The Master of Winterbourne

by Louise Allen

  Cornered, Henrietta resorted to begging. ‘Trust me, Matthew, please, just trust me.’

  ‘Trust you?’ His laughter was bitter. ‘Let me remind you what your lover promises: to lift the burden of your unwanted marriage from you. Just how do you expect him to achieve this? A knife in my back one dark night? Or perhaps you are too impatient to wait for his arrival. Something more subtle perhaps, brewed in the stillroom by yourself or Mistress Perrott to slip into my ale? Should I sicken and die, eased out of life by your tender ministrations leaving you a rich and grieving widow?’

  'How could you say such things?’ Henrietta whispered hoarsely. ‘How could you believe such monstrous things?’ He was accusing her of crimes which were enough to condemn her to the stake. To kill a husband was not just a capital offence, it was petty treason – and the penalty for that for a woman was the fire. Her lips were dry, she could hardly say the words.

  ‘I believe the evidence of my own eyes.’ He bent to retrieve the message, folded it and tucked it into his jerkin. Henrietta realised through the horror that she was talking to a lawyer, a man trained to probe and disbelieve. ‘You promised to love, honour and obey me. Well, I was fool enough to believe you were growing to love me. No matter, a rational man can do without love. But you have consistently disobeyed me, taken pleasure in defying me with your defence of the Royalist cause. And now I find you have dishonoured me, and that do not forgive, Wife.’

  A cold hand closed its fingers round her heart. He was going to leave her. Winterbourne was his, the marriage was consummated. If he chose to live apart from her, not see her from one year's end to the next, that was his right and she could not gainsay it. if he chose to lock her in her room for the rest of her life, he could do that too. She was powerless, more powerless as his wife than she had even been when James and Francis had been alive.

  A sudden hope flared. She had not told him about the child. Surely he would not leave her when he realised she was pregnant? Then reality reasserted itself. He would say the child was not his, and how could she ever prove it? Rather than have him reject the baby she would keep it a secret for as long as she could.

  ‘What will you do?’ she asked, while inside she wept. ‘Where will you go?’ Matthew smiled thinly. ‘Go? I go nowhere, wife. It is not I who should be slinking away ashamed. No, you do not get rid of me that easily, however much you desire it. Winterbourne is mine by law, the only sovereign power in this land, I would remind you, and here I remain while it suits me. And you are still my wife, Henrietta, mine to command. I want sons, Winterbourne needs an heir. The country, thanks to your Royalist friends, needs a new generation to heal its wounds.’

  The relief he was staying was so great that she almost swooned. When she opened her eyes again Matthew was shrugging his jerkin from his shoulders.

  ‘Matthew, what are you doing?’

  ‘Going to bed, wife, with you, as is my right.’ Matthew watched the blush spread up the column of her throat as she comprehended his meaning. ‘Or will you deny me?’

  She knew he was using her passionate response to him as a weapon against the unknown cavalier. Henrietta looked up into the implacable green eyes as he drew her unresisting into his arms. It was like stepping into the embrace of a stranger. Instinct told her that nothing she told him, even the whole truth, would convince him of her fidelity, so jealous was he. All she could do was to show him how much she loved him. And if he would not listen to her words she would show him with her body.

  *

  Three weeks later Henrietta trudged in her pattens through the wet, rank grass to the Home Farm. The rain had turned to fog, lying eerily in the hollows along the trackway, deadening all sound.

  Despite his threats on the night when he had discovered the letter Matthew had not come to her bed again. He had moved to the Spanish chamber and spoke to her only when necessary before the servants. In more optimistic moments Henrietta told herself he would not react like this if he didn't feel something for her. But such moments were rare. As she fought nausea, fear and depression, Henrietta felt the memory of the happiness they had shared fading daily.

  She had not even been able to confide in her friend. Mistress Perrott, believing Alice's child to be in danger of being born before its time, had confined her to bed and forbade all visitors. It seemed now that the danger was less and grudgingly she had agreed that Henrietta could pay a short visit.

  The cobbles of the farmyard were under her wooden soles and the buildings looming out of the murk when the air was rent by a shrill squeal of terror. Henrietta's blood ran cold. She stopped in her tracks, her heart in her mouth, unable to tell in the deadening fog where the sound had come from. Then the barn door swung open and in the torch-lit interior she saw a group of men gathering round the great pink carcass of a pig swinging from a beam.

  ‘Mistress?’ Robert was walking across the yard towards her. ‘You look quite pale.’

  ‘The noise of the pig startled me. I had forgotten the killing would have started.’

  ‘We are doing well. We began a week ago and this one is nearly the last. Well-fatted beasts too, it was a good summer's forage for them in the woods.’ He took her arm as they crossed the slippery cobbles to the farmhouse. ‘Did the wedding go well? I have had no chance to ask you.’

  ‘Very well. I am just going to tell Alice about it. My aunt was sorry you and Alice could not be there. How is she? I have been so worried.’

  Robert looked anxious. ‘Mistress Perrott tells me all is well now, although the infant is large.’

  ‘If Mistress Perrott says all is well, you must believe her, Robert. And Alice is healthy and strong.’ Henrietta was trying to convince herself as well as him.

  ‘Yes,’ Robert said dubiously. ‘But she is chafing at being confined to bed for so long.’

  'I will go and divert her mind with news of the wedding,' Henrietta soothed him. 'Go and see to the pig.’

  ‘It's me Alice!' she called as she sat on a settle inside the front door to untie the wooden pattens from her shoes. ‘May I come up?’

  There were footsteps on the stairs and Mistress Perrott appeared. ‘Good morning, Lady Sheridan. Now you are here I will go home, but tell her maid to send for me directly when the pains start.’ She stooped under the low beam at the foot of the stairs and looked keenly at Henrietta. ‘And you – are you well, Mistress?’

  ‘Tired, that is all. Are you certain all is right with Alice?’

  ‘God willing she will be delivered of a fine healthy infant within a few days.’

  Alice was sitting up in bed, her hair gleaming gold in the subdued light. ‘Dear Henrietta!’ She held out her arms and hugged her friend as best she could. ‘I am so glad to see you at last. Mistress Perrott has been so severe, and Robert has obeyed her every word. Did the wedding go well? Come and sit beside me and tell me all. I am going mad with inactivity.’

  Henrietta settled herself at the foot of the bed. ‘It was gladdening to see my aunt so happy. She looked like a young bride, all aglow. She has put all those lonely years of widowhood behind her, all those years of being a mother to me. Lawrence Stone has a fine house overlooking Bull Plain and he has told her to refurbish it from the attics to the cellars as she pleases.’

  ‘Lawyer Stone spending money?’ Alice's pale brows shot up. ‘Are we talking of the same man? Why, you will tell me he has bought a new carriage next!’

  ‘Well, he has not gone that far yet, but give Aunt Susan a few months and I believe we will see even that. Oh, and Alice – he had had his hair trimmed and bought a new suit of clothes. Why, he looked almost handsome.’

  ‘It is good they will be so happy.’ Alice sighed sentimentally. ‘But we will all miss your aunt sorely.’

  They talked some more of the wedding over the glass of wine Alice's new maidservant brought, then Henrietta realised her friend had been scrutinising her face for some time.

  ‘Is there something you want to tell me?

  Henrietta blushed. ‘How did
you know?’

  ‘I can see it in your face. And that dress – the last time I saw you wear it, it was loose about the bosom and I was going to take it in for you. Now look at it.’

  ‘I feel so uncomfortable.’ Henrietta tugged at the fabric over her swollen breasts. ‘Will it be like this all the way through? I feel sick all the time.’

  ‘Never mind, it will pass soon,’ Alice comforted her. ‘Mistress Perrott will give you infusions to take. Sir Matthew must be very happy.’

  Henrietta pleated the edge of the coverlet between her fingers. ‘He doesn't know. I have not yet told him.’

  ‘He must be blind,’ Alice exclaimed, with a laugh, then read Henrietta's expression. ‘You are not sleeping together? Why? What is the matter?’

  It all came pouring out in a torrent of misery. When she had finished the sorry tale Alice took her hand in both of hers. ‘You must tell him the truth. He is a fair man, I cannot believe he would have us punished for this. All of it occurred so long ago and so much has changed.’

  ‘Changed for the worse,’ Henrietta said bitterly. ‘This new fighting has made Matthew so angry and worried.’

  ‘It will be better soon. Your condition makes you fearful. Robert tells me it is all up with the King's men and Parliament is once more in control. Your husband will be reassured, more tolerant.’

  It was extraordinary how confused Henrietta's feelings were. Her love for Matthew was all she cared about, yet her sympathies for the cause remained. Somewhere out there the King was being hunted down like a stag, perhaps to suffer the same fate as his father on the scaffold.

  But Matthew was right: the important thing was stability for the country so that her child and Alice's could grow up in peace and never have to choose sides against each other.

  When the time came for her to leave she begged Alice not to breathe a word of what had passed between them, even to Robert.

  Entering the hall, she dropped her cloak on the chest as Matthew came through the screens, booted and spurred, a saddlebag over one arm. ‘Matthew, where are you going?’

  ‘To London on business. It is most urgent, otherwise, as you know, nothing would tear me from your side.’ It was no protestation of love, more a warning.

  ‘Cobham stays, of course?’ she enquired coldly.

  ‘Of course. As my eyes and ears. I shall be gone perhaps a week, dear Wife.’ Through the bitterness she recognised his pain and put out a hand to him, but he shook it off and strode out through the door without a backward glance.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  ‘It is good of you to come and stay with me while Matthew is away, Lady Willoughby. These long dark evenings pass so slowly without company.’ Henrietta passed her guest a glass of Canary wine and took up her tapestry again.

  The older woman had driven up to see her the day after Matthew's departure and, finding her alone, had sent her groom home for her maid, announcing her intention of staying until Matthew's return.

  ‘We have all been dull.’ Lady Willoughby took a sip of wine. ‘These present troubled times have set nerves a-jangling and my husband has driven me quite mad with his prohibitions on travelling. He would not let me stir without an armed escort, even to go these few miles between home and Winterbourne.’

  ‘I know,’ Henrietta sighed. ‘Matthew left Robert with such strict instructions about the security of the estate that we have all felt prisoners here these past few days. We have seen no sign of the marauding Scots or stragglers from the King's army that the men seem so alarmed about and it is very difficult to carry on the work of the estate with so many men engaged patrolling the house and grounds.’

  ‘I noticed the lad on the gatehouse roof as we rode under this morning. I pray things will settle soon. Surely we will have news of the King's fate, God keep him, before many more days are past.’

  ‘How fortunate the news of the King's return did not reach us in time for Marcus to join his army.’ Henrietta shuddered at the thought. ‘He brings James so much to mind, so idealistic, so full of fervour for the Royalist cause.’

  ‘More fool him!’ Lady Willoughby interjected unexpectedly. ‘Silly boys. What do they hope to achieve by this bloodshed? Matters have passed beyond that now- or would have, if the wives and mothers of this country had any say in the matter,’ she added darkly.

  After a light supper the two women sat in companionable privacy in Aunt Susan's old parlour reading the broadsheets Lady Willoughby had brought with her and working on their embroidery.

  After a while Henrietta put down her work to pull the heavy brocade across the windows against the dark outside. The night was moonless and cloudy, even the starlight was obscured. From the top of the gatehouse the watchman's lantern shone faintly, a lonely sentinel in the darkness of the November evening.

  ‘You received those broadsheets from London safely.’ She settled on a low stool by Lady Willoughby, her amethyst skirts pooling around her on the polished boards. ‘Perhaps I will hear from Matthew soon.’

  ‘Do not be concerned.’ The older woman rested her hand caressingly on Henrietta's head, responding to her fears rather than to what she had said. ‘There has been no fighting recently, only skirmishes and none of those near London.’

  Henrietta sat silent, resting against Lady Willoughby's chair, letting her guest's words wash over her. The little flame of hope that Matthew's pain at their parting had ignited flickered and died again, leaving her despairing. She had been so concerned with Matthew's reaction that the thought of the message itself had been lost.

  Now, sitting looking at the window-seat above the priest's hole, she wondered about the messenger. He had sent no further word. What if the man had been killed at Worcester? The papers would stay there forever and she could never tell Matthew the truth.

  She must have sighed, for Lady Willoughby bent down, tilting up her chin with one thin finger. ‘You are asleep where you sit, child. It is time you were in your bed, not drowsing before the fire while I gossip on.’

  Henrietta got to her feet, acknowledging that she would be glad of her rest. ‘And you will be tired too, Lady Willoughby. It is kind of you to visit me, are you sure your family can spare you to me?’

  ‘You have pretty manners, child.’ The older woman got to her feet stiffly and picked up a branch of candles. ‘My family are only too pleased to have a few day's freedom from common sense and order.’

  Smiling at her guest's robust turn of phrase, Henrietta took her arm as they slowly climbed the stairs. She felt tired and out of sorts. Tomorrow she would have to consult Goodwife Perrott, she must not neglect her health and endanger her child because she was so preoccupied with Matthew.

  She parted with Lady Willoughby at the guest-chamber door and made her way along the passage to her own room. The gold velvet curtains were drawn across the casements and half around the bed and Letty had turned down the coverlet and run a warming pan between the sheets. Autumn had well and truly arrived, damp and dark at the end of a summer which the old people of the village spoke of as the hottest in many a long year.

  Letty tapped on the door and brought in a bowl of warm water. ‘Unlace me please, Letty.’ Her maid untied the knots and pulled the bodice lacing loose. ‘Oh, what a blessed relief to be out of that.’

  ‘You should have worn a looser gown, Mistress. But I suppose Lady Willoughby might have noticed your condition then. Never mind, it is very becoming at the bosom.’ Letty was growing pert and confident in her new role of lady's maid now Alice was safely out of the way at Home Farm.

  ‘Becoming it may be, miss, but I shall risk a looser gown tomorrow.’ Tiredness and worry sharpened her tone and Letty bit her lip. Unlike Alice she could sulk for days. ‘You may go, Letty. Lay my nightgown to warm by the fire. I will finish undressing myself.’

  Henrietta fell into a deep, dreamless sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, cocooned in the four-poster with the curtains drawn tight all round against the draught.

  When she woke the room was
chill and a light was shining in her face. Confused, she put up her hand to shield her eyes, still three-quarters asleep. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Henrietta,’ Alice's voice whispered from the darkness. ‘Are you awake?’

  ‘What time is it?’ Henrietta demanded, struggling to get into a sitting position and gather her wits. ‘Alice? What are you doing here?’

  ‘’Tis three of the clock. You must get up, he will not speak to anyone else.’

  ‘Matthew?’ Henrietta's face lit up. ‘He is home?’

  ‘No, not your husband. Robert says it is our man come at last from Oxford.’ Alice put the candle down on the bedside table and held Henrietta's robe out for her.

  ‘Where is he?’ Gathering the heavy folds around her, Henrietta picked up the candle and followed Alice's unwieldy figure into the corridor. ‘Alice, wait here, get into my bed and keep warm. You should not be walking about at this time of night. What if you fell? And besides, did Mistress Perrott not tell you to rest?’

  ‘I'll come with you, then when the messenger has gone Robert and I will return home together.’ Alice was characteristically obdurate. ‘They are in the kitchen yard.’

  ‘Well, take my hand, then. We will go down the back stairs and avoid Cobham's chamber door, that man has ears like a fox.’

  They crept down the dark stairs clinging to one another, wincing each time a board creaked in protest under their slippered feet. The wind had risen in the night, moaning and soughing in the eaves and under doors. Twice Henrietta froze, certain she had heard a footstep on the upper landing, but it was only the old house settling for the night.

  They reached the storeroom at the foot of the stairs, eased open the door and crept along the hall passage, past the sewing room and stillroom, past the steward's office and the gaping darkness at the head of the cellar steps.

  Outside in the yard it was cold. The wind had sent the clouds scudding across the sky and a thin, fitful moon had broken through the darkness. Dry leaves trapped in the corner of the Arcade scudded and eddied, the only sound in the silent yard. The candle guttered and went out.