The Other Countess (33 page)

‘We’ve travelled halfway across the country so you can dally with her?’

Will threw his boot at Turville. ‘I’m not here to dally – I’m here to find out if she’s safe. If she’s happy with her family, we’ll leave.’

‘And if she’s not?’

That was the question, wasn’t it? Will chucked Turville the other boot for him to clean, then slid between the cold sheets, giving no reply.

23

Will positioned himself at the back of the village church early so he could watch the parishioners file in. The vicar, a big man with a military bearing, greeted him briefly, but it was plain that he was not happy to find an outsider in his last pew. God’s soldier in the fight against sin, he probably suspected the government had sent Will to check on the religious teaching in this community that held itself apart – on the hunt for signs of fanaticism. If Will had been there to spy, he would have reported that the minister’s grip on the congregation was stern in its discipline. The interior of the church had been stripped of all but the effigies on the tombs, and even they had been defaced. The old paintwork had been covered with whitewash, the hangings long gone, only the hooks remaining, and the windows filled with plain glass. It left the worshipper awed but cold, pegged out before the judgement of God with nothing to hide behind.

As the hour for morning service approached, Will noted that the congregation assembled dressed in similar clothes of drab hues. The women wore coifs that clung close to their faces; the men carried felt hats. Their collars gave the merest nod to a frilled edging, a far cry from the elaborate ruffs in fashion at court. Sitting in his dark-green velvet doublet and
cloak, Will felt increasingly conspicuous, a colourful drake among these humble ducks.

A minute to the hour, the last family arrived. At the head strode a capable looking man of medium height, heading for the front pew, the position of honour. He was followed by his grey-clad wife and four sons. Bringing up the rear was a small figure, struggling with a gown that was overlong and a coif that flopped in her eyes. A tendril of curly black hair had escaped to snake down her back. Ellie. Will almost laughed – she looked as out of place as he did among these serious citizens. Comforted by the sight of her after all these months, he sat back, prepared to pass the time during the sermon with pleasant thoughts anticipating her reaction when she saw him there.

But it was not to be. After an opening prayer making much of the purity of these people compared to the sinful inhabitants beyond the village boundary who approved of religious vestments and other works of the Evil One, the minister drew out a book. The congregation held itself in readiness.

‘And now I will read out the penalties incurred during this week and the appropriate punishment given by the vestry court. Master Joseph Buntwell, for laughing at Widow Heron, six lashes and an hour at the village well drawing the water for the goodwives. Mistress Miriam Smith, for calling her neighbour a rude name, six lashes, to be administered by her husband.’

A man towards the rear of the church raised his hand and was bidden to stand. ‘’Tis done already, Minister.’

The vicar nodded and made a note in his book. ‘Eleanor Hutton … oh dear, oh dear.’ The congregation drew a collective breath. ‘I fear the list is very long this week, worse than last if that is possible. Singing on the Sabbath; falling asleep
during prayers; walking alone without permission; rudeness to her guardians; unseemly dress; and something which most concerns me, speaking in strange tongues when she has been forbidden to use anything but English.’ The minister paused dramatically. ‘Rise, girl.’

Ellie got to her feet, stumbling slightly as her shoe caught the hem of her skirt. Will stared at her in growing horror. Now he could see her in profile, he realized that she was painfully thin, her eyes ringed by dark circles, her hands cradled to her chest as if nursing them after blows.

‘What have you to say for yourself, child? Your aunt and uncle have taken you in from the goodness of their hearts and you repay them with a stubborn spirit?’

She hung her head. Where was his Ellie with the pert replies and mischievous smile?

‘We in the vestry ask ourselves if there is not something more at work in this girl.’ The minister turned to the congregation. ‘Her uncle claims she resisted when he tried to drive a demon from her. Have any of you more evidence that the girl is given over to the Evil One?’

A young man got to his feet. ‘I spoke to her last Wednesday at the stile near her uncle’s manor. She attacked me – slapped my face and ran off.’ He pointed to a small cut under his eye. ‘I feared then that all was not well with her.’

The minister frowned. ‘And why did you not report this to me?’

The man shuffled his feet, clearly hiding something. With a swell of outrage, Will suspected that his explanation was missing some pertinent details, such as what he meant by ‘speaking’ to Ellie. Trying to kiss her more like.

‘I was not willing to bring the maid into more trouble,’ he offered.

‘Kindness does her no favours, Master Miller.’ The minister waved to him to resume his seat. ‘Does anyone else wish to speak?’

Will wondered why Ellie was not saying something in her own defence. Her eyes were riveted to the floor, her manner distant as if she had put herself far away from this place, deep in her own mind where no one could reach.

The minister addressed himself portentously to Ellie again. ‘You’ve been here two months, Eleanor Hutton, and we still look for signs of improvement in you. Instead all we get is continued proof of your rebellion. We have been pushed beyond all patience – our prayers have not been answered, which is proof if any needed it that sin has hardened your heart against the influence of goodness. Beatings and punishments have no influence on you.’

Beatings! Will got to his feet.

‘Yes, sir?’ The minister glared at him for his interruption.

‘You have beaten the Lady Eleanor?’ Will demanded, his hand dropping to his riding crop.

Ellie’s head jerked up. He saw her mouthing his name in disbelief.

‘What is it to you, sir? And who are you to interfere with the proceedings of the vestry court?’

Enough was enough. He didn’t need to talk to Ellie to know that she had to be miserable in this place, bullied for not fitting in with this gaggle of narrow-minded Puritans. They’d beaten her, for the love of God! Will pushed past the others in his row and strode down the aisle to stand next to Ellie’s pew.

‘Who am I? I am William Lacey, Earl of Dorset, Baron
Hancliffe, Sheriff of Berkshire – is that enough for you? And this lady is mine – you will not lay another finger on her.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come, love, let us leave these madmen to their twisted proceedings.’

Looking frightened, Ellie took a hesitant step towards him but then her uncle and his four sons rose to block her path.

‘Eleanor, on peril of your immortal soul, you will not go with this man!’ declared Uncle Paul. ‘Your ruin and eternal damnation will be complete if you move an inch.’

Will gave the man a smile that was all teeth. ‘Come, come, sir, is marriage to me all that bad?’ He heard Ellie gasp. He’d meant to propose in a more romantic setting but his practical little Ellie would have to admit it was the expedient thing to do facing a hostile congregation.

‘Marry my niece! I forbid it!’ spluttered Uncle Paul.

That threat gave Will pause. Ellie was under age. It was quite possible that Hutton did have the official guardianship of her. But then he doubted that the farmer had thought to make a proper application to that end. How would a minor gentleman’s objections stand against the wishes of an earl?

‘The Queen herself will be the one to sanction this match, not you, sir,’ Will declared with more confidence than he felt. ‘Let the lady pass.’

Ellie clenched her fingers together, ignoring the pain from the last chastisement. Would her uncle step back? Whatever the outcome – and she didn’t really believe the offer of marriage would stand, not with Will already being betrothed – she couldn’t stay here after this scene. She’d already plotted her departure as every week her punishments were getting more and more severe. She had become the scapegoat for the
community’s sins: if a young man accosted her in a lane, thinking her by reputation a loose woman, she got the blame; when her cousin Josiah begged her to sing a hymn she was scolded, just as he had intended. To be called ‘love’ by a nobleman in front of the entire village would probably result in her spending a week in the stocks.

But her uncle and cousins were not moving. Will shifted so he could meet her gaze around their backs; his eyes, the colour of a May morning, dared her to defy them all.

‘I fear your kinsfolk lack manners, my lady. Are you ready?’

Weeks of fear, months of humiliation, melted away in the warmth of his expression.

‘A moment, sir.’ Bobbing a pert curtsy to her aunt, she picked up her skirts and hopped up on the pew. The congregation gaped at her in shock – never before had such antics been seen at the solemn Sabbath service. Undaunted, Ellie climbed on to the back of the seat and forced her way through the people behind, using their shoulders to steady herself. Stepping lightly from pew to pew, she made her way through the congregation before any gathered their wits to stop her. Will kept level with her progress down the main aisle, keeping her uncle and sons at bay with the threat of his riding crop. Reaching an empty bench at the rear, Ellie leapt down and ran to him.

‘Ready now.’

Grinning, he put his arm around her waist and spun her once. Waving his whip at the congregation he called: ‘Pray carry on with the service. We’re done here.’

The verger got quickly out of the way as Will pushed open the church door, towing Ellie out into the sunshine. She stumbled, feet catching on her hateful skirt that her aunt had not
even allowed her to alter for her height, saying she didn’t want her old kirtle ruined.

‘’Swounds, Ellie, that’s an ugly dress.’ Will picked her up, carrying her swiftly to the inn where his horse and Turville waited.

‘I know. It’s my aunt’s.’ She grimaced.

‘Say no more. Whatever were you doing with these people? They are all quite mad!’

Ellie laughed softly, drunk with happiness like a prisoner released early from gaol. ‘I’m glad you think so. I was beginning to think that I must be the insane one as they all agreed on how bad I am.’

Will kissed her nose. ‘If you are bad, then the rest of us are doomed.’

Turville narrowed his eyes when Will hurried into the stable yard carrying her. Ellie shrank against Will’s chest, knowing that the steward hated her perhaps as much as her family.

‘Saddle Barbary, Turville,’ ordered Will. ‘I predict we have about five-minutes-worth of prayers and deliberation before they come after us.’

‘Aye, my lord.’

‘Do you have anything you would like to fetch from your uncle’s?’ Will asked her.

Ellie shook her head. ‘No, I cannot risk it. I came with very little.’

‘Excellent. Then let us shake the dust off our feet and leave this place as fast as possible.’ He plucked the horrible coif from her head and let it drop to the ground. ‘You’ll ride with me?’

Ellie smiled, remembering their first ride on Barbary together. ‘Yes, my lord, gladly.’

‘Then let us go quickly before they gather their wits to wonder what an earl is doing with only one servant. I have no time to spare for the hours it would take to convince them of my claims.’

Mounted on Barbary, her arms round Will’s waist and her face buried in his back, Ellie felt a surge of pure happiness. She could not bring herself to care what the future held – the recent past had been so wretched. She no longer blamed her father for severing all ties with his family: they were a vile bunch, so holier-than-thou it had made her want to scream. She was immoral for having hair that refused to be tamed? Well, what about Titus groping her in the stable whenever he had a chance? Her prayers were unsuitable for God’s ears because they were in Spanish? Then how could He bear to listen to Uncle Paul prosing on about the sinful merchants in Chipping Norton who had the temerity to bargain for a better price for his wool?

But Uncle Paul had achieved one thing she had not thought possible: he’d made her seriously miss her father’s alchemy. His obsession for gold seemed not nearly as bad as his brother’s fixation with godliness. Her father had never condemned the world for failing to live up to an unattainable level of perfection; he at least had died trying to serve his country, rather than consign it to the Devil.

‘All right, my love?’ Will asked, once they crested the hill and could look back down on the roof of the manor.

‘Yes.’

‘No regrets?’

‘Oh no.’

‘I’m afraid to say this, but your family is a disaster. You are the only decent one among them.’

‘Pray forgive me for my foolishness for having been born a Hutton,’ she said wryly.

He patted her hand, the only part of her he could reach, seated as they were. ‘I have a cure for that.’

‘Oh yes, my lord? Let me guess: you’re going to turn back time and have me born elsewhere?’

‘No, love, I’m going to change your name for you. As soon as I can persuade the Queen to grant me permission. Until then, I’m taking you home to my mother and will let her sort you out and teach you how to be a good Lacey wife.’

She smiled. It was a lovely dream – and going to his family would be preferable to staying a moment longer with hers. But as for marriage – that was too much for her to expect.

‘So, what do you think of my plan?’

‘Splendid, my lord.’

‘Excellent. Carry on flattering me like that and I think you’ll make the perfect wife, my lady.’

Will was not expecting his homecoming to be pleasant. He had not said anything to Ellie – there was no point as she could not change things – but when he rode up to the door with a waif-bride mounted pillion, he could tell that his family were somewhat perplexed. James was more than confused: he was furious. He stamped down the steps and stood by the mounting block, hands on hips, glaring up at his brother.