Dame Audrey dabbed at her eyes, recalling the pain. ‘You’re shocked, my lady. Men can do this kind of thing, you see. Even the best of them.’
‘Best of them?’ snarled Thomas. ‘John Aycombe’s best was all show. You should know that better than anyone.’
‘I think Dame Audrey meant it in a social context, sir,’ Felice said gently. ‘He always struck me as being totally upright. But I thought nuns were not allowed to marry for many years after the abbeys were closed.’
‘There was a lot of confusion,’ said Dame Audrey. ‘I was only a novice, so no one could argue that I’d gone beyond the first stage of acceptance. And at that time I cared little about what happened to me, so I accepted the arrangements in return for a roof over my head. What choice did I have? But Thomas has had the worst of it by far. He made a home for me and my child. He’s suffered torments over the years over this…’ she indicated the piles of costly fabrics ‘…though he was not depriving anyone except the king’s treasury. He was a young man with all of life ahead of him, yet he took me in my condition with never a word of reproach. Neither Celia nor her brother know the truth of it; they believe John Aycombe to have been a saint, and so does everyone else. But I’ve seen what he’s done to my Thomas.’
From the corner of her eye, Felice saw that Thomas was looking intently at his wife with an unusual kindliness, placing a gnarled hand tenderly over hers. ‘She looked a lot like you, our Frances, m’lady,’ he said. ‘Dark-haired, slender. A lovely lass, she was.’
Until that moment, Felice had been congratulating herself on her composure but, at this, her self-possession began to disintegrate.
Thomas Vyttery, introspective and bitter, did not notice. ‘I expect you’ve pieced together what happened there,’ he said. ‘It was John Aycombe who recommended a certain young chaplain to the Paynefleetes who then betrayed our daughter just as he’d betrayed Audrey all those years before. And by that means, my lady, we lost our finest treasure.’ When no reply came from Felice, he turned to look and saw the tears streaming down her face. ‘Nay, lass, Don’t be upset. Too late for weeping now. It’s done, and John Aycombe’s gone.’
‘The fire?’ Felice whispered.
‘Nothing to do with me,’ Thomas said. ‘I’d not have wished that on any man, not even him. Now we have to clear out of here because they’re about to knock this place down and we have to get this lot away somehow.’
‘How do you usually do it, Mr Vyttery?’
‘Oh, you may as well know. There’s a vault under here full of church treasure still. Ben Smith used to take sackfuls of it along an underground passageway to a cellar in the Abbot’s House, and from there down the river to my cottage.’
‘I see. And that’s going to be difficult now he’s…er, gone.’
‘Impossible. I can’t carry it, nor can Audrey. We were just checking through to see what we ought not to leave behind, but that’s academic now, I suppose. You’ll be telling Sir Leon and Lord Deventer, of course.’
‘No, Mr Vyttery, I shall be telling no one.’ Felice stood, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. ‘It’s no business of mine what you do with it; the secret is as safe with me as it has been with you, and that applies to what you told me about your lovely Frances. I know how you must grieve.’
‘No one can know that, m’lady. By now we might have had not only a daughter but a grandchild, too, but for that man.’
And by now, I might also have been where she is.
The terrible thought reeled through her mind as she passed once more into the cool cloister and into the waiting arms of Marcus Donne who held her, racked with sobbing and unable to tell him what the matter was.
‘You’ve been to the church…yes…I know. I waited for you. Did it not help? There…don’t cry. Come, I’ll take you home. Lean on me, Felice.’
She could not tell him that her fears were as much for what might yet happen as for what had already happened, that she had been a fool, that she loved a man who could never be hers.
His comfort was brotherly and gentle, his arms by no means threatening and his curiosity well controlled. He assumed, as anyone would, that the affairs of the past weeks were catching up with her, and what woman wouldn’t be overwrought with Leon throwing his weight around, and now her stepfather? Quietly, he rocked her as they sat before a low fire while Mistress Lydia wondered whether she was being cynical in seeing this as the next step in the limner’s cautious seduction.
Sleep came near dawn but did not stay, and Felice roused Lydia and Elizabeth to dress her and to begin their duties earlier than usual. In the New House, most of the men had drifted out on to the site, and so her hopes of catching sight of Sir Leon came to nothing as she greeted the servants, checked lists with Mr Peale and Mr Dawson, and showed her presence.
Upstairs, all was quiet except for the squeak of a new floorboard and a muffled sneeze from Lord Deventer’s chamber but then, as Felice entered the small darkened closet where clean linen was kept, she heard an unmistakable sound coming from the opposite door that led into Levina’s chamber. She froze, straining her ears to be sure, asking herself what the woman could have eaten to cause such a violent reaction. It came again, followed by a moan, then a voice and more retching. Morning sickness. Was it her, Levina, or one of her maids?
She tapped on the door merely as a formality and, as soon as a gap appeared, held it with one hand. ‘Let me come in!’ she said decisively, moving forward. No one looked up as she entered, least of all the heaving woman who knelt at a stool with her head in a basin, her blonde hair tied in a damp bundle that straggled down and stuck to her cheeks. Two young maids stood helplessly by, their expressions blankly unsympathetic. The room was in a state of chaos.
‘Clear this room up,’ Felice snapped at them, whipping them into action with her eyes. ‘And open that window.’ Quickly, she bent to Levina and eased her shoulders back, away from the stinking basin. ‘Come, mistress. That’s probably enough now, isn’t it? Come…into bed.’
Directing the maids to remove the bowl and clean it, she half-carried the fainting woman to the bed and tucked her up warmly, tidied her hair and wiped her white perspiring face. Then she shooed the maids into the anteroom and chastised them soundly, sending one for a warm posset from the kitchen and the other for a brick from the oven to warm her mistress’s feet. ‘Two minutes!’ she said, sharply. ‘Or you lose your jobs.’
Looking at Levina’s pallor, Felice could now understand the need for the heavy cosmetics, the late appearance each day, the loss of appetite. She sat down on the bed as the patient’s eyes opened, this time showing wariness rather than animosity but reading Felice’s concern and responding to it with a wan smile. ‘Serves me right,’ she whispered.
‘Pregnant?’
‘Yes. I’ve missed three of my courses. I’ll not be able to hide it much longer.’
‘Then why come all this way? The journey’s so rough.’
‘How innocent you are. That’s one way of getting rid of it. And anyway, I had to see Leon.’
Felice held her breath, not wanting to hear but unable to stop herself from asking the dreaded question. ‘He’s the baby’s father?’
The pale lips compressed, and Levina turned her head away. ‘No, he’s not,’ she whispered. ‘It would have been easier if he had been, but I can’t make the dates fit when they obviously don’t. We haven’t been lovers for years. Friends, but not lovers. I don’t even know who the father is.’
‘So you wanted to ask Sir Leon’s advice, is that it?’
Levina turned to look fully at Felice, showing her a ghost of the showy, noisy, ill-mannered harridan who had done her best to turn Felice’s life upside-down over the last few days, demanding and criticising, trading on her own longer friendship with Sir Leon and on Lord Deventer’s lusty approval. And even now she was willing to continue taking. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t need anyone’s advice. It’s a husband I need. Leon will help me out.’
Staring, accep
ting the implications at a snail’s pace, Felice shook her head in an attempt to clear it. ‘You mean, you’re going to ask Sir Leon…?’
‘To marry me. Yes. He will. We’ve always helped each other out, one way or another. I haven’t mentioned it to him yet. Uncle Philip’s been with him most of the time. In fact, it was Uncle Philip who suggested the idea.’
‘My stepfather knows, then?’
‘Oh, yes. He always warned me that this could happen but…well, you know how it is. Wise after the event, eh?’ Her smile was watery but far from self-pitying, and apparently she expected Felice to understand not only how easy it was to become pregnant but how easy to find a solution to the problem. Her cold-blooded audacity was almost unbelievable.
‘Wouldn’t you rather find out who the father is?’
Levina shook her head. ‘Needle in a haystack,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’d rather not marry any of them. Leon will be far more reliable as a husband.’
‘You love him, then?’
‘Hah! Love? What’s that got to do with anything? No, Felice, of course I don’t, nor does he love me. Never has. Men don’t take a woman to bed for love, at least not in my experience. But if a woman gets caught, it’s up to her to do something about it. No hole-in-a-corner midwife for me. I want a house and servants to look after me and a wealthy husband to keep me in clothes and carriages. Leon has an eye for such things, doesn’t he?’
With a cold numbness creeping up her arms, Felice did her best to smile in agreement, suddenly desperate not to allow this callous creature to know of her heartache. ‘He certainly does, mistress. I’d stay there a while, if I were you, and try the warm posset. It’ll make you feel stronger.’
Dazed and sickened, she clutched at the heavily ornamented balustrade and took each step slowly downwards, plagued by the memory of that dark fetid room in Winchester where a young woman lay groaning and afraid. Would that be the fate of Levina if her plans did not materialise? Could a woman stand by and allow that to happen, knowing how the Vytters’ daughter had expected care and found criminal irresponsibility that her parents could never have suspected? This woman’s plight was here and now; her own was not yet established: there would be no question of sacrifice when Leon had never been truly hers, nor she his. And even if it were true that he had no love for Levina, his undeniable friendship for her would be enough to help her through this crisis.
Once again, Lydia was horrified, outraged and adamant that Felice should not give in to this heartless manipulation, having had good evidence from Adam Bystander that his master was behaving like a man in love. ‘You cannot let her do it!’ she pleaded, following Felice into the newly set-up brewery. ‘Pregnant or not, she’s a bitch and you’ve got to fight her over this. Tell him you love him, or he’ll believe you don’t, and then this…this harpy will get her clutches into him for good.’
Aimlessly moving bowls from here to there, Felice could see only the appalling dilemma of a woman who, denied help when she most needed it, could easily forfeit her life.
‘Rubbish!’ Lydia said, taking an earthenware jug from Felice and replacing it on the stone shelf. ‘She’ll not come to any harm. You don’t suppose Sir Leon’s the only string to her bow, do you? She may not know who the father is, but she’ll have a damn good idea, believe me. You think she needs Sir Leon more than you do, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you’re wrong! She’s aiming for him because Lord Deventer put her up to it because he’s always wanted the match. You said so yourself only yesterday. You’re being mawkishly sentimental, love, and it’s time you showed your talons, too. Oh, what is it, Elizabeth?’
Mistress Elizabeth Pemberton, in and out of love like a butterfly, had some news of a most inappropriate nature. ‘The waggons have arrived from Winchester,’ she said, eyeing Felice’s tears.
‘They arrived two days ago,’ Lydia snapped.
‘No, these have the gowns from the man on the Pentice. Shall I unpack them, my lady?’
‘No,’ Felice croaked. ‘Leave them in their boxes.’
Lydia’s unvoiced command contradicted this, and it was fortunate that Elizabeth, for all her failings, had learned to lip-read.
It was also fortunate that Lydia stayed close to her mistress for the next few hours in the expectation that something might happen to propel Felice into action. It did, but not in the direction Lydia had hoped, even though she had managed to steer her towards the small room that Sir Leon called his office with a view to pushing her inside and closing the door.
Voices reached them from the passageway causing Lydia to frown, crossly. ‘Tch! He’s got someone with him.’
Quickly, Felice turned away. ‘Let’s make it another time,’ she hissed.
Lydia restrained her. ‘Shh! Listen. Someone’s weeping.’
‘It’s her!’ Anger and curiosity combined to make her investigate, and unwillingly she moved forward until she could see into the room where Sir Leon stood by his table piled with papers, an account-book still open. Levina stood close to him with her forehead on his shoulder, comforted by his arms, his head bent to one side as if to catch her sobbing words. He said something to her and she nodded, and Felice could watch no more.
‘Now do you believe me?’ she growled to Lydia.
‘No,’ said Lydia. ‘I’ll not believe it, even now.’
But for Felice, it was the evidence she needed that she had no place in Sir Leon’s future, evidence she would not have had the humiliation of witnessing, she told Lydia, if she’d followed her own advice instead of hers. Lydia was unrepentant. If her mistress lost Sir Leon, she would lose her Adam, and that would be a new and unacceptable experience for Mistress Lydia. Something had to be done.
On the top floor of the Abbot’s House, Marcus Donne laid down his fine squirrel-hair paintbrush with a sigh and looked reproachfully at his lovely subject as yet another tear dripped off the point of her chin. As no explanation followed, he took a stool across to her and sat so that he could take her hands in his. ‘What is it?’ he whispered. ‘This is the second time in two days. There’s a problem, isn’t there?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Shall we try again later?’
‘When your eyes are red with weeping? No, dear lady. I think it’s better if you tell me about it, then I can see what’s to be done.’
‘Nothing’s to be done, Marcus.’
‘Ah,’ he smiled. ‘Don’t you believe it. If it’s Leon, leave him to me. Has he been severe again? I thought you two were…hush, love. Don’t distress yourself. What’s he been up to?’
Felice blew her nose, noisily. ‘No…nothing, really. It was all a terrible mistake. Nothing. I’m being silly.’
‘No,’ Marcus said, slowly. ‘No, there’s something here I don’t quite understand. Tell me to mind my own business, but has he…did he become more than friendly while you were in Winchester? Has he taken you to bed?’
Felice was silent, twisting her handkerchief in her fingers.
‘He has, hasn’t he? The swine. And now on your return there’s my lovely Levina to bring him to heel, and all the while he’s telling me to keep off his pitch and sending me packing when I refuse.’ His voice throbbed with anger. ‘I should give him a good thrashing for this. My God, I should!’
She laid a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t interfere, Marcus. I know you mean well and I’m touched, but he and Levina are—did you say your lovely Levina? You’re in love with her, Marcus?’
‘Oh lord, always have been. I’ve never bothered her. Nothing to offer on the scale that she needs things. I doubt she even knows. But look, if you and Leon have been lovers, you must be getting a bit worried. Did he talk of marriage to you? Has he told your stepfather?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He’ll marry Levina. I’m sure of it.’
‘And leave you to fend for yourself? Not without a word from me, he won’t!’ He stood up, pulling her up with him and surprising her with his uncharacteristic anger. ‘Listen to me, Felic
e. He’s not going to get away with this. This time he’s overstepped the mark. It’s no surprise that he’s taken up with Levina again, but if he doesn’t agree to marry you, I will. With or without his permission. He can’t tie a woman hand and foot like this. No, it’s no good protesting. I’ve made my mind up.’
‘You cannot do it, dear Marcus. I must find my own solution to the problem.’
His voice dropped as he kissed her knuckles. ‘You just have, Felice. It’s me.’
‘I cannot allow you to do this,’ she called after him as he left her. ‘I couldn’t ask you to…’
‘You’re not asking me to,’ he called back from the stairway. ‘I’m asking you.’
Sir Leon was standing in the middle of the blackened ruins with a flapping plan in his hands when Marcus found him talking with two of his masons. All around them, men were clearing rubble, sawing up charred beams and clambering along the walls while, in the distance, Lord Deventer stood talking to a black-gowned gentleman and his clerk.
One of the masons took the plan and rolled it up. ‘Right, sir,’ he said, looking at Marcus. ‘We’ll get on, then. Good day to you, Mr Donne.’
‘The coroner,’ Sir Leon said in answer to Marcus’s enquiring glance. ‘And you’ll be getting dust all over you in this place, lad. Come away.’ He was dressed in working-clothes—leather boots, knee-length breeches and open-necked white shirt—that set off his dark handsomeness and large frame in a way that Marcus was well able to appreciate, as a painter.
But Marcus was in no mood to be impressed. ‘Yes,’ he said, tersely. ‘A word in private is what I have in mind, Leon, if you please. Unless you want this crowd to hear what I’ve to say.’
‘Why, what is it? Something wrong?’ Sir Leon stepped over a pile of masonry and out through the courtyard piled with salvaged materials, and on towards the river. ‘Now, is this private enough for you? And if you’ve come to tell me about Levina being…’
‘I’ve come to talk about Lady Felice, Leon, if you can get Levina out of your head for a moment or two. Perhaps it’s time you gave some thought to her instead.’
A Most Unseemly Summer Page 20
