Lady of Hay

by Barbara Erskine

  “Ben—what if she’s done it? What if she regressed on her own and died—”

  “Don’t be stupid!” Ben’s voice was sharp. “Jo is a sensible woman. She’s not going to do a damn fool thing like that.” He knelt and put his eye to the lock. “Fetch me a pencil and a newspaper or something. Let’s see if we can push the key out and bring it through under the door.”

  “Why did she lock it?” Ann moaned as she watched Ben juggling the pencil gently in the lock.

  There was a small metallic bump as the key fell, and with a satisfied grunt Ben pulled gently on the paper and brought it under the door. Ann grabbed the key and with a shaking hand inserted it in the lock.

  Jo was lying on her bed, her arms across her eyes.

  “Is she breathing?” Ann ran to her and dropped on her knees beside the bed. “Jo? Oh, God, Jo, are you all right?”

  “I can see her breathing from here.” Ben stayed firmly in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the low neckline of Jo’s nightgown.

  “Jo?” Gently Ann shook her shoulder. “Jo, wake up.”

  With a little sigh, Jo stirred. She opened her eyes and stared at Ann blankly.

  “Jo, it’s after ten. The children have been pestering us to wake you.”

  Jo smiled faintly. “Egidia,” she said. “And Mattie’s boys. So sweet. So like Will when he was little…” She closed her eyes again.

  Ann glanced over her shoulder at Ben, who looked heavenward and disappeared back into the hall. A moment later she heard the sound of his feet running down the stairs. She turned back to Jo. “Not Mattie’s boys, Jo. Polly and Bill,” she said gently.

  Jo frowned. “I slept so heavily,” she said slowly. “And such a long sleep. Richard left. He had given up…He was old, Ann. Old.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I must have cried myself to sleep.”

  ***

  Nick leaned forward and turned on the car radio. Beside him was the map and the route Ben had given him to follow via Hereford and Ross. He had spent the night, in the end, at a pub somewhere in the mountains, leaving before breakfast to try to find his way back to the route after driving aimlessly for hours the evening before. He felt drowsy and very depressed.

  He blinked, trying to concentrate on the blue car in front of him, pacing himself as the early-morning sun beat down into his face. He did not want to return to London. Every ounce of his being cried out to stay in Wales with Jo. Clenching his teeth, he put his foot on the accelerator and swooped past the blue car. In its place now was a green van. It slowed, blocking his way, and he braked, swearing.

  It was somewhere just south of Hereford, as the A49 swept up toward the crest of a long hill, that he slammed on the brakes again. He was staring at the signpost on the opposite side of the road. The sound of the radio faded, as did the swish of cars overtaking him, the speed of their passing making the Porsche shudder as it sat at the curbside.

  Aconbury 1 mile

  He frowned. The name meant something to him. But what? Slowly, without quite knowing why, he pulled the car into the side road and drove slowly down it, staring ahead through the windshield at the woods and thick hedgerows on either side of what turned out to be a narrow, winding lane. He drove on, past some farm buildings, then the car drifted to a halt outside a small deserted church. His chest felt tight and his heart was beating with an uneasy, irregular rhythm as he climbed out.

  Still without knowing why, he walked through the gate and past some old yews toward it. Two carved angels hung on the oak pillars of the porch, staring across the uneven flags. Walking in between them, he tried the huge rusty iron ring handle of the church door. It did not move. Then he read the typed message pinned to the heavy oak:

  Notice to Visitors

  This church has been declared redundant and is now used as a diocesan store…Visitors are always welcome to view the building and the key can be made available by prior appointment…

  Nick sat down abruptly on the narrow stone seat that formed part of the wall of the porch. He found himself breathing very deeply. There was a sting of tears behind his eyes and a lump in his throat. But why? Why should this small, lost church fill him with such overwhelming unhappiness?

  Suddenly unable to bear the enormous misery that flooded through him, he stood up once more and, ducking outside, almost ran back to the car, climbing in and resting his head against the rim of the steering wheel. It was ten minutes before he reversed the car into the gateway and made his way back to the main road.

  ***

  Jo reached London about seven that evening. They had tried to persuade her to stay, but when she insisted she had to go back, Ann’s relief was almost palpable. They parted with kisses and promises that they would see one another again very soon—but there was no more mention of Matilda. Jo knew that if her past came to her again, it must be alone. She could ask no more of Ann and Ben.

  After making her way slowly up to her apartment, she let herself in. There was only a second’s hesitation as she looked around, wondering with a sudden feeling of nervousness if Nick were there, but the apartment was empty. She toured it once quickly, opening all the windows, then she let herself relax. It was good to be home.

  She showered and changed and poured herself a glass of apple juice. Then she unpacked her notes and piled them on the coffee table. The Clements article was practically finished.

  The sudden ringing of the phone made her jump. She climbed to her feet and went to answer it slowly, suddenly apprehensive.

  “Jo? How are you?” It was Sam.

  Her body went rigid. She felt her fingers lock around the receiver, her knuckles white as she turned to look out at the drooping flowers on the balcony. “I’m well, thank you.” She kept her voice carefully neutral.

  “When did you get back from Wales?” Sam’s voice rang so clearly in the room it sounded as if he were there with her.

  “Only an hour ago.” She felt the rags of tension beginning to pull at her temples. Her head was beginning to throb. Put the phone down. She must put the phone down. But she didn’t. She stayed where she was, her eyes on the stone balustrade with its curtain of wilting green.

  “May I speak to Nick?” Sam was speaking again.

  Jo felt her stomach tighten. “He’s not here, Sam. I don’t know where he is.”

  “Did he go back to Lynwood House?” She could hear the amusement in his tone.

  “I told you, I don’t know where he is.”

  There was a pause. “I see. Do I gather you have quarreled again?” he said at last.

  “No, Sam.” Jo could hear her voice rising slightly. Desperately she tried to keep it level. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we haven’t quarreled. We are the best of friends. We had a lovely time in Wales, and whatever it was you tried to do to Nick didn’t work. And just in case you think you can come here again and repeat the charade, forget it. We know what you’re up to. It won’t work, Sam, do you hear? It won’t work.”

  There was an amused chuckle down the phone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jo, but I hope to see you again soon. Very soon.”

  “No, Sam, forget it.”

  “Whatever you say, love. But before you hang up on me forever, have you got my mother’s phone number? I’m down in Hampshire with her at the moment.”

  “I shan’t be phoning you, Sam.”

  “Perhaps not.” He laughed again. “But Nick will. You make sure you’ve got it somewhere handy, there’s a good girl. Someone may need to get in touch with me urgently. You never know.” He laughed again. “Your life might depend on it.”

  The line went dead.

  Jo stared at the receiver for a moment in disbelief, then she slammed it down. It was several minutes before she reached for a pen and scribbled Dorothy Franklyn’s phone number down obediently on the notepad by the lamp.

  ***

  Tim looked at Nick without surprise. “I thought you’d turn up one of these days,” he said.

  “Well, we have one or two things to sort
out, do we not?” Nick followed him into the studio.

  Tim swung around. “We have nothing to sort out,” he snapped. “You don’t own her, for God’s sake.”

  “I intend to marry her.”

  Tim stood quite still. His mouth had fallen slightly open as the pain of loss hit him anew. With an effort he pulled himself together. “Then congratulations are in order. I hope you’ll both be very happy.” He turned away. “Does your brother know?” He was staring up at the high ceiling of the studio, concentrating with elaborate care on the pattern of spotlights and tracks suspended beneath the shaded skylights.

  “Not yet.” Nick stood still just inside the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. “And neither does Jo yet. Keep away from her from now on, Tim. I’m only going to tell you once.”

  “There is no need.” Tim did not look at him. “Jo has never felt anything for me. She and I were part of a dream, that’s all, and my share of the dream is over, if it ever existed at all. Come over here.” He moved slowly, as if every bone in his body were aching with fatigue.

  Nick hadn’t noticed the easel in the corner. He watched as Tim pulled the sheet off and turned the easel slightly toward the light. “My wedding present to you both, if you like,” Tim said quietly. “I’ll get it framed. I’ve no use for it now.”

  Nick stared at the photograph. He could feel a pulse beginning to flicker somewhere in his throat. It was Matilda de Braose. Not Jo. There was no trace of Jo left in those huge eyes with their suspicion of love and laughter, the straight, slightly long nose, the determined chin, its strength emphasized by the fine white linen of the headdress. His eye ran slowly down the photo, resting for a moment on her hands, then on down the heavy folds of the scarlet surcoat and pale-green gown to the point of one shoe that showed at her hem. He would have recognized her anywhere, the woman whose image had haunted him, tormented him, for eight hundred years, the woman with whom a prince had fallen hopelessly in love, the woman for whom his passion and longing had grown twisted and sour.

  Abruptly he turned away, feeling the bile rising in his mouth. “So that was how she looked to de Clare,” he breathed. “She never looked at me like that. She kept only sneers for me!”

  Without another word he strode back across the studio.

  “Where are you going?” Tim’s voice was suddenly harsh.

  Nick stopped. He half turned. “Where do you think I’m going?” he said. His eyes were hard.

  He groped for the door, then flung himself down the stairs and out into the street, leaving Tim standing by the photo.

  “Don’t hurt her, Nick,” Tim said softly as he heard the street door close. “For pity’s sake, don’t hurt her.”

  36

  Jo pushed away the typewriter and stood up. She was too tired to work and too tired to eat. Sam had upset her, and she was angry and agitated, and her thoughts kept on going back to Nick. She wanted to see him so badly it was like a physical pain.

  When the phone rang she stared at it for a moment before picking it up.

  “Jo, dear? It’s Ceecliff. How are you?”

  Jo’s face relaxed into a smile. “Tired and grumpy. It’s lovely to hear from you. How are you?”

  “Agog to hear some more about your Matilda. Is she still with you?”

  Jo managed a laugh. “You make her sound like a tenant. Yes, she is still with me.”

  “Good. Then you must tell me all about her. I’m going to ask a great favor, dear. I’m coming to town tomorrow. I have to see my dentist and I want to go to Harrods. Could I possibly stretch my poor old carcass on your sofa tomorrow night? I’m so ancient these days I can’t face the journey both ways in one day.”

  “Of course you can.” Jo’s spirits had lifted at her words.

  “Splendid. Now, don’t chase poor Nicholas out if he’s there. I’d like to see him and I’m not naive! I’ll see you about five, my dear, if that’s all right,” and she hung up without giving Jo the chance to reply.

  Jo smiled. “Naive. You!” she murmured to herself. “Never!”

  She stood up and went out onto the balcony, staring down at the tub of geraniums at her feet. She had deluged the plants in water and already they were responding, the sharp, sweet-sour smell of sooty London earth filling her nostrils, as, suddenly, her eyes overflowed with tears. Don’t think about Nick. Don’t. Desperately she tried to concentrate on the scarlet petals of the flower, but they blurred and swayed before her eyes.

  Before he left the Clementses’ farm he had taken her hands in his. “I don’t want to see you again, Jo. Not till this is over,” he had said. “Don’t call me. Don’t let me come near you. Not for any reason whatsoever, do you understand?”

  Abruptly she retreated indoors. She turned on the stereo and threw herself down on the sofa. If only Nick were here for Ceecliff to find tomorrow. If only he were here…

  She closed her eyes, trying to force herself to listen to the music. Ten minutes of Vivaldi to try and unknot the tension behind her eyes, then she would go to bed.

  ***

  As they dismounted in the castle ward at Carrickfergus, Matilda found herself looking upward at the solid keep glowing ruggedly in the evening light, and she shuddered in spite of the warmth of the evening.

  Word had come on Midsummer’s Day that King John, together with an army of men, had sailed from Pembroke and landed at Crook on the southeast corner of Ireland. From there he had ridden to Kilkenny and been received with all honor by the Earl Marshall.

  “But what’s happened? Where’s William? Why haven’t we heard anything? Why has the king come to Ireland?” Matilda had looked wildly from Walter to his brother Hugh and back, after they had heard the news from the marshall’s messenger. In the spring King John had at last agreed William could return to Wales, where he would grant him one more audience.

  “I don’t understand.” Walter rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  “I have a letter, my lord.” The messenger fumbled in his pouch. “I was told to deliver it secretly to the Earl of Meath and no other.”

  “Well then, give it to me, man.” Walter slid his finger under the seal, a worried frown on his face. Hugh and Matilda waited in silence, watching as he scanned the closely written lines. At last he let out a deep breath. He looked up at Matilda. “It’s the worst news, I’m afraid. You’d better sit down while I tell you.”

  Matilda went pale, but she did as she was told, sitting upright on a narrow stool. Hugh put his hand protectively on her shoulder. He cleared his throat nervously. “Go on, Walter. Tell us.”

  Walter glanced down at the parchment. “It appears that William went to Hereford but at the last moment he refused to meet the king. Instead he began to rally men with a view to recapturing some of his lands by force.” He glanced up as Matilda drew in a quick painful breath. “The king promptly set off for Haverford as he had been threatening, where his host was already gathering for an invasion of Ireland.”

  “An invasion?” Hugh repeated, appalled at the word.

  “That’s what it says here. Lord Ferrers apparently tried very hard to act as an intermediary and somehow persuaded William to ride to Pembroke after the king and there William actually saw John. According to him he offered him forty thousand marks to be paid at once if the king would restore him to favor.”

  Matilda gasped. “Forty thousand? He’s out of his mind. Where would we get that kind of money!”

  Walter licked his lips. “I gather that’s what the king said. He also commented that it wasn’t William anyway, but you who really headed the de Braose family now.” He paused and glanced up quickly. “If anyone could raise any money it would be you and not your husband, and he intended to hold you and you alone responsible for the debt.”

  Matilda closed her eyes for a moment, conscious of Hugh’s reassuring hand gently squeezing her shoulder. After another quick glance at her, Walter went on, his finger tracing the lines of writing that grew smaller and more cramped toward the bottom of the parchment. “
The king offered William the chance of accompanying him here to Meath, where they could together confront you, but William refused. He has ridden to the March, intent on raising an army of his own. It seems the king let him go.”

  ***

  “Courage, Mother. We’ll be safe here, you’ll see.” Will half turned, watching as his wife and children with the nurses trailed disconsolately after Walter and Margaret toward the stairway that led up into the keep at Carrickfergus.

  Matilda tried to smile. “I keep thinking about your father, Will. Why did he do this to us? Why didn’t he try to make peace with the king? It is almost as if he did it deliberately to set the king against me.”

  Will’s mouth was set in a grim line. “It was unforgivable of him. He must have known that the king was going to try to find you, although Hugh reckons the king was coming anyway—and”—he hesitated—“well, Father has been behaving erratically, you must admit. I’m not sure all the time that he really knows what he’s doing anymore.”

  They stood watching as the last of the party climbed the wooden stairs into the keep. Only a few attendants remained hovering behind them, waiting to escort them in. The last of the horses was being led off toward the stables. Overhead two gulls, their wings pink in the last light of the setting sun, wheeled and called over the high walls.

  “The king has followed us across Ireland, Will.” Matilda put her hand on his arm. “There is no safety for us here.”

  He smiled at her fondly. “I know. I’ve talked it over with Reginald and Walter and they agree. We must all get to France as soon as possible. It’s the only way now. And this is a good place to embark from, so when we’ve rested a little, Hugh is going to find us boats.”

  She sighed. “Oh, how I long to see Giles again. Ask Hugh to hurry. I don’t care about resting. Let us leave quickly. I don’t think he’ll take it as an insult to his hospitality.” She made a brave attempt to smile.

  But it proved much harder than they had anticipated to find a boat that would carry them south down the calm, blue sea toward France. The first two captains Hugh approached shrugged and gesticulated and bargained noisily and then sailed away without them on the first favorable wind.