The Other Countess (25 page)

‘I admit to giving the young lady the
Eclogues
to read.
They’re a favourite of mine. I thought no harm in it.’

‘And the notes on the pages – the ones with numbers divisible by four?’

‘The lady has nothing to do with them.’

‘But you do?’

‘A list of names only. There’s no ill intent to them, my lord, I vow that before God.’

Will believed March did not swear oaths lightly. ‘So what intent do the names have?’

March closed his eyes for a brief moment before confessing. ‘Names of those wanting a priest’s ministry, nothing more, my lord, put as marginalia to escape detection. That failed I see.’

Will paced the room, gathering his thoughts. ‘You must know that I cannot leave you free to continue your work, March.’

The priest’s face took on a resigned look. ‘I understand.’

‘Cecil?’ Will looked to his guest, leaning in thought by the door.

Cecil pushed himself off the wall. ‘There is an alternative to execution, Dorset. I advise you send him to join the other priests interned at Banbury castle.’

‘Internment?’ March shook his head.

‘Better than death, I’d hazard,’ Cecil replied grimly.

‘For some. You’d be cutting me off from what is God’s work.’

‘To me, you work only for the Devil, spreading dissension in our country,’ Cecil said harshly, revealing the iron under his pleasant manner. ‘I strive to understand you, sympathize with your dilemma as a man of good conscience, but I foresee the results as you do not. There’s no greater crime against God and a peaceful nation than promoting civil war, for that’s what it will come to if we fall again to arguing about our faith.’

March quivered with indignant rage. ‘So it is acceptable to spill Catholic blood on the scaffold, hanging then quartering the living bodies of my fellow priests, all in the name of keeping this false peace? Far better short punishment now, than an eternity of misery in Hell for following the broad road that leads to destruction rather than God’s narrow way as defined by the Mother Church!’

Will’s head began to ache. He hated this kind of argument where two immovable opponents clashed like rams butting horns in a field. They needed to keep focused: this was about saving Ellie from being questioned on the rack.

‘Enough, please. We will not agree on the principles, but perhaps we can find common ground on our aims. I wish to avoid the torture of innocents. Lady Eleanor and her father must not get caught up in your mission, priest. Even Dame Holton, annoyance that she is, does not deserve extreme penalties for offering shelter to you. Can you agree with that, March?’

The priest sighed and nodded. ‘Yes, lord. And I apologize for my angry words.’

‘Cecil?’

His guest scowled at the priest. ‘Yes, I agree that March should bear any consequences, not those he put in danger.’

‘So, I will propose to Sir Francis Walsingham that we send March to Banbury. But there must be some conditions else I have no hope of persuading the Queen’s minister not to question all my prisoners more severely. Master March, you must write and sign a confession as to the purpose of your stay in Stoke-by-Lacey, explaining the names in that book. And you must promise not to try to escape.’

March swallowed, his face turning even paler. ‘You want my parole?’

‘Yes.’

Silence fell in the room. Will prayed that March’s concern for the other three caught up in this mess would outweigh his qualms about voluntarily submitting to this arrangement.

‘Very well, my lord,’ March conceded, ‘I give you my word that I will not try to escape before I reach Banbury.’ He sat down at the desk. ‘But I won’t incriminate others to save myself and those you have arrested. You cannot ask that of me.’ He dipped the quill in the ink and scrawled a confession across the paper. Will stood at his shoulder to read what he had decided to put down – that he was ministering the sacrament and hearing confessions; that he had no part in any plots to attack the English state; that his only wish was to pass peacefully about the kingdom.

‘The book?’ Will prompted.

March added a postscript, saying the names were those of old families of the Catholic persuasion. They had no knowledge of him, nor could he say whether they would have welcomed him. Will hoped it would be enough to clear Ellie of suspicion.

Will picked up the confession and waved it in the air to dry the ink before rolling it up tight. ‘I’ll make the arrangements for your journey to your new lodgings.’

March stood up and bowed. ‘Please tell Lady Eleanor that I’m very sorry for any distress I may unwittingly have caused her by lending her that book.’

‘I will.’

‘And thank you for caring enough to spare this poor servant another taste of the rack.’

‘Then hope I succeed. There’s still a way to go before I can say that threat is truly passed.’

Her father had been closeted with Walsingham for hours now. Ellie paced the hallway outside the sick man’s room, listening to the soft burble of voices within and watching the shafts of sunlight mark off the hours on the wall. No shouting. No screams of pain. She had followed her father here when he had been summoned mid morning and she had stood guard over the door ever since, promising herself that she would burst in if she’d heard the least sign that her father was being abused. What could they be talking about? The man was supposed to be ill. The countess had gone in and out several times during the morning, tutting that Walsingham had not drunk her sleeping draught, her reports on his condition not favourable.

‘My guest is too stoic for his own good,’ she huffed, giving Ellie a wan smile.

Arms hugging her waist, Ellie plucked at her elbows anxiously. ‘Is my father all right?’

‘Yes, dear. They are talking about his craft.’ The countess wrinkled her nose. ‘I must admit it takes me back to less happy days when my husband was ill. Your father was the only man he would admit to his chamber.’

‘I apologize.’

The countess brushed Ellie’s hair tenderly, a maternal gesture that made her ache with longing. ‘I never blamed you – or your father for that matter.’

‘Will … I mean, your son does.’

The older lady shook her head. ‘Will is Will. He saw it all
through the eyes of a neglected boy, forced to take on responsibilities without the means to fulfil them, and he has yet to see those bitter days clearly. No, the blame was my William’s – a lovely man but weak.’ She bit her lip, eyes tearing though she smiled bravely. ‘I could not be strong enough for the two of us and he ended up dragging us all down.’

Ellie knew how that felt. ‘I beg your pardon for the distress we’ve caused you,’ she repeated.

The countess caressed her cheek with a butterfly touch. ‘Dear heart.’

After almost wearing a hole in the floorboards with her pacing, Ellie returned to her room. She discovered a posy of flowers on her pillow, a note attached read, ‘For the other countess in Lacey Hall, sweet dreams, Henry’. She was glad that she had not been there to receive it. The man was like a beehive, thinking he promised honey when all he gave were stings. She toyed with the idea of calling on Jane, but feared to run across Henry in his sister’s apartments. His attentions were becoming harder to ignore and she knew how rapidly he could turn ugly.

Ellie tossed the flowers out of the window, then leant on the sill for a moment. She felt trapped and confused, sick with love, paralysed with fear, hunted by disgrace.

‘
Dios!
’ Ellie hid her face in her hands, the prayer tumbling from her lips in a desperate plea. ‘Show me a way out of this, I beg you.’

There was no answer. Waiting in the silence, Ellie could not shake the impression that the house was suffocating her, the distant sounds of life mocking her own isolation. She couldn’t bear it any longer. Out – she had to get out. Running from her
room, she passed several startled maids as she escaped to the garden. Ignoring the gardeners, she kept going until the sweat streamed down her back and she felt her lungs would burst with the effort of sprinting in her heavy skirts. The wild thought of stripping off all layers and flying free seared her mind. Reaching the trees in the deer park, she ripped the ruff from her neck and cap from her head and tossed them to the ground.

Better, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

Next to go were her overskirt and her bodice, leaving her in her light shift and petticoat. She took her first proper breath. The madness was fading, and she had regained her senses sufficiently to feel embarrassed by her impetuosity. Had she really just stripped her gown off like some hussy going swimming in her shift? The heavy clothes lay on the grass, upbraiding her. Remembering her conversation with Jane about sending their gowns to the feasts without them, Ellie laughed and kicked her skirt.

‘Go to, you killjoy!’ she mocked. ‘I want to …’ She looked around her. ‘I want to climb a tree!’

Finding a likely candidate in an old beech tree with lots of low, lateral branches, Ellie swung herself up into the canopy and began her ascent. For one glorious hour, she was going to cut free from everything that weighed her down.

18

‘Are you sure she went this way?’ Will asked the gardener.

The old man scratched his head, then nodded. ‘Aye, master. The little Spanish lass ran off to the park like the hounds of Hell were on her tail.’

‘How long ago?’

‘An hour. Maybe longer. I’ve hoed that row since I saw her.’

Will noted the neatly turned soil – the man either worked fast or Ellie had been gone for a long while. ‘Very good. Carry on, Jeremiah.’

‘Aye, sir.’ The old man picked up his hoe and returned to whistling.

Will contemplated going back to the stables to fetch a horse, but it would take too long. He’d rushed back from the dower house to see Ellie, hoping to put her mind at rest and explain the deal he had struck with March, only to find that she had fled. He didn’t know quite what to make of his mother’s news that Hutton was closeted with Walsingham, but she had also reported Ellie’s vigil outside the room. Perhaps she had taken fright? Being near Walsingham was enough to give anyone the horrors. Why else would she have run away in such a panic?

Reaching the edge of the park, Will was alarmed to find Ellie’s ruff and cap cast carelessly on the ground. Alarm grew to real fear when he saw her skirt and bodice a few yards further.

‘Ellie?’ he bellowed. Ugly visions of Perceval tracking her down filled his imagination. ‘Ellie?’

‘Up here!’

It was her voice, but it appeared to come from overhead. He could swear he heard her muttering a series of Spanish oaths under her breath.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Um.’ He thought he heard a giggle. ‘Um, I’m fine but you’d better not get any closer.’

He moved to see her better. All he could glimpse was a flash of white near the top of the tree.

‘How on earth did you get up there? Did someone – or something – chase you?’

‘Not exactly.’

Will felt ridiculous conducting this conversation from the ground. He was an earl: he shouldn’t be reduced to this. He jumped to reach the first low branch and began to ascend.

‘Don’t!’ warned Ellie. ‘I’m not decent.’

‘You should’ve thought of that before you went climbing, love,’ he growled back, not slowing. He wasn’t going to take her word that she was unharmed until he saw for himself.

‘Please, Will, I’m embarrassed enough as is.’

He began to have an inkling of what might have transpired. He grinned. ‘Not embarrassed enough, Ellie, not for the horrid moment you just gave me when I saw your clothes on the ground.’

It took him about five minutes to puzzle out a route up
the tree. When he reached the branch Ellie was sitting on, he found her straddling the thick bough, looking both proud and mortified, a strange conflict of emotions that made her stare at him boldly while managing to blush at the same time.

‘So, you climb trees too,’ Will said teasingly. ‘In naught but your shift and petticoat.’

‘Can’t climb in heavy skirts,’ she replied saucily, flicking a twig at him.

He caught her hand. ‘Why, love?’

She leant back against the trunk and closed her eyes. ‘Don’t you sometimes feel so trapped by everything? I couldn’t breathe – I needed to get high.’

‘So you could see the wood for the trees?’ He smiled, knowing that feeling all too well. ‘Did it work?’

‘Not really. But you found me, so it has proved a happier adventure than I first thought.’

He chuckled and swung up the branch a little above her to share her view. ‘My first impression of you was completely wrong, wasn’t it?’

‘Hmm?’

‘I thought you a proper court lady, open to a little flirtation.’

‘Be very careful, my lord.’ Ellie frowned at him. ‘If you say something rude, I may just push you off your perch.’

He laughed. ‘And you would too. You, Lady Eleanor, are a rebel. You made my mother sport in her gardens like a girl, charmed this year’s most proper court lady and floored two of the country’s finest men.’ She raised her eyebrow at that, making him laugh all the harder. ‘And now I find you scaling trees in my park like a monkey, practically naked.’

She blushed. ‘I would ask you not to mention that.’

‘It’s rather hard to ignore, sitting here with a view of your rather lovely figure.’

She poked a twig in his side. ‘I think it’s time we went down.’

‘After you, my lady.’ He made a decent bow despite the limitations of being twenty feet in the air.

Ellie decided, for modesty’s sake, going first was a splendid idea. She began a nimble descent, conquering the tree in five minutes, half the time it had taken her to get up. She brushed her hands nonchalantly together when she reached the ground, then looked about for her skirt. Will thumped to the ground beside her and grabbed her round the waist.

‘Oh no, this is too good an opportunity to waste, my lady,’ he said, lifting her from her feet as he bent to kiss her.

‘Will!’ she protested, but not too hard. His arm was firm but not tight around her hips, holding her to him as if he would shelter her from all threats and difficulties.