FLAME OF DESIRE (32 page)

Stephen Vickery stood up, still thinking about court doings. “But I have not told you the half. The council has restored the Mass throughout England, while
The Book of Common Prayer
has been suppressed and Protestant rites are severely frowned upon.”

Richard clenched his teeth. “It is as I feared. Mary will go too far. She does not realize that there are those who do not wish to return to the old ways.”

Heather thought about her father. So proud of his
Book of Common Prayer
with its letters of gold. He would never give it up. It was one of his treasures.

“Except in London and a few large towns, the popular feeling seems to be with the queen. The country in general seems to favor a return, though I might add that no one seems prepared to return their lands to the church. Their loyalty does not extend
that
far.” Stephen Vickery chuckled. “The purse, the purse, always it is the purse that truly does the talking.”

He accompanied Richard and Heather to the door, noting the sadness which came to their eyes when they took one last look around them. Impulsively he reached for Richard’s hand.

“God speed you, man. If ever you have need of me, call on me or send a message.”

“I will. You have proven to be a true friend, Stephen.”

The older man smiled sheepishly. “May I kiss your lady good-bye? For luck?” At a nod from Richard, he gave her a peck on the cheek. “Take care of him, Heather. See that he does not get in too much trouble.”

Leaving Stephen Vickery behind them, Heather and Richard went to the stables, mounted their horses, and rode off once again across the meadows and down the roads to Norfolk. Ahead lay the dotted fields and winding roads of the future, behind them the memory of stolen hours of bliss.

PART TWO:   The Pain and the Passion

Norfolk, London, and a Ship Bound for Spain

“On life’s vast ocean diversely we sail,

Reason the card, but Passion is the gale.”

--Alexander Pope,
Moral Essays, I

Chapter Forty-Four

It was a long and tiring journey to Richard’s estates in Norfolk. Anxious to arrive as quickly as possible, they rode much of the day, stopping only at night. Often they made love, but more often than not, they would fall exhausted into each other’s arms to sleep cradled together during the night. As they rode, Heather was haunted by the thought that they would not arrive in time. If anything happened to Edlyn, the guilt would tear their love asunder.

From Chelmsford to Colchester to Norwich they rode, staying at so many different inns that Heather felt like a Gypsy. Always there was the ever-present danger that Hugh Seton would pursue them and claim his vengeance. Still, being beside Richard was her heart’s desire. She was with the man she loved, and the countryside with its fields, moorlands, and sweet inland waters was a wonder of beauty.

When at last they arrived at the manor house, Heather was suddenly beset with nervousness. What would Richard’s household staff think of her? She was now his mistress. The word had a lurid ring to it, but the love they felt for each other was real. She would fight to see that it remained untarnished.

Richard sensed her inhibition immediately, though he did not know its cause. “What is the matter, my love?” he asked gently, helping her from her horse.

She smiled at him, trying desperately to hide the foreboding feeling that had swept over her. Was it the fear of seeing Edlyn? Yes, it was. “It’s just that it is such an imposing structure,” she answered. And indeed it was, though nowhere nearly as grand as Greenwich had been. Still, there was a rustic beauty about the manor that tugged at her heart. Richard told her that it had been built by his grandfather during the reign of Henry. Of red stone, it was three stories high with tall, rising gables and chimneys. Innumerable windows from story to story seemed to promise that the inside would be well-lighted. And of course being up north where rain was plentiful, the grounds were magnificent with greenery everywhere.

Putting his arms about her waist as if fearful lest she flee, Richard maneuvered her to the double oaken doors and pounded upon them with such force that those inside would have been deaf not to hear. Even so, it was several moments before the door was answered by a grossly overweight gray-haired woman in a black dress and white apron.

“Yes?” she said stiffly, looking them up and down. The dust of the road, the snags and tears in their garments, must have made them look like paupers, for it was a while before she recognized the lord of the manor. “Richard?”

“It is I. I am surprised that you should wonder. I received a message about Edlyn, that she is ill? It has been a long, hard journey, Agnes.” Taking hold of Heather’s hand, he led her into the room.

“Message? I sent no message,” the woman named Agnes stated, her eyes narrowing. Looking at Heather, thinking her to be some tavern wench, she asked, “Who, pray tell, is this?”

“This is Heather.”

“Heather?” Her manner was insulting as she blatantly looked Heather up and down and snorted in disapproval at what her eyes could see.

“I fully expect you to show her the same courtesy and respect that you show to me. Is that understood?” Richard commanded, his eyes unwavering as they looked at the woman.

“Yes, sir!” she snapped, turning her back quickly to hide her disdain. It was obvious to Heather that she had already formed her opinion of Richard’s red-haired guest.

Ignoring the woman’s reaction, Richard led Heather up the semicircular marble stairs. She marveled at the statues of two griffins on either side. They looked so real that she fully expected them to leap upon her.

“Edlyn’s room is on this floor,” he said, leading her down a narrow hallway when they reached the top floor. His face was etched with worry and perhaps remorse. “They are not always kind to her, though I have ordered Agnes and Charles to do their best. Edlyn, I fear, can be quite a handful.”

“Could it be because they abuse her in any way?” Heather asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot say. I try to protect her when I am here, but I cannot always be by her side. I have duties in London, as you well know.” He paused for a moment to look at her, and she could read sadness on his face. “Duties which the queen will relieve me of ere long.”

“Richard….” She wondered if there would ever come a day when he would regret his decision to flaunt their love and run away together. For so many years he had been loyal to Mary and her brother, Edward. How would he feel if his queen now openly displayed her anger?

“Come.” Opening the locked room, Richard stepped inside, Heather following close behind. “I have always had bitter memories of this manor, no matter how beautiful it is, and have sought to absent myself as often as possible, but with you here that will change. This I know.”

It was dark inside and Heather strained her eyes against the gloom. The room had a foul odor of unwashed human flesh, and stronger smells of body wastes.

“What on earth!” she exclaimed, immediately outraged by what she suspected. She looked at Richard but the look on his face told her that he had not expected to find the room in such a state.

“Usually  I let them know when I am coming. This time I took Agnes by surprise it seems.” He ran down the hallway and shouted to Agnes. Hurriedly entering the room, the obese woman tried desperately to explain the situation.

Meanwhile Heather searched for a fire stick and lit the wall sconces. The figure lying on the bed shrank back from the light, looking up at them with fever-glazed eyes. Putting her hand upon Edlyn’s forehead, Heather glared at the woman called Agnes. Gone now was any shyness.

“She is burning up with fever! Why has something not been done for her?” Heather snapped.

Agnes looked down at her feet, unable to meet Heather’s eyes. Still, her manner was hostile. “We tried everything. We called in the doctor to put leeches to her, and bled her once or twice.”

“Put a kettle on at once and gather some chamomile and thyme from the herb garden. And while you are at it, have some hot water and a basin sent up here.” The woman hesitated, standing in one spot, opening her mouth as if to explain again the situation, fearful of what Richard would think. Heather had lost all patience. “Go! I hope that God can forgive you for your lack of human charity, for I fear that I cannot.”

Her eyes filled with tars as she looked down at the dirt-streaked face of the woman on the bed. It was difficult to judge her age, for her face was filthy, her dark hair matted and unkempt, but Heather supposed her to be about twenty.

“How could anyone do such a thing? How?” she whispered.

“Heather, I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t,” Richard said hoarsely. “When I have come before, Edlyn has appeared to be well taken care of, clean, and well dressed. She has never been like this. I do not love my wife, but neither do I hate her. I would never, never have allowed such treatment.”

Reaching out to take hold of his hand she whispered, “I know. I know. You would never be so cruel as this. But whoever sent the message obviously wanted you to know of Edlyn’s harsh treatment. I want that woman, Agnes, to answer for this when all is said and done.”

“She will. I promise.”

A shudder swept over her as she looked down at the bed. “This poor woman is being kept a virtual prisoner. I would even venture a guess that she is ill-fed as well.” Her eyes blazed anger as Agnes returned to the room, bringing a cup, a kettle, and the herbs that Heather had requested. Putting the herbs in the hot water to steep, Heather prepared a warm drink, and coaxed Edlyn to drink it. “Where is the tub? I want to wash her. No one should be allowed to wallow in their own filth.”

Agnes answered Heather’s look of dislike with one of her own, resenting this interloper who was telling her what to do. “We have a hard time keeping her clean. She has no interest in washing, nor is she interested in proper clothing. It is all the same to her.”

“She is a human being and must be treated as such. I would not treat my
cat
in this fashion.”

“Begging your pardon,
miss
,” Agnes said with a slight bow. “I will see to the tub and the water.”

At last the tub was brought in and Heather gently washed the young woman. “How old is she?”

“Twenty-five. It was a high fever that nearly killed her when she was a child,” Richard explained. “Instead it took its toll on her mind. Let us pray that this fever does not kill her. I want her to live, Heather.”

“So do I,” she whispered. “So do I.”

Heather stayed with Edlyn all night, forcing her to drink more of the hot herbal tea and applying cool cloths to her head and body. By midnight the woman’s condition had worsened. She twisted and turned on her bed, lost in her own frantic dreams. It was a torture for Heather to watch her, feeling helpless to chase away the demons that seemed to pursue the young woman. Meanwhile, her body was like a raging fire.

“She is going to die,” Richard groaned. “Will I ever be able to forgive myself for neglecting her as I have done?”

“She will not die!” Heather cried. “Not while I have breath left in my body. I will not give up.” If Edlyn died now, her death would be a constant reminder, a wall between her and Richard. She would not let that happen. Frantically she tried to think of anything that might be of help. The physician was too far away and would never arrive in time. It was left to her.

Suddenly it came to her. Snatching off the heavy linen coverlet, she undressed the woman on the bed as Richard stared at her in disbelief. “Heather, have you lost your mind? She will catch pneumonia as well.”

“Trust me in this, Richard.” Sponging Edlyn with cool water, letting the water evaporate, she also forced cold water down the woman’s throat. All through the night Until daybreak she kept up the treatment, sponging Edlyn as soon as she felt warm to her touch again.

At last Edlyn’s forehead grew cooler and her eyes fluttered open as she looked around her in confusion. Seeing Heather, she tried to speak, but the sound was more of a groan.

The vigil was over. Edlyn’s fever had broken. “Thank God,” Heather whispered, touching the woman’s face. “Thank God.” The fever was gone but not the storm which raged in Heather’s heart. Always before Edlyn had been just a name, a being whose existence had been the obstacle to Heather’s happiness with Richard. She had somehow not seemed real during those passionate nights in the inn. Heather had been able to hide away from the truth, to push the thought of Edlyn away. But now, after having seen the woman, after having saved her from the fever, it was impossible to act as if she did not exist. Edlyn was real, and instead of being a woman to resent, she was a creature to be pitied. She could not be blamed for what had happened. She was as much a victim as Richard, a poor tragic prisoner of her mind.

“You saved her life,” Richard said softly, looking at Heather with admiration. He tried to gather her into his arms, seeking more to comfort her than to love her, but for the first time since he had told her the truth about Edlyn, Heather drew away from his arms.

“I’m tired, Richard,” she said weakly, leaving the room, wandering around until she found an empty chamber. There in the solitude and darkness she fought desperately with her emotions. Their love had been a blending of their bodies and the forging of their hearts.

“I love him,” she murmured, “but how can I stay with him in
this
house?” She knew that she could not. Somehow their love seemed sordid here with Edlyn beneath the same roof. She remembered Agnes and the other servants eyeing her up and down, judging her, and knew that she longed to be away from here, to seek the sweet comfort of Richard’s arms away from these walls. Away from the wagging tongues of those who would condemn them.

She slowly became aware of the murmurings of the servants in the hall and strained her ears to hear their words.