The Sorceror's Revenge (32 page)

             
‘
You deserve no peace, Robert Devereaux.’

             
Robert groaned.  Was it his conscience that tortured him or a demon conjured from Hell?  Either way, it gave him no peace.  When he slept it was but fitfully and he dreaded the nights when he must go to his bed.

             
‘What ails you, my lord?’ the woman at his side touched his arm gently.

             
Robert turned to her, but his tortured mind saw only the evil face of the demon that haunted him, tearing at his flesh with its talons and sharp teeth.

             
‘Begone, you foul creature,’ he cried and then, driven by a rage beyond his control he seized her by the throat and squeezed, gripping tighter and tighter in the madness that possessed him.  The woman struggled feebly and then went limp, flopping back against the pillows as he released her.

             
In that instant the red mist cleared from his mind, and, as he gazed down at her he saw that it was Alfreda.  The colour had gone from her face and she was like a limp doll.

             
He had killed her.  He had killed an innocent woman.

             
He was a murderer.

             
Robert was horrified by what he had done.  Leaping out of bed, he stared down at the woman lying there.  She was but a simple village woman and he was an earl.  Once his prestige would have protected him, but the King was angry with him.

             
He must leave here at once, but he would not return to Craigmoor as Henry had bid him.  He would go to his fortress in the north.  If he was accused of murder and the King sent to arrest him he could make his stand there.

             
He dressed quickly, taking everything of worth – anything that might have revealed his identity.  When they found Alfreda’s body there would be a hue and cry.  Robert had not used his true name but Alfreda might have done so.

             
Filled with panic, he collected all he could carry with him.  Then he left the chamber, fled down the stairs and out to the yard at the back of the inn.  The ostler was not yet stirring as Robert mounted his horse and rode away just as the dawn came up.

43

‘Are you sure?’ Niccolai looked at the messenger, his gaze narrowed.  ‘The girl is dead – killed by he I had you watch?’

             
‘Yes, my lord, I am certain.  I heard the hue and cry set up by the landlord.  They called out the watch and the girl’s body was taken away to be buried.  They do not know the earl’s name but a description of him has been sent out across the city.’

             
Niccolai closed his eyes, then made the sign of the cross over his breast.  ‘
Mea culpa
,’ he said so softly that the other man did not hear.  ‘I did not mean this to happen.’

             
He dismissed his spy and went back to his contemplation of the fire.  Robert had been driven mad by his dreams and killed the whore he’d put in Melloria’s place.  She was a simple village girl who had not deserved to die like that, but there was someone who must be told.

             
Niccolai sat down and wrote a few lines.  Rhys Archer ought to know that the woman he loved was dead at the earl’s hands.  What he chose to do about it was his affair.  Niccolai had his own plans but he felt it his duty to let Rhys know what had happened.

             
‘May God have mercy on her soul,’ he whispered.  ‘And on mine…’

             
From somewhere he heard the sound of demonical laughter.

* * *

‘This came for you by courier,’ Beatrice said, entering the cell where her sister Melloria sat sewing by the light of rushes dipped in tallow.  She handed her a small sealed letter. ‘I am sorry we have no wax candles for you.  We use them in the chapel but my nuns do not have them for their own use and I will not allow myself anything they may not share.’

             
‘Are you reduced to penury now that Robert took the farms from you, Beatrice?  Once he allowed me my own fortune but now it is forbidden me.  I can give you nothing.’

             
‘You were always generous when you had money to spare.  Besides, I have been given a grant of sixty pounds and fifty pounds each year to follow.  We might purchase wax candles for our own use if we chose but it is a small sacrifice we make so that we may give to others less fortunate than ourselves.’

             
‘Did the Bishop give you that money?’

             
‘No, it was another benefactor.’ Beatrice frowned.  ‘If the smell of the tallow is offensive to you I could spare a candle from the chapel.’

             
‘Do not trouble yourself.  I do not count myself above you and your sisters, Beatrice.’ Melloria broke the wax seal and frowned as she looked at the hand, which she had recognised instantly.  She read for a moment, then looked up. ‘This is from Robert.  He says that he had intended to set me free from the imprisonment he imposed.  He is going to Deveraux and he wishes me to join him there – and he has apologised for everything he did and said to me.’

             
‘Can you trust him – after what he did to you?’

             
‘I believe he is sorry for his behaviour, but I do not wish to return to him.’

             
‘What will you do?  You will want to see your daughter again?’

             
‘I should wish to see both my daughters – and my son.’

             
Beatrice dropped her gaze.  ‘I cannot break the promise I gave to the good people who adopted him when you were in the hermitage, Melloria.  I told you that I would help you to hide him from Robert, but he is loved and cared for – and it would be wrong to take him from the home and people he knows.’

             
‘Yes, I understand what you are saying, Beatrice.’ Melloria’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears.  ‘It is very hard not to know where he is or what he looks like.  He is my son…Nicholas’s son…’

             
‘He looks much like his father,’ Beatrice told her and Melloria’s head came up, her face alight with eagerness.  ‘I visited myself a month ago.  I wrestled with my conscience for I knew that both you and his true father would like to claim the boy, but he belongs to the people who took him to their hearts.  Yet I would not have him ill-treated so I visited to make sure they cared for him, as they ought.  My mind is at rest on that point and so should yours be, Melloria.  ‘It would be a sin to take him from his parents.’

             
‘I know that you have acted in what you believe to be the best interests of us all,’ Melloria said.  ‘Yet Nicholas is entitled to know his son.  Had I been sure he still lived I should never have agreed to give my son up.’

             
‘I understand that this has been hard for you,’ Beatrice replied.  ‘I shall pray and meditate.  If my conscience allows it, perhaps I could arrange for you to see the boy – but I promise nothing.  Besides, you have no money and nowhere to live.  How could you bring up your daughter alone to say nothing of your son?’

             
‘Nicholas would care for us all.  He asked me to go with him. He already has Mary safe in France.  I asked him to give me a little time, for my conscience told me that it would be wrong to abandon my husband.  Had I gone then I should not have suffered abuse at Robert’s hands.’

             
‘In the matter of your duty to your husband I shall say nothing,’ Beatrice replied.  ‘Your conscience must dictate what you do from now on, Melloria.  When Robert took you back from Malvern and we believed him dead, I thought your duty lay with your husband – but he hath proved himself unworthy.’

             
‘I shall never return to him. I am not a bad woman, Beatrice.  I would do my duty if I could – to Robert and to God.  I know that it would be a sin to live with Nicholas knowing that my husband is not dead, but I do not see what else I can do.’

             
‘You could stay here.’

             
‘You mean take my vows?’ Melloria sighed.  ‘If I did that Robert would crush the life from Iolanthe.  She would suffer the brunt of his displeasure.  No, I do not think your life is for me, Beatrice.  I must either return to Robert or…’  She shook her head.  ‘I do not know where Nicholas is now.  There are times when I feel he is near me in spirit, but if I call to him he does not answer.  I think he has other things on his mind.’

             
Melloria fought her sadness.  She loved Nicholas but she had sent him away, asked for time to think and pray.  Since then she had heard nothing from him, though in her heart she felt that he had been with her in spirit the night she escaped from the convent.  In her letter, she had told Maria that an angel had guided her, but deep inside her she knew that it was Nicholas’s voice that had told her which way to turn.  The wagon that had come upon her by seeming chance, and had been travelling to the Abbey of Saint Innocent, might have been sent by fate – but she believed that it was Nicholas who had directed the cart her way.

             
If he knew everything that was in her mind, why did he not claim her?  She longed to feel his arms about her.  Instinctively, she knew that once she was with him she would forget the doubts and fears that plagued her.

             
‘
It will not be long now, my dearest. First I must take our children to safety.  Be brave and soon I shall come for you.’

             
‘Nicholas…’ Melloria breathed sharply and her sister glanced at her, seeming puzzled.  ‘I think I shall go to Nicholas, sister.  It may be possible to arrange a separation through the Church in certain circumstances.  I cannot live with Robert when Nicholas is my husband in my heart. I have prayed for guidance but my feelings for him are too strong to be resisted.’

             
‘As I have said, I shall not seek to dictate.  Your conscience must…’ Beatrice broke off as someone knocked at the door. ‘Enter…Yes, Sister Clara?  You wished to speak to me or to the countess?’

             
‘There is a letter for you, Mother.’

             
‘Very well, give it to me.’ Beatrice took the letter and broke the seal.  She gave a gasp of astonishment and a look of anguish came to her eyes. ‘There is no reply for the moment, Sister Clara. Please leave us.’

             
‘What is it, Beatrice?’ Melloria asked as the young nun left the cell.  ‘You look pale.  Have you had bad news?’

             
‘I do not know how to tell you,’ Beatrice’s hand trembled.  ‘This letter comes from the woman to whom I entrusted your son.  Forgive me, sister.  I truly believed them careful guardians…’

             
‘What has happened?’

             
‘You had best read it for yourself. I am not certain what it means, but I fear the worst.  It seems that the child has disappeared.’

             
‘Disappeared?’ Melloria’s heart caught with fright. As her knees went weak, she sank down on the edge of her cot with its hard straw mattress. ‘How could that be?  Do you think Robert discovered the truth of his birth?  Could he have taken him or…’ Her voice died away at the unthinkable.  ‘Killed him?’

             
She read the letter feverishly, trying to make sense of what it said, then frowned as she looked at Beatrice.

             
‘Mistress Gillingham says that the nurse swears she did not take her eyes from the boy for a moment.  He was playing by the side of the river with a wooden boat and then in the blink of an eye, he had gone.  The nurse swears he just disappeared into thin air.’

             
‘She may be lying,’ Beatrice said.  ‘She could have fallen asleep in the sun or been diverted by some dalliance.  It is ridiculous to let a child play alone on a river bank.  He could easily have fallen in and drowned while she slept.’

             
‘Surely his cries would have alerted the nurse?’

             
‘She swears it happened just as she said. One moment he was there before her eyes, the next he had gone – but I doubt it.  I thought his adoptive parents would be careful in their choice of a nurse, but perhaps I was misled.’

‘They have had the river searched and there is no sign of him or the toy boat he was playing with…nothing to give them any clue as to his whereabouts. And the nurse swears he simply disappeared before her eyes.’

‘It could not have happened that way – unless the Devil had a hand in this?  If the girl were bewitched…’

‘Surely not?’ Melloria frowned, a cold shiver at her nape.

‘Either the nurse is lying or something beyond the ordinary happened. Something that has the mark of the black arts…’