She did tell Anthony about it though, when he got back from his trip.
“Little Connie?” He said when she told him which cottage it was. “It is not the first time. Richard has warned him before that it will not be tolerated.” He sighed and leaned back thoughtfully in his chair. “He must be stopped before the woman is dead. She knows she has only to report it to Richard.”
“But he is not here is he? Perhaps that is why it has started again.”
“You could be right, but I am here. She knows where to come.”
“She will not admit it,” She told him. “She insists she fell. She is afraid of him and afraid of what will become of her should he lose his position on the land.”
“She will be cared for, make no mistake. Leave it to me.”
She was silent for a moment, bringing her thoughts back to his journey to France, where he had been visiting a sister he had not seen since she was a child.
“Was your journey a successful one, Anthony?” She asked. “Is your sister well?”
“She is, thank you for asking. She has, however, decided to stay in France. She will take the veil and I think it would be the best thing for us all, but she wants to visit before then. I shall have to see what Richard has to say about it.”
He said no more about either his sister or Connie’s husband, but the next day, the man’s body was found in the lake in the grounds. He stank of drink and had a wound to the head. It looked as though he had fallen and banged his head while drunk, then fallen into the water and drowned. Coincidence? She thought not. But she was astonished that Anthony would order such a thing.
“It was Richard’s orders,” he told her when she asked. “He told me that if it ever happened again, he was to be disposed of. I don’t think he meant sent away with a purse of gold coin.”
Then he went back to his work as though the man’s death had merely been an inconvenient incident in the day’s work.
“But what of his wife? What will become of her?”
“She is working in the kitchens,” he said without looking up. “Since she has no children, I was able to employ her and give her quarters in the house.”
She watched him working for a few minutes, then turned and left the room. Anthony was no longer a boy, that was plain. The responsibility of running things had made him grow up quicker than perhaps he would have. She felt sad at this realisation somehow, as though she had lost a little brother. Perhaps His Lordship would not need an heir after all which was as well, since he was unlikely now to return to his wife’s bed.
***
Bethany’s world had shattered. She had failed to give her husband an heir, failed to follow his faith, she could not fail to tolerate his mistress as well. Not that there was much she could do about it; anything she attempted to establish herself in her rightful position would result in terrible danger to Richard and that she would never risk.
So the weeks went by and every night she cried herself to sleep, thinking of his tenderness being given to another woman. He had kept his part of the bargain, he had given her access to his wealth, he had given her his title, his lovely home; if he had not given himself, well, that had not been part of the bargain, had it?
She had little to do but enjoy her little Alicia and realise with sorrow that her father would not see her first little footsteps, her first words. She was all her mother had to live for. She heard nothing from Richard; she had to accept the truth, that if she meant anything to him at all he would have tried to explain. Obviously, she meant nothing.
She worried about the fate of her parents and wondered often if they had made it to France, if more Protestants were escaping Mary’s tyranny the same way. She feared the impending birth of the Queen’s child, a child who would keep England under the yoke of Rome.
She thought of Julia and her little son, a son who should have been hers, and she cursed the day she had sought her out. Had she never found Julia, had she never told her about Richard’s true role, she would never have discovered his true love. She would have been blind to the truth, but content to live a lie. Now she no longer had that lie to cling to.
But at the back of her mind, causing her little darts of pain whenever she thought of her, was this mistress her husband had taken to replace her. Anthony had said she looked like her, but she needed to see that for herself. Part of her still did not really believe it, would never believe it, not until she had seen with her own eyes. She intended to go to London. Not to court, as that would be foolhardy, but to London. If she watched discreetly she might see precisely who this creature was, but she had to wait until Anthony was absent. She wanted to be well on her way to the capital before he had a chance to miss her and send word to Richard.
She would visit with old friends of her parents. There were still some in London who had recanted in order to keep themselves alive. The promised birth of the Queen’s child had not happened. It was August and suddenly she reappeared in public with no baby, and no sign of any pregnancy.
Her enemies were saying she had made the whole thing up, pretended to be with child in order to keep Philip at her side. Others were saying she was so desperate for a baby it had caused her body to swell. She herself was saying the Protestants had bewitched her, had cursed her womb to leave it barren. God was angry because she was being too lenient with the heretics. There would be many more burnings. Even the Prince of Spain was said to be disillusioned with her increased efforts to stamp out heresy and was leaving.
And yet, Bethany’s husband followed her, even while her own husband deserted her.
She managed to get a message to friends of her father begging a place to stay while she visited. Although they would not approve of her because of whom she had married, they would be too afraid to say so, especially in writing. So she was able to stay in London for as long as she needed to.
It was apparent when she arrived that her hosts did not welcome her, but she was in no mood to care very much. She was too much of a threat for them to refuse her anything, and she thought it best they remain in ignorance of her true loyalties. This way, they would do whatever she wanted.
She had come for one reason, and one reason only: to spy on her husband and see for herself what this woman had which was worth risking so much for. She was angry, angry with him and angry with her, and she hoped she could keep herself under control if she did see them.
She had brought with her a manservant from Summerville, a man named Thomas who had worked for the family since he was a child and was loyal. It would not be seemly for a woman of her position to be seen on the streets alone, even if it were safe. But the streets of London had never been safe, even less so now. She did not tell Thomas in advance where they were going, as she expected he would tell Anthony about her visit, and Anthony would definitely send word to Richard.
She had travelled by one of the Summerville carriages, but not one that was regularly in use. This one was inconspicuous, being white and having no crest or coat of arms on the doors.
She waited outside the palace, but a distance away, watching for any sign of the Earl. Thomas was obviously wondering why they were there, but he knew it was not his place to ask. She could feel his eyes on her as the afternoon went on, as the hours passed with no sign of them moving, but she refused to demean herself by explaining.
The sight of Whitehall Palace with its many elaborate carvings, its endless windows and doors, its formal gardens, reminded her of the last time she had been here, at the coronation. That was her one chance to prove to Richard that she could keep her promise, her one chance to show him she cared enough to put on a display of loyalty to the mad fanatic, and she had thrown that chance away. Just like the commoner she was born, she had not realised how important it was to him.
Eventually, she ordered the driver to take them back to her lodgings while Thomas looked at her curiously, no doubt wondering why they had sat outside the palace all day. But she did not have long to wait the next day before she saw a carriage she recognised
driving toward the park, a huge black carriage bearing the Summerville crest on its doors.
She ordered the driver to follow it, at a discreet distance, and saw Thomas poke his head quickly out of the window to see what they were following. Still he said nothing; it was not his place.
At last they stopped and she looked out to see the Summerville carriage had stopped beside the lake, its occupants clearly visible from their vantage point. Inside sat a breathtakingly beautiful woman with dark hair and wearing elegant clothing. Opposite her sat Lord Summerville, laughing at some remark she had made.
Bethany watched helplessly as this beautiful woman stole his love away, bit by bit, and there was nothing she could do to stop her.
Her throat began to throb with the pain of such a sight and she cursed herself for coming at all. Why did she want to see for herself how happy he was in the company of this woman?
Tears began to flood down her cheeks as she sat, clenching her fists in fury. The need to leap from the carriage, to run to Richard and his concubine, to lash out and tear at them both with her sharp fingernails was overwhelming. She knew well that if she did not leave now, she would not be able to stop herself. And then what would he think of her? More to the point, it would not go unnoticed if Lord Summerville and his ‘countess’ were attacked in the park by an angry madwoman. The Queen would want to know why, Bethany would be arrested and it would all come to light. She knew all these things, yet still she could not move.
As if he had read her thoughts, Thomas ordered the carriage turned back. She smiled gratefully at him; she would gather her belongings and head straight back to Suffolk. But as they drew near to Smithfield, the carriage came to an abrupt halt. She looked out to see what the hold up was, only to be met with the sight of a huge crowd of people trudging along in front of them.
“What is it?” She asked Thomas.
He poked his head out of the window.
“It is heretics on their way to the stake, My Lady,” he replied.
She was horrified, almost choked on an escaping sob.
“Coachman, get us out of here quickly.”
The coachman bent down to look inside the carriage.
“I can go no faster, My Lady. This could take hours.”
So she could do nothing but sit and listen to the roaring crowds, to smell the stench of burning flesh and to wish she was anywhere but here.
After half an hour or so, she once more looked out, hoping to see the crowds dispersing, but instead the sight which met her eyes almost stopped her heart. She saw just ahead a cart full of standing prisoners, their hands bound behind their backs, moving slowly to where new stakes were being hammered into the ground, new faggots were being stacked around them. One of the figures was a woman, a woman with thick, blonde hair sparkling in the sunlight.
Bethany let out a cry. She did not think anyone else had hair like that.
“Julia,” she whispered, her hand going to her throat.
It could not be, could it? She was safe at the farm in Suffolk, that Charles person was looking after her, she had said so. What was she doing here, among these poor souls about to burn? It could not be her, could it?
“My Lady?” said Thomas quietly.
She flung open the door and jumped down into the street, while he called after her. She heard his footsteps running behind her, trying to catch up, but she could not stop. She found herself in the middle of a heaving crowd of stinking, sweaty bodies, trying to catch up with the cart. Thomas was right behind her and grabbed her arm, pulling her back towards the carriage while she fought to shake off his grip.
“Let go of me!” She cried. “Julia!”
The figure turned and looked down at her then and there was a look of contempt in her eyes. Bethany would never forget that look for as long as she lived.
Once more she felt the man’s hand gripping her arm.
“My Lady, come away.”
“But, my sister,” she cried, wondering desperately what she could do to save her.
“You do not want to join her, do you?”
For the first time she looked around to see the curious stares she had attracted and realised that Thomas was right. She was putting herself in terrible danger, there was nothing she could do, nothing at all, and Julia had turned away from her.
As the bags of gunpowder which were hung between the legs of the condemned began to explode, the air filled with a choking stench which failed to conceal the smell of burning flesh. Bethany kept her eyes fixed on Julia, as though she was powerless to look elsewhere, and was still watching her as she was pulled down from the cart and tied to the stake. The faggots were lit and her eyes closed, her lips moved in silent prayer. Bethany stared as her skirt caught fire and only the explosion from the gunpowder bag drowned out her screams. Thomas dragged her back to the carriage and pushed her inside.
It was some two hours before the carriage could move and all that time she was numb with shock. They had sat and waited while the condemned screamed in agony, while she covered her ears to no effect and while she relived that look of contempt in her sister’s eyes. She hated her! With her dying breath she hated her. Julia was giving her life for her beliefs and Bethany had sold those same beliefs for wealth and power. Of course she hated her! What else should she do?
As Bethany waited she remembered their childhood together, how they would play in the grounds of her father’s country house or in the small garden of his London residence, how they grew up thinking that the Catholics were a thing of the past and could never hurt them. She recalled Julia’s wedding day, how beautiful she had looked and how she had kissed her and thanked her for being there.
She recalled her whispered conversation with Lord Summerville when he entered her house unexpectedly. My God! She had been trying to tell him then about the baby, but Bethany had interrupted and for no better reason than curiosity. It was so important that Julia tell him, but she had made it so he never knew, and because of her she had fled, because of her she had ended screaming in agony before a loud and venomous crowd.
Then it finally dawned on her. The baby! If Julia was gone, what had happened to her son? She knew she would not rest until she had found him and ensured his safety, even though in her heart his very existence offended her.
She stayed but one more night in London, lying awake and weeping for yet another unbearable loss. She wanted Richard; she needed his comfort, but that was something she would never have again for he was happy with the enchantingly beautiful Rachel. She had lost him, if she ever had him, and now Julia was gone as well. She had no one now, no one who would care if she lived or died, no one except a pretty little baby girl who could not yet form a sentence.
The following day, still in a state of shock and unable to focus on anything but the awful sight of her sister’s death, she returned home, where she found many men arguing urgently in the great hall. Anthony was trying to reason with them, but the voices just got louder. She was far too distraught to even notice what was being said so she stood behind the screen until they had gone, until she could make her way through the hall and upstairs.
“Where have you been?” Anthony demanded as soon as she appeared.
She stopped and looked at him and felt a little smirk form on her lips. She was drained of all emotion after her ordeal and she was in no mood to appease him.
“One day, Anthony,” she assured him, “you will wake from this fantasy you cherish. You know, the one that makes you think you have a right to question me.”
He looked angry, something she had never seen before, but his anger had no affect on her. She was sure nothing would ever again have an affect on her.
“You’ve been to London?” He demanded. “Despite my warnings, you have been to see Richard.”
He looked as though he might strike her, he was so angry and he looked frightened. She saw that his fists were clenched and stiff as though he were trying to control his anger.
“You need not worry,” she told him. “I
did not show myself at court and I was careful to avoid anyone who might have a better memory and clearer eyesight than the Queen.”
He sighed with relief then leaned back against the table.
“You did not see him?”
“Oh, yes, I saw him,” she replied with a bitter laugh. “I saw him riding in the park, deeply enthralled with a rather beautiful trollop. I suppose I should feel flattered that you think I resemble her.” She cast her eyes toward the door where the men had retreated. “What was the row all about?”
“The Summerville church has been broken into,” he replied. “The statues have been destroyed. Father O’Neil is dead.”
“Dead? You mean he has been murdered?”
She was shocked and a little upset. Despite his piety, she had liked the little priest. He had been very patient with her misgivings, though he could not have known just how deep they went.
Anthony was shaking his head. “It is more likely he died of shock. He was found in the church, so he was probably in there praying when the vandals broke in.”
Everyone on this land and for miles around was Catholic. It would not have been a local attack.
“Who would do such a thing?”
“Carlisle and his merry men, I should think.”
“Charles Carlisle?” She asked, then once more wished she could gather back the words. Why could she never think before she opened her mouth?
Anthony was nodding. “You know him?” He asked suspiciously.
“No, of course not. I have heard the name that is all.”
“I cannot imagine where.”
“People talk. I listen.”
He seemed to take this explanation under consideration for the time being, though she was not fooled into thinking he really believed her. She was very glad she had had this conversation before riding off in search of Charles Carlisle and a little boy named Simon.
“When will another priest arrive?” She asked, hoping to change the subject.
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 12