The man bowed quickly and fled, passing Antonia’s hiding place as he hurried through the door. She got to her feet and walked quietly into the hall, stood for a moment watching Robert and catching back the tears which were forcing their way to the surface.
"So you lied again," she said accusingly.
Robert turned quickly to look at her, his frown of concern apparent on his fine features.
"Sorry?"
"I thought you had begun to trust me," she said. "I thought that was why you had given me all this freedom."
"It is."
She shook her head.
"It was so you could be free to plot with your friends against the Queen."
He stepped forward and took her in his arms, pulled her towards him.
"Hush," he said urgently. "Do you want everyone to hear?"
"You are joining the rebellion?" She demanded. "You are going to get yourself killed, one way or another. You will be executed as a traitor and I will once again be left with nothing. Thank you."
"No. You have little faith in me. Why are you so certain the rebellion will fail? Nobody wants this marriage the Queen is planning to Philip of Spain. We will have the support, we cannot fail."
"Those words alone tell me I have never known you at all," she said, catching back a sob. "I never took you for a fool."
A flash of anger flitted across his features and she felt his grip tighten as his hands attempted to bunch into fists on her arms.
"Do not insult me, Antonia."
"What else would you have me do? It is only three months since the coronation; have you forgotten already the joy of the people, the celebrations with which the Queen was greeted? She is a Tudor and that is all they care about. Most of the country are still Catholic anyway; it is only the yoke of Spain they fear, not the inquisition which he will bring."
"What are you saying, Antonia?" He asked. "Are you concerned for my safety, or for your own position if I should not survive?"
She pulled away from him and slapped his face, hard.
“How dare you?” She demanded. “How dare you even think I would put my own position before your safety, before anyone’s safety. How dare you?”
He frowned as though suddenly realising what he had said.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not mean that.”
She shook her head, closed her eyes and sighed.
"Do as you please," she said, as she walked away from him. "You usually do."
Robert conceded that Antonia was possibly right in her assumption that Wyatt's rebellion would fail, but he had to try. This mad fanatic on the English throne would horrifically murder every Protestant in the country and bring the inquisition to England with this ridiculous match with the Spanish prince. If the people of England did not at least try to prevent it, their island would be floating in blood.
He returned from the meeting at Allinton Castle determined to join the rebellion and do his best to overthrow Mary Tudor before she did any more damage. It was what he believed in, but still he silently admitted to himself that one word from his wife would stop him. If he could only sleep beside her again, if he could only know she loved him and believed him, he would not care what happened to the country or the Queen or anyone else.
But that seemed a forlorn hope, especially now. She was right; he had given her the freedom to come and go as she pleased, a freedom he had never had the right to deprive her of in the first place, then began to meet with the rebels. Of course she believed he did it for his own purposes, of course that action did nothing to dispel her fears. And it had not even occurred to him, he had not given a thought to how it would look to her. What a bloody fool he was. It was little more than a year since he had stood outside this house believing his future was sealed. He had never laid eyes on Antonia then, and his certainty that he would marry Camilla and bring her to Roxham Hall had been the only thing he thought of.
Since then he had fallen in love, come to despise Camilla and had his heart broken into pieces by her actions. Now nothing mattered very much; he had discovered what love really meant and he wished he had not, since he would have been happier without it.
He did not tell Antonia he was going to Maidstone to join the rebels, did not even kiss her goodbye, and the farther away from home he rode the more he regretted it. It was possible he might not return, possible he might be killed or captured, end this week with his head on a block on Tower Hill.
Antonia watched the torrential rain and wondered once again where Robert was. She had made her opinions about this ridiculous rebellion clear, but she doubted he would listen. He had disappeared, left the house without so much as a goodbye or a wave and she had not even known he was gone. That was three days ago and nobody seemed to know where he was, not even Frederick.
"My Lady, I am rather concerned for His Lordship's safety," the manservant told her. "It is not like him to go off for three days without telling someone where he was going."
"I agree, Frederick," she replied, "but where to start looking? I very much fear he has gone to join Wyatt's rebellion against the Queen and if that is the case, it is possible he will never return."
Frederick caught his breath and his hand involuntarily shot to his mouth.
"My Lady, surely he would have more sense."
"I hope you are right. If you know anyone at all who might have a clue where they are meeting, now is the time to say so."
Frederick shook his head, then left her to stare at the pouring rain. Some hours later, when the water coming from the sky had diminished to a drizzle, and Antonia still sat at the window hoping to see Robert riding through the misty rain, an unfamiliar carriage pulled into the courtyard. The door opened and a youth of no more than fourteen climbed down and ran into the house.
She stood up, went to see who this visitor was.
"My Lady," the boy said. "Lord Roxham has been injured."
Her heart jumped and her hand shot to her chest as she stared at him.
"Where..." She began.
"I have brought him home," the youth was saying. "It was likely a dangerous thing to do, but it would have been far more dangerous to leave him there to be discovered."
Frederick walked past her with two manservants to lift Robert out of the coach. She stood back and watched as the three men lifted his unconscious body into the house and up the staircase to his bedchamber.
"What happened?" She asked the youth.
"A sword fight broke out, My Lady. We were on our way into London and a small group of soldiers intervened. Most of the others escaped to try and make it to the city, but His Lordship and a few others decided to fight the soldiers off to give them time."
She could only stare for a moment, trying to gather her jumbling thoughts into something coherent onto which she could concentrate. So she had been right, he had gone to join the rebellion and now he was seriously injured.
"Follow me," she told the youth and led him down to the kitchen, where she leaned over the balcony and called out to the servants below. "Get this young man something to drink, and eat, whatever he wants. Bring hot water and clean cloths to His Lordship's chamber at once."
Then she ran through the house and up the stairs to Robert's chamber. A maid followed shortly after with the hot water and cloths and Antonia sat on the bed and soaked one of them. She tore Robert's shirt away from his body and gasped as she saw the wound which still bled profusely.
"Is there anything I can do, My Lady?" Frederick asked.
Her first thought was to ask him to send for a physician but her mind went back to the ones she had seen when she was so ill. One had wanted to pull her teeth whilst the others put those horrible, blood sucking little devils on her body. She could see no practical advantage in either of those remedies.
“Can I help you to undress His Lordship,” he offered.
"No," she answered. "I can manage."
She could see the old servant was worried, but she desperately wanted to be alone with her husband. She
had the most awful premonition he would not recover and as she bathed his naked chest, she realised just how much she had missed him, how much she loved him. The doubt she had still lingered, but she continued to bathe the injury, then took some more of the cloth and laid it on the wound until the bleeding abated a little.
She moved his shirt off his shoulders to look for more wounds; there were none, but still he slept on. She looked at that muscular chest and recalled its closeness to her breasts, felt the throbbing deep inside herself and leaned forward to kiss his breast. Still he did not wake.
Frederick returned with the youth who had brought Robert home.
"My Lady," he said with a bow. "I wanted to see how His Lordship was faring before I left."
"Did he hit his head? I cannot seem to wake him."
"I think it might be the fever, My Lady," the youth replied. "He seemed to grow very hot on the way here. Should I send for a physician?"
She looked at Frederick for advice, once more recalling the leeches.
"I think it might be best, My Lady," he said.
"Very well. Get someone here, please, and quickly."
While she waited, she did her best to staunch the blood which continued to flow from the gaping wound. Several cloths were soaked and bright red before the physician arrived and stood on the other side of the bed. She sat and held Robert’s hand, her eyes wandering around her surroundings. She had not set foot in this chamber since she became ill, and the last time she was here she slept in this bed, rose to heights of passion in Robert’s arms and yearned for more.
She turned her gaze away as the physician poked and prodded and frowned, brought out an ugly looking needle. Robert stirred, turned his head and she held tighter to his hand, praying that on some level, no matter how deep, he knew she was there beside him.
For a moment she thought her prayers were answered, but he was delirious.
“Antonia,” he murmured. “I want my wife. Where is she?”
“I am here, Robert.”
She squeezed his hand tighter.
“She has gone,” he muttered. “She thinks I tried to kill her, thinks I wanted her dead. I will never get her back, never convince her.”
The physician narrowed his eyes at her quizzically, but she ignored him.
“Robert,” she said again. “I am here. Can you not hear me?”
“I think not, My Lady,” the physician said. “His Lordship is delirious. He has no idea where he is or what he is saying.”
“What can I do?” She asked, her eyes filled with a pleading that softened the man's expression.
He lifted the sodden cloth from Robert's chest to reveal six ugly stitches which made Antonia shudder.
“It is the best I can do to stop the bleeding, My Lady. It needs to be kept clean and if you bathe him with cold water, it will bring down his temperature.”
“Aside from that?”
“We can pray,” the physician answered mournfully. “That is all we can do.”
She turned frightened eyes on him as he packed up his instruments and put them away, ready to go.
“I am going to lose him?”
“I cannot say, My Lady. If the wound gets infected, it is possible, so keep it clean and keep it dry. I shall come back tomorrow.”
When he had gone she went to the door and ordered cold water and more fresh clothes. It was freezing in the chamber, and it occurred to her that might be a good thing, it might help bring Robert's temperature down quicker.
She ran to her own chamber and returned wearing her cloak; she had no intention of leaving him tonight. Frederick was bringing in the water as she got back to the chamber and she stopped him as he was putting logs on the fire.
“No, Frederick, leave it, please. It might help to bring his temperature down.”
He nodded and left while she soaked the cloths in cold water and laid them on his head and face, bathed his chest and listened to his mumbling, trying to make sense of it.
“She will not be found if it is not what she wants,” he muttered. “She will go to work on a farm, milking cows if needs be. I will kill Camilla, and her greasy little maid.”
She laid down beside him and put her arm around his neck, resting his head on her shoulder and listening with hope in her heart. He was delirious; he could not be lying.
“Robert,” she called to him softly.
But there was nothing, his eyes did not open, he did not move, just continued to mumble.
“Why did I not tell her, Frederick?” He mumbled. “Why did I not tell Lady Antonia that I loved her? Perhaps she would have believe that, but I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what, Robert?” She asked, but there was no reply. He seemed to have sunk into a deep sleep, his breathing was smoother, his skin cooler.
Antonia slid down and put her arms around his waist, her head on his chest and closed her eyes. She could have prayed, but she did not believe it would help.
She woke the next morning to find Robert still sleeping. She put her hand on his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief to find it cooler.
The door opened and Frederick came in.
“My Lady,” he said, “Lord Stanton is here. He is asking to see you.”
Lord Stanton, she thought, Camilla’s father? What did he want?
“I will come down, Frederick,” she replied. “Will you stay with His Lordship, please?”
“Certainly, My Lady. There is breakfast in the hall.”
She stopped partway down the stairs and watched the top of Lord Stanton’s slightly balding head as he paced about the floor. He looked agitated, impatient, like a man with a confession to make.
“My Lord,” she addressed him as she reached the bottom stair and held out her hand.
“My Lady,” he said, taking her hand and brushing his lips over it.
“How can I help you, My Lord?”
“I came as soon as I heard that Lord Robert had been injured. Has he improved? Is he recovering?”
“His temperature has returned to normal, but he has not yet fully regained consciousness. I have no idea if he will recover, if that is what you are wanting to relay to your daughter.”
Lord Stanton caught his breath and his face flushed.
“No,” he replied. “She does not know of his injury, but she did write to me recently, a letter I received only yesterday. I was on my way here this morning when I heard of Robert’s injury.”
Antonia was silent for a few moments, trying to decide how much information she could trust him with. His family were fiercely Catholic, always had been and one of the few local families to keep a priest hidden in their house when King Edward reigned. She wondered for the first time how religion entered into Lord Stanton’s thinking when he had approved a marriage between Robert and his daughter. She could only suppose he assumed that young man to be Catholic like his father.
“Did you happen to also hear how Robert was injured, My Lord?” She asked suspiciously.
“A sword fight was all I heard, My Lady.” He looked uncomfortable but Antonia would not ease his discomfort by offering him refreshment or a seat. She wanted him gone; she wanted to return to Robert.
“It is an embarrassing errand which has brought me here,” Lord Stanton said quietly. “My daughter has confessed to me that she ordered her servant to feed you tainted broth to deliberately make you ill. I am so ashamed, but an apology is necessary.”
“From you, or from Lady Camilla?”
“Both of us, of course.”
“What prompted her now to confess? Has someone found her out?”
“It seems, My Lady, she has concluded her actions have put her out of favour with God. She has been trying to conceive a child and it has not happened.”
Antonia turned her smile away so that he could not see.
“She confessed her sin to her priest,” he told her. “He apparently would give her no absolution unless she confessed to you, which is what she asked of me.”
“Did she tell yo
u why she would do such a thing?”
“She did,” he replied, his glance falling away from her. “She was jealous, wanted to keep you and Robert apart. I could have understood had she loved him, but I do not believe she did. Will you forgive her?”
“No, My Lord,” she said. “I cannot do that.”
“But…”
She shook her head and lifted a hand to still his tongue.
“I discovered what Maisie was doing when she spilled some of the broth and it killed a rat. I ran away from Robert, I believed he had ordered my death in order to have his title and Camilla. Even after she wed, I could not trust that was not his intention.”
“It was not.”
“I see that now, but not because Camilla says so. Because my husband is possibly dying and is delirious, yet in his ranting he has revealed the truth to me.”
Lord Stanton breathed a sigh of relief and gave her a little half smile.
“That is good.”
“It is,” she replied. “But it is likely too late. Were it not for her interference, my husband would never have risked his life as he did. If Robert dies, your daughter will have deprived us both of the love we were beginning to share and the chance of an heir to Roxham. You can tell her from me that she may have God’s forgiveness, but she will never have mine and if Robert dies, she will have his blood on her hands.”
Antonia took some bread and a pitcher of milk from the great hall and made her way toward the staircase where Frederick waited to be of service. She wanted to be capable and take charge, but she felt far too devastated to give her mind to the task.
Why had she not believed him? All that wasted time and now it may well be too late to make it up to him, too late to feel him in her arms, feel his lips on hers once more.
“Can you get the fire made up now, Frederick,” she asked as she walked past him to the staircase. “His Lordship’s temperature is down and I do not want him to catch a chill while he is too weak to fight it. I fear we may lose him as it is.”
“Yes, My Lady. You go and be with him; leave everything to me.”
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 50
