Macbeth's Niece (14 page)

Preparations for her wedding began
immediately. William had his way, at least partially, and there
were to be two ceremonies combined, hers and Mary’s. Cedric argued
for a Christmas wedding, but good sense—or in this case his
mother’s opinion—prevailed, and it was decided spring was soon
enough. Mary theorized privately that William hoped Alice would be
settled by then and he could toss in a third bride and groom for
the money.

The winter was mild, and Tessa occupied
herself with her trousseau, sewing and embroidering with the help
of Cecilia, making over dresses that had been Eleanor’s. This made
her feel sad and yet satisfied somehow to keep bits of Eleanor near
her. The family, in deep mourning, did little outside the home, and
the holidays were observed in somber mood. Eleanor’s room was
closed off. After a month, William returned to London to resume his
presence at court. A new king ruled England, Edward, and Lord
Brixton wanted to be in the midst of things. Aidan made trips back
and forth as necessary, so they saw him often. He never mentioned
Tessa’s wedding and was always polite, but his eyes said he thought
she was wrong to marry Cedric Acton.

The weather broke in April, and they had
three days running that were warm and dry. William came home for a
week to meet with his staff about the year’s crops and the tenants’
duties. On the third day, though the ground was still damp, the
four girls went walking, just to be outside in the sunshine for an
hour. As they returned to the house, a man came out, closing the
heavy wooden door behind him with a disgusted thud. He was dressed
in Scottish fashion, a huge, ferocious specimen with wildly tangled
hair and a full growth of beard. On his left hand the last two
fingers were chopped away, as if he had raised it to ward off a
sword blow. He ignored the women and went on with some speed, as if
glad to be away.

“Who was that?” Tessa asked William as they
entered the hall.

“Only a rascal I have sent on his way,” was
his answer, and he went no further word.

At the end of the week of William’s stay,
the rain began again. Aidan rode in just before supper, looking
tired and out of temper. He said nothing to Tessa and very little
to the other women of the household, but he spent an hour closeted
with William, their voices low and incomprehensible. Dinner was a
silent affair, although the girls had planned special dishes for
William’s last evening with them. He appeared not to notice and
when the meal was over spoke brusquely to Tessa. “I would see you,
Mistress macFindlaech, in my office.”

Eyebrows were raised and shoulders shrugged.
None of the cousins could decide what the audience was about. Tessa
had an idea, but she said nothing. Aidan avoided her eyes for once
and said he was going for a walk, even though rain dripped noisily
from the roof.

The “office” she was called to was a closet
that had been converted for the brief times William spent at the
manor. At other times it was a storeroom, so during his residence
the stored items were piled out of his way and a table was set up
for his use. The result was rather chaotic, with bags of flour and
pots of ink vying for space. For all his strictness with those
around him, William was not prone to neatness himself, and the
place was littered with apple cores and the shavings of pen nubs. A
candle burned beside him, since the room had no windows, and Tessa
noticed the wax had made a stain on the table that would probably
never come out.

Sir William sat on a stool behind a table
littered with papers and the paraphernalia of writing. Most
landowners were illiterate, depending upon clerks to do their
paperwork, but since William did not trust easily, he had taught
himself to read and write in order not to be cheated. Aidan had
whispered to Tessa one day that his brother’s eyesight was not what
it had been, however, so he depended more and more on Aidan for his
information. Now he held before him a paper, looking down at it
rather than at Tessa. Knowing he could not read it with his poor
eyesight and the dimness of the room, she concluded he was
unwilling to face her directly. She was not invited to sit and so
stood before him like a disobedient child.

“Mistress, I have had a letter.” He swept
his hand across the rough surface. “I don’t suppose you read?”

“As a matter of fact, sir, I do.” Tessa held
out her hand, and, with some surprise, William handed the letter to
her. She scanned it briefly, having guessed its contents. It was
from a lawyer in Scotland who had investigated “as requested” the
background of one Tessa macFindlaech and discovered no relationship
between the girl and Eleanor, nee Ardonne, the late Lady Brixton.
The lawyer reported the macFindlaech clan was now the ruling clan
of Scotland, under Macbeth macFindlaech, the king.

Tessa returned the letter to Brixton with no
comment. He did not look up but set it aside and began to write on
another sheet. “I have no idea why my wife made up this lie, but I
blame you as much as Eleanor, for you have continued it even after
her death, allowing me to support you, a stranger: sleeping in my
house, eating my food, even taking the clothes on your back from my
kindness, all the while knowing you had no right to them.”

There was nothing to say. He was correct,
and no argument she could make would change his view that she had
taken advantage of him. He wouldn’t see she had had no choice but
to seek the protection of marriage or starve in the streets. The
only two people who could corroborate her situation were now dead,
and William was not interested anyway. “I am grieved that I must
make Lord Acton aware of your treachery, for I will not have a
valued friend take a snake into his bosom unknowing.”

More likely he feared the loss of Cedric’s
support with England’s king more than anything else. “If you will
allow me, I will tell Cedric myself when he comes here tomorrow to
accompany you to London.”

There was a snort of derision from William.
“No doubt you will want to couch your confession in terms that make
it seem less vile. Rest assured, I will speak to him of it as well,
and he will see you for what you are, a Scottish Jezebel sent by
her evil uncle to undermine England.”

Tessa almost laughed aloud at that. If he
only knew how unwillingly she had come to England! As for her
uncle, she would have liked to reply that Macbeth had no cause to
bother the English if they would leave him alone to rule his own
country. But again, there was no sense talking to William.

“I will speak to Cedric in the morning, Sir,
and I will be gone from your house anon.” She spoke calmly though
she had no idea where she would go or how.

“See to it, then. I’ll not have you here
with my nieces any longer.” As if he cared about them, she thought
bitterly, but she turned and left the room without further comment,
keeping her head high until she was out the front door and into the
garden, where it was quite dark. Here she broke down and wept: for
Eleanor, for Jeffrey, and for herself. All had started life eager
to find happiness, and all been thwarted in some way by William
Brixton and others like him who sought only their own ends. Perhaps
there was happiness only among the dead, as the crone had
predicted.

Not the type to mourn reality for long, it
was only a few minutes until Tessa pulled her tattered emotions
back under control and repaired the visible damage to her person.
She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and composed her facial
expression. She would never betray to Lord Brixton any sign that
she suffered.

Her mind tossed about for options. What was
she to do? There was no money to pay for passage back to Scotland,
and it was plain Sir William did not intend to help her. She paced
back and forth across the garden, cool as it was, examining
possibilities.

“Tess?” a voice stopped her and she turned.
Aidan stood uncertainly at the edge of the walled enclosure, barely
visible in the fading light. “Are you all right?”

“You know better,” she challenged, and saw
his head droop in embarrassment.

“Yes. I knew William was investigating your
relationship to Eleanor. I didn’t know whether to tell you or to
keep silent and hope nothing could be found.” Distress was evident
in his voice.

“I must leave, Aidan. I cannot stay here
now.”

“You don’t have to go.” His voice was low,
and she thought for a moment she had misheard.

“Of course I do, Aidan. William just
said—”

“You could marry me.” Tessa was speechless,
but Aidan rushed on, coming closer in the fading light and grasping
her hands in his. “Oh, I know it’s not the same as marrying Lord
Acton, but I will provide for you. I shall ask William to give us
the little house where my mother and I once lived. It isn’t grand,
but we could be comfortable there. And someday I shall be the Lord
of Brixton Manor, and then you would have a title.”

“Aidan, it isn’t the title!” How could she
explain? “I don’t want that or the money—”

He grunted with disgust. “No, of course you
don’t. Everyone wants the title and the money, Tessa, even younger
brothers. Do you think William gives me a penny for myself? Never!
I am to do the work he sets me to and be glad I get meals, a bed,
and a new suit each year so I don’t shame him in public.” His voice
was bitter, more than she had imagined it could be. “But he has no
children, and I am the only one left now. That is the reason I
don’t show him my back.”

Tessa realized this was what Aidan held on
for, a future that had recently become more of a possibility. A
brother in the church, a brother dead, and William with no heir. It
would all go to Aidan, the bastard son, if he were patient—and
servile—long enough.

“When I am Lord Brixton, Tess…” There was a
pause as he searched for the words, “I—I know you loved
Jeffrey.”

Surprising herself, she admitted it. “Yes.”
Eleanor’s words came back to her: “—a man who makes you feel
alive.” That had been Jeffrey. She had felt alive in his presence,
even when she thought she hated him.

“Perhaps if you look hard enough, you will
find something in me to love.” Aidan’s tone was earnest, and he
stepped closer. “And if I do become Lord Brixton, you would be Lady
Brixton. That would have made Eleanor very happy, I think. Perhaps
Jeffrey too.” He was using all his persuasive powers now, but Tessa
turned away.

“I see things in you that might inspire
love, Aidan, but I don’t love you as a woman should love her
husband.”

His face flushed in the fading light. “And
you do find things to love in Lord Acton?”

“No, I don’t.” She understood the difference
but wasn’t sure she could explain it to Aidan. “But Cedric doesn’t
love me either. He wants me. That isn’t the same as love. We each
would have gained something from marriage with no harm done, a
business arrangement of sorts.”

She stopped, realizing how cold it all
sounded when put into words. “If Cedric does not want a wife who
has misrepresented herself, it will not be hurt he feels, only
regret that he must find another suitable candidate. But you, Aidan
would seek love in return for your own. I would do you a great
wrong.”

“Perhaps today’s Lady Acton sounds better
than someday’s Lady Brixton,” he said, his voice turning bitter
again.

There was no talking to these Brixton men,
Tessa thought. “I’m sorry you don’t understand, Aidan.”

“Tessa!” His tone was sharp, but the next
words softened it considerably. “Think about my offer. You don’t
think you can love me now, but you may come to do so in time. I am
willing to take that chance, but time is what you do not have. You
must make a decision, and I am the best choice, for as you admit,
Cedric does not love you, only the image of a beautiful wife.”

“But don’t you see, Aidan? That is all I can
be now, the image of a wife, for there is no love in my heart for
any man.”

You will find happiness only among the
dead.

The crone’s words came from the very air
around her. There was no one living who made her feel alive. The
man she could have loved was drowned in the sea, and the man who
stood before her, humbly pleading for her love, could not replace
him. Better to leave this place forever than to stay where their
frequent meetings would only be a source of discomfort to them
both. “I’m sorry, Aidan,” she said softly, and left him standing in
the garden alone.

Chapter Thirteen

As Tessa stepped quietly into the manor, she
saw Auntie Madeline standing before the fire, still as a statue,
arms wrapped around herself as she stared into space. “Is anything
wrong, Auntie?”

“I sent the girls to their chambers so we
could talk. He’s sending you away, isn’t he? William.” The old lady
looked forlorn. Having lost Eleanor and Jeffrey, she had become
very fond of Tessa, who now, she seemed to know already, would be
taken from her as well.

Suddenly ashamed of the lies she’d allowed
these people to believe, Tessa shuddered.

“He is right to do so. There is something I
must tell you.”

Auntie Madeline’s lined face took on a
knowing look. “You are not the sister of my Eleanor, or even a
relative,” she said matter-of-factly.

“How did you know?” Tessa breathed.

“Eleanor and I had no secrets from each
other.”

“Lord Brixton has found it out. Now I must
leave this house and make a new life for myself.” Tessa turned,
speaking mostly to herself. “I just don’t know how.”

“Will Aidan help?”

“He offered marriage, but I could not
accept.”

“No. Aidan is not Jeffrey.” The old lady’s
eyes showed understanding. “Aidan has always been in the shadows,
you see. William has power over men, Ethelbert has a goodness about
him, and Jeffrey had a strength that attracted people to him. There
was nothing left for Aidan but to be William’s tool, but I have
never felt it fit him well. Eleanor—we—oh, but it doesn’t matter
now.” Her gaze sought Tessa’s. “What about Cedric?”