She laid her head down on his shoulder, feeling suddenly too weak to hold it up and her tears soaked into his shirt. He kissed her face.
"Do not fret, my love. I am not going to let you go."
Robert had employed a gardener to make a proper garden close to the house. When the old Earl was alive he cared nothing for beauty and said it was a waste of fertile land that could be used for growing edible produce which could be sold or eaten.
As summer progressed and the weather grew warmer Robert lifted her into his arms and took her to another chamber, where she could look out of the window at the beautiful flowers and shrubs which had grown up where once there was only vegetables.
"Do you like it?" He asked her.
She pressed her head against his chest, felt his heart racing.
"It is beautiful. Will I ever be able to go outside and smell those flowers?"
"Of course you will," he told her. "You were well enough last night, were you not?"
He grinned and she smiled back at him. They had made love last night for the first time in weeks. She did not feel well enough but she pretended she did, for his sake. She wanted to please him and she was afraid if she kept refusing him he might forget his promise and find comfort elsewhere. The idea of that made her heart twist painfully. But he must have known it was not the same, even though he made no mention of it.
It had been Maisie’s day off and he had come to help her with her clothing, that is how it began and she had felt a little stronger, but not strong enough to feel the passion she had grown used to. It did not last anyway; she was weak again the following day and still no sign of a recovery.
Each day she grew weaker and could do little else but sleep. Two more physicians attended her, even one Robert had paid to come from London, from the palace itself, but none seemed to know what ailed her or what to do about it. Leeches were once more applied, much to her disgust, but thankfully none of them suggested pulling her teeth.
She woke when Maisie put her bowl of mushroom broth next to the bed. In the past it had smelled delicious, appetising but now it made her more nauseous and she was unsure whether the perspiration which flooded her body was from the sickness or the summer heat which found its way through the window.
"I am sorry, Maisie, you had best take it away. I cannot drink it."
She looked doubtful, then picked it up.
"Should I leave it, My Lady," she said. "Lest you change your mind and feel hungry."
Antonia felt her stomach heave again and shook her head.
"No," she answered. "Please take it away. Why don't you eat it yourself instead of wasting it?"
She turned her head to see the girl's eyes opening wide, but she paid little attention. The maid started her usual banter, chatting about village happenings and enjoying the gossip she had heard, but Antonia was in no mood to listen.
"It is your day off," she reminded her. "You should be going off to see your mother. She will be missing you."
Maisie laughed.
"My mother has been dead for years, My Lady," she said, then her hand shot to her mouth and her cheeks grew red. "I mean, I..."
Antonia stared at her, wondering if perhaps the illness was making her delusional. But no, she had definitely said her mother was dead and she was definitely looking very embarrassed. She quickly picked up the bowl and turned to leave.
"I will take this back to the kitchen," she muttered.
"Wait!" Antonia ordered. Maisie stopped moving but did not turn back, kept her face to the door. "When Lady Camilla left you with us she said you did not want to leave your elderly mother. That was a lie?"
Maisie made no reply, only took a tentative step forwards, clutching the still hot bowl of broth, then stopped and looked at her feet. She began to tremble and the broth spilled over on to her hand, then on to the floor. She held the bowl in one hand while she wiped her other with her apron before it burnt her.
"Well?" Antonia demanded.
She felt unbelievably vulnerable. She was too weak to even get out of the bed and now she felt threatened as well, though why this simple, illiterate village servant should be a threat she could not imagine.
She waited for an answer but none was forthcoming, then Maisie fled the chamber, taking the broth with her.
Antonia turned on to her side and buried her face in the pillow. She had been lied to by both the servant and Camilla and she could not work out why. What possible motive could Camilla have for interjecting her maid into the household of her former suitor. He was married now, she had nothing to gain unless it was to spy on them, perhaps learn that they loathed each other. That would, no doubt, give her some satisfaction if she was of that sort of disposition, and Antonia could well believe that she was.
She had stood at the bottom of the stairs in their house and lied to their faces! Antonia could never have done that; she was far too honest. But if the woman hoped to learn their marriage was unhappy, she would be disappointed. She tried to smile at the idea, but she felt too weak to give the matter any consideration, and the damned leeches had made her no stronger. She shuddered every time she thought of them, wretched blood sucking creatures who were surely spawned by Satan himself.
She noticed the mushroom broth which Maisie had spilled on to the wooden floor and thought about calling for someone to clean it up. If it seeped into the floorboards it would putrefy and smell bad and in this weather it would soon attract ants and flies, all sorts of stinging insects which might come and attack her in her sleep.
But she could call for no one; she was too weak.
She heard a scuttling in the corner of the room and opened her eyes to see a huge, black rat scurrying across the floor to the spilled broth. Any other time she would have thrown something at it, but now she only watched it, fascinated by the coincidence of this rat coming to her aid, coming to clear up the spilled broth before it seeped into the floorboards, before the ants came along.
There was talk of the great pestilence of two hundred years ago being caused by these creatures, so she really did not want it here, in her bedchamber, but still she watched it. It seemed unlikely that it could have caused so much destruction. Its fur was glossy black and it looked clean, not something one would expect of a rat. Still, the people who studied these things must know what they were talking about or they would not have published such a finding, even though there were other experts saying it was rubbish. The church of course still believed it was a punishment from God. Everyone had rats; if there was a danger of pestilence from them, people should know so they could protect themselves.
She was about to doze off when she remembered the rat and thought she would like to know it had gone back to its hiding place before she slept. She had no desire to wake and find it had climbed up the bed covers and on to her bed. Rats could climb when they had a motive. She had seen them in the stables, walking up the walls as though they had secret, invisible wings. She rolled onto her side to look at it only to find it lying on its side, its little rat eyes staring and lacklustre. Dead eyes, straight after it had eaten the spilled broth.
CHAPTER FIVE
Antonia's stomach heaved and she rolled on to her other side and vomited into the chamber pot beside her bed. She had never felt so helpless or so scared in her entire life. The broth was poisoned, that was evident but why would Camilla want to poison her? It was not possible for Maisie to have taken it upon herself to do such a thing; she had no motive, but neither did Camilla. Robert would not want to marry her, would he? Not after she had killed his wife.
She had begun to get ill only a few weeks after Camilla brought her maid here, when she had first given her the herbal drink which was supposed to help her conceive. Then she started making her the mushroom broth which she said her mother gave to people who were suffering from maladies of the stomach. She said the herbs would help make her fertile and Antonia had heard of all sorts of natural medicines, herbal remedies that wise women mixed up for lots of different ailments. She had no re
ason to doubt her, not then. Now she knew the girl had no mother and that knowledge brought the suspicion that it was Camilla who had sent the recipe for the broth; who else? She thought Maisie was trying to help, trying to settle into her new position.
Antonia felt a sudden flare of anger; she did not like to be made a fool of. If she were not so open and honest herself, she might have suspected Maisie before this, before she had the proof of the dead rat. But she did not have a devious thought in her head and she always made the mistake of expecting the same from everyone else.
She wanted Robert, but she had no way of calling for him and it was unlikely the servants would come to see how she was, not when they thought Maisie had already been in. Robert would come to kiss her goodnight, but not for some time yet, not till he retired for the night himself. She would just have to wait, try to stay awake so that she could tell him about Maisie and the rat. But now a new fear clutched at her heart and almost broke it in two. How could she possibly know it was not him who had ordered this? He had not wanted to marry her; he had wanted to marry Camilla and it was only for the estate and the title that he had gone through with it. This could easily be his way of getting both his wealth and his lady love.
She thought about his sudden change of character. She had always been suspicious of that, even while he was showing her such affection. It was just a little voice in the back of her mind, doubting him, but she had banished that little voice because she did not want to hear it. He had said it was the real him, that the man she had met at first had been his angry side, his ugly side. He had convinced her that he was a kind and thoughtful man, he had fired her passions and made her trust him, made her fall in love with him. She caught the thought and held on to it. Yes, she had fallen in love with him and he had done all that so he could murder her and marry Camilla after all.
We will only ever be free of each other when one of us leaves this world. That is what she had told him; she must have given him the idea herself.
She glanced at the darkening sky outside and closed her eyes. Her memory was clear, she recaptured every detail of their passionate nights together and she could not believe there was no love behind any of it, not one single touch, not one kiss or caress. But it had to be him; Camilla had no reason to do away with her unless Robert sanctioned it. She would surely not have taken the chance unless she had his assurance, his promise to marry her once he was free. Without that, there was little point in doing something so dangerous. Tears forced their way from beneath her eyelids to flow down her thin cheeks. She loved him; she had believed he loved her, and now the truth was just too hard to bear.
He would come in soon to kiss her goodnight, to see if she was dead yet. She would pretend to be sleeping, that was the best thing to do. She was no good at pretence and if she had to speak to him, she would be tempted to speak her mind and she was not strong enough to give herself away. She was far too weak to fight him.
He had called in four separate physicians, so he had witnesses to confirm his claim that his wife had been ill for months. He would be the grieving widower, just as he had been the attentive husband and lover. He was wrong when he said he had no way to earn a living; he would make a very convincing actor.
She closed her eyes quickly and buried herself beneath the covers when she heard his footfall outside the door. She sensed him coming closer to the bed and her heart hammered so loudly she was sure he would hear. She was afraid he might be getting impatient and would hold a pillow over her face while she slept. Who would know? If Maisie had told him she knew about her, he might be tempted. He would know she would eat no more of the broth, that was certain.
She held in her tears as he leaned over and kissed her cheek gently.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmured. "I will pray for you."
Much good his prayers were doing, assuming he ever said any. She could not pretend to be asleep forever; she had to plan what to do next, how to get away. But she was too weak, she could not even stand up without help. For the first time she noticed how thin her wrists had become and how loose her wedding ring was, how it almost fell off her finger. She realised she had lost so much weight she looked like one of those skeletons they sometimes carved into the sides of tombstones.
She felt betrayed, she felt hurt and she felt scared, very scared. Now she understood what those affectionate gestures had been for. They had been to make her believe he loved her, make her trust him. How could he? Now she had nobody, nobody to help her, nobody to rescue her or help her to get away.
During the bad weather he had housed and fed the peasants and tenants inside his house. Now she wondered if a man who would do that could use her like this. Perhaps it was to impress her, one more gesture to win her trust, not something he would have done if left to his own devices. He may have got the idea when he learned she was in the kitchen, preparing food for the poor.
If that was a lie, so was Camilla’s statement that she was about to leave for Northumberland, to marry the heir to a dukedom. She was not going to marry the Duke of Newforth’s son, was she? She was waiting for Robert. Well, she would wait forever if Antonia had her way.
Frederick came in the morning with bread and cheese, and the milk she loved. She had always been fond of this old man and he was the only person she felt able to trust now. She pushed herself up in the bed and was relieved as he approached and put the tray in front of her. He took the pillow from Robert’s side of the bed and pumped it up behind her.
"Try to eat something, My Lady," he said. "Maisie seems to have vanished. I waited for her to come and make your broth but she never arrived and I am not sure if I should be worried about her. She went off to see her mother as usual yesterday and she hasn't been seen since."
"She has no...." Antonia stopped herself. She was about to tell him Maisie had no mother, but she suddenly felt she would be foolish to trust anyone, even Frederick. He might well pass the information on to His Lordship, in all innocence, and he would know his plan had been discovered.
Her glance moved to the spot on the floor where the rat had drawn its last breath, but the creature was gone. Robert must have taken it last night when he thought she was sleeping, but did he take it to hide the evidence or because it was a dead rat and he did not want it in his wife's bedchamber?
"Frederick," she asked. "Who prepared this food, this milk? Was it you?"
"Yes, My Lady," he said with a little smile. "It is the cook's day off and as I said, I could not find Maisie anywhere."
She was still suspicious, but she had to eat something. She needed to get away from this place, but without sustenance she would not make it as far as the front door. She had to trust Frederick; she had no choice.
There was money in her cabinet. Robert had put it there when they first married, an act of generosity which had warmed her heart. He said he wanted her to be free to go to the market if she wanted without having to ask him for funds. She wondered if it was still there. She had trusted Maisie far too much; she might have stolen it, or Robert might have taken it to prevent her escape. She had to know, but she could ask no one.
She was worried she might not be able to keep down the food which Frederick had brought, and it was difficult to eat it all, but she had purged her body of most of the poison and she felt a little better once she had eaten. When Frederick came to take the tray, she had a favour to ask him.
"Frederick, I need you to promise me that you will make my meals from now on, no one else."
"Of course, My Lady," he answered with a frown. "I said it was the cook's day off and unless Maisie returns..."
"No! I do not want her. If she returns you are to tell her she is no longer welcome."
Frederick was silent for a few moments before he replied.
"Whatever you want, My Lady," he said.
“And I want you to send someone to Stanton House to enquire if Lady Camilla is still residing there. I want you to be sure whoever you send is trustworthy and you are not to mention it to His Lordship.
Can I trust you to do that for me?”
“Of course, My Lady.”
She watched him go, wondering if such a request was risking too much. He might feel duty bound to convey such a strange request to Robert, but she had to know. If Camilla had really left to be married in the north, it may have been all her own idea and Robert might well be innocent. She may have done it out of spite, for revenge on him. On the other hand, if she were still here in Kent, Antonia would know he had a part in the plot to murder his wife. She closed her eyes and said a little prayer for the news that Camilla had gone when she said she would.
Antonia was certainly not expecting Maisie to return; she had tried to poison her, the dead rat was proof of that, but on whose orders? Was Camilla so angry about losing her title and wealth that she had ordered it, or was it Robert? Or were they planning it together? That last was far more likely, for Camilla would need to wait but a little longer until his wife was safely buried and a decent interval had passed. Then he would be free to marry her.
He had not really lied. He had told her things had changed, he had promised to be faithful and he had. He had never once told her he loved her but he certainly gave her that impression, it was definitely what he wanted her to believe.
Later that morning Frederick sent a maidservant to tell her that Lady Camilla Austin was still in residence at her father's home, Stanton House, and she buried her face in the soft, feather pillow and sobbed.
Little mysteries were beginning to make sense now. He had told her it was not only his title he was happy to get, but he would say no more. Now she knew he meant Camilla, that he had found a way to have both.
She recalled the day he had ridden to Stanton House with the news that he would have to marry his father’s ward in order to inherit. On his way back he called at the church, arranged the wedding. Over the next few days he changed, he started to try to win her over. It was obvious to Antonia that he had planned it all with Camilla during that visit and she had been stupid enough to fall for it, to believe he loved her.
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 42
