Was Julia’s naïve and outspoken sister now living at court, facing the Fanatic every day of her life? Was she agreeing with everything the Queen said and did because she adored her husband, or was she having to bite her ever liberal tongue and keep silent for his sake?
Julia looked about at her poor surroundings and knew she had been the more fortunate sister, even if they did have to keep vigilant lest Geoffrey should find her again. With this in mind, one of the small cottages was always ready for her and her son to hide quickly. It had a trapdoor leading down to a cellar which had been furnished comfortably by Lord Sinclair for his Protestant fugitives. There were also many tunnels and secret rooms in the manor house itself where she could disappear at a moment’s notice.
She was in the courtyard when she heard the sound of horses approaching and she picked up the little boy and carried him inside the cottage, took him into the second room and began to brush the straw away from the trapdoor, ready to escape. She opened the wooden shutter a fraction of an inch, just enough to glance from the tiny window, and saw Charles running across to the cottage to make sure she was safe inside, but she stopped what she was doing when she saw who rode the lovely chestnut mare, when she saw the beautiful riding gown, the matching hat with its sweeping feather, the dark hair and smooth face.
Wealth oozed from this fine figure of a woman, wealth and status bought with her soul. Julia felt the anger rising as she stayed where she was and listened as Charles greeted her sister, his arms folded, his manner hostile.
Bethany must have had her reasons for coming here. Julia had fled without a word to her; she had likely been worried about her all this time and for that Julia was grateful. It was best to get it over with, to face her and assure her she was safe and happy. That was the only way she would have peace of mind and stay away.
What would happen if His Lordship decided to follow her here? They would all be doomed, arrested and charged with heresy.
“It is all right, Charles,” she said as she stepped outside the cottage.
“We cannot trust her. Think to whom she is wed.”
Julia sighed wearily, wishing Bethany had not come, had not been able to find her. If she could find them, so could her husband and she had to believe she would say nothing to him about their whereabouts. Did she even realise the danger? Julia was uncertain, but it was too late to hide now.
“She is my sister, Charles,” she assured him. “She will not betray us.”
Why was she so certain of that? Her memory showed her the last time she had seen Bethany, clutched in the arms of her husband. That she loved him had never been in doubt, but could Julia trust her? Unless he had changed her completely, she could be relied on to keep quiet.
She dismounted and followed Julia into the tiny cottage, while Charles took away her servants to give them refreshments.
“Why have you come here?” Julia demanded. “How did you find me?”
“Anthony had some word from people Richard knows. I have told no one, I swear it. I never would, you must know that.”
Julia nodded.
“I hope you are right,” she said. “If you can find me, so can Geoffrey.”
“Why would he want to?” Bethany said, that naivety showing again, despite everything. “From what I saw, he has little use for a beautiful woman.”
“Never mind,” Julia said, not wanting to talk about her husband. “Why have you come?”
“I came to be sure you are safe, nothing more.”
That is when Simon appeared from the other room and stood in the doorway gazing up at the two women. To deny his parentage was pointless; he looked more like his father every day.
“So this is Richard’s son?”
Julia could not help but notice the catch in her voice as she asked the question. It must be hard for her, knowing the man she loved had fathered a son on her sister.
“Now do you see why I wanted you to refuse him?” She said. “Once you accepted him I could not ask for his help.”
“You mean he does not know he has a son?”
“No, and you must promise not to tell him.”
“Is it likely that I would?” Bethany replied, biting her lips to keep them from creasing.
“You have seen me now,” Julia said. “As you can see, I am well. I am with Charles now.”
“What did he mean about knowing to whom I am wed?”
Julia was astonished. Could it be possible that her sister really did not know the importance of her husband in Mary’s court? Was she being ingenuous or was she really that naïve still?
“It is not important,” she replied. “Just believe that I love Charles; he has taken me and my son and will care for us as best he can. I will say no more. You cannot expect either one of us to trust the wife of the most feared and hated man in England.”
Bethany stepped back, looking shattered by her words.
“Richard?” She whispered. “Do you mean Richard?”
“Of course. He is at the right hand of the fanatic. He will be helping her devise ways to trap loyal Protestants and send them to the stake. That is what he does, Bethany. Are you saying you did not know?”
She was shaking her head slowly, looking utterly bewildered.
“You are wrong,” she insisted. “He would never do such a thing. He is trying to make her curb her enthusiasm, trying to make her convert the Protestants peacefully.”
“I am glad to hear you call us Protestants and not heretics at least. It shows he has not managed to corrupt you completely.”
“He has not corrupted me at all.”
“You knew he was Catholic when you married him. You were prepared to turn for his wealth.”
Bethany took a deep breath and swallowed.
“I cannot deny it. Just as you knew what he was when you let him take you to his bed.”
“It was one afternoon of comfort, Bethany, that is all,” she answered with a weary sigh. “I did not promise to join the papists and idolaters in exchange for his wealth. Now you know how Judas Iscariot must have felt when he realised what he had done for his thirty pieces of silver.”
Julia regretted her words as soon as she saw the hurt behind the tears in her sister’s eyes. She really had no idea what her husband was; she believed her own lies. Bethany spun around and fled the cottage, called for her servants as she mounted her pony and rode away, leaving Julia to wonder how she could have used such harsh words to someone she had once loved.
And she wondered what Bethany would do now, if she would confront His Lordship and in so doing give away the hiding place she and Charles had carefully preserved. She cursed herself for losing her temper, for allowing her emotions to guide her tongue.
Bethany loved Richard, she trusted him; it was possible she would not see the danger, that she would tell him everything and then they would all be ruined. Damn!
“We will just have to be extra vigilant,” Charles said when she voiced her fears. “This place is ideal for our work; it would be a terrible shame to have to give it up and what are the chances of finding another abandoned house out of which to work?”
“Charles, I am so sorry. I am such a fool.”
He took her cheek in his rough hand and leaned down to kiss her.
“No, you are no fool. And if you are not, I can only hope that neither is she. We have work to do, many more people needing our help to get to the coast tonight and I cannot think what this means.”
He held out a piece of parchment upon which was written a warning, a message to stay away from Felixstowe tonight, to take the refugees to Yarmouth instead.
She gave him a puzzled frown.
“Where did it come from?”
He shook his head.
“It was attached to the door with an arrow this morning,” he said. “I had no chance to show it to you before because your sister arrived. It is unsigned; it could be some sort of trap to make us reveal ourselves.”
“Or it could be someone in the know wanting to help,” s
he said.
“We will not know which until we test it. Tonight, we leave from Felixstowe, as planned. It is too late to change it, but we will watch carefully to see how the land lies.”
That night the escaping Protestants and their escorts, armed with crossbows and hastily made longbows, watched for hours as soldiers searched the harbour. So it was true; they had a friend at court. Charles’ mind wandered back to that morning when Lady Summerville had arrived to claim her sister and he could think of no other who would have done this. Surely she was the only one who knew their whereabouts and also had knowledge of the Queen’s plans, of Richard Summerville’s plans. If he was right, and he prayed he was, it would mean she would say nothing about their hiding place and he and his beloved Julia were safe.
They had missed the tide by the time the soldiers gave up and left and would have to return tomorrow, but at least they were all alive.
***
During the next weeks, Julia wished more than once that she had not been quite so harsh with Bethany. She loved the man and Julia could well understand that; it must have come as a terrific shock to learn what he really was. She did not seem surprised about Simon though.
Julia recalled the Christmas she had met Lord Summerville, how she must have acted strangely in Bethany’s eyes. Perhaps she had realised she was with child, perhaps Geoffrey had told her and she would know it was not fathered by him. She had known all along, had she not? She had known her own husband was the father of her sister’s child, but still she had come looking for her, come to ensure her safety. And all she had got in return were bitter words and contempt.
Many more Protestants were being helped out of the country by Charles. They came to the house as field hands and servants and left under cover of darkness for a dangerous journey across the channel to a foreign land whose King could turn on them at any time. Julia sighed heavily; what was the point? When would the damned Papist hag die and leave England in peace?
The Queen had twice announced herself with child, striking fear into the hearts of the Protestants who could not contemplate no end to the terror through a Catholic heir. Each time was false; the woman was too old to bear a child, but still she lived, still faithful Protestants were not safe in their homes.
Although Julia could have no idea then, for her it would be over sooner than she wanted. She had found happiness with Charles, even though the work was hard and her once soft hands were calloused. She would have loved to withdraw from the work of helping Protestants, live quietly on their farm and do nothing but work the land and love each other, but Charles would not do that. He was right, of course. The work was important, he was important in the cause and it was her place to help him.
“I will keep you out of it,” he said. “If that is your wish, I will remove the whole headquarters somewhere else. I will think no less of you, I promise. You have Simon to consider.”
They were sitting up in bed, preparing to sleep for a few hours before he rose and led his group of fleeing Protestants to the waiting ships. She shook her head.
“No, Charles. I am being silly; I just want this wretched Queen to die so we can have some peace with her sister on the throne.”
“As do I,” he replied. “But short of assassinating the woman, and that has failed before now, what else can we do but save as many as we can?”
He laid down and pulled her with him, to hold her against himself. He felt so fortunate to have found her; she was way above him in the social scale, but he felt sure she loved him as he loved her. She could have taken the proceeds from the sale of her jewels and gone far away to start a new life with her son, somewhere her brutal husband would never find her. But she had stayed; he could almost feel the love from her every time he held her in his arms, every time he felt her soft flesh against his, her heart beating against his own.
“I love you, wife,” he said now as he slipped his hand inside her shift and caressed her breast. “You are my wife, in the eyes of God and all that is right. You were never really wed to that deviant.”
“I love you, too, more than I ever thought possible. I worry about you, when you go off with the refugees; each time you leave, I am afraid I will never see you again.”
“I will not say it cannot happen, because it would be a lie. All we can do is pray for our safety and make the most of our time together.”
He slipped her shift from her shoulders, releasing her breasts to his hands and his lips. He caressed her body, stroked his fingers over every inch of her until she gasped with bliss, and made love to her for the very last time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As Mary’s reign continued, more and more Protestants were desperate to flee the country and Charles found himself a leader among a system of subterfuge in order to get these people away. He did not ask for the task, but it seemed Sinclair Manor was an ideal place. Of course it was; Lord Sinclair had made sure of that and it had cost him his life and the lives of his family and servants. Charles felt somehow beholden to him and he felt the work he was doing was a tribute to his memory and the memories of his household of martyrs.
Jacob had told him all he knew of the family and their downfall, his eyes filling with hatred when he spoke of their treacherous son.
“He was betrothed,” Jacob said. “I do not know for certain what happened to her, but she was not here when the soldiers came. I was told she escaped.”
“I wonder if she knew what he was,” Charles said.
“I doubt that very much. Lady Elizabeth came from a prominent Protestant family and I am quite sure she knew nothing of Elliot’s beliefs, or his intention to betray them all.”
“I assume he loved her then, since she was not betrayed with the others.”
“I think he did in his way, but a lady like that would never have wanted to marry him after what he did. I heard she went home to her father and later married an Earl. A sweet lady, a very sweet lady. I pray for her happiness.”
Although a farmer, Charles was educated, which made all the difference to the smooth running of the operation. Julia prepared food and purses of money for the refugees; it was the last of the money paid for Geoffrey’s jewels and it would be hard when it ran out.
Charles and some of his followers drove the carts which took them to the coast. The warning letters continued to come, but he still had no clue as to who their friend at court might be. Despite what Julia had told him, he could think of no one but her sister who would be doing this for them.
That last night no warning came, so he believed it was safe. There were about twenty people altogether, including the helpers; more would attract too much attention and as it was most of them were hidden under bales of hay in the open bed of the cart.
When they arrived at the harbour, they were blocked by a man on horseback, his silhouette the only thing showing in the moonless night.
“You must go back!” A voice cried out. “It is a surprise attack. We had no time to warn you.”
Was this the one? Had Charles finally found their saviour? He had no time to ask questions before the man turned his huge stallion and rode away, while Charles turned the cart around. That is when he felt the sudden sharp stab in his shoulder and cried out in pain. He had been shot.
***
With help from one of the other men, Julia managed to extract the musket ball from Charles’ shoulder before he regained consciousness. She remembered from an injury she suffered in childhood how the physician had talked of infection and how important it was to keep the wound clean and she had tended to that with hot water and a little salt. Salt was too expensive to waste, but it was the best she could think of.
They could scarce afford a physician, even if it were not too dangerous to send for one. Such a person would want to know how Charles had got a ball stuck in his shoulder.
Charles’ eyes flickered open slowly and his first thought was the tall silhouette on the tall horse. He looked around, wondered if he had dreamed him, but the pain in his shoulder as he tried to m
ove assured him it was all real. Julia was also real, sitting on the bed beside him and bathing his forehead with a cool cloth.
He reach up and gripped her wrist, pulled her down to kiss her lips with his own.
“What happened?” He mumbled.
“You were shot.”
“What with? It feels like a cannon wrenched through me.”
“Stephen said the soldier carried an Arquebus. I managed to get the ball out, but you will be weak for a few days.”
“And the people? Were they captured?”
She shook her head.
“You got them away in time. But we will have to try again tonight, before they are missed by their own neighbours.”
He nodded, then tried to lift himself up but she pushed him down. She held a mug of water to his lips, wiped the spillage with the cloth. Strangely, she felt pleased to be doing these things for him and pleased he would not be risking his life again for a few nights at any rate.
“I will be better by tonight.”
“No, you will not.”
“But there is no one else. These people do not understand the route, the way to identify ourselves; they will get us all captured. I have to go.”
“No,” she insisted. “I will go.”
“You cannot.”
“Why? I am more than capable, Charles. You know that.”
She was; she was likely more capable than he was himself but he was terrified of losing her. He did not want his beautiful Julia to risk her life for this or any cause; he would prefer that they all died than that she should put herself at risk. But he had little choice, so that night it was Julia who set out to lead the escaping Protestants to the waiting ships.
***
Simon’s voice from downstairs woke Charles. Forgetting his injury, he tried to roll over but flinched with pain and flopped back onto his back as he came fully awake.
HOLY POISON: Boxed Set: The Complete Series 1-6 Page 71
