A Traitor's Tears (17 page)

He hesitated and I prepared to explain that for the time being, Withysham was, as it were, mortgaged to the state. But he drew breath and spoke before I did, in a rush.

‘You must surely have considered remarrying. I've come to offer you marriage. To me.'

I sat absolutely still. It was that or topple off my settle and fall to the floor in shock. There had been Hugh's death. And then had come that brief, passionate, painful reunion with Matthew de la Roche, and our final parting. Since then, something within me seemed to have died, as completely as Hugh, as completely as my one-time feeling for Matthew. I had not considered re-marriage for a single moment, and if I had, I certainly wouldn't have regarded Roland Wyse as eligible. I knew nothing that was really to his disadvantage but I had never been able to like him, and I was well aware that others felt the same. It was the kind of reaction he seemed to inspire.

Finally, I managed to say: ‘You are, I think, a good many years younger than I am, Master Wyse. It wouldn't be … suitable.'

‘I am thirty. I am no youth.'

‘I shall be forty next year. There are nine years between us.'

‘Mistress Stannard, there are many happy marriages where the man is younger than the woman! It makes little difference, if there is true fondness. I have admired you from the first moment I saw you. I have several times called here when I chanced to be in the district; surely you have wondered why? I had no errands to you – I only wanted to see you. I believe I could make you a good husband. I have good health and a good position at court and hopes of further advancement and I promise I would be good to you. As I said, you bear a heavy burden with two homes and their farmlands to care for. You are a woman, and women aren't fitted for such responsibilities.'

‘Queen Elizabeth,' I said, ‘is responsible for an entire realm.'

‘But she has advisers, her councillors and her statesmen, to tell her what to do,' said Wyse, smiling slightly. His diffidence was fading. He was sure of himself again. I studied him carefully, thinking that if he believed that England was ruled by the Royal Council, and that Elizabeth meekly did what the councillors told her, he knew very little about her.

He was continuing to talk. ‘Women cannot take complicated decisions. Your minds are not adapted to them. God gave that gift to men. I could take your burden over for you. You have clearly done as well as you can' – his eyes flickered to the dish of imported nuts – ‘but it must be hard for you. I could see that your estates do better still. If we acquired one or two farms for renting out, that would do wonders for our income. Also …'

He glanced past me to the window. ‘Your little boy – Harry, that's his name, is it not? – is out there, being given a ride on a horse. He's a fine-looking child.'

I turned, and saw that Arthur Watts had indeed put Harry astride placid Rusty, and was holding him in place while Joseph led the horse slowly round the paths of the knot garden, which had wide walks. Harry was still so small that his legs stuck out absurdly on either side of the horse's back. Seeing him, I smiled.

‘He likes horses,' I said. ‘I hope he'll be a good rider one day.'

‘You have a charming smile, Mrs Stannard. I'm sure your boy will prove a good horseman, but boys need fathers, you know. They need to grow up with a man in charge of the household, who can set an example, show them what a man's duties are in this world and answer the questions growing boys might not want to ask their mothers. I'll gladly do those things for your lad. He needs companions, too. If we have one or two children of our own, his half-brothers or sisters, he can grow up as part of a real family.'

I sat still, wondering how best to word my answer. This was an honourable proposal, and I must try not to cause him pain when I refused it, but refuse, I must.

I knew from bitter experience that the curious jerk in the stomach which a woman feels when confronted by a man who attracts her physically isn't always the best guide towards happiness, though there may for a time be ecstasy. My union with Matthew de la Roche had been like that. I did not regret those heights of passion. They had been a glorious experience. But never, with Matthew, had I known real happiness. With Hugh I had not known those giddy heights, but instead, Hugh had given me reassurance, security and kindness and I had found contentment in settling for those.

Roland Wyse did not inspire me with either reaction. He did not attract me, nor did I think I would find peace and safety with him. I couldn't immediately work out why not, but the instinctive knowledge was there.

My silence clearly disconcerted him. After a pause, he said: ‘I know you're not in love with me. But love would come, I'm sure of it. My dear …' I bristled, but tried not to show it. ‘I am offering you a worthwhile opportunity. Please consider it carefully. Men and women need each other, Mrs Stannard, or perhaps I may call you Ursula …'

I bit back a desire to retort,
No you may not
, and wondered why I felt so fierce about it. I was being offered a perfectly reasonable opportunity to remarry, to acquire a male partner to share my responsibilities, perhaps give me more children. I had once feared childbirth very much, and for good reasons, but Harry's birth had been surprisingly easy. I was not so nervous of the prospect now. Women in my position did remarry, more often than not, and were glad of the chance.

But I was not glad of it and I didn't want Wyse's children. I didn't want Roland Wyse. He was not my kind of man. I struggled to make sense of my aversion to the idea of marrying him, and then understood.

He had said it himself.
You bear a heavy burden with two homes and their farmlands to care for. I could lift that weight from your shoulders.

Oh, yes, he would. Undoubtedly. If I let him into my life, he would take charge of Hawkswood and – if I retained it – Withysham. They wouldn't be mine any longer; they would be his. I knew it, with a certainty that would brook no denial. He would decide how they were to be run; I would have no say. He would decide how Harry was to be brought up; I would have no say. He would probably take it upon himself to hire or dismiss the servants. He might decide to get rid of Brockley!

If
Brockley were still there to be got rid of in the first place.

Wyse picked up his discarded pasty and took a thoughtful bite from it. He swallowed and then, as if he had heard me thinking, he said: ‘I imagine you have Roger Brockley much on your mind. Am I right?'

Damn the man. Of course he was right. ‘Naturally,' I said.

‘You may be mistaken about him, you know. I daresay you believe that you know him through and through, since he has been in your service for so long, but do we ever know another person so thoroughly? It might be best to let a judge and jury decide whether he is innocent or guilty. As a woman, you naturally think with your heart rather than your head. As I said, women's minds are different from men's. It is wisest for ladies to let the menfolk take the hard decisions. You are a lady, and therefore not fitted to judge.'

‘I know what I know. Brockley is innocent,' I said, and I heard the ice in my voice.

‘Well, let us not dispute over that,' said Wyse. ‘I understand that in your concern for him, you may find it hard to put your mind to other matters. I do realize that you may need time to consider my proposal.'

I needed no time at all. This must come to an end at once. I finally took refuge in formality.

‘Master Wyse, you have offered me marriage, which is a compliment and I recognize that. I thank you for it. But I have no wish to marry again. It is a firm decision and I shall never change it. Please accept that.'

W
yse did not linger after that. I accompanied him into the courtyard to see him off and before he mounted his horse, he bowed over my hand and urged me to think over his proposal. He hoped with all his heart that I would change my mind. Might he visit me again before too long?

I said, as politely as I could, that there would be no point; that my decision would not alter. ‘Either about remarriage, or about Brockley,' I said. ‘He is innocent, and I do believe that I shall soon be able to prove it. Please don't go about smearing his name.'

‘I wouldn't dream of such a thing. It would offend you – and I still have hopes.' said Wyse. He then gave a gratuity to Simon, who had saddled the horse – a good-sized gratuity, judging by Simon's widened eyes and appreciative thanks – and took his leave with dignity.

I, however, was trembling as I went back indoors. In the East Room, I found Sybil, Gladys and the Brockleys all waiting for me. Sybil had presumably collected the others. They looked at me with anxiously questioning eyes – except for Gladys, who said candidly: ‘What did that man want? I don't like him. He
smells
wrong. I'd curse him if you'd let me.'

‘Don't talk like that, Gladys. Sit down, everyone.' I sat down myself, thankful to do so because I felt so shaken. ‘He came to propose marriage to me.'

There was a silence. Until, once more, Gladys took it upon herself to comment. ‘
That
one? Asked you to wed with him, did he? There's impertinence for you!'

‘No impertinence,' I said. ‘It was an honourable offer, made in a perfectly respectable way. He told me he had good health, a good position, hope of advancement, and was willing to lift all burdens off my shoulders, be a father to Harry and provide him with brothers and sisters.'

‘But what did you
say
?' cried Dale, while Sybil's compressed features seemed to buckle further still, as if she were about to weep.

‘I said no, of course,' I told them. ‘What else? If I were to marry Roland Wyse, he'd take us all in charge, as if he'd arrested the entire household. I know he would. He's pushy among his colleagues at court and I expect he's the same in private life. He would decide everything. He would call Withysham and Hawkswood his. He would buy land – or sell it – without reference to me. After Hugh, how could you possibly think I would marry Roland Wyse?'

‘It would be pleasant, ma'am, if you did marry again, a good man, and have more children,' said Dale. ‘But somehow … not Mr Wyse.'

I smiled at her. I knew, because Dale had told me, that when she and Brockley were first married, they had wondered if they would have any children. It was still a reasonable hope at that time. I also knew that when they realized that it was no longer even remotely possible, they had decided that they were content without. But there had no doubt been disappointment at first. It was kind of Dale not to envy me my own children, and even to hope that I might one day have more. It was also perceptive of her to sense that Wyse was not the right man to provide them.

‘There's nothing obviously wrong with him,' said Brockley. ‘But I don't care for him, myself. I don't altogether know why. It just is so.'

‘I've made it clear that I've rejected him,' I said. I saw the relief in their faces and a little strength returned to me. Here, surrounded by my dearest friends – I included Gladys in that list – I felt protected. Though, I reminded myself, Brockley needed protection more than I did.

‘Wyse asked if he could visit me again and see if I'd changed my mind, but I said no to that as well,' I told them. ‘Let's forget him. We need to talk. We've got nowhere by asking people who were at Cobbold Hall on that day if they noticed anything significant. Nobody did. But we
have
to go on, to find another approach. Has anyone got any ideas?'

‘What sort of man
might
have done it?' said Dale. ‘Either a passing madman, or someone who'd gain if Mistress Cobbold died – isn't that right? If she gossiped nastily about you, ma'am, maybe she did the same to others.'

Brockley's eyes narrowed in thought. ‘Or does anyone gain from something left in her Will? Did she have wealth of her own? Or …'

‘Maybe she had a lover and her husband found out. What about that, then?' Gladys demanded. ‘Maybe the lover killed her because she wanted to finish with him. Or maybe Anthony Cobbold hired someone to kill her because she was unfaithful.'

It was hard to imagine the conventional and virtuous – and overweight – Jane Cobbold taking a lover, or even getting the chance, and equally hard to imagine the not very effectual Anthony Cobbold hiring an assassin. Even if he had wanted to, I couldn't believe he would know how to go about it.

All the same, there were lines here that might be worth following.

‘I can enquire about her Will through Cecil,' I said. ‘I don't want to ask Christina if her mother and father have been quarrelling … she might take exception to that and no wonder. But Hawthorn's cousin is still the butler at Cobbold Hall. I shall speak to Hawthorn. As for finding out about rumours; has anyone heard of gossip about other scandals than mine?'

They all frowned, thinking. There was silence, until we were interrupted by the sound of running feet and there was an agitated tap on the door. I called: ‘Come in!' and Tessie rushed into the room.

‘Ma'am, it's Harry!'

I was on my feet at once. ‘Harry? What's amiss with him? He was having a ride on Rusty just now!' I swung round to look through the window but the garden was empty. ‘Has there been an accident? He was all right just a little while ago …'

‘There's been no accident, ma'am, but I think he's ill. He didn't eat much of his dinner but he wanted to have a ride – the grooms had promised him – and I thought maybe fresh air would make him hungry. So I let him. But when he came in, he was flushed and fretful and he started to cry when I picked him up, and he felt so hot! I think he has a fever! I've put him to bed but …'

‘Go on thinking,' I said to the others. ‘Brockley, speak to Hawthorn for me, about his cousin. I will write to Cecil later. Gladys, Sybil, come with me to the nursery.'