"She is," Antonia replied. "She has brought me a long way this day and I want her cared for. I intend to stay at the inn for tonight, possibly longer."
"Of course," he replied. "What is her name?"
The question endeared him to her. A lot of these places did not think animals should have names; they were just a commodity.
"Her name is Emerald," she replied. "And I love her, so please look after her for me. She needs water and hay and a good rest."
"That she will have," he assured her, "and a good rub down. And your name?"
She caught the L on her tongue before she gave herself away with Lady Roxham. She had not thought of this before now.
"Mistress Jarvis," she answered.
"You are travelling alone?"
"I am," she replied.
He looked surprised but said nothing, only took the reins of little Emerald and led her into one of the stalls.
She stood and watched as the stable hand led the mare to the hay trough, then removed her tack and brushed her down, wanting to assure herself that he would keep his promise.
"Do not worry," he said. "I will take care of her."
He narrowed his eyes when he noticed the bamboo cane she used to support herself, but she wanted no more questions so she turned and made her way shakily toward the door of the inn.
She was more grateful for the stick since riding all that way. Her buttocks were sore and the muscles in her back were stiff and painful. She had never ridden this far in one trip before, even when she had her strength.
She needed food and she needed to sit. She would worry about the future when she had filled herself with a good meal and was feeling stronger.
Robert might be home by now and she could almost see him searching her chamber for an indication of her whereabouts. She could almost see his angry scowl when he realised she had escaped him.
It was half an hour before Robert went downstairs to order some food and decide what to do next. He had thought about nothing else while he lie on her bed, but try as he might, he could think of no reason why she had gone. He was sure he had done nothing to make her want to leave him and the thought flitted across his mind that she had perhaps fallen for another man. But it was not a serious thought and he did not let it linger. Fidelity was very important to Antonia and she had said she loved him. She would not lie; it was not in her nature.
Until she became ill, they had been growing close, had made love almost every night, had laughed together, had ridden out together. He could not fathom what had gone wrong.
"Frederick, ask that little maid of Her Ladyship's to come in here, will you? She might have some clue about where she has gone."
"Maisie has gone too, My Lord," Frederick replied.
Robert raised his eyebrows.
"She has gone with my wife?"
"I do not think so, My Lord. Her Ladyship seemed to be angry with her, told me that if she returned from her day off I was to tell her she was no longer welcome."
"Why?"
"I have no idea, My Lord."
While he ate, his mind continued to be busy trying to find reasons for Antonia's sudden departure. He could think of nothing; she had made conditions when she agreed to marry him and one of those conditions, the one that seemed most important to her, was that she would not tolerate another woman in his life. Could it be that she believed he had been unfaithful to her? Was it possible that someone had been telling lies about him, lies she had believed? He sighed impatiently and shook his head; it was a silly idea. That would be so far out of character for her, it was not worth thinking about. She would have confronted him, demanded to know the truth, not gone sneaking off without a word.
He closed his eyes and recalled the last time he saw her, lying in the bed asleep, weak and pale. She had been like that for weeks. He could not point to the exact moment it had started, but as he thought back to that night, he remembered the dead rat he had removed from her floor and taken away. He also recalled the small pieces of sticky mushroom which clung to the creature’s fur from where it had lain. She had told Frederick that Maisie was not to be welcomed back, and as soon as she sent her away, started eating what Frederick prepared, she had grown stronger. Strong enough to pack some clothes, take some money, mount her little mare and leave.
He sat up suddenly, the truth dawning at last. She thought she was being poisoned, that was it, and she thought Robert had ordered it. It was so obvious when he thought about it. He had told her he loved Camilla, wanted to marry Camilla. He had married Antonia, gained his wealth and his title, allowed Camilla's maid to come here and serve his wife, and his wife had become ill, very ill. Of course she was being poisoned and Camilla must have ordered it! But he would not marry her now even if he were free. After the way she had behaved when he told her about his father's Will, no way did he want to marry her. But she did not know that, did she?
Antonia had once called him conceited, but he was never conceited enough to believe a woman would kill for him, especially not a spoilt, upper class member of the nobility, who had everything she could possibly want. Camilla did not love him, but she was vindictive enough to poison his wife just to have her revenge for losing the title. That he did believe. She had told them she was to be married to a northern earl, the son of a Duke and a man she did not know, so perhaps she felt resentful that she would have to go and live in the cold north with a stranger, whilst Antonia, the girl she referred to as ‘your little peasant’ would have the title and lands she had wanted, that she had expected to have for herself.
He finished his wine, then got to his feet and stormed out of the house, saddled a spare horse and rode to Lord Stanton's estate. It was only about a half hour's ride and there was still plenty of daylight; he tried to be angry, but his well known temper seemed to have deserted him. He could not quite believe Camilla would go to these lengths and he realised his fear of losing Antonia far outweighed his anger.
His wife was a clever and resourceful woman. She had fled because she believed he wanted her dead and he knew very well it would be near impossible to find her if she did not want to be found.
Antonia was able to stay a few nights at the inn she had found. She wanted to get closer to London, where the sheer volume of people would make her harder to find, but she wanted to get a little stronger before she did so.
The inn was clean and cosy and the food was good, but she needed to get on, needed to find some suitable work. She had plenty of funds but she could not live on them forever.
But this was the first time she was able to feel safe enough to relax a little and think about the events of the past few months. The first night in the inn, she lie down on the goose feather mattress and allowed herself to grieve. Remembering her wedding and the night which followed, the many nights of passion and love which they had shared, she wept at last. Was it hard for him, she wondered, to make love to her so often when he really wanted Camilla? Perhaps he merely closed his eyes and pretended she was Camilla, with her full breasts and shapely hips, with her full mouth and perfectly coiled hair. Antonia was nothing like that, nothing at all. She was small and undeveloped in the places that mattered. He must have a very vivid imagination to pretend one was the other.
How could he? How could he make her believe he loved her? That was unnecessary; she would have married him anyway, got his title and inheritance for him. He had no need to deceive her like that.
She sobbed into the soft, feather pillow, cried until she slept and promised herself she would grieve no more. He was not worth it, that was clear, not worth her tears, not worth her heartache and most certainly not worthy of her love.
It was over. The dream of a happy future with a man she loved had collapsed and died along with a glossy black rat and she must move on, look to a future without him, whatever it might bring.
She stayed a few more nights, kept herself quietly to herself, except for the friendly stable hand who cared magnificently for Emerald, and genuinely seemed to care about Ant
onia as well. Of course, Robert had also seemed to care for her and look what that had led to.
As she rode off on her little Emerald, she thought about Robert and how he would have taken her sudden departure. She expected him to be angry when he realised his plan had been thwarted and he would have to go to a lot of trouble to find her. She remembered the day he had threatened her, how angry he had been, and could only imagine what he would do now.
He would come after her, that was certain. He had no more choice in that than in marrying her in the first place. He had his title and his wealth and now he wanted Camilla; but to have Camilla, he needed his wife dead.
Antonia was surprised to find her lips creasing up and tears stinging her eyes. She knew when she met him that she did not like him but she had allowed herself to be fooled by his sudden change in personality, by his affectionate gestures. She had allowed herself to fall in love with him and now what had she left? He did not have to be so affectionate, did he? He had no need to go out of his way to win her over, not once she had agreed to the marriage; all he had to do was marry her. God! He did not even have to consummate the marriage if he preferred not to, if he found it distasteful, but he had not only done so, he had said it was sacred, and he had loved her with enthusiasm, he had gone to great lengths to please her, to awaken her passions, to make her yearn of him. Why had he done that? Was it a gesture of pity, to give her some happiness in her final months on earth because he knew she would soon be dead? She caught back a sob.
It would have been easier, much easier had he done this in the early days, when she was still unsure of him. It would not have hurt so much then. But she was not supposed to find out, was she? She was supposed to eat the broth and grow weaker, silently fade away until there was nothing left. And she would have done so were it not for Maisie forgetting to whom she was talking, giving herself away and spilling the broth. She would never have suspected otherwise; she was far too trusting for that.
She was only pleased she was not burdened by being with child. She had longed for a conception, wanted so much to see the joy on his face; now she was relieved it had never happened. She would have found it very difficult to escape and find work dragging a baby along with her.
As it was she could pretend she was Antonia Jarvis again, daughter of a minor baron whose parents had died and left her penniless. With a baby people would ask questions, want to know where her husband was, why she had broken faith with him and run away.
She was reminded of the gold band she wore on her finger and she reined Emerald to a stop while she pulled it off and slipped it into the little velvet purse which hung at her waist. Her memory tried to show her the day he had gently placed it on her finger, but she blotted out the recollection. She was having a hard enough time holding herself together; she did not need to be reminded of that.
One day she would get over him, she was sure, but she would find it hard to trust another man. And she was tied to him. She was not free to marry, not free to do anything. Her life belonged to him and she knew well what he had planned for it.
The manservant who let Robert into Stanton House told him to wait in the hall, rather than in the small sitting room as was the custom. Of course, he could expect no familial courtesy now, but the man had frowned at him when he asked for Lord Stanton, as though the request was unexpected. Even so he hurried away like the perfect servant he was to do His Lordship's bidding. It was not his place to question his betters.
He took himself off while Robert sat in the great hall and looked around at the empty space. Once upon a time he had planned a wedding feast in this hall, had sat here with Camilla and wondered how many people it would hold, visualised it hanging with garlands of flowers for their nuptial celebrations. Now it was empty and filled with echoes and so was his life. If Camilla had married that man from the north, as she said she intended, she had nothing to gain by poisoning Antonia, so could it be he was jumping to conclusions? It was possible the servant had taken it upon herself to do this as some sort of misplaced loyalty to Camilla. A horrible death awaited a woman of her class to atone for murder and even attempted murder would earn her a spell in the pillory and a whipping to go with it.
Why would she risk it? He started to have doubts as he waited, but his thoughts were interrupted.
"My Lord," Lord Stanton's voice dragged him out of his reverie. "I am surprised to see you here. Next week my daughter leaves for the north and her marriage to Lord Newforth."
She was still here? That was not the impression she had given when she asked him to take Maisie in.
"I was under the impression she had gone months ago," Robert said. "Not long after my own marriage to be exact."
"You must have misheard. We have taken some time over the negotiations. As you will no doubt understand, new arrangements had to be made and His Grace needed special assurance that no previous commitment had been made."
Robert blushed, but damn it! It was hardly his fault was it? He could not fail to notice the allusion to the expectation of rank Camilla would have, no doubt deliberately mentioned to put Robert in his place.
"My Lord," he defended himself, "the loss of my title and estates was not my doing, but my father's. I would have been happy to marry Camilla despite this, but she would have none of it."
"Of course not," he said. "The idea is unthinkable. Anyway, why have you come here?"
"That maid Camilla asked my wife to take on," Robert began. "Maisie?"
Lord Stanton frowned.
"What about her?"
"She left our house abruptly and I wanted to know where to find her mother. It seems the most likely place for her, if Camilla is moving away."
"Mother? She has no mother, Robert. She was an orphan from childhood, grew up in this house. She was devoted to Camilla and now you are saying she left her with you? I find that very hard to believe."
“I am not a liar, My Lord,” Robert snapped.
Lord Stanton gave a slight bow of his head.
“Forgive me,” he said. “That was a poor choice of words. I meant I find it hard to explain.”
So do I, Robert thought. So do I.
"Is your daughter here, My Lord? I really need to talk to her."
"She is. She asked me to tell you she had left already, but I will not lie for her or anyone else. I will have her fetched."
As he left the hall, he called to a servant to fetch Lady Camilla and another to bring wine for Lord Roxham. It seemed Robert was forgiven after all.
He was growing impatient by the time he heard Camilla's soft step in the doorway. He imagined she was wasting time, trying to avoid the meeting, perhaps even trying to persuade her father to hide her away. But when he looked up he saw that she had been carefully arranging her face and clothing, her hair and perfume. Was she trying to tempt him, or make him realise what he was missing?
"My Lord," she said softly as she moved gracefully into the room and held out her hand to be kissed. He brushed his lips against it reluctantly, then she went and sat at the table. She turned to face him where he sat on the settle and he thought she had settled herself in a higher seat deliberately. He got to his feet and went to take another chair at the table.
"Why did you tell me your maid had a mother here and did not want to leave her?"
She looked uncomfortable for a few moments before she finally replied.
"It was the best I could think of," she replied. "She does not want to accompany me to the north and I thought you would be more likely to take her in if I told that tale. I am sorry I lied."
"That is also a lie. You know I would have taken her in without some elaborate tale, or are you now going to pretend you did not order her to poison my wife?"
Camilla's eyes grew suddenly wide, her cheeks flushed crimson.
"Poison?" She cried. "I did not tell Maisie to poison your little peasant, no."
"Well, that is precisely what she has been doing and I do not believe for one moment she did so of her own volition, without your o
rders."
Camilla stared at him and her hands began to tremble.
"She is not..." she began, then swallowed hard. "Your wife. She is not...?"
"Dead? No, but only because your agent was discovered."
She pushed her seat back and stood up, again putting herself higher than him.
"How dare you?" She demanded, but she really did not sound as angry as her words would imply. "You play with my affections, lead me on for years, then just as I am about to make an advantageous marriage, you come here and accuse me? You think I would kill for you. How conceited can you be?"
She turned away, folding her arms as she stared through the window at the grounds outside.
"You can dispense with the pretence, Camilla," Robert said. "I know you put your maid into my household for a purpose. I am just not certain what that purpose was."
At last she took a deep breath and turned to face him, her cheeks flushed.
"Robert," she said, "I am sorry. I confess, I did put Maisie into your household deliberately, first of all to report back to me how things were working out between you."
"A spy?" He asked, appalled.
She nodded.
"I was jealous! For the past three years I have expected to have her title and her house and now I have lost out and I was jealous.”
Robert shook his head and gave her a cynical smile.
“Her title and her house?” He said. “I hear nothing about her husband. That certainly put me back in my box, did it not?”
She drew herself up to her full height but made no reply.
“The Duke of Newforth was making tentative noises,” she said, “and that was one thing, but I was still angry with you and with your wife and it would have made me feel better to learn that you did not like each other."
"Ah," he replied with a little cynical smile. "And you got told the opposite I suppose."
She cast her eyes down to look at her feet and when they once more met his, they had softened somewhat.
"That made me so angry," she admitted. "Maisie told me how you walked about the place holding hands, how you could not wait to retire to your chamber. I was seething! I admit it. I gave her a herbal drink and told her to tell your wife it would help her conceive. I knew it would make her ill, yes, but just ill enough to put a halt to your bedchamber activities."
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 44
