The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) (12 page)

CHAPTER
TWELVE

   
Anthony was the first to come and visit me at the old house.  I could see
from his expression that he was distressed and my heart sank.  Despite the
vicious disease from which the little girl suffered, I had hoped and prayed she
might recover.

   
"Alicia?"  I asked at once.

   
He nodded.

   
"She died this afternoon.  Richard is devastated."

   
"Of course he is," I replied. 
"And Bethany?"

   
He scowled at me as though I had used a dirty word.

   
"He has allowed her back in the house, despite her betrayal.  He has
sent my sister back to France
so that she will not suspect that Lady Summerville is a heretic."

   
"I meant how is she coping with the loss of her child?"

   
He shrugged, as though it
were
of no importance, and I
was shocked.

   
"You have changed, Anthony," I told him.  "You were always
fond of her."

   
"That was before.  I have no idea why he has forgiven her, after the
way she behaved he should have put her away for good."

   
"I am sure she had her reasons," I said quietly, a little
uncomfortable about the turn this conversation was taking. "And I am sure
he had his." I found myself wanting him to leave. 

   
"The funeral will be in the morning," he was saying.  "Then
Richard's wife will return to live at the Hall as though nothing has
happened.  What do you think of that, My Lady?"

   
"I think that is how it should be," I told him firmly.  "I
am quite sure Richard knows what he is doing."

   
He sighed heavily.

   
"So now you are back will you be taking up your rightful position?  I
must say I am very pleased to see you."

   
I had never met the child that was lost, but I had wanted to grieve on her
parents' behalf.  Anthony was making me angry and I could scarcely believe
what he was saying.  He had always been fond of Bethany and now he thought his cousin was
going to take up with his mistress where he supposed he left off, while his
wife mourned her loss alone.  I could not bear it.

   
"Richard loves his wife, Anthony," I said, "and if you love him,
you will support whatever decision he makes with regard to her.  And those
decisions will not include me."

   
"What are you saying?"  He demanded angrily.  "That
now she is back he will just abandon you, after everything you have done for
him and for her?  I do not believe he would do that."

   
"Of course not.
  But the decision is
mine.  He does not want Bethany
to find out about me, to find out that I am living so close.  You must
honour that, Anthony, or he will be furious."

   
"I will honour it, but I think it would do her good to know."

   
"It is not your decision to make.  You must go now.  Richard
needs you at the funeral, and if he wants you to look after his wife while he
is at court, then that is what you must do."

   
He got to his feet and took my hands in his in a comforting gesture. 

   
"If only you could have given him a child, he would surely have married
you."

   
That made me even angrier, that he assumed I was just heartsick and wishing I
was in Bethany's
place.  How dare he?

   
"What makes you so sure I would want to marry him?"  I replied
harshly.  "You do not know everything, Anthony, so please do not
presume to make wishes on my behalf."

   
When he had gone I sat before the fire and thought about the whole situation,
all the misunderstandings and I worried about Richard.  I knew that the
Queen had suspicions now and I was terrified of what she would do.  As
always he had made sure that I was safe, back in Suffolk and with my real name, but what of
him?

   
I was glad to be back though, to see Lucy and her children although I had
learned that I did not really like children very much.  Perhaps it was a
barrier I had built around myself to assuage the disappointment of never being
able to have any.

   
Louisa was still with me and still no sign of a man in her life.

   
"After what men have done to you, My Lady," she told me when I asked,
"I do not think I would want to trust one of them."

   
"Louisa, I hope my own fears have not spoilt your life.  Not all men
are wicked; look at Lucy's husband.  Look at Lord Summerville.

   
She gave me a sideways look as though she knew more than she was letting on.

   
"Even he is not perfect, My Lady," she said.  "I think I
will stay as I am, if that is satisfactory to you."

   
She could do that, could she not?  If I were to die tomorrow, she could go
and find work as a servant anywhere.  She could do laundry, cooking,
anything to earn her keep, while I ran into the arms of the next monster I
could find.  Were the horrors of my life something I could have avoided
after all? 

   
I kept away from the village.  I recalled the gossip about me before, and
I was quite sure that while they all welcomed Lady Summerville back amongst
them, nobody welcomed her husband's mistress.  I could not stay here for
long, that was clear, but for now I needed the respite I attained by simply
living quietly and riding out to watch what was going on.

   
Anthony visited, but not as often as before and for that I was thankful. 
He said that he was obliged to keep a close watch on his cousin's wife, for
fear she would betray him again.  He did not trust her and never would.

   
That saddened me, as I could see an even wider rift being built between Richard
and Bethany if Anthony had anything to do with it.

***

   
The year was moving on and still no word from Richard.  I had been worried
enough when he went back to court; now with no word I was getting quite frantic
and was on the point of sending a messenger to find out what was happening with
him.  I was quite sure that Mary had discovered our deception and I feared
what that would mean for him.

   
It was late one November afternoon that Anthony strode into my sitting room
with a look of sorrow on his face.  I jumped to my feet.

   
"Anthony?"  I asked, stepping toward him.  "What is
it?  What has happened?"

   
He handed me a letter, still sealed with Richard's seal.

   
"He managed to sneak it past his wife," he said.  "Actually
gave it to her, rolled up in a letter to me."  He stopped abruptly
then sank down into a chair while I poured him wine.  "He has been
condemned for treason, Rachel.  The Queen has discovered the
deception."

   
I sank back down, my legs giving way beneath me, and I just stared at
him.  I felt paralysed, numb with shock and guilt.  It was all my
idea, was it not?  I was to blame then.  It would not have happened
were it not for me.  And he made quite sure that I escaped, even in the midst
of the worst grief of his life he still made sure that I escaped.

   
"You had better read it," Anthony was saying, indicating the letter
which was still sealed, in my hands.  "I have no idea what it says,
but it must be important or he would not have taken the risk."

   
I looked down at the parchment as though it were something strange and
unfamiliar that I had never seen before.  What I wanted to do was scream,
but instead I started to shake.

   
I tore the seal open at last, trembling so much I could barely see the words.

   
"My dearest Rachel,"
it read,
"I have always kept your
secret as I know how much that means to you, but if you could find it in your
heart to reveal it to my wife, I shall die happier.  I tried to tell her
that it was all done to keep her safe, but I am not sure she believed me and
even if she did, she still believes that you and I have been lovers.  I
will rest much easier in my grave if she knows that I have always been faithful
to her.  Consider it a dying man's last request and know how much your
friendship has meant to me.  Be safe, my dear, be happy.  Goodbye,
Richard."

   
Tears flooded down my cheeks and I tried hard to swallow the awful ache in
my throat.  What would I do without him?

   
"This is all her fault!"  Anthony cried out suddenly. 
"If she had followed his wishes as a wife should, he would still be free
and you would not have had to risk so much either.  I shall never forgive
her."

   
"No Anthony," I said, reaching out to touch him.  "Bethany will suffer
enough because of this; she needs you on her side."

   
"Why do you defend her?"

   
"Because I admire her courage and I know how much Richard loves
her."  I looked down once more at the familiar handwriting on the
parchment.  "How did you get this?"

   
"I told you.  He slipped it inside a letter to me with his will,
then
he asked Bethany
to bring it to me."

   
"So she has seen him?"  I asked, my admiration growing. 
"She has been to that awful place?"

   
"She insisted on going, despite him sending word that she was not to
attempt it."

   
"Because he did not want her to risk her own safety, but she went
anyway.  Despite believing that he loved me, not her, she still made the
journey just to see him one last time.  Can you not see why I admire
her?"

   
He still looked unconvinced and I was in no mood to argue further with him.

   
"We will lose Summerville," he was saying.  "We will lose
everything."

   
"Where will you go?"

   
"I have a house my father left me."

   
"And Bethany?
 
Where will she go?"

   
It would be the greatest irony if after everything Lord Summerville had given
me,
the only place left for his wife was with me, in a house
that he paid for.  If that was to be the case then I would have to
convince her of the truth.

   
I had an awful vision of her being in my own position, having to marry someone
she despised to keep from starving.  But then I recalled that she had
lived as a peasant for almost a year, she had lit fires and cooked food and
kept warm, all alone.  She would survive; she was not weak like me.

   
"I will invite her to live with me," Anthony was saying, "but
only for the sake of Richard's memory.  Hopefully she will find another
husband before long and leave."

   
I shook my head, wondering how one man can be so perceptive, yet his cousin had
no idea.

   
"If you are inviting her to your house," I said, "you had best
be prepared to make it permanent.  She will never marry another man."

   
He made no reply, only looked at me as though he was not sure whether to
believe me or not.

   
"I shall go and see her tomorrow," I said, though it was not a task I
relished.  "I shall wait till after the...............till
after.  Richard wants me to tell her something, something important and
dear to his heart."

   
"She will recognise you, so if you are planning to pretend there was never
anything between you, it will not work."

   
"Recognise me?  She has never seen me."

   
He was nodding.

   
"She has.  She went to London,
despite my pleas.  She waited and followed you both to the park. 
That is how she came to be there when her sister died."

   
I caught my breath at that.  I had no idea that she had witnessed the
horrific death of her own sister; no wonder she felt compelled to help the
cause.  Surely even Richard must see that.

   
"Would you leave now, please," I asked him.  "I wish to
mourn alone."

   
He nodded then stood and squeezed my hand before he made his way toward the
door.

   
"You know where I am if you need me," he said reassuringly. 

   
It should be Bethany
he was telling that to, not me, but it was pointless trying to convince him of
that.  He was going to blame someone, and she seemed the proper person to
him.  Perhaps as time went on he would realise how wrong he was.

   
I cried myself to sleep that night, and I was sure that Bethany would be doing the same. In the
morning I staggered down the stairs at dawn to watch Louisa lighting the
fire.  I had never really noticed before how that was done and I doubted
that Bethany
had either when her husband imprisoned her in a peasant's cottage.  I
wondered if she had ever taken the trouble to watch it done, as I was doing
now.

   
Richard had assured me that this house and the Finsbury one were both in my own
name, that
no one could take them away from me, but
still I worried. 

   
I had to tell Louisa and Lucy what had happened.  They both thought highly
of Richard; they would both be devastated.  But I waited until the
afternoon, thinking that I would give Bethany
time to grieve a little before I appeared and rocked her world even more. 
I would lose the element of surprise if she knew who I was, if she recognised
me as soon as I arrived at the house.  It may even mean she would not
listen to what I had to say, but it was Richard's last request; it was of vital
importance that I made her believe me.

   
I had my horse saddled and rode toward the village.  I had avoided the
place since I had been back, but I wanted to go there today to visit the church
and the priest within it.  I did not willingly attend mass, but I felt it
would please Richard if I at least lit a candle of him.

   
I drew rein when I saw Bethany
enter the porch.  I had not expected to see her there as I knew perfectly
well she paid only lip service to the Catholic faith.  Perhaps she, too,
wanted to light a candle and say a prayer and had nowhere else to go.

   
I turned back and waited at a safe distance till I saw her ride back toward
Summerville Hall. I went into the inn then, half expecting to be refused
service, but I was given some ale and left in peace for a little while.  I
could see that everyone knew what had happened and I could see that they were
all grieving.  Even though no one spoke to me, I felt that I was one of
them in my grief.