Lady of Hay

by Barbara Erskine

  “‘The rich man in his castle, the poor man at his gate. God made the high and lowly, he ordered their estate,’” Ann recited quietly. “I can still remember singing that in church!”

  “God!” Jo buried her head in her arms. “William did everything in the name of God.”

  “It is man’s blessing that he does learn from his mistakes, Jo,” Ann said gently. “Not all of them, and not fast, but he does learn. And he progresses, as you say. Did Will de Braose have TB? From what you told me it sounds like it…We’ve learned to control that. And you talked about the plague in Aberhonddu. That doesn’t haunt the people there anymore. I’d be the first person to praise that kind of progress, but in some things man has been too clever. He has rejected good things as well as bad. Now he has to swallow his pride and retrace a few steps, that’s all. Learn to listen quietly to the beat of the universe as his ancestors did. Learn to listen to nature and take her in partnership, not try and make her a robot slave.”

  Jo looked up, squinting in the sun. “I stand rebuked,” she said softly. “Write that down, Ann. I’ll print it.”

  Ann grinned. “It’s a deal.” She turned to go into the house, then she stopped and glanced at Polly and Bill, who were playing in a sandpit near them. “If the kids have a sleep after lunch, Jo, I’ll take you back again if you like.”

  Jo hesitated. “I think I’m going to have to go on, Ann,” she agreed at last. “On to the end of the story. That is the only way I’ll be free of her. And I’d like it to be with you there.”

  Ann frowned. “You don’t mean you want to go on, until her death?”

  “I think I have to.”

  “Are you sure?” Ann was looking doubtful. “I know it’s often done, but you don’t know how she died. Death scenes can be pretty traumatic, even under deep hypnosis.”

  “I do know how she died.”

  “How?” Ann sat down at the table near Jo, her elbows spread, her chin propped on her hands, her eyes fixed on Jo’s face.

  “John had her thrown into a dungeon and starved to death.”

  “Sweet Jesus!” Ann caught her breath.

  Jo smiled bleakly. “It’s knowing about it when she doesn’t that is so terrible. I watch her with part of myself, antagonizing John, antagonizing him almost deliberately, from the first day they met.” She clenched her fists suddenly. “He loved her, Ann. I really think he loved her, and she found him attractive once he had grown to manhood, and yet they never managed to communicate. They just seemed to knock sparks off each other all the time.”

  “None of this was in that article you showed me.”

  “Pete obviously doesn’t know his history. He just thought it would be fun linking the name of a king to the story of Matilda. Linking Nick’s name—” She bit her lip and turned abruptly away to study the view. “I just want to get it over with, Ann,” she said after a moment over her shoulder, “so I can get on with my own life. Matilda is an intrusion! A parasite, feeding off me, sucking my…not my blood, exactly, but something.”

  “Your life force.” Ann stood up again. “I’ve had an idea. Come and help me prepare the salad, then later we’ll try a new approach. It may be that you’ve put your finger on something. I’d like to try an experiment. I’d like to see if Matilda really is a memory—or if she is a spirit, using you for some purpose. A spirit who is not at rest.”

  Jo gasped. “You’re not serious? You mean I’m possessed?”

  Ann laughed. “It’s always a possibility. Come on. Don’t worry about it. Later we’ll try to find out what this poor lady wants from you.”

  Worn out by the heat, the two small children went to bed in their cool north-facing bedroom without their customary protest. Outside, Ben had moved the table into the shade of one of the ancient yew trees near the house. He sat down on the wooden chair and looked solemnly at his wife. “Take care, Annie. You are sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Ann sat down opposite Jo. “I know,” she said. “You trust me, Jo, don’t you?”

  Jo nodded, her eyes on Ann’s face.

  Slowly Ann reached forward and put her cool hands over Jo’s. The shadow moved slightly and Jo felt the sudden blaze of the sun in her eyes. She closed them involuntarily, conscious only of the heavy scented silence of the early afternoon.

  ***

  “Matilda.” Ann’s voice was gently insistent. “Matilda, I command you speak. Matilda, if you are a spirit from the world beyond, tell us what it is you want in our world. Your time is past, your story is finished, so why do you speak through Joanna?”

  There was a long silence. Jo’s eyes remained closed, her whole body relaxed. Ann repeated her question twice more, then she glanced at Ben. “You were right. It’s not a spirit, or if it is, I can’t reach it. It just struck me that Jo could be a natural medium. But I don’t think it is that. If she is possessed, it is not in the way people usually mean when they talk of possession.”

  “Bloody ridiculous, woman! Wake her up and let’s have some of that foul coffee.” Ben was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  “It’s too hot for coffee.” Ann stroked Jo’s hand gently. “Lady Matilda. Tell me more about your children. Whom did they marry?”

  Jo opened her eyes slowly. She drew back a little into the shade, looking past Ann and Ben across the grass toward the steep slope where the garden began to fall away into the valley. Beyond lay the hazy mountains.

  ***

  The day of Will’s wedding to Mattie de Clare dawned bright and showery. Bramber Castle was in high excitement, for not only was the eldest son of William de Braose at last being married, but the king himself was guest of honor.

  Matilda stood staring out across the broad waters of the River Adur from the deserted solar, lost in thought. Below, her husband was with the king and the other guests, waiting while Mattie and her ladies made last-minute preparations for the ceremony.

  Mattie had spent much time with Matilda over the past years, learning at her side the accomplishments of a great lady. She was a quiet, gentle girl who had shown signs of great beauty as, slowly, she began to turn into a mature young woman. Will had often been with them during that time, kept from the manly pursuits for which he longed, and from his father’s side, by the debilitating cough and weakness that still plagued him constantly, and Mattie had grown to regard him with an almost blind adoration which half embarrassed, half pleased him. Matilda was overjoyed to see them marry, but the arrangement hadn’t been without its problems. She thought suddenly of the scene when Reginald had first heard the news. “But I thought I was the one she would marry! You’ve always spoken of me being the one, Mother,” he had appealed to her wildly. “I know her and I know her father from when I was serving with them. It’s my right! It should be me!” But William, now Lord of the Three Castles in addition to his other titles, and deeper than ever in the king’s debt, had been adamant. He wanted Reginald to marry Gracia de Burgh. “She’s a red-blooded young woman. She needs a man. And now. Will is always ill. I doubt sometimes he’ll live out another winter,” he had said with outspoken brutality. “Mattie is too young to marry yet, so they can wait. If Will is strong enough when she is old enough, then they can marry. But I need the de Burgh alliance now.”

  He needed, as they all knew, the de Burgh power behind him. But, in the event, the de Burgh marriage had been fraught with delay, and it had been only a short while before that Reginald had married his Irish heiress, with his brother Giles officiating at the ceremony.

  Among the first favors John had granted after his accession had been the installation of Giles as Bishop of Hereford. She thought back to how William had watched so proudly his tall, copper-haired son, who now sported mitre and cross with much grave dignity. The young man’s calling unnerved William, and filled him with superstitious awe that annoyed and puzzled him, even as he bathed in the glory that his son’s position brought to him.

  Matilda smiled quietly to herself. They had been so lucky, on the whole, in their children
. Isobel and her husband, Roger Mortimer, had presented Matilda with two grandchildren. Margaret, married five years before, wrote long letters regularly from Ireland, where she now spent most of her time and she too seemed very happy, although the girl did have one sorrow, unskillfully hidden in her letters. This was that no child had as yet been born to her marriage with her beloved, handsome Walter, the Lord of Meath.

  “I have vowed, Mother dear,” her latest letter had said, “to found a nunnery to the blessed memory of the Virgin Mary, if she grants my great desire to have a son. And Walter too has made the same vow. He has expressed the longing to found an abbey somewhere in the shadow of Pen y Beacon, perhaps at Craswall, where he holds tenure. Pray for me, Mother dear, that my own prayers may be answered. I hope we may return to Ludlow soon, so that I can see you—”

  Only the thought of Tilda brought real sadness. Widowed now for four years, after Gruffydd had died of some sudden, virulent fever, she had helped bury him in his father’s abbey at Strata Florida, but when Matilda wrote to suggest she return to her family, she sent a snubbing reply that it was her intention to bring up her two boys as true sons of Wales and when that task was done she would be content to lie at the side of her husband. There had been no exchange of messages after that, and Matilda nursed her hurt in secret, showing that final letter to no one before she held the parchment in the flame of a candle and watched it blacken and curl in her fingers.

  And now Will’s wedding had arrived and with it a new honor for William, for King John, the threat of invasion by Philip of France at last over, had agreed to attend the marriage.

  Matilda bit her lip. So once more they shared the same roof together, the three men who so ruled her life: William, the king, and Richard de Clare.

  She had been shocked by Richard’s appearance. He had grown thin and stooped since their last meeting, and his skin strangely sallow. His eyes were the same though—as searching and powerful in their hold over her as ever.

  He had arrived alone at Bramber with Mattie and his son, Gilbert. It was five years since he had, at last, separated from the embittered Amicia, and she had chosen not to come to her daughter’s wedding feast, a fact that had caused Matilda to send up a prayer of thanks.

  Behind her, one of her women appeared and cleared her throat loudly. “My lady, Sir William has asked for you again. His Grace is impatient to proceed.”

  Slowly Matilda turned. She smiled. If her eldest son and Richard’s daughter could be happy together, then perhaps, after all, there would have been some point to their own impossible love story.

  Too soon the ceremony was over. The chapel was hot and stuffy from the candles and incense and the press of people. As she knelt for the mass following the nuptials Matilda glanced sideways at Richard, who was beside her, and he turned at once, instantly conscious of her gaze. At the altar Giles was the celebrant, attended by his own chaplain from Hereford and the castle chaplain and the priests from the neighboring church at Steyning, all clustered around him like so many highly colored butterflies.

  “Are we now brother and sister, my love?” She heard Richard’s whisper over the slow sound of the chanting. They were kneeling so close to one another she felt him stir and then his fingers feeling for hers hidden by the stiff folds of her kirtle.

  A happy warmth filled her heart. “For always, Richard,” she murmured back, and for a moment they looked at each other again. On her other side William, unaware of anything but the mystery before him, knelt, his eyes fixed to the altar. In front, the newlyweds shared a faldstool together, solemn-faced, intent on the words their brother was uttering, while the king also knelt on the purple velvet of a cushion to one side of the sanctuary steps.

  Matilda’s happiness was so complete it was a shock to find John’s gaze not on the mass but fixed on the place where an embroidered fold of damask hid her hand as it lay still gently clasped in Richard’s.

  Slowly John raised his eyes to hers and she saw the hardness in them masked only by a slight speculative frown.

  33

  The Porsche turned cautiously up the steep lane following its bumpy twists and turns as Nick peered through the windshield and then down at the ordnance survey map on the seat beside him. He was very tired.

  After drawing the car up next to Jo’s at the top of the lane, he climbed out at last, staring at the view in silence. Then something made him turn.

  Jo was standing behind him in the doorway to the farmhouse. She was far more tanned than he remembered, her face and arms burned like a gypsy, her long hair caught back on the nape of her neck. She was wearing a simple white dress and low-heeled sandals and looked, so he thought with a pang of strange fear, almost supernaturally beautiful. Slowly he swung the car door shut.

  “How are you, Jo?”

  She still had not smiled. “How did you know where I was?”

  “Someone told me you were back in Wales so I drove to Hay. Margiad said you were up here.” He had not moved.

  She watched him warily. His face was thin and there were lines of fatigue beneath his eyes and around his mouth, but he was still in her eyes the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was wearing an open-necked blue shirt and cords. “You’ve seen the article?” she said softly.

  He nodded.

  “Is it true?”

  For a moment he didn’t reply, then slowly he nodded. “I think it probably is.”

  Behind her Ann had emerged from the low shadowed building. She looked at them in silence for a moment, then she held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Ann,” she said.

  “Nick Franklyn.” Nick moved forward at last and gripped her fingers for a moment. “I’m sorry to arrive unannounced. I meant to call from Hay, then I thought perhaps I’d better surprise you—”

  “In case I ran away?” Jo said.

  “Under the circumstances I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.” He forced himself to smile at Ann. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding—”

  “You’re not. I’m glad you’re here. And you’re in perfect time for a drink. Ben has promised we can resort to gin tonight after inflicting home brew on Jo all yesterday, so you picked your moment well.” Ann turned. “Jo. You promised Bill and Polly you would build one more sandcastle before they went to bed.”

  She watched as Jo disappeared into the farmhouse. “She said she never used to like kids,” she said reflectively, looking after her. “Till she had six of her own.” She gave a wry little laugh. “Now she’s great with them. Better than me.” She linked arms with Nick and led him toward the stone wall that bounded the garden at the western end. They stopped and leaned on it, staring at the mountains in the distance. A smoky haze was beginning to shroud the valleys round their feet.

  “Jo has told us something of her story,” Ann said reflectively after a moment. “She has asked me to help her, and I want to.”

  “I gather she has decided to stop the whole thing.”

  “She can’t stop, Nick.”

  Nick sighed. He said nothing, his eyes on the distant view.

  “She showed me the article about your experiences,” Ann went on after a minute.

  Nick slammed the palm of his hand down on the top of the wall. “My ‘experiences,’ as you call them, were not genuine,” he said forcibly. “Most of that article was a load of rubbish.” He swung to face her. “It has to have been!”

  Ann looked at him seriously, trying to read the expression in his eyes—the anger, the frustration, and, yes, the fear. It was all there for a moment before the shutters came down and she saw his face close.

  “Most?” she said softly. “Then some of it was true?”

  He leaned against the wall, facing her now. “I find it strange she should confide so completely in people she barely knows,” he said with sudden harshness, ignoring her question.

  Ann smiled. “There’s a reason. I do know something about hypnosis—and about past life recall—but I hope it’s more than that. I hope we have become her friends as well. I can’t take the cred
it for it if we have, though. That’s Ben. Everyone trusts Ben.” She glanced away almost shyly. “I hope you will too.”

  As if on cue, Ben appeared from behind the house carrying a basket loaded with vegetables. He raised an earthy hand and disappeared in through the front door.

  Ann stood up. “Come and meet him, then we’ll get you that drink. Jo must be about ready for rescue from our kids by now.”

  ***

  They ate outside by candlelight beneath a luminous sky streaked with shooting stars. In the valley they could hear the yap of a hunting owl and, closer at hand, the thin whisper of upland crickets.

  Ben pushed back his plate. “That was lovely, Annie. You excelled yourself, my dear.”

  She smiled at him dreamily. “And my reward? Will you fight the filter, just this once?”

  Ben laughed. He leaned across and rumpled her hair. “Just this once, okay. Come on, Jo. You look like a competent sort of female. Help me.”

  Ann leaned back in her chair as Jo and Ben disappeared into the kitchen and the door swung shut behind them, shutting off the stream of light from the oil lamps.

  “I suppose you don’t feel like confiding in a couple of strangers too?” she said after a moment.

  Nick was staring at the stars. “There must be a shower of meteorites going over,” he said quietly. “That’s about the sixth shooting star I’ve seen.”

  “They’re supposed to be lucky,” she said. “I’m a good listener, Nick.”

  He smiled in the darkness. “I don’t know if there is anything to say.”

  “You’re worried.”

  He nodded.

  “And you’re afraid.”

  He tensed and for a moment she thought he would deny it. “Yes, I’m afraid.”

  “For Jo.”

  “What would you say if I told you I think I may have been programmed to hurt her?”

  “I would say it was impossible.”

  “But can you be sure of that?”