by Linda Sole
She had come to him as sweetly as if she had always belonged in his arms, giving him such pleasure that he wanted to weep. She was surely his now. She belonged to him in every way. He could never tell her the truth, never confess that she was not his wife and Iolanthe was not his child. His fervent prayer was that she would never remember what had gone before. If she ever discovered that he had lied to her, taken advantage of all she offered knowing that he had no right to her sweetness, she would hate him.
Nicholas lay close to her, breathing in the scent of her body, feeling the softness of her skin against his, absorbing the intense pleasure of holding her while she slept. She was not dreaming now. Her mouth curled in a smile of content.
He smothered the guilt that threatened his new happiness. Anne had forgotten her past life. If she were truly the Countess Devereaux her husband would surely have come looking for her? How could any man not search for a woman like this one? If Nicholas had lost her he would scour the country, village by village until he found her. He would continue until his last breath. He would not have taken rest until she was restored to him. The earl had not searched hard enough. Had he asked enough people, he would surely have learned that a woman had come to Malvern House and given birth there at about the time the castle was taken. Instead he’d taken another wife.
Would Nicholas have given her up had he been asked? At the start perhaps he might have done the right thing but now his mind was set. Anne was his. Iolanthe was his and Anne’s. He would never give either of them up while he lived.
Somewhere in the darkness the laughter mocked him, but he blocked out the sound. He had Anne’s love and that was worth the price that had been demanded of him. Most of the time he could shut out the demon that taunted him, but at times the echoes of laughter broke through.
‘Begone Imp of Satan,’ he muttered. ‘You have no power to frighten me. I have the world in my arms and neither you nor your master will take her from me.’
If need be he would take her away from here to another place where they would not be found.
TWENTY SIX
‘How long have you known of this place?’ Mother Abbess asked as they saw the dark sprawling shape of Malvern House. ‘It is so isolated and sheltered by the lie of that hill that it is difficult to see unless you look for it.’
‘I have heard of Nicholas Malvern,’ Sister Selina said and frowned. ‘Some folk fear him for they think he uses the dark arts to perfect his cures but when I was a novice my mother visited me at the convent. She told me that a man had come to live here in this place. It was once a monastery but something happened here long ago, something bad I believe, and the monks were disbanded, sent away to beg for their bread. The brothers moved on and the house was empty for some years, then Malvern came and renamed it after himself. I believe he must be a man of some wealth but I know little else of him.’
‘I have heard tales concerning the man, but Prior Peter told me they were lies. He says that the man uses only herbs and natural things in his recipes.’
Sister Selina drew the pony to a halt. ‘If that is so why do our cures not work when his may?’
‘I do not know, but I am willing to try his medicines for the sake of my sisters.’
‘Perhaps he uses incantations. I have heard that many men of medicine pick their herbs under a full moon. They have rituals and incantations to make the cures work; some worship the Devil and sell their souls for the power he gives them.’
‘That is superstitious nonsense,’ Beatrice said but beneath her habit skirts she crossed her fingers to ward off demons. ‘If you are frightened you may wait here.’
‘If you must go inside that place…’ Sister Selina shuddered, then raised her head determinedly. ‘I shall come with you. I cannot allow you to go alone.’
‘I assure you that I shall be quite safe. Stay here, Sister Selina, and watch the pony. My business may take a little while and I would not have the beast stray for I have no mind to walk home.’
Sister Selina inclined her head. She was accustomed to doing as she was told but Beatrice knew that there was some fear in her mind about what they would find inside the house. If it were true that something bad had happened here the house might be cursed.
Leaving the cart with Sister Selina, Mother Abbess went to the gate. Pausing, she made the sign of the cross over her breast before trying the gate. She half expected it to be locked but it swung back as she reached out to push it, making her jump. At first she could not see anyone and felt a start of fear. How could a gate open itself? There must be some dark power at work here. Then she heard a giggle and looking to her left saw that a young child of two years or so and an old woman were standing behind the gate and were clearly responsible for what had seemed sorcery.
‘Good-day, mistress,’ Beatrice said to the old woman. ‘I have come to see your master. Is he at home?’
‘How should I know whether he be here or somewhere else?’ the old woman said in a surly tone. ‘What business be it of yours where he be? Your sort ain’t welcome here.’
‘Indeed, I mean no harm. I was hoping to see the apothecary…’
‘Papa…’ the child said and pulled away from the old woman. She approached Beatrice and stood staring up at her. An odd feeling came over Beatrice as she looked into the girl’s eyes. Her hair was a dark auburn and her eyes had a clear green quality with a deeper shade that turned to azure in their depths. She had surely seen eyes like that before.
‘Is Master Malvern your father?’ Beatrice asked and bent down to see her more closely. Her spine was tingling and she felt odd, almost light-headed as the conviction grew in her that this child resembled her birth sister Melloria.
‘Papa!’ the child chortled with glee and toddled off towards a man who was striding towards them.
As Beatrice watched, he swept her up in his arms, talking to her for a moment before handing her to a servant, who walked two paces at his back. At his order, the child was taken into the house, but called to him and struggled as she was borne away.
‘Papa…papa…papa…’ she wailed, clearly unused to being dismissed so firmly.
‘What may I do for you, mistress?’ the man said as he approached Beatrice.
‘Sir, I am Mother Abbess from the Convent of Saint Innocent. Forgive me for coming unannounced but we have sickness at the convent and I need your help.’
‘Tell me of your need and I shall prepare something. One of my servants will bring it to the abbey. Forgive me, but I may not ask you to step inside my house for fear that you may pass the sickness to my family.’
‘You have a beautiful child, sir. Her hair is an unusual colour.’
‘Iolanthe is like her mother, my wife.’ Nicholas did not smile. ‘Tell me, Mother Abbess – what ails your sisters?’
‘They have fever and pain. Sometimes they are cold and then they run with water. One died last night and I fear for the others for the nun that died was one of the strongest. I would not trouble you if I did not fear to lose more of them.’
‘Have they a rash or boils?’
‘Nothing I have seen. It is just the fever, aching limbs and a strange lethargy even when the fever has passed.’
Nicholas inclined his head. ‘I have heard of this malady before. It passes easily from person to person. Some think it the sweating sickness but that is to misname it for that sickness is more common to hot damp climates and is not passed from person to person. I shall make a mixture for the sisters to drink and some liniment to rub into the skin for aching limbs. One of my servants will bring the cures to you later.’
‘May I not wait for the medicine and take it with me?’
‘No, for the cures need time to prepare. I have told you, the malady is contagious. I do not wish my family to take it. Please leave us in peace, Mother. I shall not fail you.’
‘Very well, but how shall I pay you?’
‘I do not accept payment for my cures. What I give I give freely. All I ask is that you follow my instruction
s, which I shall write down for you. You must not exceed the doses I advise or you may do harm.’
‘I know that some herbs can be dangerous, for we are used to the properties of Henbane and Belladonna ourselves. We shall follow your instructions and – thank you.’
Beatrice turned away. She heard Nicholas Malvern ordering that the gates be locked after her. Making her way back to the wagon, she was frowning. Something about the child had been so familiar that it had made her almost faint to look at her. Melloria had looked just that way when she was young, the resemblance so strong that it had taken all Beatrice’s strength of will not to accuse Malvern of stealing her sister’s child.
However, had Malvern not been so anxious to get rid of her, Beatrice might not have thought it more than a disturbing coincidence, but he had seemed nervous, determined that he would not have her in his home. Was his conscience troubling him? She had thought that at one moment she had seen a hint of fear in his eyes.
Perhaps she was making too much of the incident but the child must be about the age that Melloria’s child would have been had she and her mother lived.
Beatrice could not know anything for certain. There was the story of the woman with a red-haired child who had visited the inn near the convent. She was supposed to have been on her way to Winchester but even though Beatrice had asked the Bishop to see if the woman and child could be traced nothing had come of it. Had they found their way here and been taken in by Malvern? Seeing the child so clearly, Beatrice was almost certain in her own mind that Iolanthe must be her sister’s child – but where was the proof?
She could do nothing herself but when she returned to the abbey she would write to Robert and to the Bishop once more.
*
Nicholas stilled the sense of panic that had come to him when he saw the nun talking to Iolanthe. He had recently made it his business to learn more of the beautiful countess, who had gone missing at the time that Anne had come to him. He knew that the Abbess of the convent of Saint Innocent was sister to the countess and he had read suspicion in her eyes after her encounter with Iolanthe.
It was unfortunate that the nun had seen Iolanthe and spoken to her. He had known instantly that if she chanced to see Anne she would recognise her despite the broad streak of white running through her glorious hair. If that happened the nun would expose Nicholas and bring his world tumbling down about his ears. To lose Anne and the child was more than he could bear. Besides, if something he had learned recently were true it could cause Anne only heartbreak to learn her true position. A letter from an acquaintance he trusted in Winchester had written that the Earl of Devereaux had taken a new bride.
You asked if I had heard anything of the woman Marta for you had heard rumours she might have gone to Winchester. I think I may have news for you soon regarding the woman and a child, but I can tell you that the Earl of Devereaux came to court for meetings with Prince Edward and has gone to help put down the rebellion amongst the Welsh lords. His new wife went with him…
How could the Earl Devereaux have taken a wife so soon after his first wife and child were lost? It was not uncommon in an age where women frequently died in childbed to marry again within a short time, but the earl could not know whether Melloria lived. Surely he should have taken longer to search for her before taking a new bride? The fact that he had not made Nicholas feel that the earl had not truly loved his wife. He could not have loved in the sense that Nicholas loved, with all his heart, his soul and body. To lose Anne and Iolanthe would tear the heart out of him. He would not wish to go on living, even for the sake of his work.
‘It shall not happen.’ He smote his fist against a stone pillar. ‘I shall never give her up.’
Laughter echoed around him, swirling like a mischievous breeze, filling his ears and head until he shut it out.
‘No, she is protected. You may not touch her. You may not take her soul. If you will have mine then take it – but you will not touch her.’
Nicholas banished the fear and wild thoughts that tortured him. He had anointed Anne with the Holy water. She could not be harmed. She was safe. She must be safe. He would give his life for her. He had risked his immortal soul for her.
His first wife had been young and innocent and her death had almost destroyed him, but Anne was different. She had become more to him than he could ever have expected, and Iolanthe had held his heart in her tiny hand from the first. So he had refused to let the nun into his house, but he was anxious lest his behaviour had made her more suspicious.
Nicholas measured quantities of comfrey, marigold, knapweed, yarrow, root of walwort, clover, herb Robert and various other minerals and barks he had stored in his cupboard. He mixed them with hot water, straining the liquid through a sieve after a certain time and then added other ingredients to make a balm that would ease pain in the limbs. As he worked, his mind twisted and turned as he considered the consequences of the Abbess’s visit.
What could she do? Unless she saw Anne and recognised her, she could prove nothing. While Anne’s memory remained lost there was no way that anyone could make him give her up, but he would not be able to keep them both hidden forever.
Nicholas wondered if he should leave this place and move on. Because of its isolated position, he had found it a sanctuary and he had built up a network of friends he trusted throughout the land, people, who like him, were dedicated to the science of medicine and the saving of life. He had lived undisturbed for nearly ten years but if the Abbess were to bring trouble on them it might be better to move on.
Nicholas had taken the precaution of having money safely deposited with goldsmiths in various places, both in England and abroad. He knew that if it became known how wealthy he was he would probably be accused of alchemy amongst his other crimes. It was his wealth that had aroused jealousy in his cousin, Count Rinaldo Santos. Santos had coveted what Nicholas had and used his influence with the church to have him arrested. One day he might pay for his spite.
Santos believed that Nicholas knew the secret of alchemy and had begged to be allowed to share the gold he had made by his magical powers. He had refused to believe that his cousin’s wealth was honestly earned.
Since the beginning of knowledge men had searched for the secret of turning base metals to gold. There were many men of learning who dedicated themselves to trying to discover the secret, whereas Nicholas knew there were easier ways of accumulating wealth. His business enterprises spread like silken threads, weaving an intricate pattern through commerce and the despised practice of lending money that was so often the trade of the Jews. Although not a Jew himself, Nicholas had friends amongst those persecuted people; he had suffered injustice and prejudice himself and bore none for the men who had helped him establish himself in his new life when he first came to England. He knew that if he decided to leave England the network of business acquaintance and friends would help him to establish a new life elsewhere. Yet superstition and suspicion were rife and a man like him would never be truly safe wherever he went. Besides, how would he explain his decision to Anne?
Would she trust him enough to simply go wherever he decided or would she begin to wonder and question? Would she refuse to accompany him if he left England?
Carefully measuring the quantities of dried feverfew, ground bark, powdered minerals and distilled liquids, he needed for the mixture that was to be taken by mouth, Nicholas was thankful that the nun had not asked for a cure for her own use. Had she done so he might have been tempted to break the oath he had taken long ago to preserve life. If the Abbess were dead, he, Iolanthe and Anne, would be safe.
Nicholas fought against the black thoughts, driving them from his mind. He had never deliberately taken life and would not begin now. He wrote his instructions in a clear hand, packed all the ingredients into a basket and called for a servant.
‘Carry this to the Abbey of Saint Innocent. You make take a horse for it is a long ride. There is sickness in the abbey, a sickness that can kill even the strongest man. F
or your own sake, keep a muffler over your mouth and do not enter the abbey even if the Abbess herself invites you. You are to give this basket to the gatekeeper and return immediately. Do not stop to gossip with anyone.’
‘Yes, my lord. I shall do exactly as you say.’
‘When you return come and tell me whether you were asked to see the Abbess or not.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Nicholas watched the servant depart. Cedric was a surly Devil at the best of times and seldom spoke more than he need. He was severely disfigured and grateful for his life and his service here. If Nicholas could trust any of his servants, Cedric was the one he would trust with his life.
He went to his desk and, opening his current journal, wrote down the ingredients he had used in the medicine and the doses he had recommended. Normally he hoped to hear how the cure had worked, but this time he would be content never to see or hear from the Abbess again.
If she suspected that the child was her sister’s, he would have no choice but to take Anne and leave this place that had been his sanctuary.
TWENTY SEVEN
Was she false or did he wrong her? Robert’s gaze dwelled on his wife as she moved about the hall. She was beautiful but there was something that made him suspect her of slyness – her smiles of being false.
Why had he lost the woman he loved above all others? Was it God’s punishment for his sins? Why could he not forget Melloria and trust his wife?
‘My father the King is expected any day. When he arrives, we shall put our plans into action. There will be no more frustrations; the time for retribution is at hand…’
Hastily recalling his wandering thoughts, Robert listened to the prince speak of his plan of campaign for that spring. Yet his eyes watched the easy manner Rhoda had when talking to his friend. He trusted Jonathan more than any other man for they were closer than brothers and he owed his life to him. As a child, Robert had been gored by a wild boar in the forest. Jonathan had driven off the beast with stones from his slingshot and then bound the wound to Robert’s thigh with cloth torn from his tunic and a stick to stop the bleeding. Somehow, he carried Robert all the way to the house on his back, where his mother had tended him until he recovered.
