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

by Margaret Brazear

"She was of the nobility?" Estelle asked him impulsively, then she felt rather ignorant for not realising that the wife of a knight of the realm would be titled 'lady'. "Yet she married a farmer?"

  "Just a hard working, labouring farmer."

  "I hope I have not caused offence," she said quickly.

  "Not at all," he assured her. "I have to admit, I was rather surprised myself. I did not know until I got the letter about this place, then my father told me." He stopped talking and a little smile crept over his lips. “While we were talking about that, it came out that my stepmother is a lady in her own right. Can you imagine that? Her father was an earl, apparently, just like yours.”

  “Forgive me, Mr Carlisle, but I am at a loss. Unless her father was as liberal as my own, I wonder how the daughter of an earl came to be married to a farmer.”

  “Apparently, Frances, my stepmother, disgraced the family. She was betrothed to a young viscount since she was a child but she fell in love with his brother and they eloped together. They went to the Americas and built a farm. Then when he died, she came back to England with their two children, and her husband’s brother took her in. He was the viscount she was betrothed to in the first place. But she was outcast; her own class would have nothing to do with her and she was happier being a farmer’s wife. Lucky for me; she is a wonderful woman. She married my father and fell in love with him.”

  "And your mother? She fell in love with him too?" Estelle murmured thoughtfully. "How did she die?"

  He looked uncomfortable for a moment and she thought her question was too familiar. After all she had only just met him.

  "She was executed," he said at last.

  Estelle’s mouth dropped open and she felt the crimson creep over her cheeks. She looked away.

  "Forgive me, Sir," she said. "I had no right to ask."

  "It is of no matter," he assured her. "She was not a criminal. She was a Protestant when the mad fanatic Mary was on the throne. I only found out about that recently as well."

  His mention of Queen Mary reminded Estelle that her own father had been one of her chief advisors. She would not be revealing that to Simon Carlisle.

  "Your father kept it from you?"

  "Yes. I think he feels responsible that he was not there to protect her."

  "These things happen. We cannot always be there."

  "Apparently she helped hundreds of Protestants to escape to France. They both did but it was usually him who drove the cart to the coast. The night before he had been wounded and she went instead. He has never forgiven himself for that.”

  "That is tragic," she remarked. "But hindsight is a wonderful thing. It is a horrible way to die; little wonder he kept it from you."

  “He was told she felt nothing, that someone smuggled in a drug to send her to sleep. She was unconscious by the time they lit the faggots. I hope that is true.”

  There were tears in his eyes and he swept them away with the back of his hand, while Estelle looked around at the peeling paint, at the cracked windows. Her own father would have no problem repairing this place; he was wealthy, very wealthy. She felt suddenly self conscious about that.

  "You do not dress like a farmer, Sir," she commented.

  "I am not a farmer. My father is," he replied. "He sent me to the best schools he could afford. He has gone without to do so and I would really like to do something for him. I could sell this house and repair their house instead; Lord knows it needs it.”

  “The farm is his own?"

  “Well, really it belongs to Frances, but it is very complicated.”

  They explored the house together for an hour or so, before she decided she had best go before she was missed.

  "Someone will come looking for me," she told him. "May I come back tomorrow?"

  That smile again.

  "You will be very welcome, My Lady," he said. "I have enjoyed your company."

  "And I yours, Sir."

  Over the next few weeks, they spent a few hours together every day, getting to know one another. Estelle could not help but like him, a lot. He was honest and relaxed about everything. It did not seem to concern him at all that he could not afford to repair the property, might never be able to afford it. Estelle’s mind began to plan almost against her will. If he were to marry her, he would be able to afford it. She expected her father to provide a handsome dowry for his only daughter.

  Then one day she was riding toward Winterton House when she glimpsed Joshua riding toward her.

  "Do you mind company?" He asked.

  She sighed impatiently. No, she did not want company, but how to tell him that?

  "Very well."

  "You are going to meet our new neighbour, I take it?" He asked with a little grin.

  "Susannah told you?"

  "She is my wife, Estelle. Of course she told me."

  "I have not yet had a chance to congratulate you on the prospect of becoming a father. I am very happy for you."

  "Thank you." He looked a little abashed for a moment before he went on. "You know this new neighbour is not someone we have ever met. You really should have presented him to Father before you began sneaking off to see him alone."

  "I was not sneaking!"

  "My mistake," he said with a smile that told her he did not believe one word. "Are you ashamed of him?"

  "No. I have no idea why, but I just felt I needed to keep him to myself for a little while longer. You know that house has been abandoned for years, yet Mother and Father have never mentioned it. They must have known Sir Geoffrey."

  “Oh, yes," Joshua replied. "It was in that house that they first met. At a twelfth night ball."

  "How do you know that?"

  "Lady Rachel told me, although I do not think she meant to. I asked her what my mother was doing there, and she said I should ask her. That usually means do not ask her or you will get no answer and she will only be upset."

  "Rachel is beginning to lose her mind a little, I think," she murmured sadly. "I will call on her later today. I feel a little ashamed that I have not taken the time to do so before. She was so good to me when I stayed with her."

  "Why have you not done so before?"

  "I suppose I am a coward. She was so beautiful, Joshua, just a short time ago. I just hate to see her so withered and ancient."

  "I can imagine. Father has sent for some of her things from the Finsbury house. There is a portrait of her among them."

  "He cannot let her see it. Surely it will distress her terribly."

  "He does not think to show it to her. He wants to hang it in Rachel's House so that everyone who comes there knows who she was. He does not want her beauty forgotten."

  He does not want her beauty forgotten. That was typical of Lord Summerville, but it made Estelle feel sad. Nobody cared if Lady Julia Winterton's beauty was forgotten. Had Sir Geoffrey's brother not left his house to her son, nobody in the future would ever have known just how beautiful she was, not even her own son.

  Simon looked a little startled to see her companion. He was not expecting it any more than she was.

  "Mr Carlisle," she said at once. "Allow me to present my brother, Joshua, Viscount Summers."

  "My Lord," Simon greeted him with a little bow of his head.

  "I am pleased to meet you, Sir," Joshua replied as he dismounted. "Forgive my tardiness in not welcoming you to the neighbourhood before this. My sister has only recently told me that Winterton House is occupied."

  "It is very kind of you, My Lord," Simon said in reply.

  "Joshua, please. We tend not to stand on too much ceremony."

  "I can offer you no refreshments," Simon apologised. "The house is a mess and I have very little in the way of food and drink."

  "Do not trouble yourself, Sir," Joshua replied politely. "Perhaps you would care to come to dinner with us. I know our parents would make you welcome."

  "That is very kind, My Lord." Her brother raised an eyebrow, emphasising his previous request to use his first name. "Sorry," Simon sai
d. "Joshua. Perhaps when I have decided what I am doing."

  "Delighted. I will ask my father when would be the most convenient time."

  When he had ridden off Estelle turned back to Simon, both being well aware of the awkwardness that had existed in her brother's presence.

  "I am a fool," he said quickly. "Why did I not realise before? Your father is an Earl."

  "What of it?"

  "What of it? Once your brother returns to Summerville Hall and tells him about his new neighbour and his lovely daughter, this will likely be our last meeting. I doubt he wants his only daughter entangled with a farmer's son."

  "Entangled, eh?" She remarked with a smile. "I like that."

  "You might. Your father will not."

  "Your status will not trouble my father, Sir. He does not believe in class distinctions. My younger brother is betrothed to the bastard daughter of a former servant."

  He stared at her as though she had lost her mind.

  "I do not believe you."

  She shrugged.

  "Very well, call me a liar. You accept my brother's invitation and you will be able to ask him yourself."

  He made no reply, but he did not smile as she wanted. He seemed unhappy with her assurance.

  “Did you not tell me your stepmother is the daughter of an earl?” She asked.

  “That is different. Frances was outcast, her father had disowned her.”

  She reached up and put her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek.

  “Perhaps then I can persuade my father to disown me,” she said playfully. “If it makes you feel more comfortable.”

  ***

  That afternoon she went to look at the portrait of Rachel which her father had stored away in one of the spare rooms. She was just studying it, remembering that beautiful face at court with her, and seeing her now little more than a young girl, absolutely enchanting. And she was wearing the necklace with the two Rs. Estelle thought about the things her mother had told her, the intimate things she did with her father, and she had an uncomfortable image in her mind of him doing those things with this beautiful creature. Whatever anyone said, she could not be persuaded to believe he could have resisted her.

  "Someone is coming to clean it tomorrow," Richard’s voice came from behind her. He made her jump guiltily, although that feeling had less to do with the portrait and more to do with the thoughts she was having about the subject of that portrait.

  "She was so beautiful," she murmured, watching his expression carefully for a reaction.

  "Yes, she was," he replied. "But she never enjoyed her beauty. I am afraid I rather talked her into having this painted. I could never bear the idea that she would wither and die one day and there would be no image remaining to show the future how lovely she was. The portrait will stay here for now; she would not want it hung in her lifetime."

  "Never enjoyed it? How can a woman not enjoy being that gorgeous? When we were at court, the men could hardly keep their eyes off her and I could not help but notice she did not look pleased about it." She paused and narrowed her eyes to look at him. "Until she saw you that is."

  His eyes met hers thoughtfully, much as her mother sometimes did when she was trying to sort out what information to impart and what to keep to herself.

  "She was poor," he replied at last. "And alone. That made her very vulnerable and at the mercy of men who had no interest in her as a person, no interest in her happiness, only in her beauty and how well she would look hanging off their arms, how good it would make them feel to have her in their beds."

  She watched him suspiciously, wanting very much to ask him how he had been any different, but that seemed to be a question too far.

  "People say she was your mistress," she remarked at last, a little afraid of his reaction, but he only seemed to study her for a moment, then he smiled.

  "Yes, they do," he replied enigmatically.

  Then he turned and left the room, leaving her just as mystified as ever. She was hoping to at least extract a denial or a confirmation, something.

  She took a deep breath to give herself courage and went to the apartments now occupied by Lady Rachel. Each mention of how much worse she was stole away a little more of that courage. She did not want to see her like that, but that was selfish and unfair. She also wondered if she would get the truth from her which she had been unable to glean from her father. And she desperately wanted to know how this woman had saved her mother’s life.

  She knocked on the heavy oak door to her apartments, and Louisa opened it.

  "My Lady," she greeted her, stepping back to let her inside. "Her Ladyship will be so pleased to see you."

  "How is she?" She asked timidly, afraid of the answer.

  "The same, a little worse every day. She knows she will not recover so there is no need to pretend."

  Her eyes filled with tears and Estelle clasped her hand in an attempt to comfort her. What would happen to her when Rachel went? She thought briefly, but she knew her parents would not abandon her.

  Estelle stood watching the woman in the chair beside the open window for a few minutes. She could not quite believe this was the same woman who had so recently escorted her to court. Her skin was as thin as old parchment, her hair was streaked with white, there were dark shadows beneath her beautiful eyes and she was so thin the outline of her bones was visible beneath her flesh.

  At last she sensed Estelle’s presence and turned her head. She smiled then held out her hand and Estelle quickly walked forward and took it reluctantly, feeling those bones sharp beneath her palms. What she really wanted to do was run away.

  "Estelle," she said hoarsely. "How lovely to see you."

  "Forgive me, My Lady, for not having come sooner. I have no excuse."

  "I understand, my dear. You want to be out in the sunshine, not in here watching me wither away to nothing."

  She spoke with a laugh in her tone and there was no trace of bitterness.

  "Your brother brought his bride to see me last week," she said softly. "She seemed a little shy of me. Perhaps she thought I was the family witch."

  "Rachel! Do not talk so."

  "Forgive me. I have insisted that Louisa leave me a mirror so I can see myself. Would you believe me if I said it was a relief?"

  I nodded.

  "My father told me some things."

  "You are wondering if the gossip is true," she commented. "You are wondering if I was your father's mistress and you are puzzled that your mother can allow me to die in her house."

  Estelle did not reply, she was too embarrassed. Rachel had almost read her mind.

  "I do not suppose it matters now,” she said with a shrug. “Your father is my dearest friend; he rescued me, made me independent, gave me freedom from exploitation. I love him, but not the way you are thinking. He was never my lover, although if there was ever a man I could have welcomed he would have been the one.”

  She stopped to regain her breath while Estelle remained silent, afraid to speak lest Rachel decided to say no more.

  “Bethany is the only woman he has ever loved. He risked everything to keep her safe and I was happy to help him.”

  “What she said, that you saved her life…”

  Rachel nodded, held up her hand to halt Estelle’s words.

  “When I am gone," she said quietly, "your father will tell you all about me. I have asked him to do that, for his own sake and for your mother's. And Louisa can at long last reveal my secrets that have been causing her such frustration for years. She may even be able to convince people of the truth and get on with her own life. Your Thomas has a crush on her."

  "Thomas? I thought he was a confirmed bachelor."

  "I think he would forget that if Louisa were to favour him with some attention."

  "It would be nice for them."

  "One can only hope," she murmured quietly. "I would like to see her happy. Talking of which, your brother tells me you have a secret admirer of your own."

  Estelle smiled r
eluctantly. Damned Joshua!

  "Do not fret, child," Rachel said softly. "I shall not tell if you wish my silence."

  "That is the problem," she said. "I have no idea why I do not simply tell everybody. He is a farmer's son, but my father would not object to that I am sure. I just feel I would like to keep him to myself for a little while longer."

  "I can understand that."

  She had difficulty in forming words, catching her breath between each sentence. Estelle was afraid of wearing her out as the illness had obviously weakened her heart.

  "He has inherited Winterton House," she said.

  Rachel looked a little startled then gazed at her intently, waiting for her to go on.

  "Yesterday he took me inside and showed me a portrait of his mother. She died when he was little more than a baby. She used to live there apparently. She was married to the owner and finding the portrait was the first time he ever knew what she looked like."

  She had been studying her hands, but now she looked up sharply to see Rachel’s reaction and was alarmed to see the horror in her faded eyes.

  "Rachel? What is it?"

  Rachel clutched the front of Estelle’s gown and made an enormous effort to drag herself to her feet; Estelle jumped forward to help her, but she collapsed into her arms, a dead weight, and she realised she had stopped breathing.

  "Louisa!" She called out.

  Louisa came running and took Rachel into her own arms, while Estelle ran to the bed to fetch a pillow to lay beneath her head. It was a waste of time; her eyes were wide and dull; there was no trace of life in their faded dark depths.

  ***

  Lord Summerville and both his sons were chief mourners at the funeral. The women trailed along behind in the procession and Lady Summerville made sure it was Lucy and Louisa who led that procession of female mourners. They were beside themselves with grief and Estelle was still recovering from the shock of having Rachel die in her arms like that.

  After, Bethany invited Rachel’s two maidservants to join the family to discuss the life of this remarkable and mysterious woman.

  "She saved me," Lucy said through her sobs.

  "She saved us both," said Louisa as she took her friend's hand. "She deserved so much more from life than she ever had."