They had already smashed several statues and overturned the altar before they noticed Father O’Neil, praying before a statue of the Virgin Mary in the far corner. He was on his knees and he turned, his eyes wide and fearful.
Charles held up a hand to stop his followers from approaching. The little priest looked terrified and he wanted to assure him that he meant him no harm. It was not the priest’s fault his beloved Julia was dead, was it?
He took one step toward him, his hand out to help him to his feet but he got no closer before the priest clutched at his chest and keeled over onto the hard stone floor.
***
Charles held fast to his grief for Simon’s sake, tried his best to conceal his feelings from the boy. Each time he looked at the child he was reminded of his enemy; it was intolerable and he could only hope he would change as time went by. Perhaps his hair would lighten to match his mother’s, perhaps his features would grow more like hers; it had been known for a child’s whole face to change in these formative years. But distressing though his looks were, they did not stop Charles from loving him. He was a delightful child and Julia had loved him; Charles would continue to love him, no matter what.
He looked from the window to be sure Simon was safely being cared for by Emily and he saw the horse approaching, a single horse with a single rider. Lady Summerville! He watched her as she peered into the open doors of the small cottages, watched as she turned suddenly and saw the smoke coming from the manor house chimney.
His anger rose. How dare she come here? How dare she come to remind him of his loss, to remind him of what her husband had done. Julia told him why Bethany married the Earl and he watched her approach with contempt in his heart. Julia also told him that she believed her sister loved the man. That alone was enough to make him despise her; how could she love a man who would do the things he had done? How could any woman love such a man?
A sudden fear touched his heart. If she knew Julia was dead, had she come for her son? She was not taking Simon! He was all he had left of the woman he loved and he would never let him go. Perhaps Summerville knew of his existence, perhaps he had sent her to bring him back to him.
He stepped outside, glanced across the fields to where Simon was trying to help the men mend the fences and knew the little boy was safe for now. He leaned against the door frame with his arms folded until Julia’s sister drew rein beside him.
“What brings you here, My Lady?” He asked angrily as she approached. “Your husband has done untold damage to my family. Does he now send you to finish us off?”
“No!” She cried, shaking her head.
“Julia is dead. She told me what you did for Summerville’s wealth and title; I hope you are content with your dirty bargain.”
“I know she is dead, Sir,” she answered bitterly. “I watched her die.”
His expression softened suddenly and he took one step toward her, then he offered his hand to help her down.
“You can dismount, My Lady,” he said quietly. “I will not harm you if indeed you speak the truth.”
She got down hesitantly.
“I promise you, Mr Carlisle,” she said swiftly, “I have not seen His Lordship in many months. I came to enquire about the child, to be sure he is safe for Julia’s sake. That is all.”
He relaxed a little but wanted to be clear that she was taking Simon nowhere.
“I will care for him, you may be sure of that. It is what she would have wanted. He is safe with me, so long as his father never learns of his existence.”
She looked doubtful, and it seemed to him she was trying to decide how much to reveal.
“I know he is Lord Summerville’s son,” he said, “if that is what you are concerned about.”
“You know?”
“Of course. I am not blind, but his parentage is hardly the child’s fault and I love him as I would love my own. I will not blame the child for his birth, you can be sure of that.” He watched her for a few minutes, wondering if she had more to say, then an irony occurred to him and he smiled. “I think it rather divine justice that the only son of the Arch Papist should be raised as a Protestant.”
She caught her breath and he could tell his words had sparked her anger. So, she still loved the Earl, even after everything.
“I hope you have purer reasons for raising the boy than to avenge yourself on Richard,” she said angrily.
He gave a small, self-derisive laugh.
“You have every right, I suppose, to suspect me of that. But rest assured, that is not my motive. It is merely a bonus.”
She looked alarmed for a moment and Charles expected her to mount her mare and ride away, but instead she drew a deep breath as if to give herself courage.
“Tell me one thing, Sir,” she began. “What had Julia done to become so prominent? You are here, you have survived. What did she do to draw attention to herself?”
Yes, he had survived, he who should have been the one to be arrested and executed. But he had allowed her to go instead and now he had to tell her sister he had been too damned weak to protect her.
“She was discovered helping a group of Protestants to flee to the coast,” he said at last. “I should have been the one to go, but I was wounded. She insisted on going in my place and I have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.”
Bethany felt the tears brimming and glanced away to hide them.
“And it was you and your people who vandalised the church at Summerville, in retaliation?”
He nodded.
“Petty, was it not?” He said. “It was a personal revenge and not one I had any right to involve my people in. I am sorry about the priest though. He seemed a harmless little man.”
Bethany seemed to be deep in thought for a few moments, her beautiful face marred by a frown of concentration. When at last she spoke, Charles was shocked but intrigued.
“The church will not be repaired,” she said quickly. “Not yet anyway. There is a little cottage in the forest just next to it and there is an underground passage from the house to the crypt.” Charles stood frowning at her. “Can we not do something with that?” She went on. “Can we not use it to help more Protestants out of England?”
He studied her for a few moment, suspecting a trap, but if anything she looked uncertain, even distressed. Despite the vast difference in their looks and colouring, she reminded him of Julia; perhaps it was because they had been raised from birth together, but her obvious sadness made him want to gather her into his arms and comfort her.
Ridiculous idea. He was but a farmer, she a countess dressed in brocade and velvet.
“Why would you do this?” He asked. “Julia told me you loved your husband; she said you were very much in love with him. Has that changed?”
“No. I cannot tell how Julia knew that, but she was right.”
“Then why?”
“I want to do this for Julia; it has nothing to do with Richard or my love for him. I will love him until the end of my days and I would gladly die for him, but alas he does not feel the same. He does not love me in return, but it is not for revenge that I make this offer.”
“What then?”
“I want to help. I think my plan will work and we will be able to help more Protestants to safety. Is that not worth the risk?”
***
Charles sent a man to help her, a working class man called Martin who hated Catholics and was suspicious of Bethany, of the Countess who would go against her husband’s wishes to help his enemies.
The scheme worked well and many hundreds of Protestants were helped out of England by the scheme, while Charles had his own base some few miles away and they doubled the amount of people they helped to safety.
But the day came when a parchment scroll was shot into the front door of the manor house with an arrow. It was a clear warning to stay away from Summerville Hall and the cottage in the woods, to leave the church alone and send no more refugees that way.
She had been discovered, tha
t was obvious and Charles felt very guilty for ever involving her, even though it was her own idea. He had caused her sister’s death and now likely hers. What would her husband do with her? How would he punish her for her treachery? He had no doubt the Earl would think of some barbaric punishment to inflict on his wife; he might even have her arrested and allow her to suffer the flames like her sister.
He remembered Sir Geoffrey Winterton sitting atop his horse in Charles’ yard, informing him in detail what he intended for Julia. Would Richard Summerville do something similar? But it was not adultery of which Bethany was guilty, and it was not theft either. It was treason and heresy, punishable by death, a horrible, painful death.
She told him the Earl did not return her love, but would he condemn her to the same fate as her sister? Was he that barbaric? Or would he feel the shame of his wife’s crime becoming public knowledge?
Charles’ glance fell on Simon where he practiced brushing Guinevere’s legs as Charles had taught him. The sight of the boy filled Charles with fury; Lord Summerville was to blame for all this! He had married one sister, tried to bend her to his papist will, fathered a child on the other sister and sent her to the stake. Just what more did the man want from them? And how could Bethany really love such a monster?
He decided it was safest to postpone all evacuation plans until he knew what was happening. It was possible Bethany would be forced to give up the location of Sinclair Manor; it was possible she would be tortured for the information. He shuddered; if she were in danger of that, Julia would also have been in danger of it. He could not bear the idea; he had to believe she did not suffer that as well or he might just lose what little sanity he still retained.
It was a few weeks after, with no word to set his mind at ease, that Charles sent a friend disguised as a pedlar, to try to discover the whereabouts of Lady Summerville. He was to call at the house, at the servants’ entrance and discreetly begin a conversation which might lead him to the truth.
Charles almost fainted with relief when his friend returned with the news that Her Ladyship was living at court with His Lordship.
So, she was safe and they had reconciled. He could not understand how that had happened, but perhaps she had been wrong; perhaps he did love her in return.
Charles resumed evacuations, but he needed to be able to help more people to safety. As the year wore on, he thought often of the little cottage, the church and wondered if he could perhaps find a use for them. Lord Summerville was in London, as was his wife; if he was careful he might manage to go undetected.
So he set out to investigate the possibility. He tied Guinevere to a branch and crept forward to the small hovel. He wanted to do his best for the little mare, but he knew she was too small for him. Still, riding her made him feel closer to Julia somehow, and it would not be long before Simon would be big enough to ride her himself.
He was approaching the cottage, looking down to avoid treading on any twigs and making a noise, when he saw smoke rising from the makeshift chimney, a hole in the thatched roof. Someone was living there. He stood and watched as a figure approached from the direction of the church, a woman with a basket in her arms, a basket filled with vegetables which she took inside the cottage.
Charles could scarcely believe his eyes; it was Bethany. He stayed where he was for a long time, seated on the damp grass and hidden behind the trees. He saw her come out of the cottage again and make her way to the church with her basket; this time she returned with logs, and she held the handle of the basket over one arm while her other hand supported the bottom. Obviously, it was heavy, perhaps too heavy for her.
His mind was full of possible reasons why the Countess of Summerville was dressed as a peasant and carrying raw vegetables and heavy logs into a hovel barely fit for habitation. So she was not living at Whitehall after all, so she had not reconciled with her husband. Charles suspected the Earl had imprisoned his wife here and his anger swelled. He had been wrong, the man did not love her.
Or perhaps she had escaped his wrath and taken refuge here, hidden herself away disguised as a peasant in the hope that he did not find her.
She came out again after a while and disappeared into the trees on the other side of the little building. When she did not come back, he got to his feet and went to investigate. Inside the fire was barely cold, the food basket rested on the bed in the corner. He opened the wooden chest at the bottom of the bed and saw among the peasant’s garb a blue velvet gown, with pearl trimming.
He had no wish to frighten her if she returned and found someone here, so he went outside and waited behind the wall for her return. At last he peered around the corner and saw her walking slowly towards him, a wistful little smile on her lovely face.
He called out softly.
“Charles? What are you doing here?”
She took his hand and pulled him inside, looking about anxiously.
“I have been watching this place,” he told her, “hoping to find a way to use it again. Imagine my surprise to find you here.”
“No,” she replied shaking her head. “No way in the world can this place ever be used again. It would be the death of us both.” She paused and looked up at him. “How are you still alive? Richard discovered me, discovered our plan. I never knew what happened to the poor souls who were waiting for the next trip out, or what happened to Martin. I suppose they are all dead.”
He wore a little puzzled frown as he shook his head.
“We had word, a warning to cancel that night’s evacuation and all future ones. I assumed it came from you. I knew the Earl had discovered what we were doing, I was told. I worried about what had happened to you, but when I enquired, I had word you were living with him at court.”
She laughed derisively, giving the impression he had been mistaken.
“I have been watching you for hours,” he went on, “gathering kindling, carrying logs and food from the church door like any peasant. I could not believe it was you.” His eyes swept her clothing, then looked around the cottage with a grimace. “Are you hiding, or has he imprisoned you here to live like this?” He said with a frown of disgust. “His own wife?”
“Do not fret, Charles. It is better than the alternative.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Her words could mean only one thing; her husband had threatened her life and judging by her demeanour, she did not doubt him.
“You fear for your safety?” He asked with a frown of concern. “Then do not stay. Come with me; you can help more with the cause.”
She shook her head vigorously, looking suddenly terrified.
“No, Charles. I am not brave enough for that. I must stay here, live like this. It is my punishment for betraying him, but when I think what happened to my sister, I feel myself very fortunate.”
“But you put yourself in danger every time you send me warnings. Do you not know that? If His Lordship would condemn his wife to the life of a peasant, he would surely have no hesitation in charging you with treason.”
She stared at him for a few moments, a little puzzled frown on her brow.
“Of what warnings do you speak, Charles? I know nothing about this.”
“What?” He looked startled. “I have been receiving them for months now, letters usually left at the door during the night. Sometimes they have been shot with an arrow into the doorframe.”
She laughed.
“I have never been proficient in archery. What sort of warnings?”
“Warnings that have saved the lives of our people. Little notes that give details of when the Queen’s men are going to be in certain places, when they could have caught us all. Sometimes they have forestalled a planned trip, sometimes they are of no use whatsoever.” He turned away briefly, then looked back at her. “If not you, then who?”
“I have no idea, Charles. Be sure that I have not been privy to the sort of knowledge you speak of. I have not left this place for almost a year. The Queen could be dead for all I know.”
“Sa
dly, no,” he replied, shaking his head. “I was sure it was you. Who on earth else would be doing this?”
She shrugged.
“I have no idea. I do not know who would have the knowledge but secretly be on our side.”
He wanted desperately to help her. He looked about at the poor dwelling, looked at her drab clothing, at her pale complexion, and he could not bear the thought of leaving her here to suffer like this. He was but a poor farmer, but even his field hands lived better than this. He had to do something! He had to try.
“So will you let me take you away from this place?” Charles asked quietly.
“No,” she replied. “My little girl is here. I will not leave her.”
A child? Why had he never known about a child? Because he had never asked, that was why.
“Forgive me,” he said at last. “I did not know you had a child.”
“Why should you? We know little about each other really, do we?”
“Then she is Simon’s half-sister,” he said quietly. “What a very strange idea.”
On impulse, he pulled her toward him and held her close, not in any passionate way but as a brother might hold a much loved sister. He felt her press herself against him, felt her need to draw more comfort from him and he was happy to give it. After a few minutes, she drew away from him.
“I shall take my leave then,” he murmured. “I see I am putting you in danger by simply being here. But I still have no idea who our friend at court might be.”
She watched as he crept through the trees, her expression wistful and sad and she had no idea she was being carefully and quietly observed.
***
Adrian Kennington stood watching the silent hovel for a few moments more before he made his way back to his horse. He had followed Charles Carlisle, as Lord Summerville had requested, and he had led him here, to Richard’s own land, to Richard’s own wife.
He was angry because they had more important things to do than follow a man who could well be Lady Summerville’s lover and he was angry on her behalf when he saw the living conditions to which his friend had condemned her. A countess should not be living like this, no matter what harm she had done her husband.
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 73