The Master of Winterbourne Page 20

  Henrietta snuggled closer against him like a warm cat and gazed into the embers, no longer listening to the conversation. For all her contentment she felt guilty; when had she ever allowed Matthew to explain his beliefs to her in the way she had allowed this man, a complete stranger, to do?

  Chapter Twenty One

  ‘Mistress, should we not stay here tonight?’ Letty looked with concern at Henrietta's face. ‘You did not look well when we set off from Hertford this morning and now you seem quite faint.’

  Henrietta paused, one hand on the pommel of her saddle, ready to mount, and gestured to the groom to wait. ‘Stay here? Letty, what can you be thinking of? Look around you at this place. I could not possibly spend the night here and you know I planned to return to Winterbourne tonight. If we do not return Sir Matthew will worry.’

  The maid followed her gaze around the dirty, malodorous inn yard, taking in the cobbles, shiny with rain and horse droppings, the smoke issuing from the broken chimney, the raucous noise of the drinkers in the public rooms.

  ‘I know it is not what you are used to, but you need to rest, Mistress,’ Letty persisted. ‘You have had a long ride from Hertford this morning and this cold rain is set in for the day. You should never have persuaded Sir Matthew you could come home alone when he was called away to London from the wedding.’

  Henrietta reached into the folds of her cloak and retrieved a kerchief to mop her wet face, as she had been doing all morning. The October drizzle was insistent, chilling the whole returning wedding party to the marrow, dampening their spirits after the euphoria of the wedding.

  When Lord Hargrave's message had reached Matthew on the eve of Aunt Susan's marriage it had taken all her powers of persuasion to get him to leave. The irony of her, a Royalist, sending him about his Parliamentary business had escaped neither of them.

  ‘Rest is the last thing I need after that disgusting dinner.’ Henrietta grimaced, ‘I have never tasted such greasy mutton, it rests heavy on my stomach.’ She felt the bile rising in her throat and swallowed convulsively. ‘I need fresh air, not that smoke and stench of stale ale.’

  The inn was the best Wheathampstead had to offer, none the less the innkeeper was ill used to accommodating the gentry. He had bowed Henrietta and Letty through the crush of damp, smelly bodies in the taproom to a private parlour beyond, leaving their grooms to make shift as best they could after they had fed and watered the horses. The weather had put them a good hour behind, thwarting their plans to dine in comfort in the market town of Harpenden.

  Henrietta had told herself that she should try to eat the mutton stew, coarse bread and small ale their host had served them. In truth the rich food at her aunt's wedding breakfast the day before had disagreed with her, as most things seemed to these last few days, and the ride had already sapped her strength. She needed to replenish her energies if she was to get back to Winterbourne that day.

  ‘Mistress, will you mount now?’ John, her groom, bent his back, hands cupped to receive her booted foot and toss her up into the saddle.

  ‘No, wait.’ Letty said. Henrietta was taken aback by her maid's vehemence and sudden authority. ‘John, give me the reins and wait over there.’ Puzzled, the man complied. As soon as he was out of earshot Letty hissed, ‘Mistress, forgive me, I know it is not my place to say so, but you should not be tiring yourself so in your condition.’

  ‘My what?’ Henrietta stared at her, absently wiping a raindrop off the end of her nose with a gloved hand.

  ‘Your condition, Mistress. You are with child, are you not?’ Two spots of colour on the maid's cheeks showed how difficult this boldness was for her.

  ‘I must be.’ Henrietta stared blankly at the wet mane of her mare standing solidly in the dirty yard. How could she have been so stupid, not realised the thing she had been praying for had happened? ‘But Letty, I have been feeling so ill.’ Her lack of energy, her want of appetite, the other bodily symptoms, all these she had attributed to the lasting effects of her fall in the yard. Added to that, the unsettled state of the country, her sorrow at losing Aunt Susan to be the wife of Lawyer Stone in Hertford and endless depressing rain had all served to convince her she was out of sorts and needed a tonic.

  ‘I had meant to speak to Mistress Perrott, but I thought the queasiness would pass. I never imagined such a joyous thing would make me feel so wretched.’

  ‘And your aunt has had no children,’ Letty added shrewdly. ‘She would not think to warn you of these early signs. But it was so with both my sisters, and my mother tells me it is more common than not.’ She looked around at their surroundings. ‘You are right, you could not stay here, but we could go on to Harpenden and stay at the Silver Swan. I have heard Lawyer Stone speak well of it many times.’

  ‘No, we are going home,’ Henrietta said firmly, her nausea no longer important. ‘John, help me to mount, we leave at once.’ Now she knew the truth she desired more than ever to return to Winterbourne, shut the world out, be alone and safe with the child she was carrying. And Matthew.

  Letty caught John's arm as he came forward and whispered urgently to him. Unusually he took the mare's leading-rein and drew his own horse close beside her. Letty was tossed up behind Peter and the other two armed Winterbourne grooms fell in at the rear of the little procession, one of them leading a pack-horse with Henrietta's bags.

  A child, Matthew's child. The thought obsessed her, filled her with awe, lifted her dampened spirits. And once she had shared her secret with him, seen the joy in his eyes, she would be the happiest woman alive.

  The road ran along the Lea Valley, past the flooded watercress beds and the willows, their stems already bare as they hung over the muddy water. Their horses' hoofs splashed through the puddles, miring the women's skirts and the men's boots as they moved through the empty landscape. There was no wind and the moisture-laden air hung heavy and cold, dripping from bare branches as the riders ascended the hills into the woods, then dropped down the steep valley side into Harpenden.

  Lights glowed warmly in the windows of the Silver Swan as they rode past the inn yard. ‘Will you not change your mind, Mistress?' Letty called, casting a longing look at the well-kept hostelry.

  Mutely Henrietta shook her head. She had hardly heard the question, her whole attention turned inward, listening to her body, the beat of her blood. Her child was cocooned, safe and warm in her womb, however cold and aching she was. She tried to imagine Matthew's face when she told him, remembering all he had said to her on their wedding night as they had looked out over Winterbourne in the moonlight. She was carrying the future of Winterbourne, the child who would fill the space left by the son he had lost.

  And she, Henrietta Wynter, was going to survive, was going to bring her child to adulthood as poor Sarah had not. For the first time Henrietta realised she was in sympathy with Matthew's first wife, could share her feelings.

  What a fool she had been to be jealous. She could never have given her heart to a man who could easily forget the woman he had been married to, consign her to history without regret or pain.

  It was only right Matthew should have fond memories of Sarah, be hurt by the recollection of her death and that of his son. But that need not stop him loving Henrietta, and in her heart she began to hope that he was beginning to do so.

  Her mare stumbled in a pot-hole and John jerked the leading-rein to bring the animal's head up. Henrietta pulled her thoughts back to the present and took up her reins firmly. If she was not careful she would take a tumble, and that she could not afford. ‘Thank you, John, but give me the rein. I must concentrate on what I am doing.’ She dug her heel into the mare's flank and looked around, assessing their progress. ‘What time is it, John?’

  ‘Must be near four of the clock, Mistress, the light is dying fast. We will not be on Winterbourne soil till past suppertime.’ There was worry in the lean, ruddy face and he glanced about him with unusual sharpness as he spoke.

  ‘What is wrong, John?’

  ‘I wo
uld have liked to be home before dark with the roads like this. There are too many masterless men abroad and our horses are weary.’ He turned in the saddle and called, ‘You two at the back, there, keep a sharp look-out and your cudgels at the ready.’

  ‘Surely there is no danger.’ Henrietta began to feel alarm for the first time. John was usually so stolid and unruffled, not a man to imagine boggarts behind every bush, yet now he was on edge, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Her worries sharpened. Was the country in such a state of ferment that it was unsafe to travel a day's journey from home? No wonder Matthew had been so reluctant to leave her, even with a reliable armed escort.

  ‘Winterbourne, Mistress,’ Letty called at last, undisguised relief in her voice as the lights of the outlying cottages appeared in the darkness.

  The village showed no signs of life save for the smoke from the chimneys and the flicker of rush-lights. All doors were shut and barred against the cold and whatever else the night held.

  ‘Who goes there?’ They were challenged by a guard on top of the Tudor gatehouse as they approached.

  ‘Your mistress, safe back from Hertford!’ John shouted back, relief at their safe return plain in his voice. One of the grooms spurred his tired horse into a canter to go ahead and rouse the household and Henrietta's spirits rose as the front door opened wide, spilling light on to the gravel before them.

  ‘Where is Alice?’ Henrietta asked, surprised to see Martha holding the lantern as John lifted her, stiff-limbed from her saddle. With Aunt Susan now Mistress Stone and Henrietta away at the wedding, Alice had assumed control of the household and Henrietta had expected to see her waiting on the threshold. ‘Is she well?’

  ‘Confined to her bed, Mistress.’ Martha bobbed a curtsy and lifted Henrietta's sodden cloak from her shoulders. ‘Pains came on this morning, but then they went away again. Mistress Perrott, she says it's early days yet, but Cook do think – ’

  ‘That will do, Martha. Stop gossiping and see to our supper. John, when you have seen to the horses, call at Home Farm and tell Master Weldon we are safe returned and ask after Mistress Weldon.’

  The room was swaying. Henrietta still felt the rhythm of the horse after so many hours in the saddle and she clutched at the back of the chair to steady herself

  ‘Henrietta.’ Matthew ran down the stairs and took her in his arms. Her spirits lifted as she saw the relief on his face. He had missed her, been anxious for her. ‘Thank God you are home safe. I have been cursing myself for a fool for letting you travel from Hertford alone. If anything should have happened to you – ’

  ‘I was not alone. You had left me John and Peter and the others, armed to the teeth and watching every bush.’ She was touched and happy at his obvious concern for her. She had intended to tell him about the child immediately, but perhaps it would be as well to let his worry abate, or he would never let her beyond the gatehouse again.

  Matthew released her, but her feet were so numb with cold that she staggered and almost fell.

  ‘Bed, Mistress.’ Letty put her arm around her waist, directing a disapproving look at Matthew. ‘Martha, bring broth and bread and butter and a flask of the best sack. The mistress has caught a chill on the road.’ She lowered her voice and whispered, ‘Don't want them gossiping yet a while, it is early days yet.’

  ‘You are so cold, Henrietta.’ Matthew stood chafing her hands. ‘Why did you not break your journey at the Silver Swan in Harpenden?’ Letty snorted. ‘Or at least take a heavier cloak?’

  'Oh, it seemed all right when we left, it was such a warm day, I did not expect the weather to turn as it did, despite the rain.’

  As she set foot on the first tread of the stairs Matthew added, ‘Well, we must get you a heavy winter cloak, a fur-lined one.’

  ‘Oh, no need for that, Master. The mistress has a fine one, new last year. Here.’ Helpfully Letty lifted the lid of the chest and pulled out the cloak, shaking out its creased folds.

  ‘No! Letty!’ Henrietta started forward, but it was too late. The gloves with the message fell at Matthew's feet. He stooped to pick them up, his eyes on her unguarded face, puzzlement and a growing suspicion dawning on his own.

  He must have felt the message as soon as his fingers closed round the soft kid for his eyes grew hard and steady. ‘Come, Henrietta, we will go to our chamber.’ He turned to the puzzled servants. ‘You are all dismissed.’

  ‘Matthew, what is it?’ Henrietta demanded when the chamber door closed behind them. She let the sodden cloak fall from her shoulders and went to warm her hands at the fire, trying to appear unconcerned. Behind her she could feel Matthew's eyes on her back. He was still holding the gloves, the fingers crushed in his own.

  Panic was paralysing her mind. She should be saying something, anything to distract him from the twisted scrap of parchment in the glove, but no words came. There was a rustle, then a soft thud as the gloves fell to the boards. Slowly Henrietta turned, unable to do anything but face the discovery.

  ‘There is a message in these gloves, madam. But I think you already know that. I now realise you have been at great pains to conceal it from me ever since they were delivered on our wedding day.’ He looked up to meet her gaze. ‘What? Nothing to say, wife? Why not tell me to throw it away, that it is but a greeting from the donor of this fine gift?’

  Her world was about to fall about her ears and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Matthew smoothed the screw of parchment flat between his fingers and began to read in a cold, flat voice.

  ‘News reached me too late of the marriage you are forced to make against your heart and conscience. Do not despair. It may be many weeks before I can make the journey but I will come to you whatever the dangers and will lift this burden from you. Say nothing to arouse your husband's suspicions; show him a complaisant face and pray for our sovereign lord King Charles and for your faithful servant.

  ‘I cannot distinguish the signature. Perhaps you would be good enough to enlighten me.’ Matthew's voice was frozen beyond anger, his face rigid as he thrust the offending parchment at Henrietta.

  ‘No… no, I cannot,’ Henrietta stumbled over the words, breathless with fear. Now Matthew would know everything, realise she was involved in Royalist intrigues, perhaps even plotting the return of the King. And the danger was not only for herself but for Robert and Alice, for young Dick who had carried the message to Oxford, for the whole net of confederates still loyal to Charles. ‘Matthew, let me explain,’ she pleaded desperately.

  ‘I would like to hear you try.’ He crossed his arms across his chest and watched her implacably.

  ‘I – ’ Henrietta realised she had no words to explain away the message. The words were too explicit, there was no possible ambiguity in its expression she could find to divert his anger. Surely now he knew, or could swiftly guess everything.

  ‘I am waiting, Wife.’ The tightly controlled anger clipped his words.

  Henrietta gazed back at him, desperately searching for an avenue of escape where none existed.

  ‘His name. I asked you for his name.’

  ‘I cannot.’ The note was signed only with an ornate scrawl which might have begun with a T, but even had she known the name her vow to James forbade her to reveal it.

  ‘Your loyalty is admirable, madam.’ A thin mockery of a smile touched his lips but left his eyes as hard as before. For the first time Henrietta's panic congealed into cold fear as she recognised the depth of Matthew's anger. ‘A pity you do not regard your marriage vows in such a light – they have worn very thin in scant time.’

  Henrietta dropped her head into her hands, unable to face the anger, contempt, betrayal in his face. There had been much sadness in her short life but she had never had to confront such bitter fury, such ruthless examination. To be interrogated like this by her husband, by the man she loved, was almost more than she could bear.

  ‘Oh, no, madam. Pray do not even think about weeping, it will have no effect on me.’ He crossed to the window,
stood with his back to her, rejection in every line of his tense body.

  The silence stretched on until she thought she would scream, then he said. ‘I had not thought myself such a fool, so easily gulled by a chit of a girl. I knew you were hiding something from me, yet on the night we were betrothed you denied you loved another. Let me hear your deceitful lips deny it again now I hold the evidence in my hand.’

  The rigid façade of his control was cracking, but, thunderstruck, Henrietta was conscious of nothing but the ludicrousness of the accusation. He believed her to have a lover? He thought the letter he held was a love missive from that man? The accusation was so wide of the mark that it made her smile for one fatal second.

  Matthew turned and caught it. His fists clenched suddenly at his side. ‘So you find it amusing, madam? Perhaps you would care to share the jest with your husband, for I confess I fail to see the humour in it.’

  ‘But Matthew…’ Henrietta struggled to come to terms with the accusation. ‘I was a virgin when I came to you in marriage. You know that.’

  ‘All that I know is that you were too cautious to give yourself to him – then. This letter proves your lover is too compromised politically to come to you openly. You have been skilful, playing the loving wife to me. No wonder my arrival at Winterbourne was so unwelcome to you when you were saving yourself for this traitor.’

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Matthew screwed up the parchment and threw it to floor. There was no way out of this tangled web without telling him the truth. But to do so would not only break her vow, but would threaten the liberty, the very lives, of everyone involved. Matthew was no lukewarm bystander to ignore this intelligence. He believed in the rightness of the Commonwealth, in the rightness of what he had fought for, for what so many had died for. However moderate his view, in his eyes it was the King who was the traitor for he had betrayed his people by ruling above the law and Parliament.