Margaret stared at her suspiciously, but she took her hands and sat beside her on the bed. Richard was right about one thing: pretence was not in her nature. This was going to be one of the hardest things she had ever had to do.
“Why would you do that?” She demanded. “You are the wife of the architect of it all, of the fanatic’s greatest ally. You know, do you not, that once Elizabeth is Queen, your Lord will die as the traitor he is?”
Bethany swallowed hard, trying to put herself into another role, one in which she wanted Richard dead. It was the only way to convince her that she spoke the truth, but oh! It was almost unbearable to do.
“Do you imagine I enjoy seeing my friends die a horrible death? Do you imagine I am happy to be the wife of such a man? To have people believe I must agree with him, since he is my husband? He has humiliated me in the worst possible way.” She wanted to say that his death would be a blessing, but she choked on the words. “I think Elizabeth should be Queen, just as you do. You must come with me to a place I know where it will be safe for us to meet, where you can bring your friends to plan properly without interference.”
She still looked suspicious, but Bethany put her arm around her to comfort her fears.
“I watched Julia die,” Bethany said, choking back tears. “I was there. You think I do not want an end to that? You think I do not want revenge for her death?”
She did not want to remember that, but she believed it was what swayed her in the end. Margaret hated Bethany’s husband, as did her friends; it was easy enough for her to believe that his wife might also hate him.
“You be quiet here. You rest for now. Tonight, I will come for you and show you a place that is safe, a place that is secret. Will you do that for me?”
She nodded, then lie down on the pillow while Bethany slipped away, locking the door once more. Bethany would wait until after dark, until all the servants had gone to their beds, just as she had done before when leading those Protestants through the underground passage. That is where she intended to take Margaret, down beneath the house and into the crypt where she could slide the lid from the stone coffin of one of the Summerville ancestors and hide a body inside.
It would not be difficult to lure her there, she was sure. She had made her believe she was on her side easily enough, so why could she not have done the same to Mary Tudor? For the sake of the man she loved? But she was not desperate then, now she was.
She rested on her bed for a few hours, but real sleep evaded her. It was very dark when she emerged, carrying the leather purse and wrapped in her velvet cloak. She lit a candle to guide her through the dark passages of the house and at last arrived at the east wing. She took out the key to open the door to the bedchamber, but it was already unlocked. Had she forgotten to lock it? She was sure she had not; it was too important to their safety. She tiptoed and hoped the door made no noise, but there was no sign of anyone. Bethany searched through all the chambers; there was no sign of her. She could not have escaped, could she? Bethany cursed herself for being so gullible as to think she had convinced her sister-in-law where her own loyalties lay.
She went downstairs with the intention of looking outside, in case she was still in the grounds, but when she reached the door to the underground passage, she found it open. Margaret could not have found that door, it was well hidden, merged with the wall panelling.
The shuffling sound from the tunnel made Bethany step back, half expecting to see Margaret with that manic look in her eyes, but it was Anthony who emerged. His jacket was dishevelled, his shirt open and grubby and there was perspiration beading on his forehead.
“What have you done?” She asked.
“What you would not have done,” he replied.
“But I…”
“Oh, I know what you had planned. I have been watching you, listening at doors. But you would never have done it and you would never have had the strength to lift the lid of one of those coffins.”
Bethany stared at him, her eyes wide with shock.
“It had to be done, Bethany,” he went on. “She was a danger to us all.” He brushed his hands together to remove the grime and dust from the crypt. “It is done and nothing more to be said.”
She watched him walk away, expecting to feel some sorrow for the passing of her brother’s wife, but all she felt was relief. She could hardly be shocked at the sudden demise of the wife beater now, could she? At least he had deserved it. All Margaret had done was to lose her mind amid enough loss and terror to make a saint go mad.
Some future generation of curious descendants might open that stone sarcophagus, and they would wonder why one of those boxes contained the bones of two people. Perhaps they would think them lovers, buried together, but they would never know for sure. Nobody would know except Bethany and Anthony that the bones were those of her only brother’s widow, come to her for help.
She rose early the following morning to walk in the grounds and clear her head. Autumn was upon them, there was a damp chill in the air and Bethany pulled her cloak closely about her, clutching the two sides together to keep out the cold and feeling the blame for what had happened to Margaret.
She walked as far as the trees before she stopped, not wanting to get close to the priest’s cottage, still afraid it might reach out and grab her. She turned back toward the house to see what looked like a messenger leaving the house. They did not get so many of those, not since Anthony now knew how to run things without Richard’s constant instructions, so she was naturally curious.
When she approached the house she saw that Anthony wore a worried frown and his face clearly showed his distress. In his hand he held a piece of unrolled parchment, bearing very familiar handwriting.
“I have bad news,” he said. “Come inside, please.”
They went into the smaller room which was more comfortable for sitting than the great hall. The fire was alight and glowing, making it warm, and Anthony sat opposite to her. She wondered what he had to tell her. After all, bad news to him might well be good news to her, but that was Richard’s handwriting. She would recognise it anywhere and she wondered what sort of bad news he had to impart, at least of the type that she could be warned about.
“Well?” She prompted.
“I have just received this despatch from London,” he said gravely. “It is from Richard. He is in the Tower.”
“What?” She jumped to her feet and grabbed the letter from his fingers. “Why? I do not understand.”
“Read it. It seems he is convicted of treason.”
Her legs dissolved beneath her and she collapsed onto the settle behind her. She could do nothing but stare at the familiar writing, though not a single word she read made any sense.
“So the Queen has discovered she has been lied to?” She whispered hoarsely.
“I imagine that is the reason. I can think of no other, unless of course she has learned of your own deceptions.”
She hardly knew how to answer and she sat staring at him for a long time, hoping he would see the folly of his words.
“No, Anthony!” She cried out, finally finding her voice. “You will not blame me for this! Do you see any guards come to arrest me?”
He shook his head slowly.
“Forgive me,” he said at last. “I am distraught.” He took the letter and waved it at her. “Did you read this? He has been convicted already not just charged. I knew nothing about a trial. He goes to the block tomorrow.”
His words tore through her like a sword and while she tried to stand, all her strength seemed to have drained away. Her anger with Richard, the resentment she had carefully nurtured since he banished her to the life of a peasant, dissipated in a second. She would never see him again, she really would never see him again. The forgiveness she so wanted from him could never now be sought, the love she still had for him could never now be spoken of.
“I have to go to him,” she said at last. “I have to see him.”
“They will not let you in,” Antho
ny replied.
“Why not? I am his wife.”
“And he will not want you to announce that, you must understand.” Anthony started pacing the floor urgently. “If he is a traitor then you could be condemned as well.”
“I do not think I care very much,” she said after some thought. “What have I got to lose? My child has gone, my husband has gone. I have nothing else.”
“Richard has written that neither of us is to go to London lest we be arrested, too.” He paused then turned away as he went on. “It is best to do what he wants.”
“And I have had enough of what Richard wants,” she replied firmly. “Richard wanted to spend his time with that woman. He wanted me to stay and live like a peasant, so that no one would know. I did everything he wanted, because he wanted it. No more. Now I must do what I want, and I want to see him.” She turned to look at him thoughtfully, a doubt coming into her mind. “But you must stay here,” she said. “What will happen to Summerville if you are arrested?”
“There will be no Summerville, Bethany. If Richard is executed as a traitor, all his wealth and his property will be forfeit to the crown. You and I will have nothing.”
“Then there is really no reason to stay, is there? I am to lose my home and my title because he could not keep his hands off his trollop, but still I am going to London. Still I have to see him one more time. Who is the fool now? You must be very satisfied to see me brought to this.” He made no reply, but she thought she saw his expression turn to one of dismay. “Are you coming with me?”
***
Richard had given his last few coins to the gaoler in exchange for writing materials. He was not sure how much would be left, if Summerville and all its lands and properties would be forfeit, but he wanted to make a Will. He had valuable jewels he wanted Bethany to have, even if she sold them. She might have to and even if she was not forced to it through need, he would not blame her.
He sat on the ledge beside the window where there was just enough light to see by and looked around at the cold, stone cell, at the straw covered floor. He pulled his fur cloak tightly about his shoulders and closed his eyes.
It would soon be over. Rachel was safe, at least, and if Bethany no longer loved him, as he believed, she would be free to marry again if that was her wish. The thought of her with another man twisted his heart, but he knew he deserved it. He had allowed her to love him, then he had thrown her love back in her face by letting her think he loved someone else.
He had imprisoned her in that freezing cottage to live like a peasant for a year, he had separated her from her only child, and he had viciously attacked her. Of course she no longer loved him. He had killed that love.
What a damned fool he was! Tomorrow he would go to his death, a public execution on Tower Hill. He would lay his head down on a wooden block, already stained with the blood of long dead traitors, before a jeering crowd and he would begin his journey through purgatory. He expected that journey to be a long one for he had many sins for which to atone.
But none of it mattered. He had lost everything in this life he ever loved; he had lost Summerville, he had lost Bethany and his daughter, and he had put Rachel’s safety at risk. He looked forward to the dawn, when it would all be over.
He had written to Anthony, telling him what had happened, and now his will was almost finished. He had written a letter to Rachel, too, but he had no idea how he would get it to her. No one must suspect that she was the woman who had impersonated the Countess of Summerville and insulted the Queen by taking Bethany’s position as her lady in waiting. He would roll the letter up and put it beneath his collar, that way his blood would obliterate it if he could find no other way to get it to her.
There was but one wish he would want granted and that would be to hold Bethany in his arms once more, to kiss her lips and feel her heart beating against his, to make her believe he loved her even if she no longer loved him.
He thought it was a hopeless wish, until the key turned, the door opened and he looked up from his writing to see his wish standing before him.
***
Anthony nodded then took his cloak down from the board and ordered the horses saddled.
They rode for some hours to get to London, stopping to change horses at an inn in Cambridge. There was a feeling of urgency about the journey, even though they both knew there was still time and there was nothing either of them could do to save him. She was in a panic the whole way there lest something happened to delay them, lest they should arrive too late or not be allowed access.
There was a mist hanging over the distant grey buildings, as though it had come in his honour, had come to aid him on his journey to the hereafter. They drew rein and sat on their horses and watched the old building, imagining the horrors that had gone on there. Bethany wondered behind which little window he was, she wondered if he could see daylight.
They dismounted, left their horses at the stable while they took the boat down the river to the entry gates. They passed traitor’s gate, the one Richard would have been taken through, the one the Princess Elizabeth is said to have refused to enter. They say she sat down on the steps and would not move, declaring that she was no traitor.
As they passed beneath London Bridge, she shivered with horror when she saw the heads, some rotting and putrid, some fresh and still wet with blood. She recalled the words she spoke to Richard at one of their earliest meetings, that she would hate to see his head up there on the bridge. It would be there though, would it not? Come tomorrow, his handsome head would be up there on a spike with all the other traitors. It was a ghastly sight, made even worse by knowing there would be one more tomorrow.
They had both got out of the boat at the quayside, but she wanted to go in alone. What she had to say to Richard was for him alone.
“Well,” Anthony said. “Are we going, or have we come all this way for nothing?”
“I will go first,” she said. “If you do not mind.”
“You are welcome, My Lady. But I would advise against revealing your true identity.”
She nodded and began to climb the slippery, stone steps. Inside, it was dark and damp, and there was water running down the walls. It was little wonder prisoners of this place died of lung rot after many years of incarceration. At least Richard would be spared that.
It was not as hard to get in as she had imagined. It seemed gold coin was as effective here as anywhere else. Nobody searched her, nobody enquired as to her identity, not until she got to the actual cell door, then it seemed Anthony’s warnings were in vain.
“So you are the real wife, then,” the guard said brusquely. “The genuine article. I would give a lot to know what the man has, that you would still willingly make this journey, enter this terrible place, just to see him, after all he has done to you.” Bethany gazed at him, astonished by his words. How did he know who she was? Then he went on. “Or have you come to gloat?” He said. “Have you come to see him brought down? Nobody would blame you.”
She shook her head.
“No. I would never do that. Yes, I am his real wife and I am proud to be so. Are you going to allow me to see him?”
The guard nodded. She thought about how it must have looked to him. This wealthy, titled man had kept his mistress at court, risked his life in so doing, while his lawful wife languished in the country. Yet she still wanted to see him, to say goodbye to him, even though he was here for the sake of that other woman, not her.
The guard turned the key and pushed the door open. It was dark inside and took a few moments to accustom her eyes; she blinked to focus and she saw Richard. He sat on a stone ledge beneath the window, writing with a quill and parchment. His fine silk shirt was grubby and there was blood drying on the sleeve. She wondered only fleetingly if it were his blood or someone else’s. It hardly mattered after all. Over the shirt he wore a cloak of fur, which he would need in this place. The stone floor was strewn with straw and there were no other furnishings so she suspected the straw covered floo
r was where he slept.
Scuffling in the corner as the light came in from the open door made her step back in alarm. Rats, startled by the sudden light scampered away into the darkness.
There was a little light coming from outside, enough to see him raise his head and look up. He laid down the writing materials and stood quickly, then he took a step forward as the guard left and closed and locked the door behind him. The sound of the key turning sent a chill along her spine.
She had heard many horror stories about this place and her first impression was that they were all true. She could imagine nothing worse than being locked in here, with the damp and the cold and the rats, without even the small comfort of a mattress or a cover with which to warm herself. She desperately wanted to turn and run, but she also wanted to take him in her arms and comfort him. She chose the latter option; if this was her last chance to see Richard, then she must take it, no matter how gruesome the surroundings.
She had come this far, still uncertain of her welcome. It could be that he had no wish to ever see her again; she would not blame him.
“Bethany? Is that really you?” He asked softly.
Her carefully prepared self control collapsed and she ran to him, no longer caring whether he wanted her or not. The last few years melted away. What did it matter that he had hurt her? What difference that he had chosen his whore over her and that she had lived those years in fear of him? She was about to lose him forever and this time was all that mattered now. Just do not let him tell me I am not welcome, she pleaded silently. She thought she could have borne anything but that.
She felt his arms wrapping around her, holding her close, something she had missed so much, and she slipped her hand inside his shirt and ran her fingers over his nipple. She kissed his chest where his shirt fell open.
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 19
