It was a pity. She was the first Queen of England in her own right and she had the opportunity to show the world once and for all that a woman could rule. Instead she was making it impossible for anyone to believe that. The Empress Matilda, in the twelfth century, should have been Queen but the people had chosen her cousin, Stephen, simply because she was a woman. She was a strong woman, though, stronger than Mary. She had started a war to regain her throne and peace only reigned when Stephen agreed to make her son his heir.
Mary’s only concern was to turn England back to the Church of Rome, no matter what destruction she left in her wake. Priests who had been allowed to marry under the rule of King Edward were ordered to abandon their wives or they would be thrown in the street with no pension and would starve.
The former Archbishop Cranmer was one of those priests, and he declared he had left his wife, although whether he really had nobody knew for sure. Bethany was quite disappointed, as he had been a Protestant figure they all respected. He had been replaced as Archbishop and arrested for heresy, despite having saved Mary’s life once when he had pleaded with King Henry on her behalf. She did not care that Cranmer had been like a kind uncle during her childhood; he was a heretic, and that was the only thing that counted.
Alicia was four months old now, and it was a fine day. Summer had been warm that year and the nurse had taken the baby for a walk around the grounds to get some fresh air. Whilst Bethany normally went with them, as fate would have it, this day she was sitting under a tree reading her latest letter from her mother.
When her father found out just how important his son-in-law was at the court of Queen Mary, he had been furious and had chosen to disown both his daughters. Julia had committed the ultimate sin by leaving her husband, whom it was her duty to love, even if he had no love or even respect for her, while Bethany had become a Catholic and supported her husband. Of course she would have been just as outcast had she not supported her husband, so either way he would have turned against her. But her mother secretly wrote to tell her what was happening. On this occasion she told her that she and her father were selling all they could and fleeing to France, where the Huguenots were helping the English Protestants to avoid the wrath of the new Queen of England.
Bethany heard the sound of hoofs approaching the house, but assumed it was probably someone wanting Anthony, who was the head of the house now. She thought a lot about his feelings in all this and wondered just how much it was safe to tell him. Certainly her mother’s letter would be consigned to the flames as soon as she could sneak into the kitchens with it. She dare not ask for a fire to be lit when the weather was still so warm; it would only arouse suspicion. If there was one thing she had learned about the loyal Catholics is that they were always suspicious of anything out of the ordinary, always looking for signs of heresy.
The secret evacuation of Protestants to France was a new thing and not one that was widely known. The longer it was kept secret the better.
When she heard the footsteps crunching in the grass she finally looked up to see Richard smiling down at her. The safety of her mother’s letter flew from her mind at the sight of him and her heart skipped. He reached down, took her hand and pulled her to her feet, then took her face gently in his hands and kissed her, the long, passionate kiss she had half forgotten. She put her arms around his waist and held on to him as tightly as she could, wanting to squeeze him into her, wanting to meld her body with his.
“Why did you not write?” She asked. “I did not expect you. I have nothing prepared.”
“I need nothing, except to see you and my little girl,” he replied with a smile, then he held her against him. Could it be that he had really missed her?
“The nurse has taken Alicia,” she said quickly. “I will send someone after them at once.”
“No need. There is plenty of time. I shall be staying for a night or two.”
The self control she had built around her emotions disintegrated like so much fog when the sun comes out. He was staying? He caught her hand and walked with her back toward the house; she did not see him glance back at the discarded letter beneath the oak tree.
***
Anthony waited at the door of the house, a huge welcoming smile on his freckled face. They had estate business to discuss and Bethany was happy to leave them alone for the time being. She went upstairs, wondering how she would control herself enough to seem distant when that was the last thing she felt, but that seemed to be what he wanted. Mary was slowly building a wall between them, another brick built each time she saw him, and soon it would be too high to see over, much less tear down.
He would still be wanting an heir. He had said so after she gave birth to Alicia. A boy next time, that was what he had said. Perhaps that is what had brought him home so unexpectedly.
Bethany lie on her bed and stared at the ceiling, her memory showing her his gentle lovemaking, his fingers brushing her skin, his strength inside her and that little thrill of anticipation ran through her again. She wanted him so much, she thought she might die of it.
It was a couple of hours later she remembered her letter and began to search her gown for it, then she suddenly realised she had dropped it on the ground outside. She ran down the staircase and out into the grounds, back to the oak tree where she had been reading when Richard interrupted her. There was no wind, it should still be there. But it was gone.
She searched thoroughly, she asked the servants if they had been outside but none of them had and when Alicia’s nurse returned with the baby, she questioned her as well. She denied having been that way before, but given the contents of the letter and given that every single person on this property was fiercely loyal to Richard and Queen Mary, she had no idea who to trust.
She took the child from the nurse and went inside to present her to her father.
Watching him with the baby, she felt sad that she could not recall any such intimacy between her father and any of his children. Richard played with the little girl, even hiding behind chairs to pop his head out and make her laugh. The interaction warmed her heart and made her wish they were just a quiet working family who could spend time together, instead of him being so important at court.
It was late when he finally joined her. She had been lying awake, wishing he would come and wondering why he did not, wondering why he was not as hungry for her as she was for him. She also wondered desperately who had found her mother’s letter. There had been nobody about except the two of them, but anything could have happened while she rested on her bed. It could even be that one of the dogs had come along and taken it.
“Still awake?” He asked as he entered the chamber. “I have kept you waiting. Forgive me. The child is thriving, is she not? The nurse tells me she is a fine, healthy baby.”
“She is wonderful,” she replied.
He finished undressing then climbed into the bed beside her.
“She needs a brother,” he said quietly as he began to run his hands over her body, sending a wave of desire throbbing through her being. “I have missed you.”
He bent his dark head to her breast and took it into his mouth. It had been so long since she felt his arms around her, since she felt him inside her, the pleasure was almost painful. But she had been right; he had come to try for another child, a boy this time, and nothing more.
They lay together in silence, her head resting on his bare chest.
“I wish you could stay,” she murmured quietly. “I miss you so much when you are away.”
“I cannot,” he replied. “That is what I came to tell you. The Queen is planning to marry next month and there will be much to organise.”
Her heart sank. She could no longer stay away on the excuse of being with child. Was it possible she was to be dragged into the Queen’s presence for the wedding? When she realised that was not his plan, she did not know whether to be disappointed or joyous.
“I told you I do not want you at court,” he said. “That has not changed. You must stay
here at Summerville; do not even think of coming to London, not even to visit. Do I have your word?”
His voice sounded urgent. Willingly she nodded her agreement; she had no desire to go to London again, but she thought demanding her word on the matter a little extreme.
“Her choice of husband will not be popular,” he went on. “It is possible there will be uprisings, many factions wanting to replace her with Elizabeth. I shall have to defend her; I may not return.”
She sat up and looked at him, terrified by his words and feeling used once more. He had been anxious for an early marriage date in case he was killed defending this little woman with the mad staring eyes. Now he had come only to try for an heir before he laid down his life for her once more.
She had never felt so hurt, but she tried her best to hide it. It was what he had married for, was it not? It was what she had agreed to and he had promised nothing more. Was it his fault that she revelled in his presence? Was it his fault that she adored the very ground beneath his feet?
“Who is she going to marry?” She murmured quietly, not really caring.
“Prince Philip of Spain.”
“No!” She cried. “She cannot marry him. He will bring the inquisition here.”
“It is settled, and nothing I can do about it. He wants to be crowned King, though, and I don’t think she is so infatuated as to allow that. But she is hoping for an heir.” He paused and lay his palm on her stomach. “As am I.”
“She is too old to bear a child,” she said without thinking. It was one of those times when she wished she could grab back the words, but his expression did not change.
“You may be right, but anything is possible. She believes that despite her age, God will be on her side and grant her a healthy son. After all, the mother of John the Baptist was well past childbearing age.” He paused and pulled her back down beside him. “I am more concerned with what she will do if she does not produce a son.”
She was startled to hear him talking like this. He always kept his opinions about the Queen to himself.
“What do you mean?”
“No matter,” he said holding her close to him. “I am only telling you that this is the last time you will see me for a very long time. And you may not hear from me either.”
He reached across to where he had left his doublet on the end of the bed and pulled out a familiar piece of paper. It was the missing letter. Once more she feared what he would do; it was as if she had never really known him at all. But she had not. She knew nothing about him when they married, nothing except he was very wealthy and a Catholic. He held the letter out to her and she took it, her fingers trembling.
“Burn it,” he said. “It is treason. You must have more care.”
***
He stayed one more night. This time he took her hand and led her to her bedchamber after supper, dismissed the servants and undressed her himself as he had in the early days, and she felt sure he was not doing this only for a son. She had missed this closeness, this love and as she lie in his arms and kissed his nipple, she wished Queen Mary dead so that every night could be like this one.
The next day he left her wondering why he had not used the letter to uncover a Protestant secret of the greatest magnitude. Such information would raise him even higher in the eyes of the Queen, yet he had returned the letter to his wife to destroy. Of course, he did not need it to warn of the Protestants’ escape plans; there were no specific details in it, as her mother would not have been privy to them. He had told her to burn the letter in order to protect her family, and by association to protect his wife. But she was still unsure he was really trying to protect her and not himself. Mary would not be pleased to know his wife had Protestant parents, would she?
She gradually came to understand that her husband was a very important advisor to the Queen and as such she wondered why Mary did not insist that his wife attend her. Surely he must have run out of excuses to explain her absence, especially as she had requested her as a lady in waiting? She did not want to ask; she was just happy for it to be this way.
The marriage between Queen Mary and Prince Philip took place on the 25th July 1554 and in October of that same year it was announced that the Queen was with child. The news terrified Bethany, but her feelings on the subject had to be kept hidden as the rest of the household were overjoyed. Father O’Neil held a special mass to pray for Her Majesty and the safe deliverance of a healthy son, which Her Ladyship had to attend or arouse suspicion.
Alicia was growing fast and was now no longer dependant on breast milk. She needed more substantial food.
Richard’s words were beginning to penetrate as she heard nothing from him, nothing at all. His letters had ceased altogether, although Anthony still received instructions about the estate. Her heart leapt whenever she saw his handwriting or his seal, but there was never anything for her. Why not? And why had she not asked him at the time why he could not write to his wife? Because she had not really been listening, that was why. She was too happy to have him back in her bed to pay attention to a warning which seemed in the far distant future.
At the back of Bethany’s mind there had always been Julia, worrying away at her while she tried to get on with being a mother. With Richard away and unlikely to return any time soon, she decided it was time she found her. She wanted only to assure herself that Julia was safe, that she had enough funds to live comfortably. She had not been able to leave Alicia before, since she needed her mother, but she admitted to herself that she had been putting it off since she learned her sister had a son.
Anthony had once more sent Richard’s contact out looking for her, and had found another place where she might be. This was a farm some five miles away, so she took two male servants and set out early one morning.
“I am not happy about this,” Anthony said. “Richard would not want you to go off on your own to an unknown place. How do you know it is safe?”
“I do not. Richard would not try to stop me, so what gives you the right?”
“I am not trying to stop you, Bethany. Richard would insist on going with you though, and so will I.”
“No,” She said putting her hand on his chest to stop him following. “I need you to oversee the nurses, to be sure my daughter is safe.”
“Are you saying you do not trust them?”
“I do, but they are after all only employed. You are her cousin; you really care for her. I shall not be easy leaving her otherwise.”
He finally agreed, but reluctantly and only because the place was so close.
The roads were quiet enough and there was a sharp pinch of winter in the air, despite the sunshine. It was drawing toward Christmas and Bethany was glad she saw no horrors on her journey. Sometimes there were women with babies begging on the road and although she always found them something, they had the effect of making her feel guilty for having so much. She had thought she was so unfortunate before she met Richard, yet here were people who did not know if they or their children would eat that day.
When they finally arrived at the farm, she saw there were a few scattered cottages not far from the entrance and surrounded by fields. In the distance was a large manor house which looked deserted but there were a few horses grazing in the paddock and some saddles over the rails outside the cottages.
They drew rein before the first of them and a young man came out, frowning suspiciously, to enquire as to their business.
He was a good looking man, about thirty years old, with reddish blonde hair and beard but his expression was almost savage. He stood with his arms folded before the doorway, as though guarding it. She wondered not who he was, but why he should be so hostile to strangers.
“Sir,” she said. “I am looking for my sister. Her name is Julia, Lady Winterton. She has blonde hair and...”
“I know Lady Winterton,” he interrupted.
“You do? You know where I can find her?”
“That depends. She came here to escape her kin. If you are truly h
er sister, she may not wish to see you.”
Bethany was astonished that this hostile stranger would tell her that her own sister might be hiding from her. He had made her angry, which in turn made her less fearful.
“Who are you, Sir,” she demanded, “to suggest my sister may not wish to see me?”
She felt this man was controlling Julia’s actions. She was not prepared to put up with that, but she stayed mounted just the same. She was definitely safer on horseback.
“It is all right, Charles,” a familiar voice came from the cottage behind him. There was a movement in the doorway of the cottage and Julia appeared, wearing the clothes of a peasant but otherwise unchanged. She gazed at her. “Bethany, why have you come? And does His Lordship know you are here?”
Bethany dismounted and moved toward her, intending to take her in her arms, but she stepped away deliberately, with a look of distaste on her face. So nothing had changed. She had disowned her sister and despite her assumption that she had not meant it, it seems she was wrong.
“I have come to find you,” Bethany replied. “Why did you run off without a word? I could have helped you, given you money.”
“It was for the best,” she replied quietly. “I had some valuable jewels to sell; I survived.” Then she turned to the man she had called Charles. “Would you take my sister’s servants and give them refreshments.”
“Are you quite sure she can be trusted?” He replied. “Knowing to whom she is wed, I would not trust her.”
“She is my sister, Charles. She will not betray us.”
Bethany had no idea what they were talking about and she had not come all this way to cause trouble, so she followed Julia without a word to him. She watched her two servants go with him toward the manor house, still wondering why he was so hostile and what he had meant by ‘knowing to whom she is wed’.
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