She drew close to him and held on to him, kissed his arm and laid her head on it.
“I am sorry, Richard.”
"He kidnapped Joshua because he wanted Summerville. I think he has been plotting for years to get just that, in which case it has nothing to do with you arguing with him. He wanted me to marry a Catholic; he said as much before I ever met you, when I was considering remarriage. 'It will have to be a good Catholic woman, Richard,' is what he said. I told him you were prepared to recant but he was shocked that I had chosen a commoner. He was very much against that.”
“I thought he liked me.”
“I think he did when you first came here, but as time went on and he realised you were not going to keep your promises, he began to think he was a worthier heir than any son of yours.”
They sat in silence for some minutes, just holding each other, while she thought about what he had told her. She still believed that if Anthony set out to take Summerville from Richard, it was because of her, because she could not be the Catholic she had promised to be. But, damn it! It was nothing to do with him. He had brought his fate on himself.
"How much time does he have?" She asked.
"A few days. Time enough to get a message to London, to claim him. Time enough to wreak havoc on our lives once more. I am sorry, Bethany, I will not risk it. If I could do as he asks without fear of suspicion, then I would, believe me, but I cannot. I will not sacrifice what we have built here, especially not for him."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bethany watched from the window as the year of 1570 began, she watched the snow, watched her husband playing in it with his children, like a child himself. He loved to be with his children and to play with them. He had been the same with Alicia for what little time he was able to spend with her.
But it was a sad day. While the Earl of Summerville rolled about in the Suffolk snow, his cousin and former heir was at that moment suffering the horrific penalty for treason which was inflicted upon a commoner, since his cousin refused to own him.
As she watched the four of them, watched the little ones howling with laughter, watched their father lying on his back with his mouth open to catch the snowflakes, watched the children trying to copy him, she knew he had done the right thing.
She remembered her sister and how he had risked detection to smuggle in a sleeping draught, to spare her the pain of her death. But he had no such opportunity to do the same for Anthony and she was not sure he would have taken the risk, not for the man who had kidnapped his first born son.
Could he really have been expected to risk so much for the sake of a cousin who had plotted to destroy his marriage, who had abducted his son and put him in a squalid orphanage? Of course not.
She opened the window to call out and shivered.
"Richard! The children are getting too cold," she called. "Bring them inside, please."
He got to his feet and laughed, but he scooped up Alex, the youngest and started for the house. Having turned the trio of laughing, wet children over to their nurses, he came in to the room and held his wife in his arms. He was freezing, his clothes were wet and his face was icy against hers. She took his hand and pulled him toward the fire, where she helped him out of his wet cloak.
They sat together watching the flames and they both knew what the other was thinking; they usually did.
"Is it done?" She asked.
"Yes. He will have gone to his maker by now, or to purgatory since that is what he is expecting."
Bethany sometimes wondered just how much of the Catholic faith Richard really followed. There were definite parts he dismissed as superstition, but she would not ask. Religion was something they had avoided discussing since Mary's reign; he had his way and she had hers.
"And is it over?"
He turned her face up to his and she saw his puzzled frown.
"Is what over?"
"The past," she said with a catch in her throat. "Can we stop being haunted by our mistakes? Can every little thing we do not be a reminder of some horror from that time?"
"The past will always be with us, darling," he said softly and he hugged her against him. "It is part of who we are. Would we be so happy now had we never known the sorrow? Had we never known what it was to lose it all?"
She snuggled against him.
"I do not know," she replied. "I only know that the day I met you, was the day God blessed me."
"The day God blessed us both," he answered. "I wonder what we did to deserve that."
PART TWO
The Next Generation
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Estelle was fourteen when her father told her she was to go to London and be presented at court. Unlike most men of wealth and consequence, Lord Summerville had no London house; he hated the city and had no desire to visit, much less stay for any length of time.
But it was important for his daughter’s future that she be presented to Queen Elizabeth and show herself before he held his own court at Summerville Hall, during which his children would be introduced to other young people of their own class.
He had already received offers for her hand in marriage, had been receiving such offers for the past two years, but he would have none of them. She was far too young to his mind and she would marry a man she could love. Having suffered an arranged marriage himself which ended in disaster, he did not want that for his only daughter, or for any of his children. But he shuddered at the idea of going to court.
The last time he was at Whitehall Palace, he was being escorted out of the building in manacles by half a dozen of the Queen’s guards.
“Bethany, how would you feel about her staying with Rachel?” He asked his wife. “She might be persuaded to take her to court.”
They sat together with Estelle, trying to decide the best way to present their daughter to society without having to go there themselves.
"Who is Rachel?" Estelle asked impulsively.
They both turned to her.
"Lady Rachel Stewart," Bethany replied, "is a very dear friend. She lives close to London but whether she would be prepared to go to court again after all these years, is something we will have to ask her."
"How long will I have to go for?" Estelle asked.
"Just a few weeks," he answered. "You need to meet other young ladies of your own age and your own social standing; young men as well. It is of no benefit for you to be sequestered here at Summerville and never know what is going on in the world, especially when you are entitled to so much more."
"I do not want to leave Summerville," she protested.
"And we do not want you to go," her mother assured her, "but it is for your own benefit."
"And my brothers? Will they be sent off to court as well?"
"Certainly," Richard answered, "but Alex is yet too young and Joshua still has much to learn from me. You talk as though it were some kind of penance when you should feel privileged."
"If you do not want to go there, why should I?" Estelle asked stubbornly, wondering if this was perhaps one question too far.
"I have reasons which do not concern you," he said firmly, a tone which would bear no further discussion on the subject.
Estelle left them to talk further, and began to consider the prospect of being presented to the Queen of England. It seemed an odd thing to be contemplating after her upbringing here, with her brothers, and with all the children of the estate who would never have a chance to leave it, much less meet the Queen herself.
There was an old church in the woods, disused now, but food was always left in the porch and everybody knew it was provided by His Lordship for anybody who was in need of it. Estelle knew her father used to practice his Catholic faith in secret in that church, and he had a priest who lived in the house with them, but since that priest died the church had been opened up for vagabonds and other poor people to find shelter. All beggars who came their way were directed to that church and even if someone greedy enough took all the food, it was always replaced on a
daily basis.
Her father said there was more to serving God than praying and chanting and lighting candles, that feeding the poor and hungry was more in keeping with the teachings of Jesus Christ. He no longer believed that the way God was worshipped was of any importance. This in itself was totally out of keeping with conventional thinking and Estelle sometimes wondered what had happened to drive him away from a religion so strict and in which he was raised.
Estelle left her parents to write to Lady Rachel Stewart and make their request, while she had her mare saddled and rode toward the orphanage on the edge of their land. Her father always went for a ride when he wanted to think and it was a habit she had inherited from him. The orphanage was a lovely manor house, built in recent years and dedicated to Estelle’s older sister, Alicia, whom she had never known. She died of smallpox when little more than a baby, but just why an orphanage had been dedicated to her memory was not something she had really thought about before.
As she rode up to the door she realised there was something else she had not thought about, and that was that this orphan home was called 'Rachel's House'. Why had it never occurred to her before to wonder who Rachel was?
The home was managed by a woman called Caroline who lived there with her daughter, Charlotte, a girl the same age as Alex. There was just her and her mother; Estelle asked Charlotte once where her father was and she told her he was dead, but she did not seem to know how he had died or when. She was friends with Charlotte, although she was younger than Estelle and her first thought was to ask her about Rachel, so she went inside the house. There were lessons going on as all the children here were taught to read and write; there was a teacher who came in from the village on a daily basis to teach them.
Caroline emerged from the kitchen and smiled at her visitor.
"Lady Estelle," she greeted her. "Have you come to find Charlotte? She is helping in the schoolroom at the minute."
"Can I ask you something?" She said impulsively. Caroline gave her a puzzled frown. "Who is Rachel?"
She seemed to stiffen slightly as though she had asked her an inappropriate question.
"I have noticed for the first time the name of this house," Estelle went on. "I wondered who she was."
"I would recommend you ask His Lordship that question," she said, "or Her Ladyship. I am sure one of them will be happy to explain. If you will excuse me, My Lady, I have cooking to see to."
Then she turned on her heel and walked back into the kitchen, leaving Estelle to wonder why her question had embarrassed her so much.
She rode back to the hall and gave her pony to a stable boy to deal with. From fourteen years of taking everything for granted she had changed in less than an hour to being possessed of a burning curiosity and she had many questions.
As she entered the front doors she could see her parents in the hall and she stopped to watch them while they kissed and stood for a moment with their arms wrapped around each other, before he stepped away, holding her hand until the last minute. Then he walked past his daughter, giving her a fond smile as he did so, and left the house.
Lord and Lady Summerville were a very affectionate couple and they had no qualms about demonstrating that affection, no matter who was present. Estelle sometimes found it a little embarrassing, especially if she had friends visiting. That they loved each other was beyond question.
Lady Summerville turned to her and smiled, then reached out and took her hand. She was a beautiful woman. She had very dark hair and a slight figure, so slight that sometimes Estelle wondered how she did not get blown over in the wind. She was very pale, but her eyes were dark and her daughter had never known her to lose her temper or even look angry.
"You have questions," she said at once. "Let us go into my sitting room. I will tell you all I can."
Where to start? That was the main question.
"Is Lady Rachel Stewart the same Rachel the orphan home is named for?" Estelle asked at once, that being the most recent question she had stumbled upon.
"She is," her mother replied softly. "She owns the house and she runs the orphanage, even though she never goes there."
"Why does she never go there?"
Her mother hesitated before answering this question, but at last she made up her mind.
"She used to live in that house," she said thoughtfully. "She has a maid, Louisa, whom she found in an orphan home about an hour's journey from here. It was badly run and she discovered things which made her decide to open a proper facility for unfortunate children and their mothers. It was her idea to dedicate it to your sister."
All very noble, but it did not answer her question.
"But why does she never visit?" Estelle asked again. "Does she not want to see her achievements?"
"No," her mother replied, shaking her head. "She did not start the home for personal gratification, she started it to help unfortunate children and exploited women. She has reliable people running things from here and your father handles the finances."
Another surprise. She had no idea that he had anything at all to do with the place.
"But she lives in London now?"
"Close by, yes," Lady Summerville answered. "I have written to ask if she will be willing to accommodate you, and present you at court. She may refuse, but I do not think she will."
"Why should she refuse?"
"She has not been to court since the time of Queen Mary," she answered with a little mournful note, then she paused thoughtfully and tears sprang to her eyes. Estelle was about to reach out to her when she went on: "She may not wish to attend Elizabeth. We can only respect her wishes and if she should refuse, we will consider a different plan. Your father has a friend with a London house who he wants you to meet while you are there, so if Rachel prefers not to present you, perhaps he and his wife will."
"My father? Why does he not want to go there? What did he mean that he does not feel secure in going there?"
She looked confused for a moment, as though she really did not know whether she should reply.
"He also has not been to the palace since the time of Queen Mary," she said at last.
"Does he not support Elizabeth?"
"Oh, yes," she said a little too quickly.
"What then?"
At last she sighed heavily, as though deciding to part with information she had not intended to disclose.
"Your father was a very important advisor to Queen Mary," Bethany said at last. "As such, he does not expect to be in favour with Queen Elizabeth."
The reply only produced new questions, questions Estelle was not sure she wanted answered. Queen Mary was not only Catholic, which faith she knew her father shared in secret, but had ordered nearly four hundred Protestants burnt alive for heresy. Was her mother really saying that her father, her kind and considerate father, had been a party to that? She felt a chill and knew she could not leave it there.
"So he was party to her brutal policies?" She asked fearfully.
"He had little choice," she protested at once and there was a little catch in her throat as her voice rose. "He did his best to lead her away from her goal, but had he not been seen to support her, he would not be with us now. I hope you understand that."
Estelle did understand, although she was shaken by this revelation. She could not ask more; the subject was obviously distressing to her mother.
"Did you have to go and be presented at court when you were my age?" Estelle asked, in an effort to change the subject.
Bethany shook her head.
"I was a commoner," she said simply. "My father had no title and no place at court."
Why had Estelle never known that before? Because she had not asked, because the subject had never come up?
"My father was a merchant," Bethany went on slowly.
"But you married an earl? How did that happen?"
"We met at a ball," she said wistfully. "My father had been looking for a title for me to marry and your father was looking for a new wife to hopefully give
him an heir. We got on well together in what little time we had. It was all very businesslike. He asked me to marry him, and my father was overjoyed to have ensnared such an important man."
Estelle raised an eyebrow. There was definitely nothing businesslike about their marriage now.
"What happened then?" She asked.
"We fell in love with each other," she replied simply.
"He was a widower?" Estelle went on.
There was a portrait of Lord Summerville’s first wife hanging in the gallery, but his children had been told nothing about her. Strangely, until today, Estelle had never thought to ask. "How did his first wife die?"
Again, Bethany looked uncomfortable. Estelle thought it was likely because she did not want to remember that her father had been married to another woman before her. She adored him and it must have made her a little jealous.
"She died of plague," she replied at last. "She was staying in London with some relatives of your father. The whole household was infected."
"Was he very sad?"
"No," she answered harshly. "It was a marriage arranged by both his father and hers and not a very successful one."
Estelle was thoughtful for a long time, just studying her mother’s face and wondering how to broach the next question. She had learned a lot that day, not least of which that she was expected to attend court and possibly even serve the Queen. What else had she not thought to ask about?
"Have you and my father arranged such a marriage for me?" She asked at last.
Bethany smiled that beautiful smile again, then gently touched Estelle’s cheek.
"No," she said. "We decided to wait and see what happened. Pledging babes in their cradles to each other does not seem right to us, particularly to your father whose first marriage was very unhappy. But at court you may well meet girls of your age who have their lives so ordered, and others who are there to ensnare a husband."
"Is that why you want me to go there? To ensnare a husband?"
She shook her head.
"It is possible the outcome of this venture will be that your father will receive offers for your hand," she said thoughtfully. "Indeed he has already refused offers from high born gentlemen wanting to arrange a marriage for their sons."
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 87