Inside, the little cottage was cosy but the air was chill. There were no luxuries, no fine furnishings, just the basic needs of everyday living. There was a cauldron hanging over the fire and a further room in which she could just make out the corner of a large bed.
Julia handed her a tankard of ale just as a small boy appeared at the door to the bedchamber. He was about two years old and his resemblance to one of the miniatures at Summerville Hall was so great, it could have been the same child. Bethany’s suspicions were confirmed; she knew at once why she had run away.
“This is Richard’s son?” She asked softly.
“Can you see now why I did not want you to marry him?” Julia demanded. “He would have helped me, he would have found me a place. I could have been happy enough as yet another of his mistresses. But it was all too late once you accepted him; I could not tell him then.”
“You mean he does not know? He does not know he has a son?”
“No, and you must promise not to tell him.”
Bethany simply stared at her for a few minutes, imagining a scenario in which she would tell her husband he had a healthy son by another woman. The idea made her shudder.
“Why would I do that? You have his son and I do not, so why would I want him to know that? I just wanted to be sure you were safe.”
“I am with Charles now,” she said softly.
“And does he know? Does he know your child is not your husband’s?”
“No, he does not. He believes I left my husband because he ill treated me and that is no lie. He does not know the truth about Simon.” She paused and closed her eyes for a few seconds. “If he had any idea who Simon’s father was, I am not certain of what he would do.”
“Just what was he talking about before? What is there to betray? He wasn’t only talking about you, was he?”
“It is not important,” she replied. “Just believe that I love Charles, he has taken me and my son and will care for us as best he can. I will say no more. You cannot expect either one of us to trust the wife of the most feared and hated man in England.”
Bethany stepped back, totally shattered by her words.
“Richard?” She whispered. “Do you mean Richard?”
“Of course. He is at the right hand of the fanatic. He will be helping her devise ways to trap loyal Protestants and send them to the stake. That is what he does, Bethany. Are you saying you did not know?”
She was shaking her head slowly, utterly bewildered by her sister’s words.
“You are wrong,” she insisted. “He would never do such a thing. He is trying to make her curb her enthusiasm, trying to make her convert the Protestants peacefully.”
“I am glad to hear you call us Protestants and not heretics at least. It shows he has not managed to corrupt you completely.”
“He has not corrupted me at all.”
“You knew he was Catholic when you married him. You were prepared to turn for his wealth.”
Bethany took a deep breath and swallowed.
“I cannot deny it. Just as you knew what he was when you let him take you to his bed.”
“It was one afternoon of comfort, Bethany, that is all,” she answered with a weary sigh. “I did not promise to join the papists and idolaters in exchange for his wealth. Now you know how Judas Iscariot must have felt when he realised what he had done for his thirty pieces of silver.”
Tears sprang to Bethany’s eyes at her words. She could not believe she was hearing them from her and she turned and fled from the cottage. Julia had likened her to the man who sent the Saviour to the cross? She climbed onto her horse and called her servants to follow. She had to get away. All those months worrying about her, and this was all the thanks she got for seeking her out, for ensuring her safety. Harsh words and a bastard child who should have been hers!
CHAPTER SIX
Bethany could barely see through her tears as she rode home and was relieved to be able to give her horse to a groom and hurry back inside the house. Julia’s words had repeated over and over on the journey, both her judgment of Bethany and of her husband. She had to know what she meant, she had to know if it was true.
Inside she went straight to Anthony.
“Is it true?” She demanded. “Is Richard the most hated man in England?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” He said as he rose to his feet to come and stand before her.
“I was told that is what he is to Protestants. I was told they fear him more than any other, that his sole objective is to find them and send them to their deaths.” She paused and looked up at him for a reaction, anything that might tell her it was a lie. He was never good at concealing his feelings. “Is it true?”
He shook his head slowly, a sign that he was about to evade the question.
“You need to ask Richard these things, Bethany. It is not my place to answer your questions.”
“Is that all you ever say?” She demanded harshly. “I will have to ask Richard? Do you not have a mind of your own?”
He made no reply, merely turned back to what he had been doing.
“Very well,” she said at last. “I shall have to find out for myself. I shall have to go to London and see how the land lies there.”
He spun around, moving faster than she had ever seen him move before as he grabbed her wrist.
“No!” He shouted. “You must not.”
She looked down at his grip on her wrist until he released her.
“Who are you to tell me I must not? Are you then my gaoler, after all?”
“Please, Bethany, do not force me to betray my promises. Stay here, where it is safe. It is what Richard wanted.”
“I know what he wanted, but I need to know the truth. Can you not see that?”
It was a long time before he answered. It was not hard to guess that he had promised Richard to keep his wife here, and she was asking him to break that promise, but she could never have guessed just how deep that promise went. She could not guess at the real reason she was to stay at Summerville, but he knew he had to tell her. It was the only way to make her stay.
“You cannot simply announce yourself at court,” he insisted.
“Why not? My husband has a position and apartments there, so why should I not visit him? How can that possibly be construed as suspicious?”
She watched him as he made up his mind what he should do. He was growing into a fine man, but was still afraid to act without approval, lest he make a mistake. He had promised his cousin he would keep her away from court, that was obvious, and now he was wondering if it was worth breaking that promise.
“If you go to court,” he said slowly, having made up his mind, “you might well be the cause of his death. Is that what you want?”
She laughed then. Did he have to be so dramatic?
“How you exaggerate, Anthony. Am I supposed to abandon my plan because you have come up with the worst scenario you can think of? How would my going to court cause Richard’s death, pray?”
The idea seemed so ridiculous she could barely keep a straight face. His next words soon remedied that.
She sank down into a chair and looked up at him, holding his gaze until he realised she was serious, that she would not back down. Then he leaned against the table and folded his arms, sighing impatiently.
“You cannot go to court and announce yourself as the Countess of Summerville because as far as the Queen and all the court is concerned, the Countess is already in residence.”
She had no idea what she expected him to say, but it certainly was not this. She was too shocked to speak for a few moments, but it seemed he was not going to continue without some prompting.
“What does that mean, exactly?” She asked at last.
“There is a woman,” he began reluctantly, “Lady Rachel Stewart. Richard presented her as his Countess after Alicia’s birth and she has been there ever since.”
She was shaking her head, unable to believe any of this tale. Her heart twisted whe
n she thought of her husband living in the palace with another woman; it twisted more when she realised how much he must love this Rachel, to risk so much to keep her close to him.
She relived for a brief moment his tender lovemaking and that memory gave her a small hope.
“You lie!” she cried. “I do not believe any of this. The Queen has met me; she knows who I am.”
“She has poor eyesight and Lady Rachel resembles you a lot. You cannot expect that she would remember you after so short an acquaintance. Her most trusted advisor is saying the woman is his wife; why should she doubt him?”
“Am I supposed to be flattered?” she demanded as she jumped up and faced him. “Am I supposed to believe he is bedding her because she reminds him of me?”
She felt her voice rising and could not stop it, even though Anthony looked uncomfortable.
“Hardly. He has known her for many years; she was his mistress long before he ever met you.”
So this was why she had not been invited back to court. This was the reason the Queen had not insisted; she believed Lady Summerville was there already. And this woman, whoever she was, was risking her own life to take her place, to impersonate her. Why? Because the Earl asked her to, that was why. So she must love him very much and he must love her in turn, to risk his life to keep her close. From another’s viewpoint, it would be a beautiful love story. From Bethany’s, it was the worst betrayal.
“Why did he not marry her then?” She demanded bitterly.
“She is twice widowed and has never borne a child. Richard would never marry a woman who has proved herself barren.”
It was the final straw. He had loved another woman but had married Bethany for an heir, and had even disclosed his intention to carry on seeing her. Why had she not seen it all this clearly before? Why had she fooled herself into thinking that he cared for her?
Had he chosen her because she looked like his whore? And had he chosen a commoner so that she would be grateful enough to tolerate any sort of insult?
“My God!” She cried angrily. “But I do not know this man of whom you speak! He is openly carrying on an affair with his whore? He is two different men, the one he presents to the Queen and the one he brings home to me. He must think it the greatest good fortune that I prefer to be here at Summerville Hall than at court. He comes back merely to make a son. I knew it the last time.”
She could feel the tears begin to gather, making her eyes sting, but she would not weep before this boy; she had to get away.
“You do see why it would not be safe?” Anthony was saying worriedly.
She did not reply, only spun around and raced up to her bedchamber. She needed to think, and she needed privacy to sob away the pain which was breaking her heart.
She closed her eyes and searched her memory for his words when he proposed their marriage. I have mistresses and I intend to keep them. That is what he had said and she had chosen to forget it. But there was a huge difference between many mistresses and just one, one whom he would risk his safety, his very life for. And was her first attraction for him only that she resembled her? She was second best; she was but a poor shadow of his real love and every time he bedded his wife, he thought of his mistress. She looked like her, so he could open his eyes when he made love to her and see his trollop!
Those first few weeks, quietly alone with him at Summerville, had been the happiest of her life and she had not expected them to change. Now it was all different; now he was arch enemy to the many Protestants still in England, while keeping a whore who no doubt felt the same. And if the Queen found out she was not his wife, that he had lied to her face, it would be considered treason. It would indeed mean his death. The woman meant so much to him he would risk his life to keep her close? It was little wonder he had been so unhappy that Bethany had fallen in love with him – he knew she would be hurt, badly hurt. At least the man had that much compassion in him.
She had believed for a little while that he loved her as she loved him. Now she could see the man she loved had never really existed at all and she had been fooling herself in the worst possible way. From that moment on, she promised herself she would try to distance herself from him, try to fall out of love if that were possible. He did not want her and she was only embarrassing them both by making her affection so apparent. If only it could have been that easy.
***
Richard folded the letter from his cousin and slipped it into his pocket. So she knew. The one thing he did not want to happen, Bethany knew about Rachel. But she did not know the truth and he did not want her to.
“You are going to tell her now, Richard?” Rachel said.
He shook his head slowly.
“I think not. She is better not knowing; it will make her think less of me and that is a good thing.”
She sighed impatiently.
“How can it be a good thing? She loves you, she adores you! She thinks you are living here in the palace with another woman, a woman you love enough to lie to the Queen for.” She paused, put her hand on his cheek and turned his head towards her. “Do you want her to hate you?”
“Yes, I want her to hate me,” he answered. “It is the only way she will not be hurt by this.”
“I think it is too late for that. She is already hurt, but why would you want her to hate you?”
“If she hates me, she will not attempt to see me. She will stay at Summerville, give her love to our daughter; she will not want anything to do with me.”
“If she hates you, she may want revenge. She could well come to London, tell the Queen’s counsellors she is your wife. You must see her, Richard; you must try to make her believe the truth, for all our sakes.”
“No, she will not do that. Seeking revenge of that nature would endanger me and she will never do that. Besides, she agreed to my lifestyle when she accepted me. She made certain promises to me and she has so far kept none of them. I know her failure to give me a son troubles her, as does her failure to even pretend to be Catholic. She broke those promises; she will want to keep this one.”
Rachel bit her lip in frustration.
“You are a fool, Richard!” She said, turning away from him. “You believe a woman who loves you as your wife loves you will stay quietly miles away while you bed another woman? Sometimes I fear for your sanity.”
***
Despite knowing her husband was not faithful, despite knowing what he really was, Bethany still hoped he would be home for Christmas. But that would not be possible, would it? Not unless he sent his whore off somewhere else. She lie in bed at night and longed for him, just like before. She could close her eyes and recall his touch on her skin, his lips on hers, that passionate kiss that only he could give, and she could not accept the truth; there had to be some mistake. But rack her brains though she tried, she could think of nothing which would explain his behaviour, except that he really had meant it when he said he had no intention of being faithful. Why should she think he had not meant it? He had meant all his other conditions, so why single that one out? She had to accept it: he did not love her, he had never loved her, he loved someone else, another woman who Bethany resembled.
But she would still be prepared to share him, if he would only come home for a little while and she hated herself for that. Richard would loathe that weakness, even if it were in his favour.
She was left alone at Christmas. There were no important people to entertain, no minstrels playing music, no husband to accompany her to midnight mass. Even Anthony had gone away, gone to France where he had a younger sister living in a convent. His wife knew about his whore now, there was no longer a need to pretend; now he could celebrate his Christmas where he wanted to, with his Queen and his trollop.
There was no one but a few servants for company and her little Alicia. She loved it, all the excitement, the lighting of the Yule log, the gathering of holly and hanging it inside the house. Her eyes sparkled with joy, joy that Richard should have been there to see and to share.
Bethany took gifts of meat to the people on the estate, just as she had last year though then Richard had been at her side. She was getting more proficient at horseback riding, but she still felt happier with a companion. Today it was Alicia’s nurse, as she took her little daughter with her, sitting astride her saddle before her, and the women delighted in speaking to her.
“Oh, but she has grown so much, My Lady,” one woman exclaimed. “She is looking more and more like you every day. Pray God, one day soon she will have a brother to resemble your handsome husband.”
She meant no harm by her words, but they cut through Bethany like a knife.
One woman who answered her cottage door wore a hood half over her face, despite having come from inside. She wondered if she had enough wood for her fire, if it were cold inside. That would need to be remedied at once; Richard would not like that. But when her hood fell back, she saw that the woman had severe bruises down one side of her face, her eye was swelling rapidly and her jaw was stiff when she spoke.
It was then that Bethany remembered who she was and the conversation Richard and she had had about her that very first day.
“What has happened to you, Mistress?” She asked her gently.
“I fell, My Lady,” she replied quietly, trying to cover her face. “I am so clumsy.”
She did not believe her.
She dismounted and lifted Alicia from the saddle, passing her to her nurse. “Take Lady Alicia back to the Hall please.”
When they had gone she turned back to the woman.
“Did your husband do this to you?” She asked.
Again she pulled the hood further over her face.
“No, My Lady,” she said, though it was clear she was lying. “I fell.”
“I do not believe you, Mistress. You know His Lordship would not tolerate this sort of abuse.”
Still she shook her head, and there was nothing more Bethany could do. She could hardly force the woman to make a complaint, and to be honest she had no idea what Richard had threatened the man with. She also wondered how many times this had happened since he told her about it; perhaps the man thought he could take advantage of Richard’s absence to abuse his wife.
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 11