“How did you find my wife?” Richard demanded. “I asked you to follow Charles Carlisle; are you saying you followed him to my wife?”
“Yes. Is he her lover? Is that it? Is that why you have condemned her to a life of poverty?”
Richard’s head dropped forward into his hands. Suddenly all the anger drained out of him and he looked as though he might weep. Adrian was certain that had he been a woman he would have done so and now he wished he had kept his peace.
“I am sorry, Richard,” he said. “I had no idea. I came here to berate you, angry about your treatment of her. It seems I did not know the whole story.”
“You still do not know the whole story. Charles Carlisle is the leader of a covert resistance movement, responsible for helping hundreds of Protestants to escape to France. I discovered my wife was helping him, using my property and giving them my money to get away; your report that you followed him to her can mean only she is still betraying me.”
“But is that not a good thing? Is it not what we are doing?”
Richard looked up at him, his eyes filled with anguish, and a small, enigmatic smile on his lips.
“You do not understand,” he said at last. “If she is once again giving aid to fleeing Protestants, it is far more dangerous than before. She no longer has access to my house or my funds, so what precisely she is doing I have no idea but she must be stopped.”
Adrian was thoughtful for a few moments. Despite his friend’s protests that he cared nothing for his treacherous wife, he seemed very concerned for her safety. Or perhaps it was his own safety he was concerned about.
“What will you do?” He asked.
Richard shrugged.
“I have not decided. I brought my wife to court for the coronation, as you know, but she did not do well. She hates the Queen and she was incapable of hiding it; that is why I could not afford to have her here again and when Mary insisted on having her as one of her ladies, I knew it would be the death of her. That is why I installed my mistress in her place, to protect her.”
“That was a dangerous thing for her to do.”
“Yes, it was. But she wanted to do it and there seemed no other way. It worked well until my wife’s sister was executed at Smithfield. That is when she found out about the other Lady Summerville and she sought out her sister’s lover, Charles Carlisle. She wanted to help her cause, the cause she gave her life for, and she believed I was keeping my mistress at court in her place because I was in love with her.”
He paused and stared at the gardens thoughtfully.
“I do not know that this man is your wife’s lover, Richard.”
“That does not concern me,” he said. “I went home unexpectedly and caught her helping the Protestants. It was early in the reign and I was still giving the Queen my full support then; Bethany knew that. I was so angry, I did some terrible things to her, things I will ever be ashamed of. One of those things was to imprison her in the peasant’s hut where you found her.”
“That seems a little harsh.”
“It does to you, yes, because you are one of them. Tell me Adrian, if you found that Elizabeth was helping Catholics while you were working to free Protestants, how would you feel?”
“It is not a scenario I could even imagine. Elizabeth is still angry with me for taking this position instead of fleeing the country.” He paused, wondering how much he should say. “Your wife is a countess; your treatment of her is barbaric.”
“She is only a countess because I made her one. She is a commoner, a merchant’s daughter. Why should I be surprised to find her behaving like a commoner?” He sighed heavily and turned away, as though he did not want his companion to see his expression. “But you are right and she has been on my conscience in recent weeks. I have been wondering how I could move her to somewhere more comfortable, although I never want to have to see her again. Now it seems she has once more joined forces with Carlisle and I am not sure what to do about that.”
“What about giving her your support? It seems to me she is a very brave woman.”
“That would mean seeing her again. Besides, I do not want her putting herself at risk. She is the mother of my child; as such she deserves my respect but not for anything else. It is the only reason I let her live.”
CHAPTER TEN
As Adrian returned to his London house he wished he had never mentioned Lady Summerville. Now he had someone else to worry about as well as Elizabeth and Marianne, not to mention his mother who was getting old and frail. He continued to pay Marianne her stipend as he had promised her and wished he had some way of throwing her into the path of someone she might fall in love with. He felt responsible for her welfare and he felt guilty about the careless way he had treated her, but he never wanted to see her again. Perhaps his feeling on that topic was the same as Richard’s for his wife, feeling responsible but never wanting to see her again. He would not condemn her to a dark and dismal peasant’s hovel though, no matter what her crime against him.
For the next few days he went about his normal duties and his everyday tasks, and tried hard to shut out the ever increasing smell of burning flesh from the city. He had never been much of a man for prayer, but now he prayed sincerely that this damned woman who sat on England’s throne would die. For the first time he fully understood the plots against her and how men could risk their lives in attempts to rid themselves of her tyranny.
She could not live much longer, surely. Her Spanish Prince had abandoned her and returned to his native country and that had made her even more zealous, even more unbalanced. Adrian always believed her to be slightly mad and now he was quite certain.
He desperately wanted to move back to Surrey, wanted to try to earn his wife’s forgiveness, but he dared do neither while this royal hag still terrorised England.
He could do nothing to ease his mind about Elizabeth or Marianne, but Lady Summerville ate away at his conscience and he wished he had never found her. She had attracted his attention at the coronation procession because she was not joyful, but also because she looked very lost. She told him at the time she felt out of place among the company and now he knew why; she was not raised to noble circles. He could not help wondering why Richard had chosen to marry a commoner, when there were many titled ladies who would have been delighted to be his wife. Perhaps he had fallen in love with her and unlike Adrian, had decided to risk the condemnation of his peers and marry her anyway.
Her face still haunted him now as he thought about her and where she lived. She was not his responsibility, was she? It was up to Richard how he treated his wife, whether Adrian approved or not, but he felt certain there must be something he could do for her. Supposing she took ill, out there in the woods all alone? Supposing she had an accident? Who would know?
He had to assure himself she was safe and having a desperate need to get away from the capital and its horrors, he decided to make another trip to Suffolk.
***
Adrian arrived at the Summerville estate after a journey of two days, having stopped at an inn for the night. He wanted to take his time; there was no rush. Lady Summerville had survived without his aid all this time, she would last another day or two.
He was unsettled about how to approach her. Would she be afraid of a stranger riding up, or would he appear more threatening if he came by stealth, on foot? And what would Richard have to say about his interference? He would be angry, there was no doubt, but Adrian was not concerned about that. He liked Richard and he admired his courage and his convictions, he admired the way he carried on doing the right thing despite the entire country believing him to be the overlord of the Queen’s fight against heresy. But Adrian felt he had to do this, no matter what the consequences.
He tied his horse to the same tree as before and crept forward, listening carefully for any sound which had no place in the forest.
Reaching the cottage, he found the door standing open and no sign of anyone inside. He looked around the single room, saw the clothes chest
at the bottom of the bed standing empty but for a few peasant’s garments. The fire where she cooked her meals was cold and the whole place had an empty feel about it.
His heart leapt painfully into his throat. She had gone, that was apparent, and he recalled Richard’s words when Adrian told him about her visitor. She has once more joined forces with Carlisle and I am not sure what to do about that.
Adrian slowly began to shake his head, not even realising his own action. It could not be, could it? He asked himself. He also remembered what else Richard had said: She is the mother of my child. It is the only reason I let her live.
Adrian shivered. Could he have decided her punishment for this latest betrayal should be death? Was it possible the man he had come to call ‘friend’ had murdered his wife? He wondered why it was so easy for him to accept, why he did not doubt the man was capable of such a thing. He recalled his anger when he first told him about her visitor and now he felt sure his own report had been the death of her.
As he stood, he heard the church bell in the small village as it started to ring; at this hour it could only be the death knell. He stood and listened, his heart in his mouth, as it rang out twice, stopped, twice more, stopped then rang out twice for the third time. The death of a female.
Adrian ran to where he had secured his horse and mounted quickly, rode towards the village, praying he was wrong. He slowed his pace as he drew near to the little church and sat in his saddle to watch the funeral procession as it made its slow journey to the church doors.
He could not see clearly, as many people surrounded the coffin, the men at the front, but he recognised the tall figure of Richard Summerville in that crowd and he appeared to be carrying the coffin on one side, while on the other was a tall young man with reddish hair, whom Adrian had never seen before.
She was dead, he thought frantically. He had killed her and Adrian had played a part in her death for which he would never forgive himself. He came here to help her, to try to ease her burden somehow, but he was far too late.
As the procession drew closer to the church, the people surrounding the coffin dropped away and Adrian saw there were just the two men holding it up. Was Lady Summerville really that small? He watched the two men carry the coffin inside the little church, then he heard a wail, a woman’s voice as though she were in agony, and his eyes followed the sound to a small, thin woman, dressed in heavy black satin. She had fallen to her knees at the back of the procession and two women who looked like servants tried in vain to pull her to her feet. It was Lady Summerville and as he watched, Richard came running out of the church towards her. He lifted her to her feet, gathered her up into his arms and held her tightly against his chest, kissed her cheek and guided her slowly into the church.
Adrian found himself wiping his face with his fingers as he breathed a sigh of relief, but he needed to know whose coffin was being taken on its final journey. He rode slowly to the village inn and tied his horse outside, went in and ordered ale.
Everybody looked stricken.
“Whose funeral?” He asked.
The innkeeper passed his ale and frowned at him.
“Stranger, are you?” He asked. “The Lord has seen fit to take the Earl’s little daughter.”
Alicia? Now he felt ashamed of his relief, but at least he could never blame himself for this death.
“That is tragic. They have my prayers.”
***
What would happen now? Adrian thought as he made his journey home. Would Richard find somewhere more comfortable to imprison his countess? He might think he hated her, but he was quick to offer her solace in that churchyard and his affection looked genuine to Adrian. Perhaps they could forgive each other despite everything and perhaps Adrian could persuade Elizabeth to forgive him.
Could it be that the death of their only child would bring them together again, or was it likely Richard would carry out his threat now she was no longer the mother of his child? It is the only reason I let her live.
When Adrian arrived at his London house he was still considering the best way to make yet another attempt to reconcile with his wife. He could simply move back in with her, he had that right and if asked the church would command her to reconcile with her husband. But he would far rather make her love him again.
What he found awaiting him drove away all speculation about his own future or that of his friend. In the great hall stood a young woman dressed in strange clothing, a sort of blanket type covering he would have expected to see on a peasant, except the fabric was of high quality and remarkably clean.
Adrian stood in the doorway for a few moments staring at her and wondering who she was and what she was doing here.
She had apparently been offered no refreshments, since there was no sign of any platters or goblets and now she stood staring up at Elizabeth’s portrait while her children slept on, stretched full length in each other’s arms. It was a sweet sight, one he had hoped to see in his own family before things went horribly wrong.
As he moved into the hall, the woman heard his approach and turned, making him stop in his tracks, his mouth dropping open in shock.
“Frances!”
She ran towards him and threw herself into his arms, her own wrapping around his waist as she pressed her face into his chest and he felt the hot tears soaking through his shirt. He held her tight, kissed the top of her head and tried his best to soothe her, while his mind was a whirl of questions.
At last he guided her to the table and sat her down then went to order wine and food and milk for the children. Coming back to sit beside her, he put his arm around her and waited, sure she needed more time before pouring out her story. And he was certain she had a story, a sad one. She was here in England, in his house, she had made the gruelling and dangerous journey across the ocean alone with two young children; something had happened to Mark.
She sat up when the servants appeared with the meal and waited until they were once more alone. The children slept on.
“I am sorry, Adrian,” she said. “It was just such a relief to see you, to see someone who might care about us.”
“Do not even think of it,” he replied. “What has happened? Where is Mark?”
She started to eat before she replied; she was obviously very hungry and Adrian waited patiently for her to feel a little less so.
“Mark is dead,” she answered miserably. “I had to come back; that place is all the things you thought it would be, wild, savage. He got into problems with some Indians and he was wounded. He died of an infection and is buried in that God forsaken land instead of in the Kennington vault where he belongs. Oh, Adrian, I am so sorry. I wish we had never gone.”
He smiled, kissed her cheek.
“What was the alternative?” He said. “Mark refused my offer to help you to stay here; he wanted to build a future for you both, he wanted to make something of himself for your sake. Could you have stayed here, estranged from your family, outcast? You loved each other, you had some good years together judging by the two little ones over there.”
She smiled as she glanced at the children and wiped her tears away with her sleeve.
“We did, Adrian, we really did. We loved each other so much and I will always be grateful to you for allowing us that love.”
“I am glad. I could tell from Mark’s letters how happy together you were.”
“We built a farm, we learned how to tend the land and it was all very exciting. There were other English people there, and nobody knew we were nobility. It did not seem to matter and for years things were good. But then the Indians attacked; Mark tried to protect us and they shot him with an arrow. It did not heal properly and after he died and I was alone, there were men who came and tried to take advantage. They thought because I was alone I must be looking for a new husband and the farm and land was appealing. Oh, Adrian, I miss him so much, but now I feel that I killed him.”
“No!”
“I should not have tempted him. Had he not fallen in
love with me he would never have gone there, he would never have known the hardship and he would never have been killed.”
“So are you saying you wish you had married me?”
Frances’ eyes met his in alarm, but she saw the mischievous grin and knew he was trying to lighten her mood. She turned to look up at Elizabeth’s portrait.
“Is this her?” She asked. “Is this your wife? Mark said you had married.”
“It is. Her name is Elizabeth.”
“She is very beautiful.” Frances turned back to sit at the table, glanced to the window seat where her son and daughter still slept. “Do you love her?”
“I do, more than I could ever have loved you.” He caught his breath when he realised what he had said, how he might have hurt her. “Forgive me.”
Frances smiled.
“Do not even think of it,” she said. “You never loved me and I felt the same. We would have been happy enough together, I expect, had I not fallen in love with your brother. But we would never have known what real love was, what bliss was to be had.”
Impulsively, Adrian hugged her against him and kissed her cheek once more. She had changed so much, she had found confidence from that wild and savage land, or perhaps it was from being a wife and mother, but she would never have talked like this before.
“You have changed, Frances,” he said. “Where is the shy little girl I once knew?”
“I left her behind in England when I boarded a ship for the new world. I do not want to find her again.” She paused and glanced up at the portrait. “Where is she?”
Adrian’s glance dropped to his hands.
“We have parted,” he said.
“Why?” She asked.
“So much has happened, Frances. I will tell you everything when you are rested, I promise. For now, I will go and see about some sleeping arrangements for you all.”
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 62
