanged.

  “What do you want to call her? Anything, but not Elizabeth and not Jane.”

  “Alicia,” She said suddenly. “It was my grandmother’s name. How would that be?”

  “That would be perfect,” he replied with a smile. “Then we will arrange the baptism for this afternoon, before I return to London.”

  The baptism. Another long, gruelling and treacherous Catholic ceremony. Another chance for her to be struck down by an angry God. Since she was confined to bed, she was not required to attend, but that did not stop her from feeling even farther away from God.

  She must have been mad to think she could accept all this, but it was not going to be real, was it? Jane Grey was going to be Queen, the country was going to remain Protestant. But she knew nothing then about the church in the woods, nor about the priest who was hidden away in the little cottage beside it.

  She was sure there was no way back to God for her; she had even given her only child into the arms of the idolaters.

  ***

  Although there were two full time nurses for the baby, she was glad she had refused a wet nurse. She had fallen in love with this tiny creature and she fascinated Bethany. She did not much care whether it was seemly for a woman in her position to want to spend every waking moment with her child. She kept her occupied and her mind on something other than what Richard might be doing at court.

  Every little development was fascinating, from her first smile to her first attempt at sitting up. It was early summer and with a little help from some pillows she sat up in the crib and laughed at her mother. What a wonderful gift God had given her, even though she did not deserve it. That thought made her realise how easily He could take it away, that perhaps He was building up for a greater punishment.

  She had regular letters from Richard, but they contained nothing but minor news of what was happening in London. Mary had been busy rounding up Protestants, trying to force them to recant their heresies, and condemning them to a horrible death if they refused. She was not as popular now as she had been on her accession to the throne, that was for certain, but she was strong willed and would do things her own way, no matter what her advisors had to say about it.