HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6

by Margaret Brazear

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lord Summerville was true to his word. Adrian was given an official position on his staff, supposedly to follow up on reports of heretical activity, church services held in private homes and abandoned churches, preaching from Cranmer’s Book of Common Prayer, being involved in a system to help Protestants escape to France, where there were people willing to hide them. That was the position, but nobody ever ensured his part in it, and when he was told of reported activity, he had ample opportunity to warn the people concerned. It was not long before he realised his new friend was doing the same.

  He had not managed to find out what His Lordship had done with his real wife, but he no doubt would learn the answer one day.

  His main concern was Elizabeth. When told of the Queen’s instructions, she had almost broken down and for the first time Adrian saw the effect the fate of the Sinclairs had had on her.

  “You cannot do it, Adrian!” She almost screamed.

  “I shall be in a position to help, do you not see that?”

  “I see it, yes,” she answered, her voice still rising. “I see it well. You will try to help, you will get yourself suspected and arrested; you will die.”

  “No.”

  “Yes! And what of me? What of our daughter?” She placed both hands flat on her stomach and her eyes met his; her voice dropped to a frightened whisper. “What of our baby?”

  “Baby? You are with child?”

  “I am. It could be a son. Do you want to put us all at risk?”

  The terror in her eyes scared him. He had never seen her like this before; she was always nervous since this reign began, but never like this.

  “I cannot refuse,” he told her. “That, too would put us all at risk.”

  “Then we must leave,” she insisted. “We will leave England, go to France with the other escaping Protestants. Or we can go to the Americas, find your brother.”

  He pulled her into his arms, felt her trembling against his chest and almost broke down himself.

  “I cannot leave,” he told her. “That would look even more suspicious. What of my mother? She cannot endure a long sea voyage.”

  “She is an old lady,” Elizabeth said. “No one will suspect her.”

  “Old ladies have been executed before now; they have even languished in the Tower and died of the cold. Once our absence is discovered, all my property will be confiscated and she will have nothing. Is that what you want? All I can do is try my best to do what is right. Would you have me run and hide from that?”

  “Yes,” she mumbled miserably against his chest. “I am so afraid. What will I do if they take you? How do you know you can trust Richard Summerville? He is well known to be responsible for the deaths of many martyrs.”

  “I can trust him, rest assured. But it would be best for you to stay here at Kennington House, you and Mother.”

  As he prepared to move to his London house, once more Elizabeth tried to persuade him to flee.

  “We can go to your brother,” she said again. “We will be safe there. Your mother is strong; she will survive the journey.”

  “But what of you?” He asked as he gently put his hand on her slightly bulging stomach. “You cannot make such a journey with this precious cargo.”

  The terror in Elizabeth’s eyes made him doubt her sanity, not for the first time. He had never realised before just how frightened her ordeal had made her and all he wanted to do was stay with her, comfort her, make her feel secure again.

  But he had to do what was safest and that was to part from her.

  “I will visit as often as possible,” he said.

  He took one step toward her, intending to hold her in his arms, to kiss her goodbye, but she pulled away from him, something she had never done before.

  “If you will not leave, take us to your brother or to France, you can stay in London forever for all I care.”

  He stared at her incredulously. This could not be Elizabeth; this could not be the woman who delighted him with her very presence, the woman who loved him, the woman he adored.

  “Elizabeth, you do not mean that. You are frightened, I can see that.”

  “If you had any sense you would be frightened too,” she shouted. “I know what will happen. You will be discovered, you will be arrested and they will tie you a stake and set fire to you, just as they did the Sinclairs.”

  Her voice had risen to near hysteria as she spoke.

  “That will not happen,” he assured her. “I swear I will be careful.”

  “Go then! But please, do not come back.”

  ***

  Richard Summerville had given him many ideas of how to help the Protestants, without actually saying anything specifically. He was very clever at keeping his enemies close, but Adrian was sure he was not the only one betraying the Queen by warning the Protestants when to flee.

  He decided his family would be much safer if he left them alone as much as possible, but after a few weeks, he was longing to be with Elizabeth, to sleep in her arms, to see his little daughter. Although he was still smarting from her last words to him, he knew she had spoken out of fear and he was concerned for her mental health. The way she had reacted to his new position was worrying in the extreme.

  As the time for her confinement drew near, he was determined to go home and stay until after the birth, whether she wanted him there or not. All the worry was doing her health no favours and childbirth was a dangerous time without adding that to the mix.

  So he went home to Surrey, intending to stay, and he could not wait to hold his wife in his arms. It seemed he got there just in time.

  “My Lord!” April came running as he entered the house. “Her Ladyship is in labour.”

  “What? Has a midwife been sent for?”

  “Yes, My Lord, she is with her now.”

  “Where is my mother? Why has she not sent for me?”

  That is when old Lady Kennington emerged from the great hall, waving a letter in her hand.

  “I have just finished writing to you,” she declared. “Her pains began this morning. I am so glad you are here; she has been very unstable these last few weeks.”

  He waited in the ante room, while his mother went inside the confinement chamber to hold his wife’s hand and soothe her.

  “Adrian is here,” she told her as she wiped her forehead with a cold, wet cloth. “He is next door.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes were wide and fearful. She had not yet forgiven him for refusing to leave the country and she feared that where he went, Mary’s soldiers were sure to follow.

  “He should not have come,” she said fearfully.

  “Of course he should come. It is his child.”

  Elizabeth could not reply for a pain shot through her and she screamed, a loud piercing scream which terrified Adrian in the next chamber. To hell with convention, he thought. He strode toward the bedchamber and flung open the door.

  “My Lord!” The midwife cried, outrage clear in her voice.

  “Adrian,” his mother said, leaving Elizabeth to stand before him. “You cannot be here.”

  “If you think I am going to sit out there while my wife needs me, you do not know me at all.” He went to the bed and took Elizabeth’s hand. “Do you want me to stay?” He asked her.

  She nodded. The second child was supposed to be easier than the first, but this was far, far worse than before. She had lost a lot of weight with the worry of Adrian’s position at court, with the lack of sleep for worrying. She was not as healthy as she was when little Elise was born.

  Adrian should not be here, not in the confinement chamber. This was no place for a man.

  “My Lord,” the midwife said. “You must leave. This is women’s work.”

  “My wife needs me beside her and I am staying.”

  ***

  Late in the evening, Adrian lie beside his wife as she sat up in bed holding their baby son in her arms. He was still recovering from actually being at the birth, although the midwife kept
the covers well over Elizabeth and worked beneath them. He was unsure if that was for his benefit or whether it was the normal way of things, but he had more important questions for now.

  She looked so serene with the baby in her arms but it was the first opportunity he had to see how thin she had become. He watched as his mother left the chamber clasping the hand of little Elise who had been brought up to see her new brother and when she had gone Adrian hugged his wife close to him and kissed her lips. He did not want to ask about her health; he could see it was poor but he had no idea what to do about it.

  “How are you feeling, darling?” He asked.

  “I feel well,” she answered. “Thank you for coming, for staying.”

  “Of course I came,” he protested.

  “After what I said to you last time we met, I thought perhaps you would not want to see me.”

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

  “I know you did not mean it. You were afraid; we all were.”

  “I am still afraid, Adrian. Every time I close my eyes I remember that day, I dream about the Sinclairs being taken away and burned.” Tears escaped and she squeezed her eyes tightly to stop them. “Now I am no longer with child, can we leave?”

  “Leave?”

  “Yes. Before you said we could not go because of the journey; now we can go.”

  “I am not sure the children would survive such a journey. It is very hazardous. The ocean can be rough.”

  Elizabeth stared up at him with angry eyes, her mouth turned down in a grimace.

  “You never intended to leave, did you?” She demanded. “You want to stay here. You want to stay in Mary’s employ; you will betray us all, just like Elliot!”

  ***

  Adrian was in a dilemma. He was delighted with his baby son, named after him, but his need to stay with his wife, to try to chase away her fears and convince her they were in no danger, was cut short when he was called back to court.

  He had managed to avoid the Queen except during the first meeting, but he felt she was watching his every move. He wanted to stay in Surrey at least until the dangerous time was passed. It had been so long since he made love to his wife and his dreams were filled with her beauty. His need for her grew with every moment he was away from her and now he must return to London without tasting that bliss even once.

  He often wondered how long this reign could last. He never thought the day would come when he saw Mary Tudor on the throne of England, or any Catholic for that matter, but to be dragged into her web of evil was too much. She had married the Prince of Spain and brought the inquisition to England; twice she had declared herself with child and sent shivers of fear through every protestant in the country. If she ever gave birth to a healthy son, her reign of terror would never end.

  There were plots to put her sister on the throne, plots that sister would have nothing to do with. There was one to prevent the marriage, but it had failed and the ringleaders had been caught and executed.

  He, too, would have liked to escape to the Americas, but when he thought of his estate going to the followers of that horrible papist, when he thought of dragging his family across the ocean to a wild land, he just did not have the courage. And what of the good he was doing here? It was frightening and Elizabeth was right to be afraid, although he would rather lie to her about that, but he had saved countless protestant lives since the day Richard Summerville came knocking at his door.

  So the months went by and every letter he received from his wife made him long to be with her. He wanted to stay in London to keep his family safe, but his children were growing without him, his wife’s health was of great concern. He needed to go home; eventually he gave in to temptation.

  “Elizabeth!” He called out as he entered the house. “Where are you?”

  He was weary from the journey. He knew he should have stopped along the way, if only for a short rest, but he was too anxious to get home and had no wish to waste even a moment.

  Elizabeth appeared on the stairs, looking down at him with a frown marring her beautiful features. He had no idea what to expect, what sort of greeting he would receive from her, but she looked angry and he was not expecting that. But he was relieved to see she had put on a little weight, her face was fuller although her colour was still pale.

  He moved toward the stairs, ready to gather her into his arms, but there was no smile for him, just the frown. She carried on down and he saw that in her hand she clutched a sheaf of papers. He recognised them at once; they were his letters from Marianne and instead of the joy he had prepared for, he felt a flash of anger. How did she find them? He had hidden them in a secret drawer in his desk and she must have been hunting thoroughly to have discovered them.

  Now she reached the ground floor and stood before him, her eyes icy cold as he had never seen them and she waved the letters in his face.

  “Who is Marianne?” She demanded.

  “What are you doing with those?”

  “I am your wife,” she answered. “I am entitled to know who else my husband is bedding.”

  “No, Elizabeth. You are wrong.”

  “These letters tell me you are lying. They tell of a love affair, they tell of a love which endures even now, and they end with endearments from you which belong to me!”

  He had hidden all the letters in the desk at Kennington House, even the ones he had received in London. His desk was a better hiding place than anything he had elsewhere and he thought it safer, that Elizabeth was less likely to find them. Why did he feel guilty? He had nothing about which to feel guilty, so why had he not told his wife about Marianne?

  Behind the fury, he could see a great sadness in those beautiful eyes and that stilled his anger. When he first met Elizabeth, his one wish had been to take that sadness from her eyes and turn it into joy. He had succeeded in that. Now his actions had brought it back.

  She was right; she was entitled to know about Marianne and the only reason he had never told her was because he did not want to cause her pain. Now she knew and knowing half the tale would cause her more pain.

  He took her in his arms, held her close and kissed her. He wanted desperately for that kiss to be returned, but she did not respond to his embrace, only stood rigidly, still clutching the letters. He had to tell her about the letter writer first, or she would have no peace and neither would he.

  He took her hand and began to lead her up the stairs but she pulled back, clutched the banister rail and stopped.

  “You think to come from her bed straight to mine?”

  “Of course not. I want to explain to you, that is all, and I want to do it in private.” Still she held back, but he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Please.”

  Reluctantly, she followed him but the frown remained, marring her lovely features.

  In their bedchamber she sat on the bed, her sad eyes staring up at him and he knew he had to convince her, as he could not bear to ever see those eyes so sad again. He came and sat beside her, held her hand and began to tell her about Marianne.

  He told of his first meeting with her, of how her father was selling her on the streets. He told of how he rescued her from that life, kept her as his mistress in a suite of rooms in London, even told her of his intention to keep her as his mistress after they were wed.

  “But once I met you, I knew that was never going to happen. I told her the truth, that I had fallen in love with you, that I would not be unfaithful to you. And I have not, I swear to you on our baby’s life, I have ever been faithful to you.”

  “So you told her the truth?” She demanded. “But you could not give me the same consideration.”

  “Elizabeth, there was no need for you to know. Had you not gone into my private desk, you would never have found out.”

  His voice rose a little as he spoke and she stiffened, pulled her hand away.

  “Your private desk? Since when did you have anything private from me? I thought we
had no secrets, but it seems I was wrong.” She picked up one of the letters and tossed it into his lap. “This one is recent. It tells of your position at court, it is signed with love. Am I to believe you no longer love your trollop?”

  He flinched at her words.

  “Marianne was almost forced into the life of a prostitute. I will not have you call her a trollop, because she is not one. She is a decent woman whose life was nearly ruined by a man who should have protected her.”

  “You will not have?” She got to her feet and turned her back on him, stared out of the window at the grounds outside. “You can speak to me like that, yet you say you no longer love her?”

  “I did not say that, Elizabeth,” he said softly. “She is still dear to me and always will be. But she is not you, I could never come close to loving her the way I love you. You mean everything to me; I could not survive if I lost you.”

  He stood behind her, took her arms in his hands, leaned over her and kissed her neck. She shrugged him off.

  “I have not seen her since we were married, before that. Without her letters I would not know if she were alive or dead.”

  “Why do you need her letters? Why do you care if she is alive or dead?”

  He turned her around to look at him, held her arms in his strong grip. He wanted to make love to her, wanted to take her to bed, but he could see she would not allow it.

  “I loved her once,” he replied at last. “Before I met you, I loved her. I want to be sure she is safe and happy, that is all.”

  “And you are still paying her rent, giving her a stipend to live on? There is but one reason a man would do that.”

  “You are wrong.”

  “Am I? I see by this address she lives not far from you. Do you expect me to believe you are keeping her in expensive rooms, while your wife languishes in the country, but getting nothing in return?”

  “I am not, Elizabeth, I swear it. I rescued her, I have a responsibility to her. That is all.”

  “She is the reason you would not leave England, is she not?”