The Secret of Willow Castle - A Historical Gothic Romance Novel (13 page)

Obviously, in order to be accepted as part of the Chastain line, my son must be seen to be legitimate. It will be necessary for the world to believe that you have done your duty and borne me a child. I have already been putting it about amongst the servants that the reason for your confinement is that you were having a difficult time in the first months of pregnancy. You shall remain up there, seen by no-one but Mrs Chapman and myself, until Celine is delivered of the child. As far as the world knows, the boy shall be our legitimate son. Unless it’s a girl, in which case it will be a tragic loss for the young mother.”

“
Do you not think that the servants will notice that my supposed companion, whom I am never permitted to see, is coincidentally expecting at the same time as me?” I asked. I knew I should have held my tongue, but the stupidity and presumption of his plans enraged me. “They know she is not married. There will certainly be gossip. Someone is bound to piece everything together.”

He shot me a glare that could have frozen fire. “How right you are,” he hissed. “That is why your companion will shortly announce that she has been summoned home to France by an urgent family emergency. A sick mother, perhaps, prone to headaches and hallucinations? Celine will disappear, and she will not return to her position as companion until after the child is born and enough time has passed to allay suspicion. In reality, she will be residing in the old gamekeeper’s cottage in the grounds, so she can remain close by and the baby can be brought to us as soon as it has been born.”

Adjacent to me, Celine’s head was bent and I could see fat tears dripping onto the napkin in her lap. I longed to reach out and take her hand, to reassure her that it was not her fault that the man she loved had transformed into a monster.

“
His name shall be Godfrey, after my grandfather,” Sir Montague announced. “Now, Rebecca, I trust that you can be relied upon to cause no difficulty in this scheme? You will accept the child as your own and do all that is required to render that version of events convincing?”

I nodded. What choice did I have? I could see that Sir Montague was becoming ever more dangerous and increasingly drunk, and I did not wish to risk him hurting me, Celine or Mervyn.

“Very good.” He got up from the table and walked round it to where Celine was sitting. He pulled her to her feet and kissed her, a kiss that looked soft but somehow threatening. I saw her body tighten slightly as she perceived the threat, then relax as she recalled the familiarity of her lover. I saw the complexity in their relationship and did not envy it.

I had hoped that Sir Montague might allow us to retire then and that I might use the occasion to pass my note to Celine and beg her to send it on. However, my luck was out. Sir Montague continued his lustful advances towards her, pushing her backward so she was sitting on the table. He placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to force her down into a lying position.

“Montague!” she cried, resisting him. “In company, really?”

He silenced her, trailing kisses down her throat and onto her breasts. I cleared my throat, but he paid no attention. Celine threw me a glance, half pleading and half apologetic, then allowed him to push her down. She flung her arm above her head in an attitude of abandonment. Her hand landed inches from me, a tightly-folded note between her fingers. Snatching it up, I pushed my chair back and got to my feet.

That stopped him.

“
Where are you going?” he barked at me.

I gave him a withering glare. “Sir Montague, I am obliged to go along with your strange schemes in many respects. You keep me a prisoner, you deny me friends, you plan to force another woman’s child on me. These things I must bear. But you will not force me to watch you commit your infidelities right in front of me. You are already trying to take my liberty and my honesty. I will not give you my dignity.”

He watched in silence as I stalked out of the room, where Mrs Chapman waited in the corridor to escort me back to my prison where, ironically, I would have the freedom to read Celine’s note.

             
Ma chere Rebecca,

             
If you are reading this, then I thank God and all his saints for furnishing me with a way to give this letter to you. I know what Montague intends tonight and now I must beg your forgiveness again. I would not injure you, my dear friend, for the world.

Please be assured, I do not intend to allow Montague to carry out his scheme. I will not have my child taken from me and be forced to spend my life denying that I am its mother. I will not have it brought up as another woman’s child, even if that woman is you. As much as I love Montague I cannot allow him to treat you, me, or my infant this way.

I do not yet know how I shall achieve it, but at the first opportunity I intend to leave. As soon as I can think of a place to go and a means of supporting my child, I shall be gone. Perhaps I shall not have the chance to say farewell to you properly, my dear, but I shall try to let you know where I have gone and hope that you too will find a way to escape. If my child is a girl I shall name her after you in the hope that she will share your fortitude.

Celine

12
The Child

“
Darling Lady Rebecca!”

I forced myself not to wince as Lady Cynthia Talbot made a beeline towards me, trilling my name. She and her husband were the first of our guests to arrive, and as soon as she set foot in the Withy Chamber she flung out her hands and dashed towards me.

“Oh, it is so delightful to see you again!” Lady Cynthia chirruped. “Sir Montague, my dear, how kind of you to have us! And what a charming room! Quite original. I have never seen anything like it. One hears stories about the wonders of Willow Castle, of course, but it has been so long since anyone kept company here.”

“
Indeed,” Sir Montague said. “We Chastains tend to keep ourselves to ourselves, here in our remote seat. It was good of you to travel so far, Lady Cynthia.”

“
We wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Sir Montague, not for the world!” She turned to her portly husband. “Would we, Talbot? We wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

He muttered his agreement and I embraced my duties as hostess by excusing myself to welcome the next arrivals.

It was a small gathering. Sir Montague had not told me how many people he had invited in my name, but I could see that the table was set for twelve. Each place was laid with enough cutlery for a dozen courses, though I had been instructed by my husband to follow Celine’s earlier example and pick at my food, in order to set up the pretence that I was with child. He need hardly have told me. I felt so nervous at being around him and so sickened by the thought of the deception that I was wondering how I was going to get through dinner without fainting.

To throw a party to announce my supposed pregnancy would have been the height of indelicacy, but Sir Montague was keen to have the trustees of his father’s will know that he was living by its terms. If he could produce an heir only a year after marriage, he reasoned, they might be persuaded to override his father’s wishes and release the remaining half of his inheritance without making him wait until our five years were up. This plan of his did not fill me with delight, since I could only imagine that it would hasten Sir Montague’s need to be rid of me. I could imagine how he intended to accomplish that. Many women are unstable and unwell after birth, and no doubt it would occur to him that it would be an ideal time for me to succumb tragically to a bout of septicaemia or follow Mama out of an upper storey window.

So it was my husband’s intention that we should not be so forthright as to tell our acquaintances of my ‘condition’ but that we should hint at it in such a way that they would work it out for themselves. This still struck me as somewhat gauche, especially as it was not true, but I knew that I had no choice.

I smiled serenely and exchanged pleasantries with each guest as they arrived; the cream of local society come to feast their eyes on the famous Withy Chamber while they had the chance. Apparently it had been almost a decade since the last Chastain dinner party, so I could understand their urgent desire to take up the offer while it was there.

The last guests to whom I was introduced were two gentlemen from the Makepeace, Makepeace and Howe, the firm of solicitors responsible for executing Sir Montague’s father’s will. The reason for their presence was obvious. The rest were simply window dressing, bit-part players in the romantic drama of our supposedly blissful marriage.

It was not until the aperitifs were done and we had all sat down that I realised we were a guest short. I was in my rightful place at the foot of the table, but the place to my right hand side was empty. That is the place reserved for the guest of honour, I thought. So we must be expecting one more guest, someone whose presence Sir Montague considers important. I wonder who it is?

*

Sir Montague had hired additional servants for the occasion, and by the time they had laid and cleared the first three courses I was already exhausted, replete and ready to retire. My husband had conspired with Mrs Chapman and the cook to create a particularly sumptuous feast, an ostentatious display of wealth and taste. I watched Lord Talbot, Dr Bagshawe and Messrs Makepeace and Howe salivating as they were served with chicken a la Marengo. The heavy scent of roasted herbs and tomatoes drifted down the table, offset by the sharp, crisp Riesling being poured liberally into our glasses.

I accepted only a small portion and dutifully took three bites before neatly laying my knife and fork upon my plate. Dr Bagshawe, seated to my left, paused in his consumption of the dish.

“
Forgive my asking, My Lady,” he blustered, dabbing the rich sauce from the corners of his whisker-covered lips with his napkin. “Are you quite well?”

Sir Montague had coached me in the way I was to answer this question. I paused for a moment, dipping my head ever so briefly as if permitting myself a private smile, then looked up clearly. “Perfectly, thank you Dr Bagshawe,” I smiled sweetly. “Nothing to be concerned about.” I followed this by simpering down the length of the table at my husband, exactly as he had demanded.

As I made my terrible, lying face at him, I noticed a footman appearing at Sir Montague’s shoulder and stooping to whisper a message in his ear. Sir Montague excused himself to the guests on either side and left the room. He was gone for no more than a moment, just long enough for Lady Cynthia to allow her dazzling smile to droop into a pretty pout of disappointment, then he returned to announce the late arrival of our missing guest.

Mervyn.

Fortunately all heads were turned towards Sir Montague as he introduced Mervyn, so no-one saw the look of shock and delight that illuminated my face. Well, no-one apart from my husband and my beloved, of course. I took great care to conceal the intensity of my joy as Mervyn strode across the room to sit by my side. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to leap out of my chair and fling my arms around him. Since I could not, I would settle for having an evening to spend beside him.

“
My dear cousin,” he grinned, his dark eyes alight as he leaned in to kiss my cheek. I treasured the all-too-brief touch of his warm, slightly rough skin against mine. “I beg your pardon for arriving so late. My journey from Liverpool was a long and arduous one, and it took me several hours longer than I was anticipating to get this far.”

“
Think nothing of it,” I told him, my eyes never leaving his face for a moment. “I am so glad that you made it eventually. Where should we have been without our guest of honour? The evening would not have been the same without you.”

If I had found it difficult to take three bites of each course before, now it was practically impossible. My whole body, my entire being, was filled with the strange flutterings of love, my heart beating fast and my soul feeling as if it was rushing along on a swift-speeding cushion of air. As the table worked its way through an obscenely large joint of roast beef, a palate-cleansing sorbet, jugged hare and green salad, I was incredibly thankful to have Mervyn to save me from the tedious small talk of the other guests. They all had common acquaintances, shared past experiences and local knowledge which I had so far been unable to obtain. Hearing about these things when I knew that what awaited me was further isolation and captivity merely frustrated me. I was genuinely interested, however, in learning about Mervyn’s life in Liverpool. I quizzed him about the shipping company, the details of his position, the new city, the quality and size of his lodgings, the people he had met. While he answered I pushed food around my plate and tried not to look like anything more than a suitably devoted in-law.

When good manners dictated that I must monopolise Mervyn no longer but allow the guests a chance to converse with him, Dr Bagshawe began droning at him about a trip he had once taken to Liverpool and how he had found it to be a more enterprising city but had been glad to escape to the comparative calm of the Peak District. Mervyn chatted amiably in response, providing the right amount of superficial flattery and wit to ensure that Dr Bagshawe finished the conversation feeling well satisfied.

By this point we had moved through Bavarian crème and charlotte russe to arrive at the cheese course. A ripe round of stilton sat surrounded by nuts and grapes. Fortunately it was part of Sir Montague’s plan that I should refuse the pungent cheese, which I was glad to do as I had no great love for it. Instead I snipped off a little stalk of grapes, relishing their cool, clean taste. Although I did not enjoy the strong smell of the stilton I did not want this course to be over. As soon as the last mouthful was swallowed I would be expected to rise and lead Lady Cynthia, Mrs Makepeace and those ladies whose names escaped me into the drawing room, away from Mervyn. I would be expected to make yet more pitiful small talk over coffee while the men indulged themselves with port and brandy. I watched my guests, willing them to slow down each bite and buy me a few more precious seconds.

*

The chatter amongst the ladies was dominated by Lady Cynthia. We covered a variety of scintillating topics, from the unseasonably warm weather to the engagement of a new musical director at the Crescent in Buxton, to the state of the roads, to the scandalous prices set by the latest milliner to set up shop in Spring Gardens. I poured coffee and handed out petits fours with a fixed smile on my face, registering only just enough of their conversation to nod my head or tut in consternation at the right moments. If Mervyn has travelled from Liverpool, I pondered, then he must be staying overnight, at the very least. Perhaps he will spend a few days…

I waited for an appropriate moment to draw Lady Cynthia aside and put the next part of Sir Montague’s plan into action. Discreetly I led her over to the fireplace and we stood, heads together.

“
Dear Lady Cynthia,” I began, adopting a halting tone that could have been either excitement or distress. “I must beg a favour of you…”

“
Anything, my dear Lady Rebecca!”

“
Well… you might very well know that I have recently lost my Mama -”

“
Oh, indeed!” Lady Cynthia cried, taking my hand and squeezing it uncomfortably between her bony fingers. “I was so terribly sorry to hear about that, my darling. If there is anything that Talbot and I can do, anything at all, you have only to say the word.”

“
Quite,” I said. “Without my Mama I have no female relative to guide me, and I find that I am now in need of guidance. I – I require a… recommendation…”

I saw the penny drop and Lady Cynthia’s eyes lit up. “My dear, an acchoucheuse? Is that what you require?”

I dropped my head and gave a shy nod.

“
Oh, you dear sweet girl!” Anticipatory delight bubbled over in Lady Cynthia and the next thing I knew I was being ushered back to the sofa. Lady Cynthia flapped at the other ladies, urging them to make room for me. “We cannot expect Lady Rebecca to stand, my dears, not in her delicate condition!”

That was all it took. Sir Montague had anticipated that a subtle word with Lady Cynthia would be the swiftest possible way of informing the whole of Derbyshire society of my ‘pregnancy’, starting with every other lady in the room.

*

When the ladies were finally collected by their husbands to be taken to their carriages, I caught Sir Montague smiling triumphantly. He could see Lady Cynthia and the others fluttering and cooing round me, and he knew that his plan had worked. My eyes slid past him to Mervyn, willing him not to notice.

But he had. I saw his face fall, the light going out of his eyes as realisation dawned. My gaze met his and I hoped that my eyes conveyed the depth and sincerity of my sorrow.

Free from our guests, Mervyn, Sir Montague and I gathered for a nightcap. As Sir Montague poured a fine malt whisky for the gentlemen and a rich cream sherry for me, Mervyn turned to me with a pained expression.

“Forgive my indelicacy in asking, Lady Rebecca,” he said, his tone so stiff and formal that it made me want to cry, “but I could not help noticing the ladies treating you in a very particular way. Am I to understand that… congratulations… are in order?”

My voice deserted me. I could not lie to him. Nor, with Sir Montague standing only a few feet away, could I risk a denial. My eyes filled with tears. I had to look away.

“They are indeed, Mervyn, old chap,” Sir Montague swaggered over with the drinks. “To the heir to Willow Castle, eh?” He raised his whisky glass. Mervyn and I followed suit, mechanically echoing the toast. When Sir Montague saw me laying a hand to my belly he shot me a look of approval, obviously under the impression that I was beginning to embrace my role. In truth, I merely hoped to quiet the churning pain that gripped me as I felt all hope slipping away from me.

*

There was no chance of finding a moment alone with Mervyn that night. The note was still tucked into my chemise and I wished fervently that I had outlined the details of Sir Montague’s plans in it, for then I could have found some way to slip him the paper and he would have had an explanation. In its current state, the note would tell him nowhere near enough, and could be taken for the terror of a nervous young woman facing pregnancy in a lonely castle with a distant husband.

When Sir Montague declared that it was time for bed, I saw a glimmer of hope. Neither Mrs Chapman nor Sarah was waiting by the door to escort me to my room. Perhaps, in his desire to conceal the fact of my imprisonment, Sir Montague had decided that I need not be escorted and locked in that night! In that case I should wait until he was out of earshot and then slip off my shoes and double back, barefoot and silent, towards Mervyn’s room. Yes, that would work, I would –