The messenger did not get there before the torches were lit across the country. Bethany had not really seen this display before, or at least not noticed it. The first torch she saw was in their own village, then she looked farther into the distance to see the flames getting smaller and smaller as they moved away to other parts of the country, all the way from London, proclaiming the victory of Mary.
She finally forced herself to do what she had half hoped she would not have to. She made her way down those stairs and along those tapestry covered passages until she reached the huge, arch shaped oak door that led into the old church. She stood staring at the door for a long time, her heart hammering as she prayed for forgiveness. The first time she had been here, Richard was holding her hand and she had not known what was on the other side. She had never willingly come to this place, always with him, always because it was what he expected, what she had promised him. This time was different, this time she was entering this iniquitous place of her own free will, only to find out if she could ever feel safe in such a place. Her prayers had been answered, Mary had won and Richard was safe, she would have to enter this place and others like it and she wanted to know if she could do that without fearing the wrath of God.
At last, she took a deep breath to still her racing heart and turned the iron handle. She was surprised to find the candles lit and the little priest kneeling at the altar. He looked up sharply when she entered, then smiled and rose to his feet, reaching out a welcoming hand.
“My lady,” he greeted her. “Welcome.”
And so it began. Father O’Neil led her through long and complicated instructions, about the Catholic faith, about the belief system and dogma that she had accepted so flippantly. Then came a Latin service, and when she left the church, she felt she had made a pact with Satan which could never be forgiven. And she did not do this for riches and position, for a title. She did it for the love of one man. That had not been her intention when she accepted his treacherous bargain, had it? She was going to brazenly forgive his infidelities, she would accept his Papist ideals, because of the wealth and power he had to offer her. Now none of those things mattered any more; she would live in a wooden hut with him. She had known exactly what she wanted; she had known exactly what she was doing.
She sought out Anthony for advice, as although he was only young, he was wise and knew more about what went on than she. Nobody would think to tell a woman, even if she were a countess.
“I doubt he will be home yet,” he answered her enquiry. “He will stay at court until the coronation. He will want you to join him I should think, but we best wait for word.”
So wait she did, but not with patience. She was anxious to learn what changes this new Queen would make and how soon she would begin to persecute the Protestants. Anthony said she had promised not to force people to follow her religious beliefs, but Bethany found that hard to believe. One of the tenets of the papist dogma was that they shalt not suffer a heretic to live.
It was only two or three weeks before the men began to return from London, bringing with them word from Lord Summerville. He wanted his wife to join him, he wanted to present her to the Queen. He wanted her at the coronation, but he told her to wait as he would have no time for her in London.
She was despondent, but knew he was right. He was close to Queen Mary and she had no wish to meet her before she absolutely had to. From the years of stories she had been told, she imagined her as an evil witch, laughing as she watched the heretics burn.
Bethany would spend the time exploring the mansion in which she now lived, in which she could so easily get lost. There were many rooms, many portraits along galleries and in chambers that were never used. The whole east wing was closed up. Houses like this were built so the reigning monarch and all his court could visit and stay in comfort. Sometimes those visits had left a family penniless, but there was nothing to be done about them. Since the death of King Henry there had been no royal visits to Summerville Hall, as the family had not been in favour with the young King Edward. She suddenly realised this would all change now, that Mary might well descend upon them with all her court. Her immediate thought was of where she could hide, where she could escape should that happen, but she did not think Richard would allow it. She had made a promise and her place was at his side, no matter how difficult that turned out to be.
She found her way to the attics, which she had not known existed. There was a flight of stairs and a small door which led into a dusty room full of paintings and cobwebs. She crossed to the window and rubbed at the grime with her sleeve to see the view across the fields. Winterton House looked tiny in the distance, but the sight of it brought her mind back to Julia. She could hardly wait to begin her search for her, but she had to stay here, stay where she could be summoned if needed. Julia had chosen to go, had she not? Surely if she were in any trouble she would send word.
The paintings which were piled against the walls were very dirty, so much so that it was difficult to make out the detail. A lot were landscapes, there was one of Summerville Hall itself, although not a very good one. She supposed that was the reason it was hidden away here. As to the others, there were so many of them. There was only so much wall space to be had.
She pulled one away to find herself looking into the very pale face of a pretty young girl with auburn hair and green eyes. Her green gown was of the finest velvet and she wore a necklace of pearls, but her expression was sad. She took it to the window to try to get some more light on that face, but it was impossibly dirty, so she carried it out of the attic and along the corridor to her own chamber. It was a very big painting and far too heavy for her to take further.
In a chest she found a cloth that had been used to polish some boots and she wiped away the grime with that. Clean, the girl in the portrait looked even sadder, and Bethany wondered who she was. She could barely make out the writing engraved at the bottom of the frame, so she spat on the cloth and scrubbed away at it until it became clear.
‘Rosemary, fourth Countess of Summerville’ it read.
Bethany just stared for a moment, thinking she must have read it wrongly. But no, it definitely declared this to be the fourth Countess of Summerville. But was she not the fourth Countess? It is what she believed and she saw no reason to doubt either Richard’s word or her own senses. On the other hand, nobody had actually told her that; she had just assumed, knowing her husband was the fourth Earl. Nobody had lied, had they? Merely not corrected an assumption they may not even know she had made.
She leaned the picture against the wall beneath the window and stared at it. The title could only mean one thing that she could think of: Richard had been married before, which made a lot more sense considering his age and his social position. But why had he not told her? She recalled asking him about a wife and he had only replied that he did not have one, not that she was dead, as Bethany could only assume she was. It would seem a more natural response, would it not? She also wondered why her portrait was hidden in the attic to rot away beneath the dust and the spiders’ webs.
Was it possible he had hidden it there himself when she agreed to marry him? Perhaps he thought it might cause her distress to have it on display. But no; she could see that the grime which covered her lovely face was the accumulation of a lot longer than the few months since their marriage. Rosemary had been consigned to the dusty depths of the attic long before her successor came along.
Bethany went downstairs in the hope that Anthony would have a different explanation. She waited until he had finished giving orders to the steward and had turned to smile at her.
“Who is Rosemary?” She asked without preamble.
He drew himself up sharply and took a deep breath.
“How did you find out about her?” He asked.
“I found her portrait. If she is the fourth Countess, who am I? And where is she?”
“She is dead,” he replied. “She died of plague at the same time as my parents.”
“But who was s
he? Why did Richard not tell me he had been married before?”
Anthony did not reply for a few moments, as though thinking about his answer, not wanting to say the wrong thing.
“You had best save that question until Richard returns,” he said at last. “It is not a subject I know enough about. It is his business and up to him to tell you.”
With that he left her sitting beside the window, gazing out thoughtfully at the summer landscape. The church was visible now through the trees; there was no longer any reason to keep it hidden, so a clearing had been made. Staring across at it, she noticed that the cottage next to the church remained hidden. There had been no need to reveal its whereabouts when the church was uncovered. She needed a walk, she needed to feel the sun on her face and ponder her discovery. She would not feel secure until she knew the truth about Rosemary, until she knew why he had kept this secret from her.
As she walked she thought about the pretty face in the portrait and tried to imagine her with Richard, tried to imagine her in his bed, in his arms, making love to him, and she thought she knew why he had never spoken of his first wife. Obviously the memory was too painful; he must have loved her very much and the notion made Bethany’s heart twist with jealousy. What had Rosemary had which she did not? Why did he love her so much, but did not love Bethany? She wished she had never discovered that painting.
After a walk of some twenty minutes across the meadow she was hot and grateful for the coolness of the thick foliage when she finally stepped into the woods. The little cottage was deeper inside, but she could just make out the wattle and daub walls. This place was old, very old and she wondered what it was doing here, what it had been built for. It would be the right position for the priest’s home, yet it seemed too small and humble for such a man.
It didn’t look as though anyone had been inside for many years, but the door was not locked so she opened it carefully and went inside. The door creaked a lot, making her wary of arousing some entity of the woods. It was furnished very sparsely, but it was clean, not dusty like somewhere that had been disused for years. She glanced around, looking into the small space. The fireplace was a circle of stones in the centre of the small room and directly above was a hole in the ceiling to release the smoke. There was a wooden bar across which held a huge cauldron and the ashes beneath it were still warm. Someone had been living here, but there was no sign of any clothing or personal items. It was as if someone had moved on, perhaps sensing she would be looking inside, or someone would.
She was just coming out of the front door when she saw the little priest emerging from the church. He smiled at her, just as he had the first time she had encountered him, and walked quickly toward her.
“Can I help you with anything, My Lady?” He said pleasantly. “If you wish me to hear your confession, it is no trouble to open the church again.”
Confession? She shuddered at the very idea, but realised it was another aspect of the faith she had not taken into account. She had managed to avoid it so far, since it was an intensely private thing and not something Richard would enquire about, either to her or to Father O’Neil. The very idea of exposing her private thoughts to anyone, much less a celibate priest, was abhorrent to her.
She wondered what sort of absolution he would offer if she confessed to him her almost unbearable guilt at participating in Latin masses, that she felt she was giving a little more of her soul to Satan every time she did so.
“No, Father,” she replied quickly. “Nothing of the sort. I was just wondering who lived in the little cottage.” Then it dawned on her and she wondered why she had not realised before. “Of course, I expect you have been living there yourself.”
“I have indeed, My Lady. But now the true faith will be restored, His Lordship has invited me to live at Summerville Hall.”
When had he done that? He could not have known Mary would win, but still it must have been arranged before he left.
“When we married,” she suddenly asked the priest, “did His Lordship tell you he was a widower?”
“Of course, My Lady,” Father O’Neil replied.
Of course he had. He would not lie to a priest, but he had no hesitation in concealing it from her!
The next day a messenger arrived from London. Richard was ready for her to join him at Court, the coronation was set for October and he wanted her to be there. The Queen was very family minded and was eager to meet the wife of one of her most trusted and loyal courtiers.
She was not looking forward to that, but her heart sang to know she would soon be with Richard. She suspected she had at last conceived, but while she longed to see the joy on his face when she told him, she wanted to keep it to herself until she was absolutely certain. It must have happened that last night, before he went away, as though God knew he would not be coming back. But he had come back, so what did that mean? Could it be that God really was on Mary’s side?
While servants packed her things two gentlemen arrived to escort her to Court. She felt very important, just as she had wanted, but she also felt their happy solitude was over. Now that Richard was an important figure at Court, would they ever again share that quiet companionship which they had known before?
***
It was only a week until the date set for the coronation. Gathering support for Mary had been comparatively easy and took little time and little bloodshed, thank the Lord. Mary and her army were welcomed in London as he suspected would be the case; she was the rightful heir and the people knew that.
Now most of the work was done, most of the arrangements were in place and he would have to send for Bethany to join him. He had hoped that being away from her would cure him of what he believed to be an infatuation, but it had not worked that way. He had missed her terribly; his sleep had been filled with dreams of her, of her lovely face, of her sensual body and he did not like it. He wanted to make her think less of him, wanted to push her away so she would not be hurt when he gave his allegiance to the Queen, when he put that Queen before his wife. He thought about her reaction to the Catholic services in his church and he dreaded having to present her to Mary. Pretence was not Bethany’s strength, a fact which had endeared her to him, but now pretence might be the most important thing she had ever had to do.
He needed to push her away, for her own sake. He tried to be angry that she had not yet conceived a child; if he were angry it would be easier for him to show her his dark side, but he was a fair man and it seemed unfair to blame her for something which was of no fault of hers. Still, it was something to think about.
***
On reaching the city, Bethany was conveyed to Whitehall Palace and taken to a suite of rooms on the first floor. Her mind was full of questions about Richard’s first wife, about Julia and how to find her, there was so much she wanted to discuss with him. Her mind was so busy and she was so excited to know she would soon be seeing him again, she hardly noticed the magnificent building. When she stepped inside the chamber and saw him sitting at the table, everything else flew out of her mind and her heart leapt into her throat.
He stood up from the table where he had been writing and smiled as he walked swiftly toward her with his hand out ready to take hers. She ignored his hand and fell into his arms, determined that any thought of Rosemary would not spoilt this moment.
“I have missed you so much,” she murmured between kisses. “I do not think I could have spent another day apart from you.”
He held her close and his kisses were hungry, making her throb with longing for him, and she had no control over her tears.
He took her face between his hands and looked down with a concerned frown.
“Why the tears? Are you not happy to be here?”
“I am. I know not why I am crying, probably because it is so good to feel your arms around me once more.”
“You have had a long journey. Refreshments will be here soon, then we can rest for a little while. There is a lot to prepare before the coronation.”
“
Will we be able to go home afterwards?” She asked impulsively. “Or will we have to stay here?”
He frowned and gripped her shoulders as he held her away from him.
“It will be the Queen’s decision, Bethany,” he replied. “Not mine. Besides, I thought that was what you wanted, to be presented at Court, to be rich and important.”
Was he teasing? His expression said not but she was unsure and she did not like his tone one bit. Something had changed since he had been away; he had never spoken to her like this before. She remembered he had spoken of mistresses; how had she forgotten that? Now she wondered if her arrival had interrupted his pleasure. She caught back a sob and tried to pretend she had not noticed his cynical tone.
“But you cannot spare the time away from Summerville Hall,” she argued. “People there need you.”
“Anthony can run the estate,” he replied then he looked at her thoughtfully before he spoke again. “It seems he may have to get used to it after all, does it not?”
She knew what he was referring to, and she could scarcely believe she was hearing such harsh words from him. But still there was no tone of anger, only disappointment and that tone hurt more than anything.
“There is still time,” she replied, but she sounded submissive even to her own ears and that was not an impression she wanted to give to anyone. “Or are you anxious to get back to your mistresses, My Lord?”
He looked startled, then he pulled her toward him and kissed her cheek.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I am tired. It has been a great strain and as you say, we still have lots of time.”
***
Being presented to the Queen was terrifying. All her life Bethany had heard how fanatical she was, and she felt irrationally that those huge, staring eyes of hers were looking right into her soul and knew how she felt. The presentation took place in the royal apartments in the Tower, where Mary would lodge until her coronation. She did not say much, for which Bethany was thankful.
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 7
