John seized Catherine by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. ‘Look at me,’ he ordered, waiting until she did so, ignoring the fear in her eyes. ‘We will find him. He’s a child—probably hiding in the most unlikely of places. I’m sure he’ll come out of hiding when he’s ready. In the meantime we’ll do another search of the house. Surely if he’d let himself out of the house someone would have seen him. Think of what you know about the house—from a child’s perspective. If anyone can find him, you can.’ He squeezed her shoulders gently to reinforce his words, forcing himself to ignore the panic-stricken grief in the green depths of her eyes.
She looked at him in shock. His eyes were hard, his face implacable, his fingers hard as they gripped her shoulders. Doubtless he, too, thought she was responsible. She pulled back out of his grasp, trying to draw on her thoughts and remember when she had been a child and played hide and seek with her mother.
With a decision came calm. If Blanche blamed her for James’s disappearance, then there was little she could do to alter that. But she could do all in her power to find him.
‘Let’s go back to the house. He may have been found already. If not, I’ll try to remember where I used to hide as a child.’
Blanche was weeping hysterically when they entered. She was circling the hall, her body gaining speed and agility from her intense distress. Seeing Catherine, she ran towards her.
‘Where is he? Have you found him?’ She could not hide the note of despair and desperation in her voice or the lines of strain around her mouth as tears coursed down her cheeks. ‘What have you done with him?’ she cried, surging towards Catherine.
John hastily intervened before Blanche could reach her. Grasping her wrists, he half-led, half-dragged her to a chair. ‘Blanche, it is not Catherine’s fault that James is missing,’ he said in her defence. ‘Everyone is doing their best to find him—and find him we will.’
Blanche let out another wail of distress, covering her face with her shaking hands.
‘Stop it, Blanche,’ Catherine said sharply. ‘You are hysterical. You have to focus—think of James.’
Blanche looked up at her through her tears. ‘James is all I ever think about. He is all I have. I cannot bear to think something might have happened to him. All I can see is his little face, stark with fear—brought on by that—that monster who calls himself my husband.’
Catherine’s chest felt clogged and she was struggling to breathe. Turning away, she walked across the hall, ignoring the hovering servants all waiting to be told what to do next. Swallowing past the hard constriction in her throat, she tried not to think of James, all alone somewhere and frightened, James, who had been running around so happily in the snow yesterday. He would be shrunk into himself somewhere, confused and scared. But where? Where would he go to hide?
‘I’ll go through the house again,’ she said to Blanche, trying hard not to show the fear that was almost paralysing her. ‘I might have overlooked something.’
She went up the stairs, with John at her side, and along the corridor to the furthest part of the house. Together they did another thorough search of the rooms with no success. When they stood outside her father’s room Catherine stopped and looked thoughtfully at the door. She turned to John.
‘Have you thought of something,’ he asked, frowning down at her.
‘We’ve looked everywhere, but we haven’t looked in Father’s room. James disappeared when my attention was on Father—I thought he was about to have one of his turns. If, by any chance, James is still in there, he’ll be too frightened to come out. And if Father sees him he’ll be furious. Come in with me and keep Father occupied while I search.’
Together they entered the room. Her father’s eyes were closed, his head back on the pillows. Thankfully he was asleep. Catherine strained her ears and her eyes. She was just about to move further into the room when she heard a small voice say, ‘I’m here.’
‘Oh, thank goodness,’ Catherine rejoiced. It was not simply that James had lost his way, but naked fear born out of blind panic on hearing her father’s voice raised in anger. The voice had come from behind one of the tapestries close to the door. The bed had its curtains partially pulled round so the figure in the bed couldn’t see the tapestry.
Suddenly the fabric was thrown back at one corner and, with a small cry, James stumbled out and began to cry when he saw Catherine. He rushed over to her and clutched at her legs. The eyes that he raised to her face were wide and stark with terror. Moved immeasurably by his distress, Catherine bent down and swept him into a comforting hug. The knot in her chest loosened a little.
‘It’s all right, James,’ she said, forcing down her panic as she carried him out of the room and pinning a reassuring smile to her face. ‘Everything is all right. Your mother is looking for you—we’ve all been looking for you, when all the time here you are.’
Snivelling, he dragged his sleeve over his face, his eyes large and awash with tears. ‘I ran away. I didn’t like that nasty man. He frightened me.’
‘Did he? I’m sorry about that, James. But that man is not very well. That is why he shouted. He wouldn’t like to think he had frightened you.’’
His little mouth trembled violently. ‘He did. I don’t like him. Where’s Mummy?’
‘She’s here—see,’ Catherine said, turning him towards Blanche, who was hurrying towards them.
Blanche snatched the child out of Catherine’s arms and hugged him close, her tears mingling with her son’s. Without a word she climbed the stairs to the nursery. Her sobs could be heard until the nursery door closed behind her.
Catherine watched them go before turning to John, who had emerged from her father’s room and closed the door.
‘He must have crawled behind the tapestry when I was distracted. Poor little mite. Father must seem like a monster to him. I hope he won’t remember this, but somehow I think he won’t forget.’
‘He’s safe now, thank God. He gave us all a fright.’
Catherine slowly made her way to the stairs. John followed. They didn’t speak until they were in the parlour. Taking it upon himself, John went to the dresser and poured a generous glass of wine. He took it to her.
‘Sit down and drink this.’
She sat, but did not take the wine.
Taking her hand, he gave her the glass. ‘Drink it. I insist. This past hour has been an ordeal. A judicious measure has the power to release impossible tensions. It will help to relax you.’ He sat across from her, watching her.
In no mood to argue, she took a swallow, feeling its warmth radiate through her. ‘For a time I was truly worried that we wouldn’t find him. I can’t believe how angry Father was when he saw James—and James was so frightened. It must be so difficult for Blanche.’
Her voice died away as the tension of the past hour began to leave her. Colour returned to her face and her eyes were bright. After a while John got to his feet.
‘I have to leave, Catherine. I have commitments at Windsor that will keep me employed for several days. I’ll try to get back when I can.’
Catherine walked with him to the parlour door where they paused. John caught her chin in his hand and kissed her, then he put his arms around her and held her to him.
‘I’ll miss you,’ he murmured, burying his lips in her tangled hair.
Catherine closed her eyes and rested against his broad chest. How safe she felt in his embrace. Luxurious weak tears of exhaustion and relief ran down her cheeks, and her shoulders slumped. John held her close and stroked her back. After a long time, when her tears had ceased, he released her and left.
The repercussions from the morning had still to come.
* * *
Catherine hadn’t seen Blanche again the day before. She’d remained in the nursery with James. The following morning Blanche lost no time in going to Edward and, much to Catherine’s dismay,
she heard angry words exchanged before Blanche emerged and stormed to the nursery, before returning to her chamber and closing the door.
Sensing that something was dreadfully wrong, unable to contain her concern Catherine knocked on her door and entered, surprised to find Blanche packing clothes into a trunk. She looked up when Catherine entered, but did not stop what she was doing.
‘Catherine! Have you come to gloat?’
‘No, Blanche, I wouldn’t do that. I would have to be deaf not to have heard your altercation with my father. What happened?’
‘You must have heard. Your father’s illness and inability to get out of bed has triggered a fury of frustration in him, that much is clear—to such an extent that he has terrified my son half to death. He has to vent his fury for allowing James to stray into his room and it’s fallen on me.’
‘But—what are you doing?’
‘I’m doing what I should have done years ago. Leaving. He’s turned me out.’
‘Because of James?’
‘Yes.’ Blanche paused with what she was doing and looked steadily at Catherine. ‘You know, don’t you, that James is Thomas’s child?’
‘Yes, I do. When I first saw James I suspected it—he looks like Thomas. Father confirmed it. Did Father know at the time that after Marston Moor Thomas was with you in York?’ When Blanche looked at her sharply, she smiled. ‘Father told me that, too.’
‘He found out later. He reproached me most severely for my breach of duty. I thought he would cast me out there and then, but he took me back on the condition that I never met, spoke or wrote to Thomas. I adhered to his demand—I didn’t even know of Thomas’s demise until Edward got back from the north and told me. Any vain hope of forgiveness was shattered when I discovered I was with child after we had been together in York. He knew it couldn’t possibly be his.’
‘But he let you stay.’
‘Yes, but he told me that I must not entertain any expectation of a fair settlement from him when he died, for I would not get a brass farthing.’
‘I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you to accept.’
‘It was. And imagine how I felt when he took pleasure in telling me that Thomas’s last words were of you.’
‘I’m sorry about that, too—although I find it difficult to believe. You loved him, didn’t you, Blanche?’
‘As much as it is possible for a woman to love a man.’
‘Blanche, did you tell him about James?’
She shook her head. ‘No. As I said, I kept my promise to Edward and didn’t inform Thomas—which I now regret. It is the worst thing I have ever done.’
Catherine’s bright gaze rested on Blanche, seeing her as if for the first time. A handsome woman with brown eyes quicker to harden than to soften with warmth, the wide mouth curved for laughter, but held too tight. She knew how much Blanche had loved Thomas and saw clearly how this love had affected all the years since she had met him. Catherine could now understand Blanche’s bitterness and her continuance of it.
‘You should not have made the promise to my father that you would have nothing further to do with Thomas. You should have gone to him. He had a right to know his son.’ She was tempted to tell Blanche that Thomas had known about his son, that her father had told him, but she thought it was best left for now. John would tell her when the time was right. ‘I won’t pretend our marriage was anything other than tolerated. You of all people know the truth of that. I am certain Thomas would have made provision for James had he known about him.’
‘I know that now. But what would you have done, Catherine, had I appeared at Carlton Bray with Thomas’s son in my arms?’
‘I would not have turned you away. I would have given you shelter until something could be worked out. Where will you go?’
Blanche lowered her eyes and continued with her task. ‘I’m not sure. What I do know is that I have to get James away from here with the hostile atmosphere coming out of Edward’s room daily. I will not have my son raised in fear. I’ll take a few things with me and send for the rest when I’m settled.’
‘I’ll see that they are ready. Will you go to your parents?’
For the first time Blanche’s certainty slipped. White-faced, she stared at Catherine for a moment until something inside her seemed to collapse in the face of defeat. All at once she seemed smaller. Her expression was sad. ‘No. I can’t do that. They are old and not at all well. After losing their money and Murton House they are living with relatives on their charity. I cannot in all fairness enforce my situation on them. I’ll take the coach and send it back when I reach my destination.’
‘There’s no hurry. Father isn’t going anywhere and I prefer to ride. Besides, the coach I travelled in from Carlton Bray is still here. The driver, who has family in the city, is in no hurry to go back. You will let me know where you are staying, won’t you?’
She nodded. ‘I’m sorry for what I said yesterday when James went missing. It’s wasn’t your fault—but I’m so protective of him that I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him.’
‘There’s no need to apologise. These things happen and I understand.’
‘Jenny told me how you took James out to play in the snow while I was away—that John was here. He loved it and couldn’t wait to tell me about it. It was what he needed—to run around and build a snowman, to play silly games like normal children. If I didn’t have James, I would stay and fight for my rights. As it is I don’t have any. I have to go for his sake. He’s usually such a solemn little boy. He’s quickly learned to make himself quiet and still so as not to annoy Edward.’
‘I am sorry for your unhappiness, Blanche,’ Catherine said with difficulty. She now saw so many aspects to Blanche she had never seen before. ‘I know we have our differences, but I don’t like to see you crushed.’
‘I am not crushed.’ Blanche’s chin went up. ‘I endure—I will endure.’
‘Of course you will. James is a charming little boy and we had such a lovely day in the snow.’
‘I’m glad. You know, Catherine, as an only child my situation was much the same as yours as I was growing up. I’m no Puritan—far from it. I loved all the pleasures in life—music, dancing—indeed, what young girl did not? Edward was much older than me and a hard man to love. And then I met Thomas. The attraction was there for both of us from the start. I didn’t discourage his marriage to you when Edward suggested it. I couldn’t marry him myself, so to keep Thomas near I agreed to it. It was wrong of me, I know that now, and you have suffered because of it. I resented you for having Thomas when I was as much to blame as your father for encouraging the match.’
‘It’s in the past, Blanche, and so much has changed.’
‘What a mess it all is. You have changed, Catherine. Who would have thought that the girl who left here six years ago to live at Carlton Bray would return as a strong and independent woman?’
Catherine crossed to the door. ‘The war has produced many women like me. Whether petitioning, defending castles or fighting alongside their husbands—a variety of activities of which none are passive—they all have a story to tell. I am no exception, Blanche. I did what I had to do. I’ll leave you to finish what you’re doing and have the coach made ready.’
* * *
Catherine saw Blanche and James into the coach. She was glad Jenny was going with them. Wherever Blanche was going she wouldn’t be alone.
‘Just a moment, Catherine,’ Blanche said, leaning out of the half-open door.
‘What is it, Blanche? Is there something you have forgotten?’
‘I’ve thought long and hard about this and I think there is something you should know. When you next see your father, ask him about Thomas. Get him to tell you the manner of his death—the true manner of his death.’
Catherine stared at her, a cold shiver slithering down her spine. ‘What are you saying
?’
‘You must ask Edward. If he doesn’t tell you—then ask John.’
On that note she told the driver to move on. Catherine stood and watched the coach disappear down the drive. It was with reluctance she went back into the house. Whatever it was that her father and John knew and had decided not to tell her she could not begin to imagine, but that it was something sinister, something bad, she was certain of.
* * *
It was a long time after Blanche had left that Catherine plucked up the courage to confront her father. The bedchamber was warm, the steady light given out by the candles about the room throwing their glow on the large, canopied bed. Catherine eyed her father thoughtfully. He was huddled in shawls and coughing. His skin was waxen, his cheeks sunken, his breathing stertorous. He had changed so much in the short time she had been at Oakdene, caused by illness and twisted by griefs and bitterness, allowing no one to come too close to him. He had been asleep, but woke when she approached the bed. She stared down at him, fearing what he might disclose and tension weighing heavy on her spirit.
‘Has she gone?’ he asked, his voice a rasping wheeze.
‘If you mean Blanche, then, yes, she’s left. Have you any idea where she might have gone because she wouldn’t tell me?’
‘No. She can go to the devil for all I care.’
‘Then I can only hope she has suitable lodgings for the sake of the child.’
‘Aye,’ he grumbled. ‘Thomas Stratton’s boy.’
She cleared her throat, moving closer to the bed. A cold sweat was breaking out on her brow. She didn’t want to ask the question, but she knew she must. ‘Father, tell me what happened to Thomas—the manner of his death.’
His eyes met hers in a sudden sharp, questioning regard and she quailed inside.
‘Blanche has been talking, has she? I might have known she would.’
‘Tell me. I want to know the truth. Is it so terrible?’
Resisting Her Enemy Lord Page 16