“A woman with a babe in her womb does not run away from her home for no reason,” he said. “That reason is her own affair, not mine.”
Once inside the house, Charles guided her to a roughly made wooden chair and poured her some ale.
“I will see to your mare,” he told her as he made his way outside.
While she waited, she saw a cookpot over the fire which was bubbling with a delicious aroma which made her realise how hungry she was. On his return, he ladled some onto a pewter plate and she sat with him at the small table. The food was a vegetable stew, no meat, but it was welcome. Everything was a far cry from what she was used to, a rough wooden square table with two benches, the rushes on the floor were plain with no flowers to improve their odour. In the corner of the room were two chairs and Julia could see another room in which there was a bed.
Should she feel uncomfortable, threatened by being alone here with a strange man? She had no idea but all she felt was comforted and relieved to be able to rest.
“You can sleep in there,” he said after they had eaten. “I have a bed upstairs.”
“You are very kind, Sir. Do you not want to know about me, why I am here alone?”
“Only if you want to tell me. But you are exhausted; tomorrow will do just as well.”
***
His supper was almost cooked when Charles heard the sound of trotting hooves coming from the front yard. It was twilight and he was not expecting anyone and none of his tenants in the nearby cottages had mentioned an expected visitor.
He wiped his hands and peered from the small window to see the most beautiful woman, sitting side saddle upon a lovely little palomino mare. Charles had never seen anyone quite like her; her hair was almost white yet she was young and from the little he could see in the twilight, she appeared to be a lady of quality. What was she doing here? He wondered. Perhaps she had lost her way, but someone of her class should not be travelling alone. That thought was quickly followed by another; if she were here alone, perhaps her party had been set upon by robbers and she had managed to escape.
He grabbed a torch from one of the sconces on the wall and hurried outside, but stopped to admire her once more. Even in the fading light he could see how beautiful she was and he took note of the leather travelling bag she clutched across the front of her horse. He also noticed the wedding band she wore, solid gold and sparkling with tiny diamonds.
She looked exhausted and he decided to ask no questions. She was obviously in need of assistance and that he was happy to give her, even more so when her first thought was for her mare, not herself. It may well be the only thing he could give her, but he was sure it would be welcome.
***
Julia felt the chill as soon as she awoke. She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds, uncertain what she would see when she opened them. It was never cold like this at Winterton House, not with this icy bite making her nose and face so cold she could barely feel them. But when she opened her eyes, memories of the day before came back to her, the long journey on horseback, the empty roads through sparsely populated countryside, the fear that Geoffrey would be following behind her. She was more afraid of that than of any vagabond or robber on the road, which was foolish considering the fortune in jewels she carried with her.
She wondered if he had come home yet, if he had found his family jewels gone. She felt a flutter of guilt, but told herself firmly she deserved them. She had paid for them with bruises and tears.
She sat up in bed and pulled open the wooden shutter to see the landscape outside covered in snow which still fell in heavy flakes and settled on the ground.
There were people carrying straw and hay to the barns, carrying buckets of water. She had not seen any of this last night and she wondered if Guinevere was warm enough. The man who had given her shelter and fed her was nowhere to be seen, and she realised all at once she had trusted without question. Her glance flew to her travelling bag where Mr. Carlisle had placed it at the end of her bed. It was still there and as she looked into it, she felt guilty to have suspected him; the jewels were all still there.
She returned to the window where she saw him coming from one of the barns, his arms full of hay. Julia supposed there were animals here as it looked like a small farm or smallholding. She wondered what position the man named Charles held here, if he were a gentleman farmer of sorts, like Richard Summerville but on a very much smaller scale, or whether he was a tenant and this farm was the property of some other Lord of the Manor.
The farmhouse was sparsely furnished, the walls some sort of wattle and daub and the stairs unvarnished wood. The mattress on which she had slept was straw and it lay upon a bedframe of unplaned wood. No, this man was no gentleman farmer, just a kind man whom she was lucky to meet.
Thoughts of Richard brought back the memory of her sister in his arms and her heart skipped. She hoped she did not get hurt, but she could not worry about her now. She had to care about herself and her child; there was no one else to depend on, not this time. For the first time in her life she was alone, she had the responsibility of herself and a helpless babe. The idea was terrifying.
She had slept in her clothes last night. For one thing it was too cold to disrobe and for another she felt vulnerable alone in this house with a stranger. He was very handsome, and he had been very kind, but she was no judge of character. How could she be when she had led such a sheltered life? Her father had kept both her and Bethany close; they never went anywhere without chaperones and every function they attended had to be approved.
Now she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her boots, wrapped her fur cloak about her shoulders and went into the next room in search of her host. There was bread and cheese laid out as well as milk and some sort of ale and she was just wondering if it would be proper to help herself, when he came back into the house.
“You are awake,” he remarked. “I hope you slept well. The bed is likely not what you are used to but you looked weary enough to sleep anywhere.”
He gestured for her to sit and brought the food to the table.
“You are right,” she replied as she ate. “I cannot recall ever being so tired. I do thank you for your hospitality. Is my mare well?”
“She is. She is in the stables with the work horses, warm and comfortable. I found her a rug, which is a little loose on such a fine lady, but better than nothing. Does she have a name?”
The question endeared him to her, as it meant he did not think of a horse as a mode of transport and nothing more.
“Guinevere,” she replied.
He smiled.
“Ah. Is there an Arthur somewhere?”
Julia shook her head.
“She would more likely prefer a Lancelot I think,” she murmured then she drew a deep breath to give herself courage, afraid her next words might change his kindness. “I have left my husband.”
He only smiled.
“I guessed that was the case.”
“Do you not want to know why?”
He reached out a hand and slipped the top of her sleeve down a little, revealing an old but vicious bruise on her upper arm. He had noticed it last night, when she removed her cloak to eat more comfortably.
“I think I know why,” he said. “As I said before, I want to know only what you want to tell me.”
“You seem to have enough on your hands with the snow and the animals. You do not need me causing you more trouble. If you can tell me where I can sell my jewels, I will go and leave you in peace.”
“And then what? Do you have somewhere to go?”
She shook her head.
“Then stay here, as long as you can bear it. We are simple folk; we work hard for what little we have but what little we have we are happy to share with you. Your husband will not find you here, and if he does I am a very persuasive liar.”
She looked at him sharply and was relieved to see the little grin playing about his mouth.
“Are you not concerned that I am depriving him of
his child?”
He brushed gently at the top of her arm where the bruise still hurt.
“A man who would treat a beautiful woman like this, does not deserve her or her child.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The house was not at all what Julia had been brought up to. The thatched roof was in constant need of repair; it seemed as soon as one hole was filled, another appeared. The furniture was mostly of rough wood, homemade by Charles and his helpers, the mattresses were of straw not the soft feather of her childhood and marriage.
After a few days the snow began to thaw and Julia once again broached the subject of the disposal of her jewels.
“I will take them into Norwich and see how much I can get for them. They all look very valuable to me, but I am no judge.”
Julia pulled off her wedding band and dropped it into the bag with the other gems.
“Sell this as well,” she said.
“Your wedding ring? Are you sure?”
“I would drop it in the well were it not worth a lot of hot meals. I want nothing to remind me of that man.”
They sat at the table with the jewels before them, necklaces, brooches, rings, bracelets, all sparkling in the sunlight which streamed through the open shutters. Charles covered her hand with his own, reminding her of the same gesture Richard had made when they sat side by side on their mounts. Did all decent men feel only pity for her?
“You will not have to,” Charles said now. “You can stay here as long as you like.”
“What of your friends? Will they not disapprove of a woman running away from her husband?”
He shrugged.
“This is my house, my land. They are entitled to an opinion and I am entitled to require them to keep that opinion to themselves.”
Charles made several journeys into Norwich and Bury to sell the jewels. He thought it would be less suspicious if he sold them one at a time and he knew his own limitations. He was a farmer and he looked like a farmer; his best hope was to pretend he found the gems on the road and to sell them in different places in small amounts.
He was astonished at the amount of silver coins he collected in exchange for such baubles. Why would anyone want to spend all that money on something to hang around a woman’s neck, or dangle from her ears? He also thought like a farmer, and every piece he managed to sell saw him adding up how much fodder he could buy with it.
There was always lots of work to be done, animals to feed, sick animals to tend, sweeping and cleaning with water pumped from the well. Laundry was done in the stream, once the snow cleared, and nobody called Julia ‘My Lady’.
The floors were bare, the mattresses straw, the food poor but well cooked; there were no servants to do her bidding, no sumptuous gowns to enhance her figure, no one to brush her hair until it shone. But she had never been happier in her life.
Throughout her childhood she had felt she was nothing more to her parents than a commodity, something to be sold to assist them on the way to upper class circles. Her marriage had brought her nothing but fear, pain and disgust and the only person she had ever loved was her sister. Even her brother was distant, and treated both his sisters as property to raise him up in society. His own wife and Julia’s mother were of a type, without opinions of their own, obedient wives who would follow their menfolk wherever they led them.
Now she was treated with respect by these people and it was not a false respect, given out of obligation for her social status. She had made friends, for the first time in her life, with some of the women from the cottages and Charles seemed to hold her in high regard. She had never known such deference from a man before. Even Richard, although he had treated her well, had never made her feel important as this man did.
As her figure swelled, people began to look at her curiously, but they asked no questions. She had no idea if that was Charles’ doing, or whether people of the working class would have a different attitude to a pregnant woman travelling alone. She did not ask; she was happy for the first time in living memory, and she wanted nothing to spoil that.
Charles was a hardworking man and she found him funny and genuine, but he spoke of his own background only once.
“My father was a farmer,” he told her. “He and my mother died in an outbreak of plague when I was sixteen. I had to sell off most of the farm as I could not manage alone. This is all that is left.”
“So you own it?”
He had told her the first day, but Julia had never known a farmer who owned his land before. All the farmers she had ever known were tenants of some big estate and she thought they were all the same.
He shrugged.
“I do not think it was ever legally transferred to me, but I am the rightful heir, yes. The people here are made up of what was left of my father’s workers and the odd straggler who has come along looking for work. They are loyal, that is the important thing.”
“They are lovely people,” Julia said. “I have never known people like this before, so open and forthright, never trying to keep up appearances. They remind me of my sister; she was always too outspoken for my father’s taste, or indeed the taste of any of the men of our acquaintance.”
“Where is she now?”
Julia smiled. She was still angry with Bethany, but she was pleased for her just the same.
“She married,” she answered. “She married a man she could love. She was fortunate.”
Charles grinned, glanced at his hands for a moment, then his eyes met hers.
“Strange,” he said. “You come here dressed in satin and fur, with valuable jewels to sell. You ride in on an expensive mount. You have been raised from birth with fine things, with servants to do your bidding, with as good an education as a female can expect and you are accustomed to being Her Ladyship.”
He paused and took her hand in his; she felt the callouses on his palm from hard work, not like Geoffrey’s effeminately soft hand which she had felt only when there were people to impress. Not like Richard’s hand either, his strong, but smooth hand, which had known nothing more strenuous than riding a horse and wielding a sword. But somehow this hand seemed more real; its touch even sent a little thrill along her spine.
“It must seem strange to you,” she remarked.
“What seems strange is that you have had everything, yet I am the one who feels sympathy for you.”
“Do you? I do not want your pity, Charles. I want your respect and your friendship, but not your pity.”
“My friendship?” He moved to touch her face gently with his other calloused hand. “Nothing more?”
She laughed.
“Mr Carlisle, I am heavy with child.”
“Really? I would not have noticed,” he said with a laugh. “You have been generous with your money, but I hope you have enough to pay a midwife. It will not be long now, I think.”
“Soon I will be a mother. I would like to stay here after the birth; I would like to raise my child among these good people.”
“Those words are the ones I wanted to hear.”
***
Charles found himself in a quandary. He had always been a decisive person, even when he was a child. He had never been confused about a decision; once his mind was made up he knew precisely where he was going and how to get there. The arrival of this beautiful woman had thrown his life into turmoil, his emotions into a terrifying mix of fear, love and compassion.
He had reached his twenties with no experience of women. He had never been in love, had never had more than a passing interest in a pretty face, but Julia invaded his dreams at night and his thoughts during the day. His heart skipped when he saw her, when he heard her sweet voice, and the sight of that ugly bruise on her shoulder sent his senses smouldering with the need to avenge her.
But she was not for him, was she? She had fled a brutal marriage, had come here in desperation and had seemed content to help as much as she could, but he did not expect it to last. She was a grand lady and the farm was a simple respite, a novelty to play wit
h for a little while. She would soon become bored with the hard work and the poor surroundings; she might even decide it was worth her husband’s harsh treatment to have her comforts back.
Charles could not afford to risk his heart by falling in love with her, but that is what was happening no matter how hard he tried to resist it.
***
Julia took on the tasks of cooking and sewing for everyone until she was able to do her part on the small farm. Unlike any other married woman, she knew almost to the day when her child would be due, as she knew to the very day when that child was conceived.
It was getting near the summer and she waited daily for a sign that the birth would soon happen. She was hot and uncomfortable and although the idea of giving birth in this poor place scared her, she also knew a little dart of excitement.
She had unpicked the stitching on the gowns she had brought with her and cut the fabric to make clothes for the baby.
“Will you not want to wear them again?” Charles had asked.
“No. Why would I? I am no longer Lady Winterton and I have no use for all this finery. I shall see if one of the women have anything I can wear after the birth.”
“I will get some fabric next time I go to market, if you are sure.”
“I am sure.”
Charles went to the market and traded for some things she might need for the baby and on his return he wore a frown.
“What is it?” She asked. “You have had bad news.”
“The King is dead,” he replied. “Jane Grey has been proclaimed Queen.”
“But that is good news. A Protestant Queen is what we wanted.”
He sat beside her, took her hand affectionately and sent that little thrill through her heart once more. She had never known this sort of affection from a man; passion, but once, yes. Her swelling figure reminded her of that, but not real affection.
Julia was raised to know her duty. Despite being commoners, her wealthy father was determined his daughters would both achieve good marriages to allow him access to the upper circles of society. Neither of the girls had ever questioned that and Bethany had delighted her father by attracting the attention of an earl. Julia had never expected love from a marriage, even though it seemed her sister had found just that. She felt she could build a future with a man like this.
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