PESTILENCE: The Scent of Roses

by Margaret Brazear

  "Felice," he went on, although he moved no closer, "I thought you were dead. I thought you were lying beneath one of those anonymous mounds out there in the churchyard. I have been through hell believing I sent you into a village full of pestilence."

  "You did send me into a village full of pestilence."

  Although her heart had leapt with fear at the sight of him, part of her was overjoyed to see he had escaped the sickness. If he had escaped, pray God so had her baby son.

  He had caught her this time, though. He came before, and he must still have what he supposed was evidence of her guilt. She cursed her own complacency for believing he would not be back, not now he believed her dead. She would have to part with her child and stand trial; he was the judge and jury and he had already decided her guilt. Once more she tried to think of ways to escape. Perhaps she could throw herself on his mercy after all, but to do that, he would expect a confession and she could not confess now any more than she could then.

  Her heart was hammering with rising panic and she choked back tears of despair. Just as she was beginning to think a life of isolation would not be so bad, just as she was beginning to rise above her feelings for Christopher, both her love and her resentment, just as she had decided to devote her love to her little girl, he had come to drag her back to the castle where all that awaited her was choking death at the end of a rope. It was so unfair!

  "The whole village was wiped out," he said. "How did you survive?"

  Her pride rose up once more and she felt angry, defiant. She could have explained to him how they had kept to the house, kept away from the villagers, but that would have been too simple and would not relieve her anger.

  "Well, let's see," she answered sarcastically. "Witchcraft? You have not yet accused me of that, have you? But please, I beg of you; not the flames."

  He flinched at her words, as though he had been physically punched.

  "I came here at Christmas time, over a year ago, looking for you. Where were you?"

  "Hiding."

  "Hiding? From me?"

  He took another step forward and this time he reached out to her, but she held tighter to Rose and turned away from him.

  "Of course from you," she answered. "You came to take me back to hang me. Why should I not hide from you?"

  He sighed heavily, knowing she was right and feeling more shame.

  "I came to tell you Immeth was not poisoned, that she knew she was dying."

  Relief washed over her and she almost lost the strength in her legs. She clung onto baby Rose and staggered back. At least she would not be standing trial, she would not be forced to part with yet another child.

  "I guessed as much," she said bitterly.

  "How?"

  "That night was not the first time I saw her. I could see she was ill; she was yellow, like old parchment. But you did not even notice."

  "Why did she not tell me?"

  "I daresay she was waiting for you to see for yourself, waiting to see if she meant that much to you. Obviously, she did not. I thought you loved her, but she was a convenience, just like your wife."

  "No. You were never that."

  Felice took a deep breath before she answered. She knew that now he had found her he would want to take her back to the castle and in truth she was not sure how she felt about that. She would never feel the same about him, that was certain, never trust him with her love again. What they had growing between them had withered and died; he had killed it.

  "Well, My Lord," she replied. "It was kind of you to take the trouble to come and tell me I am innocent. Perhaps you would be good enough to leave me in peace now."

  He shook his head slowly, his face wearing a stricken look.

  "No. I have been scouring the countryside for survivors. I came here by chance when I saw signs of occupancy. You must come home with me."

  She wanted desperately to refuse him, to say she would never live with him again, but that choice was not hers. She was still his property, and she knew him well enough to know he would take her by force if he had to. How would that look to the servants? She feared that Dennis might try to interfere and could well be injured or worse.

  Then there was her son, who she did want to see, but was he better off without a mother now that he had grown used to it?

  "I have no wish to go with you, My Lord," she answered at last.

  He looked around at the broken shutters, the badly patched roof where the rain and snow would pour through in the winter, where the wind would blow the fire out and leave her frozen and choking.

  "You cannot stay here," he argued. "I did not realise how bad this place was."

  "It is no worse than Immeth's little cottage with the holes in the roof," she said. "Did you never notice?"

  He gave her a puzzled frown, then shook his head.

  "No," he said. "I did not notice. It seems I did not notice a lot of things. I want to make it up to you. Will you not give me a chance to earn your forgiveness? You said you loved me, remember?"

  Yes, she remembered clearly but it did not make him hesitate to accuse her of murder, to assure her she would hang. What good was her love, if it did not even make him stop to consider? She had loved him, she had loved him dearly; now she could not say how she felt about him.

  "That was a long time ago, My Lord," she answered. "Before you showed me what you really thought of me; before you took my love and used it against me. You believed me capable of murder, and murder of an innocent at that. I am not sure I can ever forgive you for that."

  He made no reply, just stood watching her, wondering how he would ever change her mind. At last he spoke, and his tone was firm, as though ordering a servant.

  "Nevertheless you will return with me. You are my wife."

  "And must obey you, is that it? Very well. I am your property, bought and paid for, after all."

  He did not answer. His eyes moved about the house, taking in the poor surroundings. He could not leave her here, of that he was certain.

  “My father?” She asked. “Does he fare well? He sent no more roses, so I assume he is dead.”

  Christopher shook his head. At last he had something good to share with her.

  “He lives. He has been ill, but he lives.”

  He was glad he had taken the trouble to keep up with news from Sutton Place.

  “Then I will go and stay with him,” she said. “He has need of me. You do not.”

  "As you wish," he agreed. "But our son stays with me."

  Her fists clenched and her anger flared. She wanted to hit him, to show him she was not the meek little woman he seemed to believe her to be. If she could not have her son, there was no point in going back at all.

  "He does not know who I am," she accused him. "You did that."

  It was at that moment that Daisy appeared in the back doorway. Her eyes widened with horror when she saw her master’s huge figure and she turned hurriedly to flee.

  "You," he called to her. "Take this child back to her mother."

  Daisy opened her mouth to reply but glanced at her mistress and saw her shake her head.

  "We rescued her," Felice said hurriedly, before Daisy could say otherwise. "Her whole family perished from the pestilence. We could hardly leave her."

  Daisy turned to stare at her and she nodded slowly, meaningfully, wanting her to understand she was to give the other servants the same story.

  "We will have to take her with us," she went on.

  "Of course," Lord Christopher replied. "Perhaps we can find some foster family for her."

  "No! You already have my son," she cried angrily. "You will not take my daughter as well."

  "Daughter? She is not your daughter."

  In the panic of the moment, she had said too much and now had to think quickly.

  "Nevertheless I have become fond of her,” she said. “I wish to keep her."

  She thought he would refuse and if he did, she would have to tell him she had lied to him, that the child was his.
But that was a last resort, as she was very much afraid if she once let him know the truth, she would lose this child as well. If not that, he would refuse to believe her, he would accuse her of adultery again, and she would find herself suffering for it.

  "Very well," he said quietly. "Whatever you want, is yours. I promise."

  "Daisy, please take L....please take Rose outside. She needs some fresh air."

  She was about to say Lady Rose and stopped herself in time. How long would it be before someone made that same mistake?

  ***

  Daisy took the baby outside to where the other servants were working. Dennis and Gerald were digging the small vegetable garden they had made; Ruby was rummaging for wild vegetables and herbs.

  "Lord Christopher is here," she told them.

  Dennis stood up, his face a mask of fury.

  "Well, he is not taking Her Ladyship back for trial," he said angrily. "I care not what sort of evidence he thinks he has. I will kill him first."

  "Dennis," Gerald urged him. "Have a care."

  "Are you saying you do not agree with me?" He paused and looked around at the other servants. "Are any of you saying you do not agree? I am not going to let him harm that fine lady, not while I can stop it."

  "Of course we agree, Dennis," Daisy said hurriedly. "But you cannot go threatening him or you will be the one ends up dead. We all know she could not have killed anyone."

  "It would not matter to me if she did," Dennis said. "If she killed that peasant woman it was him drove her to it."

  "Well, that is not our main problem," Daisy persisted. "I think Her Ladyship has finally lost her mind. She told His Lordship that Lady Rose is not her baby. Told him we found her, that she belonged to one of the families who perished. She wants you to all tell him the same."

  "Why would she do that?" Ruby asked.

  "Obvious," Dennis said. "She scared he'll take this babe too and she'll never see her again. We do as she says; agreed?"

  ***

  They stood with their eyes fixed on each other for a few moments after Daisy left them. Felice was still afraid, still did not trust that he was being truthful. Did he know she did not kill Immeth, or had he been unable to find evidence? It meant everything to her that no shadow of suspicion lingered in his mind.

  At last Christopher reached out and put his arms around her, drawing her close. He held her head against his chest, his fingers entwined in her soft, blonde hair, and kissed the top of her head. Her resolve almost faltered. She had missed his embrace, missed his kisses, missed his comfort in the cold night. He was warm and safe and she wanted to hold him in return, but she was afraid to trust him. He would only hurt her again, when he found something else of which to suspect her, something else to accuse her of.

  She stood silently and rigidly still.

  "Felice, I am so sorry."

  She laughed.

  "Well, at least I lived long enough to hear that. I am ready to die now."

  Determined to harden her heart to his pleas, she moved away from him. She had suffered too much; she had no intention of suffering again.

  "Can I ever make it up to you?" He pleaded.

  "No," she replied, catching back a little sob. "I tried so hard, Christopher. When my father told me of your offer of marriage, I was so pleased, so happy. I tried to make you a good wife. I was faithful to you. I even swallowed my jealousy when you went visiting with your peasant." She paused and her eyes met his and held his gaze for a moment. "I asked nothing of you, not even that you be faithful in return. Can you even imagine how it felt for me, knowing you came to my bed straight from hers? But that was what you wanted, so I kept silent, tried to be grateful for whatever attention you could spare from her. I would have done anything for you, anything. I even fell in love with you. But it was all for nothing."

  “I did not think you cared,” he answered. “Not until that night when you told me you loved me; before that I had no idea you cared and I would have loved for you to ask me to give her up.”

  She laughed derisively.

  “Really? And what happened when I tried to ask about her, tried to discover your feelings for her? You accused me of spying on you.”

  His dropped his gaze to the floor.

  “I have not made things easy for you, have I? I am so sorry for that.”

  He stood gazing at her until she turned away. At last he went to the back door where Daisy stood waiting with the baby clutched in her arms.

  "You," he said. "Pack up Her Ladyship's things. She is returning to Waterford Castle with me."

  "My Lord?"

  "You too, and any other servants left alive," Daisy only stared at him, not sure whether to carry out his orders or to risk his wrath by refusing. "Now! Hurry. I want to be home before dark."

  He reached out and lifted the baby out of her arms; impulsively she stepped forward to try to grab her back.

  "All is well, Daisy," Felice said from behind him. "Do as His Lordship says."

  He turned toward her, looking down at the baby whose face was creasing up when she saw she was being held by this stranger. Felice took her away from him.

  "So you have named her Rose?" He remarked.

  She nodded.

  He smiled. "Of course. I take it the carriage is about the place somewhere. You have not chopped it up for firewood?"

  She shook her head then went to the door and called to Dennis to hitch up the carriage. They were going home, back to Waterford Castle, back to hold her son in her arms once more. Back to Lord Christopher's bed, but she did not think she would ever feel the same, did not think she would ever trust him with her heart, with her love, with her innermost passions. She was so afraid he would turn against her, throw her gifts back in her face as he had before.

  She should have been happy; this is what she had wanted so much when she first arrived in this place. Then she would have given anything, then she watched every day in the hope he would come and fetch her home, until she realised it was never going to happen. Now she just felt a deep sense of dread.

  Dennis drove the carriage with Gerald sitting beside him, Daisy and Ruby sat beside Felice and held little Lady Rose between them. From the window she could see her husband, riding his horse beside the carriage, standing guard to be sure she did not escape again. Felice was riding into an unknown future, and God alone knew what it would bring.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Homecoming

  Christopher stole surreptitious glances at Felice where she sat beside the door of the carriage. She would not see him, only his legs and the saddle of the horse, but he could see her and he had to keeping looking, to assure himself he was not dreaming.

  He had just lived through the worst months of his life in the certain knowledge that he had killed the only woman he would ever love, the only woman who would ever love him. He set out that morning to investigate the plague he had heard so much about, as he could not believe the tales that had been coming his way, and part of him hoped he might catch it himself so he would not have to lie awake each night with his sorrow and regret.

  He was still glowing inside from having found Felice, quite by accident. Had there been no fire, he would likely never have ventured into the house. Had he left his journey until later in the year when the weather was warm, he would have ridden past and never known she was still alive.

  But now he had the hardest battle to fight, to win her back, to win her trust and love again. He smiled at the idea. He was a man who had always believed that a man’s wife was his to do with as he wished, that he had no need to woo her, that she was his for the taking, but he could never feel that way about Felice. His memory showed him her desire for him, her warmth when she wrapped her arms around him, her passionate kisses and her sweet words of love. He wanted that again, he wanted the love that only she could give him and that was not something he could simply take.

  Each time he looked at her, he hoped to see a smile, if only for the baby, but she looked as though she would neve
r smile again. Her fear when she first saw him would haunt him forever, he was sure of it, but now she looked worried, afraid to relax, to let down her guard even for a moment. He had hurt her badly and he knew it; he was not sure she would ever forgive him, but he had to try, even if it took the rest of his life.

  ***

  Their arrival at Waterford Castle brought everyone within sight to a standstill. As the coach slowed inside the castle grounds, and people saw who it was who rode within, Felice heard gasps and mutterings from everyone around. One man even crossed himself, thinking perhaps she was a ghost.

  She climbed down from the coach with the help of her husband, who had dismounted and hurried forward to take her hand himself. No servant was good enough to welcome this visitor. People stared at her and one man rushed forward, despite His Lordship's threatening scowl.

  "My Lady?" He cried. "We thought you were dead. His Lordship said...." He stopped talking when he glanced at Lord Christopher and saw his frown of disapproval.

  So, he had spent this year believing himself a widower. Felice wondered fleetingly where he was getting his comfort now that Immeth was dead. Had he found another peasant to satisfy him, or had he been paying? Perhaps he was courting another potential wife.

  She would not ask. She did not want him to know she cared that much.

  Inside her bedchamber she looked around at the familiar furnishings, glanced up at the ceiling to assure herself that this roof was not leaking, then she looked around at the roses which still decorated the chamber, just as they did before he found Immeth’s dead body.

  The last time she saw this chamber, her roses were dying, along with her marriage. Did he think it would take only a few fresh roses to revive it, to bring it back to life? She was curious about where they had come from, whether Christopher still grew them despite her not being there, despite believing her to be dead. And she realised suddenly that he had not known when he set out that morning that he would find her, that he would be bringing her home with him. He was not even looking for her; he believed her to be dead and rotting in an unknown grave. So why the roses?