Lady of Hay (74 page)

“Take the news to the king that I have captured the lady he is seeking,” he commanded. “Tell him I’ll wait for his instructions at my father’s castle of Turnberry.”

The old man chewed his lip indifferently. “I’ll sail with the next tide, sir. I’ll see that your message is given.”

Matilda, from her seat behind young James Stewart, wondered if there was any pity in the old man’s eye as he watched them wheel their horses and ride away.

They rode inland as the dusk fell, following the clearly marked road across the open flats and into the woods. At Craigcaffie the men lit burning torches to light their way as they followed the track around Loch Ryan and followed the coast road north. They rode fast. Matilda was forced to cling to the waist of the young man in front of her, half conscious of the glitter of starlit water to their left, half blinded by the streaming torch held by the rider who galloped at their right-hand side. She rested her head against the broad back before her and closed her eyes; beyond the circle of light and the thundering hooves there was nothing but darkness and despair. Somewhere close to her, among the riders, she could hear a child crying bitterly and she knew it was little John. She ached to hold him and comfort him and she tried to look around, searching for Mattie, but the figures near her on the thundering horses were blurred by the streaming smoke and the bitter fumes.

Apart from one brief rest to water the horses, Sir Duncan did not draw rein until they reached Turnberry. The sweating, trembling animals trotted over the echoing drawbridge and stopped at last, their breath coming in clouds of steam as they drew up before the high keep. After sliding from his horse, he came and held out his hand to help Matilda dismount. He seemed unruffled by the long, wild ride and maintained his scrupulously polite manner. “Welcome, Lady Matilda.” He bowed low. “I trust you will think of yourself as my guest until we hear what His Grace would wish me to do with you.”

Matilda was shaking, half with fatigue and fear, half with anger. “You’re no friend of mine, Sir Duncan. If I enter your house it will be as your prisoner, never as your guest,” she flashed at him, snatching her hand from his.

He smiled. “As you wish.” He turned abruptly on his heel, barking a command to his men, and ran ahead of them into the castle.

They were hustled into the keep and up into one of the high chambers under the roof. There was no furniture and the wooden floor was swept bare. All three babies were crying now and Matilda, in the light of the candle that burned on its pricket near the door, could see that Mattie was near tears herself. The nurse was white, her eyes enormous with terror. Will had been taken away from them out in the bailey and Matilda felt sick with fear for him. It was a moment before she felt Margaret’s hand on her arm, steadying her. “Help me with the babies, Mother. We must quiet them. Perhaps nurse can give them all a little milk, if she can, even John. At least we’re sheltered here, and it’s warm.”

“He would have made us comfortable, if you’d let him,” Mattie flashed. “We could have been his guests. There would have been a fire and blankets and food. Why are you so stubborn and proud? Must we all suffer for it all the time?” She turned away petulantly as Matilda bent to pick up little John and hug him tightly in her arms.

“Hush, Mattie,” Margaret retorted warningly. “Mother did quite right to refuse. We don’t need a fire. It’s a hot night.”

The child was heavy in Matilda’s arms and she could feel them beginning to ache already, but she continued to hold him, feeling the warmth and comfort of his little body as his arms crept around her neck. Margaret had given Egidia to the wet nurse and was rocking Mattie’s little Richard, trying to quiet his fretful wails, gently loosening his swaddling bands. “There’s one thing we must thank heaven for, Mother. Walter and the others have got away. The villagers who were watching will tell them what happened and they will come after us. Somehow they’ll get us out of here. They’ll think of something.”

Mattie looked up, a sudden ray of hope in her tear-reddened eyes. “Do you think so? Oh, yes, of course they will. They’ll save us. Walter would never let you be taken a prisoner. They’ll save us and find Will.”

Matilda forced herself to smile, though her lips were dry and cracked from salt and sun and fear. “Of course we’ll all be all right. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll think of something before the king sends for us.”

Some time later as light was beginning to filter through the unshuttered windows they heard steps on the stone stairs outside. The door was unbarred and men appeared carrying mattresses and blankets. They brought in jugs of wine and plates of meat and oatcakes and a bowl of milksops for the babies, and set them down near the empty hearth. Then one of them turned to Matilda and saluted. “Sir Duncan sends his compliments, madam. If you and the ladies will accept his hospitality you will be most welcome to dine at his table tonight.”

Matilda felt her cheeks flame. “I thought I told Sir Duncan what I thought of his hospitality. Please tell him I haven’t changed my mind. I will never willingly stay a guest under his roof.”

The man bowed without comment, his face carefully neutral, and withdrew with the others, barring the heavy door behind him. As soon as he had gone Mattie burst into loud sobs. “Why? Why did you refuse him? We could have tried to change his mind. We might have escaped if we had got out of this infernal room. We might have got away!” She flung herself at the door, beating her fists in anguish against the thick unyielding timbers.

Matilda looked at her, her face set. “And leave your babies as hostages?” was all she said.

37

Nick stretched slowly on the bed and looked up at the sunlight sliding through the curtains and playing on the plaster frieze around the bedroom ceiling. He smiled. It was a long time since he had awoken at Jo’s on a Monday morning. He brought his wrist up in front of his face and stared at his watch. Christ Almighty! It was eight-fifteen. He was due at the office at eight-thirty. He leapt to his feet, then he stopped in his tracks.

The bed beside him was empty, the bedspread still in place, save where it showed the imprint of his sleeping body. And he was fully dressed.

Slowly, with a leaden heart, Nick walked up the passage to the living room. Jo lay where he had left her, on the sofa, very still beneath the blanket he had tucked around her.

“Nick? What time is it?” She opened her eyes slowly.

“After eight.” He went and sat down beside her.

“What happened? Why did I sleep here? When did you arrive?” She pushed the hair out of her eyes.

Tenderly Nick leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“Jo, I’m flying back to the States this morning.”

She sat up. “Why?”

“I have to go, Jo. I have to get away from you, don’t you see?”

Pushing herself up onto her elbow, she stared at him. “But why the States?”

“Because it’s far away. I came here last night, Jo. I hypnotized you. I don’t even know how, but somehow I frightened you into a trance against your will. I made you tell me some more of the story, Jo, knowing it was dangerous for you, knowing you were afraid. By rights I should be locked up!”

“Nick, that’s not true.” Jo stood up shakily. “I don’t remember—”

“You don’t remember because I told you you wouldn’t remember. You were crying, Jo. You started to cry as you talked, and it brought me back to sanity. I told you to go to sleep and I told you to forget.” He clenched his fists. “Until this is over I am not going to trust myself even in the same city as you. Somehow I’ve got to find Sam and get him to straighten out this mess, if he’s capable of doing it. I’ll see if he’s still down in Hampshire.” He strode grimly to the phone and glanced without comment at the pad with his mother’s number on it, then he began to dial.

Dorothy Franklyn answered at the second ring.

“He’s just left, Nick,” she answered in response to his curt inquiry. “He said he had to get back to town later today. Is anything wrong, Nick? He really was very on edge all weekend.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Ma.” Nick drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’ll call you again soon.” He hung up. “He’s on his way back to London. Jo, I don’t want you staying here alone. You’ve got to keep away from both of us.”

Jo bit her lip. “There’s no way I’d ever let him in.” She gave a tired smile. “Ceecliff is coming to stay with me tonight.”

Nick’s face lightened. “That’s good news. I wish I could see her.”

“So do I,” Jo said sadly. “So do I.”

***

The apartment was empty. Nick walked around it twice, alert for any sound, before he slid the deadlock on the front door and went toward the phone.

He booked a flight on the afternoon jumbo jet, then he called Jim Greerson.

Jim was desperate. “For crying out loud, old son! You were supposed to be here!”

“I’m sorry, Jim. I’m sure you are handling everything brilliantly.”

“I doubt it. And if it’s screwed up, it’s no one’s fault but yours! Mike Desmond was furious when you didn’t turn up again. I’ve told him you will personally go over to his office tomorrow and grovel and lick his shoes.”

Nick stared up at the ceiling. “Jim, I’m flying back to New York this afternoon—”

“Like hell you are!” It was the first time Nick had ever heard Jim sound really angry. “This is your firm, Nick. If you want to save it, you fucking will show up and pull your weight! There are other people’s jobs on the line too, you know. You’ve got twenty people working for you, in case you’ve forgotten, and they all rely on you!”

Nick passed his hand over his forehead. “Jim—”

“No. No more excuses, Nick. Just get here, fast.” Jim slammed down the phone.

“Damn!” Nick looked down at the memo pad on the desk where he had written down his flight number, then he ripped off the page and, screwing it up, flung it into the wastepaper basket.

As he did so something lying in the bottom of the almost-empty basket caught his eye. He stooped and picked it up. It was a cheap wooden crucifix with, nailed to it, a plastic figure of Christ.

***

Bet looked up from the flat-plan on her desk. “You want to work here? In the office?”

“Just today, Bet. Please. I have a reason for not wanting to be at home. I can finish the article off and leave it with you.” Jo hitched herself up on the edge of Bet’s desk. She leaned over and picked up the box of cigarettes lying by the telephone. Her hand was shaking slightly.

Bet marked up a couple more sections on the plan, then she threw down her pen and stood up. She went over to the coffee and poured out a cup. “You’d better drink this.” Deftly she took the unlit cigarette away from Jo and tucked it back into the box. “I’m sure I can find you a desk here, love. In fact, there’s one here permanently for you if you want it. You know that.”

Jo shook her head. “Only for today, Bet, thanks all the same. Then I’m going home. And I’m going back to Matilda. I’ve finished all the research I’m going to do.” She took a deep breath. “Now I want to write it all down quickly and get it out of my system once and for all.”

Bet smiled. “I’m glad you’ve changed your mind. It would have been the end of a beautiful friendship if you’d let me down on that one. I’ve provisionally scheduled you three main feature slots starting in March. That gives you three months to write it. Will that be enough?”

“It’ll be done in three weeks.” Jo’s voice was dry.

“Whenever.” Bet raised her hands in an expansive gesture of compliance. “I’ve spoken to Tim. He’s sending all the photographs to you direct before he leaves.”

“Leaves?” Jo glanced up.

“He’s going to Sri Lanka on Sunday, for six months or so, with the delectable Caroline.” Bet carefully avoided Jo’s eyes. “It’s best, Jo. He’ll destroy himself if he stays here.”

Jo looked away, taken aback at the sudden, suspicious prickling behind her eyes.

“He’ll get over it,” Bet went on gently.

“Of course he will.” Jo forced herself to smile.

“Will you put him in the articles?”

“No.”

“But he is part of the story—”

“So is Nick, but I won’t include him either.” Jo stood up suddenly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your money’s worth. I shall pillory myself for my avid readers, but not my friends.”

Bet shrugged. “As you wish, but you’re omitting some of the most extraordinary parts of the story, Jo. And don’t forget, the big bad world has already read about Nick and Sam.”

“Then let them make their own connections.” Jo picked up her file of notes. “I’m working on the Clements story now, so please, tell me where I’ll find a desk, and I’ll start.”

***

Ceecliff paid off the taxi and walked slowly up the steps to ring Jo’s bell. It was several seconds before the intercom buzzed into life.

“It’s me, dear.” She stooped toward the disembodied voice in the wall.

“Are you alone, Ceecliff?”

Celia Clifford stared around her carefully. “Totally. And I haven’t been followed! I changed taxis twice to make sure,” she said solemnly.

There was a gurgle of laughter from the wall. “Enter then and be recognized!”

“What on earth is all this about?” Panting after her climb up the stairs, Ceecliff watched as Jo bolted the front door behind her and fixed the chain.

“Nothing. I’m just being careful.”

Ceecliff divested herself of her lightweight coat and dropped her handbag and shopping bags on a chair. “Have you locked Nicholas in or out?”

“Out. Oh, Granny—” Jo threw herself into the older woman’s arms.

“You haven’t called me that since you were quite tiny, Joey,” Ceecliff murmured gently. “My goodness, look at you. If you cry like that, you’ll dissolve, child.” She led Jo to the sofa and pulled her down beside her. “Best let all the tears out first, then you can tell me everything.”

***

It was eight-thirty when Ceecliff opened the front door to Nick. She smiled at him and gave him her cheek to kiss, then, taking his hand, she led him into the living room. “Joey is in the kitchen, Nicholas, fixing us some paella, so we can talk in here.”

Nick put the bottle of wine he was carrying on the coffee table and sat down obediently. “I thought I might not be coming here again,” he said slowly. “I had arranged to go back to the States this afternoon.”

“Running away is not going to solve anything.” Ceecliff sat down on the edge of the sofa beside him. She reached forward and took his hands in hers. “That’s why I called you. Joey told me everything this evening. The whole story.”

“Including what I did to her last night?”

“Including everything.” She gave a small wistful smile. “Nicholas, amid all your problems, your anguish and your fear for Jo and for yourself, has it ever crossed your mind to acknowledge the fact that your spirit, the kernel of life inside you that is the essential you, has loved one woman for eight hundred years? That is some love story, Nicholas, and the way Jo tells it, it sounds as if there are three of you who have been given a second chance to redeem the mistakes you made all those years ago. A chance to fulfill your love, Nicholas, not repeat the terrible mistakes you made before. A chance for your brother, if he was this dreadful man, William, to prove he isn’t a coward any longer, and for Richard—” She shrugged. “I don’t know what Richard did, except perhaps grow old. But maybe there is to be another chance somewhere for him as well.”

“You don’t really believe all this?”

“Wait, I haven’t finished.” Ceecliff tapped him on the knee reprovingly. “I know nothing about psychology, or this frightening hypnosis business, but it does cross my mind that your brother has been practicing some kind of mental isometrics on you. He is using your resistance and your fear to fight yourself, within yourself.” She paused, searching his face gravely for a reaction. “Have you thought of admitting to yourself that you were once another man? That that man made some terrible errors, for which his soul has lived in torment, and that a kind, not a vengeful, deity has given him the chance, through you, to make amends?”

Nick let out a deep breath. “No, I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

Ceecliff laughed. “You can say I’m gaga if you like, but I haven’t lived nearly eighty years without learning something. And one of the things I’ve learned is that anything is possible, Nick. Why do you think you met Jo? It cannot have been coincidence.”

“Sam introduced us.”

“Perhaps that act was his first step on his own road to salvation.”

“Perhaps.” Nick looked skeptical. “Look, Ceecliff, I’m sorry, I’d love to believe this, I really would—but I can’t.” He stood up and began pacing up and down the carpet.

“But you do believe in your brother’s power over you?” Ceecliff looked up at him, not moving from the sofa.

He stopped. “I’ve had proof of that.”

“And you have had proof that your love for Joey is stronger than his evil intent. You nearly hurt her, Nicholas. You had it in your power to hurt her, even to kill her last night, but you didn’t actually do it.” She reached up toward him. “You were ungentle and ungentlemanly.” She gave him a smile. “But you did not actually harm her, did you?”

Nick shook his head slowly.

“You could have forced her to tell you her story to the end last night, Nick. You could have forced her to experience once more the moment of death. But you didn’t do it. You could have killed her, Nick. And if you were going to, if that was what you really wanted, you would have done it then. But you
didn’t
!” She pulled herself up off the sofa and went to her shopping bags, which still lay on the chair near the door. “I bought us a nice bottle of Amontillado in Harrods before I came. Why don’t you open it, Nick. And pour Jo one as well.” She glanced at him with a gentle smile. “Think about what I’ve said, won’t you? Don’t just dismiss it out of hand.”

Jo was in her bedroom, lying on the bed, her arm across her face. Nick sat down on the bed beside her. “I’ve brought you a sherry, Jo.”

She turned and looked at him, her eyes still swollen from crying. “What do you think of Ceecliff’s theory?”

He smiled. “I’ll buy it. Anything is better than mine, and I hear John is next after Richard III for reappraisal and reinstatement by historians.” He reached forward and pushed her hair gently back from her face. “I want to believe Ceecliff’s love story, Jo.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. “I want to very badly. It would mean that at the end of the story you will marry your handsome prince and live happily ever after.”

Jo gave a snort. She pushed him away and reached for the sherry glass he had put down on the bedside table.

“Don’t overdo it, Nick.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Her smile faded. “What about Sam? He’s not going to want a happy ending, Nick.” She couldn’t hide the sudden tremor in her voice.