The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) (6 page)

   
“I will consider it,” he finally replied with a sigh.  “To tell you the
honest truth, I thought I could do this, keep my promise, but now I am not so
sure.  I am beginning to resent her, even wish her dead.  Is that not
a terrible thing to think?”

   
“I cannot tell you how many times I wished my late husband dead,” I
replied. 
“And my father.
  If wishes could
kill, he would have been the first one to go.”

   
Once more I saw the compassion in his eyes as he looked at me.

   
I reached out and touched his arm, and I realised that I had never before made
any overtures of affection, that I had always been afraid that any sign of
affection would be misconstrued.  But he merely turned and studied me for
a few moments and I knew that I was in no danger.  I hugged him then, something
that I had never done nor wanted to do before.  I really, really loved
this man, and I so wanted to help him for all he had done for me.  He was
like the brother I never had.

   
“I have to return to Summerville,” he said.  “I would like very much for
you to come with me, but I feel that would be unfair to Rosemary and heaven
knows what my mother would have to say about it!”  He laughed then, and it
was a joy to behold.  “I have kept my relationship with my wife a close
secret from her.”

   
“What would she do if she knew?”

   
“I believe she would march into Rosemary’s chamber and tell her to grow
up!  I think she would subject her to a long lecture about the duties of a
wife and scare the life out of her.”  He gave a little smile, probably
imagining his mother’s outrage at her handsome and charming son being rejected
by his own wife, when women all over London
were falling over their feet to invite him to their beds.  I suppose it
was an amusing scenario, when one thought about it.

   
So he went back to Suffolk
and I did not see him again for many months.  I had no reason during those
months to leave the house, but I had a new maidservant whose job it was to wait
only on me and she was a girl who knew precisely what was going on in the city
outside.

   
She turned up on my doorstep late one night and proceeded to curl up there to
sleep.  When I was told, I naturally took her in and found she was
homeless and hungry.  I needed a maid and more than that, with Richard
gone, I needed a friend and I could feel an affinity with this girl that I
could not have felt with the other servants.

   
She was grateful for the position and I did not believe she would try to rob
me.  Her name was Lucy and she was always cheerful and bubbly and if I
wanted to know anything, I had only to ask.  What she did not already know
she would go and find out.

   
Queen Jane had died just twelve days after the birth of the much longed for
prince and a new marriage had been arranged for King Henry.  This was a
foreign princess who he had never met, but he had sent his portrait painter,
Hans
Holbein
to Flanders
to capture her image.  She was to come to England to marry the King without
ever having set eyes on him.

   
My heart went out to her.  I recalled my one night with the King, his
disgusting breath and his wet lips, and I shuddered.  This poor princess
was about to commit to suffer that every single night.  While I pitied
her, I also hoped she would hurry and get here before he sought satisfaction
elsewhere.  Richard Summerville had been escorting me about London and although we
had stayed away from court, I lived in fear that someone would have noticed me.

   
I missed Richard but I had my reading matter and my little maid who kept me
company as well as serving me.  Sometimes I went out in the closed
carriage, wearing the black velvet cloak that Richard had given me, and watched
what was going on in the park.  I often passed the palace like this, but I
made a special effort then not to be seen.

   
The King had remarried but had refused to consummate his marriage, declaring
that the Princess Anne of
Cleves
was far too ugly.  The portrait
painter,
had not
painted a good likeness, he had made her complexion smoother, her body slimmer,
and Henry had named her the Flanders Mare.  I could not help but wonder
what sort of arrogance a man would have to have, to be so unattractive himself
yet refuse a woman on the grounds of ugliness.  She had indeed had a lucky
escape.

   
The marriage was annulled, making me wonder if Richard had thought any more of
doing the same with his own marriage.  I doubted that this temporary Queen
would have been subjected to an intimate examination.  She and the King
likely only had to declare their aversion toward each other.

   
I hoped his disappointment with his new queen did not cause him to remember the
little girl who had sobbed half the night away in his bed.  I could not
quite convince myself that with all the mistresses he had since had, he would
not even remember me.  I was too afraid of the possibility to think like
that.

   
Richard returned just once more that year, a fleeting visit on his way to visit
his mother's lawyer.

   
"She died three days ago," he told me despondently.  "I
have to see about her will, make sure everybody gets what she wanted them to
have.  She set aside a trust fund for her future grandchildren.  How
is that for a cruel joke?"

   
"Richard, stop, please!"  I cried out.  "You are only
tormenting yourself.  You need to annul the marriage.  You know it, I
know and deep down, Rosemary knows it.  Why not ask this lawyer about it
while you are there?  What have you got to lose?"

   
He looked at me sheepishly for a few moments,
then
squeezed my hand.  I caught a little smile from Lucy as she came in with
ale.  She knew nothing of my personal pain and believed like everyone else
that Richard and I were more than just friends."

   
"I will think about it," he said softly.

   
"You said that before, but here we are.  My dear, I just hate to see
you so unhappy."

   
He drank his ale and kissed my cheek, but he promised to ask the lawyer. 
The visit lasted but half an hour, yet I still missed him when he had gone.

   
"Lovely looking man, My Lady," Lucy commented with a little knowing
smile when she came to collect the tankards.

   
"Yes, indeed he is, Lucy.  You can admire from afar if you wish but
Lord Summerville and I are friends, nothing more."

   
"Whatever you say, My Lady," she replied but I could tell that she
did not believe me.  No matter.  I was quite flattered actually, though
I would never have told her that.

   
My life continued with its quietude and I thought I could be happy living like
this.  I had believed that if I kept myself hidden and kept to my house
and my closed carriage, all would be well. 

   
Then my uncle died and my world changed once more.

CHAPTER
SIX

   
The first I heard about Uncle Stephen’s death was when a lawyer arrived at the
house to tell me that he had left nothing but debts. 
His
own
house in Holborn would be sold and the house that I lived in, my
home, would be all that was left.  There would be no money for its upkeep,
nor for the servants nor
even for food.  The
house would have to be sold as I would not be able to afford to keep it.

   
I was desperate.  How was I to tell the servants that there would be no
more wages, that their home would be
gone.
  Some
of them stayed long enough to find another position, and I was able to sell
some jewellery to pay Harry to make a trip to Suffolk to seek help from Richard.

   
I knew he was my only hope and even though I should have known better by then,
I gathered my courage, wondering what he would ask for in return.  Imagine
my dismay when Harry returned to tell me that Lord Summerville was not at home,
that he had gone to France
on family business and could not be reached.  I thought of making a trip
myself, perhaps asking his wife for aid.  She knew who I was and even if
she believed me to be one of his mistresses, it would not really distress her
very much.  But of course, she would have no means of her own, even if she
felt inclined to help, and I did not even know if he had succeeded in annulling
the marriage, if she was still his wife.

   
The jewels that I sold were all we had and I had to budget carefully until I
could find out what to do.  Lucy was the only one who remained with me,
bless her heart.  She refused to move from my side, even though there was
no money with which to pay her.  I hung on for weeks, hoping that a
message would find Richard, but nothing was heard except confirmation that he
was in France.

   
He had been my last hope and now there was only one option left, and it was not
one I was looking forward to. 

   
“Lucy,” I said.  “I will have to appeal to the King.  There is no
other way.”

   
“The King?
  Will he help us?”

   
I smiled at her use of the word ‘us’.  She never once varied from the
united front she had set up for us.

   
“He might,
given
the right incentive,” I replied with
a shudder.

   
“My Lady, is there no other way?”  She asked quietly.  “Surely Lord
Summerville can be reached somehow.”

   
“I daresay, if I had the funds to send people to France to find him."

   
I thought then how ironic it was that this beauty that had caused me so much
pain,
could have saved us had it not already caused my
destruction.  I am quite sure that many beautiful women had happily sold
themselves rather than starve but that option was not open to me.

   
“I will venture into the street myself, My Lady,” Lucy declared firmly, “see if
I can find some work to help us.”

   
“Lucy, why would you do this for me?  You can go, find work,
keep
your pay to yourself.  I will appeal to the King;
perhaps at long last this face will help me survive.”

   
“I daresay, My Lady, but that is not what you want is it?  I would have
starved or frozen to death were it not for your kindness. I will go now, see
what I can find.  You must let me help.”

   
But Lucy found no work, at least not enough to help us.  Even if the house
were sold, according to my uncle’s lawyer, the money it fetched would go toward
his debts.  The only reason it had not been sold over my head was because
of a special entail he had set up.  There was no help for it; I would have
to throw myself on the mercy of the King.

   
My message to the King’s private secretary produced a response that I neither
wanted nor expected, but it seemed it was the best I could hope for.  I
had steeled myself to offer myself to him, despite my revulsion, but it seemed
that he was besotted with yet another woman.  While I had appealed to the King,
it had not escaped my notice that he was presently without a wife and I hoped
he would not take my interest as an invitation to elevate me to that
position.  The reply I received was that His Majesty had a husband in mind
for me.

   
My heart sank.  Although he was no longer my servant, Harry was kind
enough to make a few more enquiries for me in the hope that Lord Summerville
had returned to London, or even Suffolk, but no one had heard from or seen
him.  I could only hope he was safe and look to my own interests.  I
felt sick to think about it; I knew that Richard would help me if he only knew
my plight. 

   
Damn my uncle!  Why could he not have been honest with me?  Had he
only told me that this might happen on his death I could have been prepared,
even sought help from my only friend before this.  I could curse the day I
had ever met Uncle Stephen, but it went back farther than that.  I cursed
the day I was ever born.

   
It was a quiet and hasty service, no preparations made at all and it seemed I
was to be wed to yet another man who had no desire to meet me first.  I
thought I knew what to expect, a repeat of my time with Lord
Connaught
, another nobleman who wanted only an heir except
this one was a marquis, a little higher up the ranks.  But I would not be telling
this one that I was barren.  Whoever he was or whatever he wanted of me, I
needed this marriage far more than he did.

   
I only wondered if there was some sleeping draught I could take so that I slept
through the whole, disgusting ritual.  I made a mental note to ask Lucy to
try to get some poppy juice.  I could give it to him, but I would rather
take it myself.

   
I may be lucky this time, perhaps, I thought.  This one might be kind,
have some consideration.  If I was really lucky he might even be impotent.

   
The church was dark and I did not look at my bridegroom.  I could tell by
the way he walked that he was not a young man, and from the corner of my eye I
saw grey hair.  But when the service was over, I turned and looked at his
face and I thought my heart would stop in my chest, I thought I must be asleep
and having one of my nightmares – along his cheek he bore a scar, an ugly
t-shaped scar.

   
It seemed that God had a sense of humour after all.  I had just married my
tormentor, the monster who had stolen my innocence, stolen my childhood and
turned me into an incomplete woman.  I could not believe it!

   
Why did he want a wife?  I was a grown woman, not a little girl which was
more to his taste.  I looked across the church to see if his friend were
also there, but there was no sign of him.

   
Tears gathered in my eyes then, tears of despair.  Perhaps his tastes had
matured and he now wanted a full grown woman.  I wondered if he had done
this deliberately, if he knew who I was and this was giving him some sadistic
pleasure.

   
I was shaking as I placed my hand on his arm and was led along the aisle and
out of the church.

***

   
The festivities began at once with many guests congratulating the Marquis on
the acquisition of such a beautiful wife and I gathered from their words that
despite his advanced years, I was his first.  I also gathered that I was
probably the only one who knew why that was.

   
He said nothing to me as he shook hands and accepted good wishes and I was sure
he had no idea who I was.  Why would he?  He must have done the same
to
many children, so why should I be memorable?  I
could not bear to look at him.  Every time I tried I was reminded vividly
of the horrors of my tenth birthday and I wondered just how I was going to cope
with the consummation of this cruel match.

   
I reminded myself that I had married for one reason and one reason only – I
could not survive without it.  I had to do as he wanted, did I not, or I
would be starving on the streets.

   
Lucy had come with me and now she met me in the bedchamber, ready to perform
the ritual of undressing me.  I must have looked awful; I was still in
shock.

   
“My Lady?”
  She said with a puzzled frown. 
“What is wrong?  You look as though you had seen a ghost.”

   
“I have," I replied, "the ghost of my innocence.  Lucy,
I..............”  But my voice was shaking so much I could barely speak.

   
She did something then for which I will always be grateful.  She put her
arms around me and held me close as though I were a frightened child, and that
is just what I felt like – a frightened child once more, indeed a terrified
child just wanting her mother.  But there was no mother, there was no one
and I thanked God for Lucy.

   
The Earl did not come.  I had my sleeping draught ready, but as I
suspected, he had no interest in raping a full grown woman and after an hour or
more of waiting, Lucy lie down beside me intending to sleep with me.

   
“My Lady,” she said.  “It does not look as though His Lordship is coming
tonight.  Would you like me to stay with you?”

   
I nodded.  I still did not feel confident enough to actually talk, my
voice shook every time I tried, but I found comfort with this simple servant
girl that night.  I did not sleep though; I was afraid that the monster
might come in the night.  I could not think of him as anything else, only
‘the Monster’.

   
In the morning he came and dismissed Lucy with a snap of his ugly, gnarled
fingers.

   
“My Lady,” he began as soon as she had gone, “I expect you are wondering why
you were left alone last night.”

   
I made no reply.  He obviously had no idea that I knew why I had been left
alone,
he obviously had no idea who I was.

   
“I have managed without a wife my entire life and the only reason I have one
now is that I need the help of a woman.  There will be no bedchamber
activity between you and
I
.”  He paused and
frowned at me, looking for a reaction but I kept my face impassive. 
“Don’t you want to know why?”

   
“Perhaps because I am a little older than your normal taste,” I replied
harshly.  I did not bother with his title as I did not think he deserved
any such courtesy.

   
He looked startled as though that was the very last thing he expected to
hear.  Perhaps it was.

   
“Have we met before?”  He asked at last.

   
“Oh, yes, we have met before.  I believe you cheated my drunken father out
of his property as well as his little daughter,” I replied, watching him
carefully.  “I believe you killed him.”

   
He looked horrified for a moment,
then
he frowned as
though trying to remember.

   
“Rachel, is it not?”  He asked at last.  “You see, I do remember
you.  You were a beautiful child, absolutely stunning.  Well, well,
well, fate certainly moves in mysterious ways.”  He smiled then, showing
gaps between his blackened teeth.  “It was not I who murdered your father,
by the way.  It was my colleague, Mr Carter.  He is dead now and the
house had to go to pay off debts.”

   
“So, it seems I owe a debt of gratitude to Mr Carter then,” I said
sarcastically.  “What do you want with me, Sir?”

   
“I need the help of a woman, I told you.  You will see.”

   
Then he left me to wonder what he wanted help with.  I could imagine
though and the idea terrified me.

   
When Lucy returned, and while she helped me to dress, I decided it was time I
confided in someone.

   
“When I was a child,” I began hesitantly, “just ten years old in fact, I was
taken in exchange for one thousand gold pieces paid to my father.”

   
I stopped, wondering if I would be able to go on, but Lucy said nothing. 
I felt her hand clasp mine though and give it a comforting squeeze.

   
“I was raped repeatedly that day by two men.  One of them was my new
husband.”

   
“Oh, My Lady!”
  She cried in disbelief. 
“This must be the worst day of your life.”

   
“Not quite,” I replied.  “But I think I know what he wants from me and I
cannot do it, I really cannot.”

   
“What do you think he wants, My Lady?”

   
“I know not where he is getting his supply of little girls, but I imagine he
wants me to help him in that.”

   
The conversation was interrupted by the Monster striding into the chamber and
tossing a cloak at me.  It was the black velvet hooded cloak that Richard
had given me and I suddenly felt angry that he had soiled it with his deviant’s
hands.

   
“You can leave,” he told Lucy and when she had gone he turned to me.  “I
have been thinking and I am quite glad that I do not need to explain anything
to you.  When I go to orphanages alone, the people in charge are
suspicious.  That is what I need you for.  We will go this morning;
there is one not far from here.  If they believe that you want to adopt a
daughter, it will make things very much easier.”  He paused and his eyes
swept me from head to foot, then he smirked.  “No one will believe that you
mean any harm.”

   
I had not yet decided what I was going to do to evade the journey, but I
carefully avoided the velvet cloak and selected a red one from the chest. 
That cloak was chosen for me by someone who cared and I would not taint it or
its memories by wearing it for this mission.  I closed my eyes as I tied
the ribbons at the neck, praying that Richard would come and rescue me.

   
In the coach on the way to the orphanage I tried to plan a way out for myself
and whatever poor child he decided to take.  I had to be careful.  I
had married for survival and nothing had changed; I could not afford to be
without him.  He drove the coach himself, so he obviously did not care to
trust a coachman with this mission, but that could well be to my advantage.