Betrayal (13 page)

             
A further knocking at the door revealed several grooms come to collect the last of the apple-wood boxes. Sarah hopped down the stone steps as she and Elisabeth followed the grooms down the narrow staircase. Once in the kitchen they ate milk-soaked bread and a cold meat pie with a cup of cold cider to slake their thirst.

 
              “Come, they wants you,” a groom’s agitated voice called from the courtyard. Elisabeth hustled Sarah out the door, waving a quick good-bye to Cook and Kate.  Broad hands lifted Elisabeth into the back of an open wagon, another pair dropped Sarah giggling into the soft hay, and the wagon sped off after the carriage. Elisabeth choked on the rising dust. The sun was setting as the entourage neared Sutton Forest.

             
                                                                      ***

              The lateness of the hour made Ferris grow nervous. He weighed his responsibly as he remembered the King’s last words.  “You, my boy, will take my Lady and her company safe to Hever. It is a heavy responsibility to place on such youthful shoulders, but if your heart is brave; your duty shall be well disposed. Your references and skill are highly acclaimed by no less than Henry Norris, and his word concerning horseflesh and their keepers I respect. Yet, I warn you, boy, if even so much as a hair of my lady’s head is injured and that be your fault, your head will roll from your shoulders.”

             
At the mere memory of the King’s words Ferris felt his knees quake and his palms grow slick. As afternoon grew towards evening he searched for some likely Manor at which the ladies could pass the night. Around each bend in the road he prayed for the humblest Manor to appear. As the forest closed in around them, he feared a night without shelter. At the last glow of the dying sun his prayers were answered as they came upon a small Manor. Dying oaks lined the long gravel carriage-way; the rolling lawn overrun with weeds. Stopping before the rusted gates, Ferris made his way to Lady Anne’s carriage as a gentle rain began to fall. He stood straight as an arrow; his hands folded one upon the other, waiting for permission to speak. Gritting his  teeth, he prepared for the Lady Rochford to speak. He had grown to dislike her sarcastic demeaning manner. He waited for what he knew would be a withering remark. He was not disappointed.

             
“Ferris!” she snapped.  Then turning to her sister-in-law, Jane continued, “This man is beyond me. I understand him not. Why chooses he such lowly estate for the future Queen?  Surely we would be better to go on to Sutton Place?  Sir Richard Weston and his goodly wife would give you proper comfort.”  Lady Rochford turned toward the tall, thin man shivering in the falling rain. She noted that his dirty blonde hair was plastered to his forehead; water dripped from his wool trousers and clucked her tongue in disgust. “Well, Ferris?”

             
“Pardon, my lady, but night has come and ‘tis not safe to travel the forest in the dark.” He hesitated, drew breath, and waited.

             
“Very well, as we have no choice, go and see if we are welcome here.”

             
“It was once a fine estate,” Anne said, soothing Jane. “The Manor itself is small, but stately built. With luck pleasant company may await us therein. Calm yourself, sister, lest we offend our host.”

             
Jane started to speak but Anne silenced her with a wave of her hand, for Ferris was approaching the coach.

             
“My lady,” he said, executing a deep bow. “We are most welcome. The Lady of the Manor extends her hospitality and begs you and Lady Rochford to come in out of the night.”  Ferris opened the carriage extending his hand to Anne.

             
The two women walked in silence up the broad stone steps to the dilapidated front door.  Once it had been handsomely carved and delicately painted but now lay in ruin through years of neglect.

             
Jane made the sign of the cross on her breast before entering behind Anne. In the broad hall stood a woman of maybe fifty years, dressed in a gown of widow’s black; the only splash of color a blue enameled brooch that perfectly matched her ocean blue eyes.

             
“Please come in,” she said as she dipped a stiff curtsy. “You are most welcome here. I admit, we have not much but we shall see to your comfort. Pray let me introduce myself, for there is none here to do it for me. My name is Elinor Kenryk, my husband Colys, dead these past twenty-six years would welcome thee too.”

             
“Why live you in such mean estate? The land surrounding is rich and fertile.” 

             
Anne winced at Jane’s rude questioning. “Jane, ‘tis not for us to ask; pardon my sister, she is weary from our travels and has misplaced her manners.”

             
“Do not worry, my lady, no offense taken,” their hostess said. Waving her hand about the darkened hall, she continued, “The place itself begs the question.  It is a poor reminder of its past opulence. Once we held balls attended by the greats of London. Sir Richard Weston was an honored guest from his boyhood, but alas all good things come to an end.” The woman’s smile of welcome slipped from her lips in memory of days gone. “Here, come this way,” she said, leading her two guests into a candle-lit drawing room where a bright fire blazed in the hearth.

             
Too curious to resist, Jane questioned, “But how came this to be?”

“Colys was deprived of the Manor lands on the accusation he supported the Yorkist cause.” Elinor dropped her head as she drew the sign of the cross across her
heavy breast. “There was no truth to it, yet King Henry, our good King’s father, left us landless. My husband died a traitor’s death, but the King, in his goodness, allowed me to keep the house for I was heavy with child and he would not punish the child for the sins of the father. Yet maybe, it would have been better if we had all died.  There was no defense from such a charge, none at all. Now, I am alone while my son, landless and unable to marry, spends his time in taverns and brothels. Pardon me, Mistress, I meant only to answer your questions, not to burden you with my troubles. You have sought warmth and are in need of a hot meal. My girl Alice will show you to your rooms to rest from your journey.” Elinor stepped back drawing a deep breath and resting her chin on her chest. Out of the shadow came a wench who lit a candle and led the weary travelers to the Manor’s best suite of rooms.

             
“If ye lack for anything, just ring the bell and I will come fast as I can.” Then, dipping a deep curtsy, the girl left the two women alone.

             
Anne turned to speak but shivered as a sudden chill descended on the room. The two women fell silent as they paced the chamber, chafing their shoulders to ward off the cold.  Elisabeth, who had followed the women, felt a shroud of fear wrap around her as she entered the room

ELEVEN

MONDAY AUGUST 26
TH

             
Long fingered shadows crept up the walls as dusk trimmed the curtains. The gas fireplace burned hot and bright behind its protective glass doors, yet the room felt cold.  Lydia shivered, her feet burned with cold as she drew the patchwork quilt closer. Lydia leaned toward the flame, searching for warmth as she watched a scene form in the flames.

             
There she was, the girl, Elisabeth, crossing the icy paving stones of the room’s floor to draw the heavy brocade drapes against the cold night air. Two women stood in shadow as Elisabeth paused by the ornate four-poster bed. One Lydia recognized as the woman she had seen in the garden in her waking dream. The other was a stranger, her features lost in shadow.

             
The girl, Elisabeth, spoke. “A sad house, this, no joy here for such as you, my lady. I fear the night here.”

             
“Nonsense,” snapped the woman from the shadows.  “It is only for one night. Even a priest could pass a night in Hell, if he knew it were only for one night. We will be comfortable enough. Leave us.”

             
Elisabeth paused, waiting for the other woman to speak.

             
“Leave us, Elisabeth,” said the woman from the garden. “I would speak with my sister alone.”

             
Lydia watched as the girl crossed to the door. As she reached for the latch she turned, saying, “Perhaps, I could sleep on the floor here in your chamber.”

             
The scene dissolved in the flames as Lydia heard the front door open.

             
“Lydia, where are you? Oh, there you are.  Why haven’t you turned on the lights? It’s dark in here.”  Dan, feeling the deep gloom of the room anxiously searched her face for the reason. He crossed the thick Oriental rug in two wide strides of his long legs, settling next to her on the sofa.  Taking her hands in his, he felt the cold of her flesh etched with warmth as pale skin turned pink with heat before his eyes. “Lydia, tell me what just happened. You look like you have seen a ghost,” Dan whispered as he burrowed his face into her shampoo-scented hair.

             
“I don’t know,” was her short reply.

             
Kissing her hairline Dan cursed silently, his mind filled with anger. ‘Why was it taking Stokes so long to bring her into therapy?  These nightmarish daydreams had to stop.’  Hugging Lydia close, Dan decided that he had waited long enough for hypnotherapy to begin.  He resolved to call Stokes in the morning to urge him to see Lydia immediately.

             
“I had a letter today,” Lydia said, her voice just above a whisper, “from England, from my cousin Lucy. She forwarded a letter from my mother’s family.”

             
Dan tightened his grip on Lydia’s hands.

             
“I haven’t opened the enclosed letter yet,” Lydia paused, looking at the gaily striped air-mail envelope on the coffee table.

             
Freeing her hands from Dan’s clutch Lydia removed the sealed envelope with trembling fingers. It was addressed to Lydia Hammond, in care of her cousin in East Anglia. Taking a long deep breath, then, letting it out just as slowly, Lydia opened the envelope removing a single sheet of onionskin paper and read its contents aloud to Dan.

‘Dear Olivia,

             
              My name is Christine Hays-Morely.  I am your cousin, daughter of James and Marguerite Hays-Morely, deceased.  I am writing on behalf of my Aunt and Uncle, that is to say, our Aunt and Uncle.  Forgive my awkwardness in addressing you, for though I knew your mother well, you are a stranger to me.

             
I am writing on behalf of Uncle Henry, that is to say, Henry Hays-Morely and his wife Ella.  He is desirous of contacting you with regard to your inheritance of Old Beretun at Morely’s Cross.  He would call upon you soonest (by telephone, of course) if you will send your particulars to me at…”

             
Finishing, Lydia read out an address in Paignton, Devon, England.  “Well, what do you make of that?” She asked Dan.

             
“Who is Olivia? And what is this inheritance from your mother’s people? What do you know of them?”

             
“I am Olivia. My father changed my name when we moved to Canada. As for the family I don’t know very much. My father would not speak of them. I knew she was from Devon, and of course, I knew I was born in Totnes, but I have no memories of it. I don’t think I ever heard the name Hays-Morely before I read it in the Court papers.  I was so young when we moved to Canada and there was little contact with anyone in England except for the occasional letter from my cousin, Lucy.”

             
“Who is Cousin Lucy?”

             
“She is my father’s cousin, twice removed.  His parents had died when he was young and he was raised by Lucy’s mother.  I think, I remember her packing a bag of chocolates for me to eat on the plane, but I can’t be sure.”

             
Dan shifted his weight uncomfortably, choosing at last to rise and pace before the hearth. “What do you suppose Old Barton is, an aging butler, perhaps?” Dan teased as he took the letter from Lydia’s hand.

             
“No, its Old Beretun, I think that’s how it’s pronounced. I don’t know. I don’t think I have ever heard the name before. But if it is meant to be mine, we had best find out what it is.”

             
“Her letter doesn’t give much away.  It’s almost as if she expects you to know of this inheritance and all it entails. Are you sure your father never mentioned it?” Dan turned from the blazing fire to find tears clouding Lydia’s eyes.

             
“I know so little,” she blubbered, tears straining her voice.