by Linda Sole
‘I shall speak to her,’ Beatrice said. ‘I think she may wish to say her farewell in private – but I cannot speak for my sister.’
* * *
‘Dead – Robert is dead?’ The colour left Melloria’s face and she sat down on her bed, feeling stunned. ‘God forgive me! I have wished for my freedom and now…’ She shook her head. ‘Who killed him? Please tell me it was not…’ her voice failed her.
‘It was a man by the name of Kerrin of Shrewsbury. Do you know of him?’
Melloria looked at her in silence for a moment. ‘No, I do not think…Robert may once have mentioned someone but I cannot be sure. Who told you this?’
‘Robert’s steward came to see me this evening. He asked if you would attend the funeral tomorrow. I told him you might prefer to say farewell in private.’
‘I am not sure…’ Melloria felt her throat tighten. It was foolish to feel so affected by the news of Robert’s death. Of late she had come close to hating him, and yet murder was always shocking. ‘Would it be right to go feeling as I do, Beatrice? I suppose that I ought to pay my respects but…’
‘I see no reason why you should attend,’ Beatrice said, her voice cold. ‘After the way he behaved to you, Melloria, he does not deserve that you should grieve for him.’
‘No, I shall not grieve. I am free at last…’ Melloria felt the sting of tears. She got up and walked to look out of the tiny slit in the wall that served as a window in her cell. ‘Where is Nicholas? Why does he not come?’
‘I cannot answer that,’ Beatrice said. ‘If you wish to attend the funeral I shall arrange for you to be taken there. I told Master Steward to send your horse. It is right that you should be given all that was yours. Robert can no longer withhold your lands and revenues, Melloria. You are free to leave whenever you choose.’
‘Yes. I must think. I shall say my farewells alone.’ Melloria raised her head. ‘I believe I should pray. I must ask God for forgiveness.’
‘You are blameless,’ Beatrice said. ‘But pray if you wish. I must join my sisters for evening prayer.’
Melloria sank to her knees as her sister left. She had longed for her freedom but her guilt was strong. She had tried not to wish for Robert’s death, but in her heart she had known it was the only way she could be free.
Now she had her freedom but she was alone. Where was Nicholas? Why had he not come to her?
‘I need you so,’ she whispered. ‘Please come to me, my dearest. I need you so much…’
53
Harry stood outside the door of what had been his father’s chamber and listened to the raised voices. Sir John and Lady Eleanor were arguing again, as they so often did. Harry disliked his guardian but he hated the sour-faced woman who had taken his mother’s place. He had thought she would be kind and soft, that she might take him in her arms to comfort him when he was ill or upset, but she looked at him as if he were something foul she had scraped off her shoe.
He often listened to their quarrels, but this time they were talking about him, and he wanted to know what they were saying. He moved closer to the door, listening to the angry voices.
‘Now that Devereaux is dead, you should be earl,’ Lady Eleanor said in a cold tone that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. ‘You took Craigmoor without a fight. I do not see why that bastard should inherit the title and the castle.’
‘The King has sent word that I am to surrender the boy to Sir Henry Fineden. Sir Henry is to be given the command of the castle of Devereaux and is made the boy’s guardian until he comes of age.’
‘And you will allow it? More fool you if you let him go. Have you no backbone? Stand up to the King and keep the brat here. There will come a time when you can be rid of him and then you will be the earl, as you ought to be.’
‘Damn it, woman. Will you never cease your nagging?’ Sir John complained. ‘Sometimes I wonder why you married me.’
‘I thought you would be the earl when Robert Devereaux was dead…’
‘Master Harry, come away.’
Karl the steward had come up behind Harry as he listened intently. Now he took hold of his arm and led him away from the door.
‘They were talking of me,’ Harry said as he sensed that Karl was sympathetic to him. ‘What does it mean when they say my father is dead? Am I the earl now?’
Karl looked at him for a moment, shaking his head sorrowfully. ‘Yes, you are the earl for your father made you his heir, child. Something happened to your father. It means you will not see him again.’
‘Has he gone away, like my mother and Iolanthe?’
‘Something like that,’ Karl told him and ruffled his tousled hair. ‘Joanne used to take better care of you. I dare say you will be happier with your guardian.’
‘Will I have to live with him – does he have children?’
‘Yes, I expect so’
‘Why can’t I go with my father or my mother and Iolanthe?’
Karl shook his head, looking at him sadly. ‘Too many questions, lad. I cannot answer them. One day you will understand what being dead means.’
‘I should be the earl now.’
‘Yes, you should. I was told not to tell you or call you by that title, but when you go to live with Sir Henry they will treat you with respect.’
‘I want to live with my mother and Iolanthe,’ Harry said, his eyes dark with anger. ‘Peter Finch said that I was a bastard and that my mother wasn’t my mother – but she told me she loved me, and then she went away and left me here.’
‘Lady Melloria did not have a choice, lad. Your father sent her away.’
‘Couldn’t she come back now he is dead?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Sir John and his lady live here now. It will be much better for you to stay with Sir Henry and his wife. Besides, it is the King’s command and it will be safer for you, lad.’
Harry was silent. He did not want to go and live with a stranger. He wanted his mother and father to come back, though he sort of understood that once someone was dead they had gone forever. It wasn’t fair that Iolanthe was with the lovely soft woman he thought of as his mother, even though Peter had told him she was only his stepmother. His own mother was dead too, long ago before he could remember, and he was a bastard – but he was also the earl because his father had made him his heir.
Harry wasn’t sure what all this meant, because it was strange that he had two mothers and a half sister. He did not want to stay here with his father’s cousin and his wife, but he didn’t want to live with Sir Henry either. It wasn’t fair that he had to live with strangers when Iolanthe had gone with their mother. At least he thought they were together, but no one told him anything. He was ignored, left to run wild as he pleased.
He was angry and bewildered, his mind in torment as he tried to make sense of all that had happened to him. He fingered his earlobe, which had never been the same since Iolanthe bit him and often felt sore. His feelings for his half-sister were a mixture of adoration and hatred. He wished she was here so that he could pull her hair or punish her – and yet he knew that if she were they would hold hands and comfort each other.
Harry wanted to inflict pain on someone because of the pain inside him. When he saw the butterfly beating its wings against the small pane of glass in the narrow window he smiled and pounced, catching it in his hands. He knew it wanted to be free and fly away, but it was powerless now that he held it in his hands. Taking one of its wings between his forefinger and thumb, he pulled it away, then let the one-winged creature fall to the floor. For some minutes he watched, fascinated as it tippled over on its side and struggled to keep its balance, then he stamped on it, squashing it beneath his boot. Now the butterfly was dead like his father.
A feeling of satisfaction crept over him. He was the earl. That meant he was powerful and people must obey him. One day he would punish Peter and perhaps Iolanthe too. It wasn’t fair that she should be with their mother while he was left here alone.
Yes, one day he would punis
h them all.
54
Melloria knelt before the altar in the chapel as the dusk gathered about her, the light from the candles falling upon the wooden cross and the effigy of Christ. For a moment as she gazed at it, it seemed to her that the figure wept. She bent her head, feeling her own tears close.
‘Forgive me for I have sinned in my thoughts.’
Earlier that day she had stood by Robert’s grave, watching as the labourer filled the gaping hole with dark stony earth and no tears had fallen. She had felt nothing but emptiness. Robert had caused her too many tears. She could not grieve for him. Her sadness was caused by the loneliness that surrounded her. Even Beatrice seemed to have withdrawn from her of late.
Rising to her feet, Melloria turned and saw him. Standing in the shadows beyond the light of the candles she could not at first be sure that it was really he. She had longed for him so often, conjuring his image to her mind, and perhaps that was all she saw now – just an image from her fevered imagination.
‘Nicholas…’ she breathed moving towards him, her hands outstretched. ‘Is it truly you?’
‘Anne, my beloved wife.’ Nicholas reached her, sweeping her into his embrace. ‘You asked for time and I have feared to come lest you sent me away. Are you ready to come to me now?’
‘I thought you were angry because I sent you away before,’ she said looking up at him in wonder. ‘I wished so much that I had come with you but I was afraid that Robert would pursue us and take me back. He warned me that he would kill us all, my children, you, and me at the last so that I should see you all suffer…’ She made a choking sound. ‘I have been in such torment for I longed to be with you and our children. You have them safe, do you not – all of them?’
‘Yes, I have them. They are in France, waiting for me to bring their mother to them. Mary is nervous of meeting you and Sebastien is a little vague for I think he was not well treated where he was and I have helped him to forget.’
Her eyes met his. ‘Tell me, Nicholas. When my memory was lost when I recovered from giving birth to the twins and I did not know my name or who I was – did you help me to forget?’
Nicholas smiled and touched her cheek with his fingertips. ‘I swear I did not, Anne. Your illness and your grief did that for you, though for my sins I did nothing to help you remember. I wanted you to stay with me – was I wrong?’
Melloria shook her head. ‘Had you not kept me and loved me I should never have known the true meaning of love. Robert swore he loved me but he wanted to own me. You were so gentle and loving. When you read to me from The Song of Roland there was music in your voice and you touched my soul. I could never love anyone but you, Nicholas.’
‘Not one hour has passed since you were taken from me that I have not thought of you and longed to hold you in my arms.’ He touched his lips to hers, his kiss soft and tender. ‘You feared Robert, Anne, but there was no need. I learned my lesson well that day. I have more than an hundred armed men to protect us. We shall not be taken off guard again. I swear I shall protect you with my last breath.’
Her eyes were fast on his face as she asked, ‘Forgive me, but I must know – you had nothing to do with Robert’s death?’
‘I swear that I did not send the assassin to kill him. I knew Kerrin of Shrewsbury and I knew that he hated Robert Devereaux, because he stole Rhoda Morgan from him. I had no part in your husband’s murder, though I am not blameless for I might have prevented it had I chosen to lift my hand.’
‘I wished for his death so that I might be free,’ Melloria said. ‘It was a sin but I cannot feel regret. Is that wicked, Nicholas?’
‘After the things he did to you, many a woman would have taken the knife and cut out his black heart herself.’ Nicholas smiled. ‘We are but human and we have human failings. Forget him now. We shall return to France and then we shall be married…’ He gazed into her eyes. ‘Would you be Melloria or Anne?’
‘I was happy as Anne Malvern and I shall be happy as your wife, whether you be Nicholas or Count Niccolai.’
‘Then you shall be Anne, my love and my wife.’ He took her hand. ‘Come, we must make our farewell to Beatrice for she has done much for us.’
Anne smiled and took his hand. ‘I have some of your journals, Nicholas. I saved them in case you needed them.’
‘I saw the message you left for me at Malvern all these many years past. It gave me hope that one day I would win you back again. The waiting has been long and lonely, Anne, but it is ended at last. There was much to do to prepare for this day but now the tyrant has fallen and we have our reward.’
‘Much to do?’ She was puzzled. ‘Surely Robert brought his downfall on himself, did he not?’
‘Had he been a better man his life might have turned out very differently, for then you would have loved him.’ Nicholas smiled and led her from the chapel. ‘You know that I want only your happiness, do you not?’
‘Yes, I do…’ Anne smiled at him.
She must not question what had happened. At the back of her neck she could feel a strange tingling sensation and she had the feeling that Nicholas had not told her the whole truth. He had admitted that he might have prevented Robert’s death had he chosen, but had he helped bring about Robert’s fall from grace with the King?
For one fleeting moment she recalled the book of ancient spells she had seen in Nicholas’s chamber at Malvern. He had told her that he had destroyed it but was it possible that the tales told of him were true, at least in part? Had he brought about the reckless mood that had driven Robert to his destiny by using the black arts?
No, such thoughts were disloyal. Nicholas had found her lost daughter. He had rescued her son and taken Iolanthe back, now he had come for her. She put the last of her doubts from her. The past was over and she would make an end to it. Melloria and all that had happened to her had gone. She was Anne, Nicholas’s wife. Her children and happiness waited for her in France. She would not allow foolish thoughts or doubts to cast a shadow over that happiness.
Nicholas was a good man. He might take risks when preparing his cures in the hope of discovering something to save life, but he was not a sorcerer. His cures were the result of hard work and research.
‘We must say farewell to Beatrice. I think she has been unlike herself of late. Perhaps it has been a burden for her to have me here, though she has never said it.’
‘Your sister has her own burdens to bear,’ Nicholas said and his eyes were thoughtful. ‘We can do little for her, Anne. I fear she must wrestle with her conscience alone.’
‘Her conscience?’
‘She is a nun,’ Nicholas said. ‘Her life is devoted to God but perhaps she has loved you too well. Once you have gone she will be able to return to the old ways.’
‘Yes, I think you may be right.’ Anne felt a cold shiver down her spine. ‘We must leave at once for I cannot wait to see my children…all my children.’
* * *
Beatrice kissed her sister’s cheek and looked into her eyes for a long moment, then she smiled.
‘You are truly happy now, sister. In the end all is well for you and I am satisfied.’
‘Much of my happiness is due to you. Had you not protected me and cared for me when my son was born, Robert might have killed us both. You gave me sanctuary and stood up to Robert for me. I can never thank you enough.’
‘I did my duty,’ Beatrice said. ‘May God bless and keep you and all those you love,’ she said and made the sign of the cross over her sister’s head.’
‘Mother Abbess, I wish to add my grateful thanks to Anne’s,’ Nicholas said. ‘I have been told of what happened to the money you should have had last month and I have purchased two small farms for your use. In future your income will be sent in goods and you will have the produce of the farms to sell for anything more you need.’
‘You have been more than generous. I believed you were our benefactor but I was never sure. When I helped my sister I had no thought of reward but the Church is alway
s grateful for any gift. You have named my sister Anne, and I believe it suits her. Keep her from all harm, sir – and I mean all harm.’
‘Your sister will be safe with me,’ Nicholas replied, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. ‘Whatever has been done was done for love of her, as you know well, Mother Abbess.’
He knew she had prayed for Robert’s death. How could he know – unless he was a sorcerer? She had let her sister go with him and the sin would lie heavy on her conscience.
She watched until the party had ridden from the abbey courtyard and disappeared beyond the high walls that cut them off from the outside world. Then, suddenly, she clutched at her arm, sinking to her knees as the pain spread through her and she keeled over.
‘Mother…what ails you?’ one of the sisters rushed to her, kneeling on the ground by her side. ‘You are ill? It is the distress of parting from the countess. Shall we go after her and call her back?’
Beatrice shook her head. She tried to speak but the words would not come. Beatrice closed her eyes. She was not aware of her flock gathered about her, of the tears and weeping and anxiety poured out as the nuns lifted her with Brother Joseph’s help and took her to her bed.
55
Anne looked at the beautiful chateau with surprise and pleasure. She had not expected anything like this when Nicholas told her they were to live at his home in France. Malvern had been a forbidding place, once a monastery but built on the simple lines of a century or more ago. The chateau was like a palace; its walls of honey coloured stone blending into its surroundings with a warm, faded charm that immediately captured her heart. Its spires and form made her think of a cathedral, and when she said as much Nicholas smiled and agreed that it had first been commissioned by a master builder who had worked on some of the great churches in France and Spain.
Inside, the ceilings of the lower chambers were very high and the formal rooms were spacious, the roof arched and beautifully painted with pastoral scenes or cherubs and mystical creatures. The main hall had a colonnade of graceful marble statues and much of the furniture was ornate and of the Italian style: the kind of thing that might have graced a Roman villa.
