Marriage Under Siege (38 page)

'Sir William Croft?'

'He would help.' She
nodded. 'If only for the sake of family loyalty. And Lady Eleanor would make
his life a misery if he were unwise enough to put politics before blood. But I
fear he would be unable to do much if Coningsby blocked him. The Governor's
power is in the ascendant in Hereford. Not even Vavasour would stand against
him. Or Lord Scudamore. And he made it sufficiently clear that his intention
is to keep my lord carefully locked up.'

Suddenly, her decision
made, she rose to her feet. 'But I have one thing that he desires above all
else. Even more than revenge for some past wrong.'

She disappeared through the
door with a return of her usual brisk manner, to return a little time later,
carrying her saddle bags. The leather was slimy and saturated but the contents,
well wrapped and sheltered on the journey by Honoria's cloak, no more than
damp.

'He can hound me out of the
manor here with ease,' she explained, 'but legally it remains mine. And he
knows that I will apply to the law to have it returned to me. I have every
faith that Sir Robert Denham would wield the letter of the law on my behalf to
destroy any claim that Coningsby might put forward.'

She opened the wrapped
package to riffle through the contents of letters and formal documents. From it
she picked up a signed and sealed deed of ownership. And waved the document
gently between them. Then placed it on the table—the legal deed to Leintwardine
Manor.

'And you would give it to
him?'

'Yes.'

'It might do the trick.'

'It must. It is my only
hope.'

'But you love this house.
How can you bear to hand it over—to anyone, much less a sly rat like
Coningsby?'

'It is only land. How does
it weigh in the balance against Francis's freedom? It has no value in
comparison.' She shrugged at the uncomfortable memory of her lord's accusing
stare. 'I will buy his safety by whatever means I can.'

'Will you go to Hereford?'

'Yes. And try to see Sir
William Croft first to test his opinion. I will not give the manor up unless I
have to. But if Coningsby will not bend, and he is determined to drive a hard
bargain, then I will sign the manor over to him.'

'I will come with you.'

'No, indeed. This time, my
dear friend, you must go home. And tell Captain Priam what has occurred. If he
does not already know.'

'Very well.' Reluctantly.

'And perhaps you would take
the horses and arrange for the rescue of the wagon—take it and its contents
back to Ludlow for me.'

'Of course.'

Honoria made to shuffle the
documents back together into a neat pile.

'What is this?'

Mary selected a bulky
packet, grey dust and twigs leaking from one damaged corner on to the surface
of the table.

Honoria laughed a little,
but her eyes were sad. 'I had forgotten. A gift. Before I was married—from
Mistress James at
Eyton
. She sent me a pot of honey,
wished me well and said to discuss the content of this package with Mistress
Brierly—I never found the time to do so. And now I never will.' She blew the
dust gently from the table's surface. 'A collection of herbs, I presumed, but I
do not know. I am not skilled in herbal lore.'

'Nor I,' Mary admitted. 'In
spite of the efforts of my mother to educate me. Shall we look?' Mary began to
unfold the package, more with the intent of distracting her friend from the
sadness that clouded her gaze, rather than any true interest in the contents.

'If you wish.' Equally
uninterested, Honoria rose to pour them more wine.

Mary opened the damp
parchment and spread it wide. Inside, a little bedraggled and the worse for
wear but still recognisable, lay a handful of dried flower heads, the leaves of
garden herbs and a few pieces of dried root. The perfume, not as pungent as it
might have been, began to scent the air in the warmth of the room.

'What is it? A posset? A
remedy for the ague?'

Mary poked at the contents
thoughtfully and with a little more interest. Looked up at Honoria with a
mischievous smile curling her pretty mouth, sparkling in her expressive eyes, a
reaction that would have filled her mother with dread.

'Neither posset nor a
remedy for ill health. If I am not mistaken, Mistress James has given you a
love potion.'

'A love potion? How do you
know?'

'Country lore, I suppose.
If you were brought up in London, perhaps you were not aware of such things.
But I wager the servants in your country home were.'

'My education appears to be
lacking.' Honoria sat again. 'They simply look like dried herbs to me, to be
tossed into any pot of meat.'

'Yes. That's true. Rosemary
and a bay leaf. But also lavender, which you would not eat, of course. And
yarrow. And that is a leaf of the coltsfoot.' She sniffed delicately at the
leaves and powder and promptly sneezed. 'There is also a pinch of catnip and
valerian root here.' She sniffed again. 'Always recommended in affairs of the
heart.'

'So what should I do with
it?' Honoria's glance was sceptical.

'Mix it together on a
Friday when the moon is on the wax and sew it into a pillow for your true love.
It will seduce him into giving his heart and soul into your keeping. I have a
mind to try it.' Her expression was thoughtful. 'Mr Samuel More took my eye
when he took refuge at Brampton Percy and Bishop's Castle is no great distance
from Ludlow. If this conflict ever ends, and my father agrees, of course, I
might get the chance to meet with him again.' She looked at Honoria, her face
alight with quick laughter. 'Perhaps you could try the potion on your lord and
inform me of the results.'

Honoria's reaction stunned
them both. Covering her face with her hands, she finally gave way to the deluge
of grief and fear that she had been struggling to contain. Tears came at last,
leaking through her fingers to soak into her lace cuffs.

'Honor! What have I said?'

For a time she wept
bitterly, inconsolably, shaken by the raw wound in her heart. Until she was
able to gulp and sniff and wipe away the tears.

'I'm sorry. I never cry. It
solves nothing.' She took Mary's proffered handkerchief to mop up the worst of
the ravages.

'It has been an emotional
day.' Mary ventured to put an arm round Honoria's shoulders, risking a rebuff,
but unable to ignore such distress. 'What did I say to cause you such
unhappiness?'

'Nothing really.' Another
sniff. 'You would not know...' And then she could contain her agony no longer.
'It will take more than a love potion to make Francis love me. I think that
today's events might be the final disaster—which will divide us irrevocably.'
And then, shocked at her own admission, she swept the leaves and petals up into
her hand and moved as if she would throw them on the fire. But Mary put out a
hand to grasp her wrist, to stop her putting distance between them. She knew
that it had taken much to make Honoria confide in her. She had no intention of
allowing her to retreat behind her habitual façade of cool competence.

'I cannot believe that for
a moment.'

'He thinks that I set a
trap, that I planned it all—to further the Royalist cause and hand him over to
Coningsby.'

'But he loves you!'

'No! How can he, when
everything between us has gone so wrong from the start? He never wanted to
marry me.' The tears threatened again. 'He is very kind—immeasurably
tolerant—but he never pretended to love me. Perhaps there would have been a
chance, if we had been allowed to live our own lives, without the conflicts and
divided loyalties. But it was never possible.' All she could think about was
the flash of hurt in his eyes, the depth of anger, before he turned away from
her. Deliberately turning his back. 'And now I know that he believes that I
have betrayed him. You know that I shot him once?'

'Yes!' Mary's eyes were
filled with awe and admiration. 'How did you dare? And that you locked him in
the chapel.' She could not prevent a chuckle at the memory.

'The bullet was an
accident, but the chapel was deliberate.' Honoria found herself smiling too,
before the distress swallowed her again. 'But you can see why he regards me
with the gravest of suspicions. Take the love potion, if you wish. My lord will
never find a place for me in his heart, herbal pillows or not.'

'I don't agree.' Given this
opportunity, Mary determined on some plain speaking. 'I believe that he does
love you. I know that he is strong-willed and impatient and—'

'Bad tempered and
self-opinionated—'

'And does not suffer fools
to any degree...' Mary grinned. 'But I know how he looks at you when he thinks
you are not aware. Such a depth of concern and care for you. Such a light in
his eyes. I would like Samuel More to look at me in that fashion.'

'I can't...'

Mary took a breath and
continued. 'He would love you and take care of you if you would let him, but
you can be as stubborn as he is!'

'Never!'

'It is true. When you are
hurt or unsure, you hide it behind wellnigh
unbreachable
defences of cold self-sufficiency and polite distance.

You can be very difficult
to get close to. Perhaps I would have been the same if I had been sold off in
marriage to Lord Edward.' Mary wrinkled her pert nose in distaste.

'Oh.' Honoria blinked at
the unexpected. Then, 'Have you found me cold and polite? Difficult to reach?'

'Yes.' Her honesty was
brutal. 'But I am very persistent.'

'Mary...what can I say? I
value your friendship more than anything. I'm sorry if I
don't...can't...whatever.' She lifted her hands, and let them fall,
open-palmed, on the table.

'I know.'

'I fear that you are
right.' Honoria sniffed.

'Of course, I am. Now,
don't cry again. This can all be put right, I am sure of it. But perhaps you
need to talk to Francis. Do you love him?'

'Oh, yes.' There was no
hesitation here.

'Well, then. If you love
each other...'

'No.' Honoria bent her head
to hide the anguish from Mary's gaze. 'Francis still loves Katherine. He...he
keeps a miniature of her. She was a far more suitable wife than I. She has his
heart, even beyond the grave.'

'Perhaps he did love her.
After all, he knew her all his life, since they were children. There must have
been a strong bond between them. And her death must have hit him hard. But that
is in the past, Honor. He loves you now, I am sure of it.'

'You are very
compassionate.' Honoria responded as she knew Mary would wish and hid her
private doubts and anxieties. 'You have given me much to think about today.'

'I care about you—and do
not like to see you unhappy. Now. Let us be practical. First you must ensure
Francis's release. And then you can try Mistress James's gift on him, for my
sake if not for yours!'

'Very well. Tomorrow I will
go to Hereford.' Honoria replaced the leaves back into their wrapping with
solemn intent. 'And save this until my lord's return. If it works, it will be a
miracle indeed.'

Chapter
Fifteen

Two days later, after an
abortive visit to Croft Castle where Sir William was not in residence, Honoria
was bowed into the main audience chamber of Hereford Castle. It was still very
early but there, awaiting her, was Sir William Croft.

She felt the weight of the
building close around her, the strength and dominance of the thick walls, the
massive gateway as she entered. As the castle at Brampton Percy presided over
the route between Ludlow and the west, so Hereford Castle had been constructed
to keep the central March in line. And the room into which she was ushered,
albeit with utmost respect, was created for hard business, to overawe rather
than to give comfort. The heavy walls might be covered with tapestry, there
might be chairs for the weary, but the authority of the Crown and the Governor
as the Royal representative was stamped for all to see in the massive coat of
arms which adorned the wall above the fireplace. And somewhere, restrained
within this fortress, Honoria knew, was Francis.

Honoria faced Sir William
with no outward evidence of the nerves that fluttered in her belly, the fear
that had forced her to abandon all pretence at breaking her fast, her throat
gripped by a dry nausea. She stood, refusing an offered seat, neat and
dignified, no trace of the journey about her cloak and full skirts, hair
arranged in seemly curls to fall from crown to shoulder. And her gown—quite
deliberately and thoughtfully rescued from the wagon that had accompanied Mary
back to Ludlow—was of costly velvet in a becoming shade of deep violet blue,
which flattered her fair skin and enhanced the gilt of her eyes. The lace was
exquisite, the pearl necklace becoming to a young woman of wealth and quality.
Remembering her appearance on their previous meeting, damp, windswept and
travel-worn at Leintwardine Manor, Honoria had deliberately dressed to make an
impression on the Governor of Hereford.

'I have come to see my
husband, Sir William. I presume that you are holding him here.' Without
preamble, she ignored Sir William's greeting.

'Honoria. My dear girl. I
am so sorry.' He managed to take her hand, to enclose it within the warmth of
his own, but her fingers remained lax and icy in his. 'But I did warn you of
the possible outcome, did I not?' His eyes under their grizzled brows were
fierce, but not without compassion.

'Of course, Sir William. I
bear you no ill will. But I wish to see Francis. And to know that he is well.'

'He's comfortable enough.
Too important a pawn in Coningsby's game to be consigned to a dark dungeon,
whatever rumours might say. He's angry, of course.' He went to the side table
to pour wine for them both. 'I will try to arrange for you to see him, but you should
know—'

'I understand your
position, Sir William,' she interrupted, taking the goblet from him, but
putting the untasted wine down on to the table with a sharp click. 'I need to
ask if... I need to know if you have any influence over the Governor in this
matter.'

'I have very little
influence over Coningsby in any matter!' Croft grunted, tossed back the wine,
clearly a matter of some contention here. 'He is Governor—and is never willing
to listen to advice that might run contrary to his own opinions. And in this
case...well, he has his own motives.'

'Tell me, Sir William.' For
the first time there might have been a hint of desperation in her voice, but
she quickly controlled it. 'Why does he hate the Bramptons so much?'

'I know not the
background—some dispute in the past with Lord Edward. Land, I think, in which
Coningsby came off the worse. And Edward never did try to hide his contempt for
those who displeased him. It could be any number of reasons. But, without
doubt, the Governor is intent on bringing down Mansell's authority in the
county. And, I warn you, he will not listen to reason or pleas for compassion.
No matter how well you present your petition.'

'Even though we no longer
have land or power here since the fall of Brampton Percy?'

'Even then.'

'Thank you for your
honesty, Sir William.' Honoria granted him a brief smile. 'But I will not leave
here until I have spoken with him.'

'He may not agree to an
audience. I have to say, although I would not do so within the hearing of many,
that he has become insufferable in his quest for power.'

Honoria promptly walked to
one of the straight-backed chairs by the wall and sat, then stripped off her
gloves and folded her hands on top of the sable muff that she carried. 'Tell
Governor Coningsby, if you please, that I will not leave—'

The door opened. Coningsby
halted on the threshold.

She remembered his spare
slight figure, now dressed wholly in black, as he stood unmoving to catch the
attention of those who waited on his presence—and then walked forward to take
up a position beneath the royal coat of arms, a magnificent position of
authority. His clothes were of the finest quality, velvet and satin with a
quantity of Brussels lace adorning neck and wrist, all chosen for impact.
Honoria uttered a silent prayer of thanks that she had taken such trouble with
her own appearance.

'Lady Mansell.' There was
the faintest sneer in his voice, but his face remained impassive, confident
even. He was convinced of the winning hand that he now held. 'I was expecting
you, of course.'

'I am sure you were.' She
rose to her feet, determined not to be intimidated.

'And how can I help you, my
lady?' His tone continued, silky smooth.

'I have two requests, sir.
Firstly, I wish to see my husband.' Her stare was cold and implacable. She
would never show weakness before this man.

He regarded her for a long
moment, considering her request, savouring the sweet victory he had so
fortuitously accomplished over his enemy. It would do no harm to allow Lord
Mansell a visit from the wife whom he believed had betrayed him. It could even
turn the cruel-edged knife in the wound. Coningsby smiled and inclined his
head.

'Of course, my lady. I
believe that can be arranged. Although you will not be surprised if your
husband does not show any enthusiasm for your company.'

'No matter. I wish to see
him.' Her gaze did not waver for a second, her face revealed none of her inner
turmoil. Sir William, a silent observer, watched with admiration the young
girl who had come so formidably into her role as Mansell's wife, as Fitzwilliam
Coningsby bowed her from the chamber.

Honoria was shown into a
room within the vast structure of Hereford Castle and took stock of her
surroundings. No dungeon, but a fairly spacious room, low ceilinged,
wood-panelled, with light flooding in from the glazed window overlooking the
river Wye. My Lord Mansell was indeed too valuable, too well born to commit him
to the cells in the noxious depths of the fortification with the common rabble.
It was comfortable enough here with solid furniture, tapestried hangings, a
curtained bed against one wall.
Far more
acceptable than the chapel at Brampton Percy!
But the door was
unbreachable
with iron studs and an effective lock.
Comfortable it might be, but there would be no escape from this captivity.

Francis looked up as his
visitors entered, rising slowly to his feet from the cushioned window seat. He
looked tired, was Honoria's first thought, deep lines of strain engraved around
mouth and eyes. And thinner, his body fined down to muscle, tendon and sinew,
product of siege and imprisonment. But his eyes were dark and intent as they
rested on her, full of spirit that had not been broken by his experiences.

'You have a visitor, my
lord,' Coningsby addressed him complacently.

Making no reply, Francis
chose to stand, his back against the window embrasure, arms folded across his
chest and eyes fixed on his wife. He made no move toward her.

Honoria's eyes flashed with
distaste at the Governor's obvious pleasure in the situation. 'I would see my
husband in private, sir.'

'I am afraid that is not
permissible. He is, after all, a traitor to the Crown.' Coningsby glanced from
one to the other. 'Your wife wishes to reassure herself of your situation, my
lord, after your most unfortunate arrest. Her concern is understandable, in
the circumstances.' The sly insinuation of Honoria's involvement in those
events was clear and unpleasant.

'So she came to you for
reassurance.' Francis's words were evidence of a bitter recognition.

'Of course. Who else?'
Coningsby visibly gloated. Let my lord Mansell think as he wished!

'And has the Governor been
able to reassure you?' Francis enquired of his wife, face bleak and
unforgiving.

She shook her head in an
effort to dislodge the horror that seemed to be enclosing her in its smothering
weight. 'I came...' Words dried on her lips. She tried again. 'I needed to
know...'

'Her ladyship wishes to
know that you are being kept in comfort,' Coningsby explained with an expansive
gesture of one hand to their surroundings. 'She would not wish you to suffer
too much in the name of your Parliament.'

'As you see, lady. I am not
kept in chains.' There was no encouragement for her in his reply.

'Francis...'
I should never have come. What do I say to him that will have any
meaning?

'What do you want from me,
Honoria?' Francis pushed himself away from the wall, to close his hands over
the high carved back of the chair beside the table, out of patience with the
cat-and-mouse opportunity for Coningsby to torment his prey. 'The scene is played
out and I have to pay the price for my beliefs. You are now free to hold to
your
Royalism
without dissembling. I give you my
blessing of it.' There was a sharp edge to the words, but also a deep
weariness. 'Go home to Leintwardine and enjoy the freedom that you have so
dearly bought.'

'I cannot...' She
floundered in the morass of helplessness that threatened to drag her below its
surface.

'Why not? If you smile at
Mr Coningsby, he will give you an escort. You will be in no danger in
Herefordshire.'

'But...'

'I would be honoured to do
so.' Coningsby executed a graceful bow in Honoria's direction, but his glance
slanted to her lord. 'To guarantee the safety of so charming and loyal a lady
would present no difficulty.'

Francis made a brief
gesture of frustration. 'Go home, Honoria. There is nothing more to say between
us. Nothing more to do.'

And he was right. The gulf
was too great. She should never have come. A miracle indeed would be required
to extricate them from Coningsby's clutches, yet leaving them some basis for a
future life together, as she had told Mary. But Francis was alive and under no
threat of imminent death. She must hold on to that most important fact. If she
could work for his release, if she could indeed achieve it, she would accept
their estrangement. Must accept it. Anything than that he be at the mercy of
Fitzwilliam Coningsby.

And she had seen him: his
beloved features, the sweep of his dark hair, the elegant grace of his bearing.
She allowed her gaze to linger for a moment longer, at the same time trying to
block out the anger and despair that she saw in every movement of his body, the
livid tension in his knuckles where he still grasped the chair-back. She would
hold the image of him in her heart until the day of her death.

'One favour, my lady.' His
face was a stark, bland mask. 'I would be grateful if you would inform my
family of my position. My mother will be concerned.'

'Of course.'

And there was an end to it.
Nothing could heal the rift. No words of hers, certainly. The evidence against
her from that one night at Leintwardine held too much weight. She looked across
at the Governor of Hereford with his barely concealed smugness and the chill
from the room seeped into her very bones. But no colder than the cynical
contempt in her lord's face. What had she expected? That he would take her in
his arms, hold her fast against the warmth and strength of him, soothe her
fears and grant her absolution? Even though she had committed no sin? It would
never be. It was time to put an end to the agony, for both of them.

'I wish to leave a family
keepsake for my husband.' Honoria drew on all her pride and dignity and
addressed Coningsby. 'Is it permitted?'

He nodded, could afford to
be magnanimous in victory.

From her muff, Honoria
extracted a small wrapped-package, the size of her palm, placing it on the edge
of the table before her. She dare not approach Francis to put it into his hand.
Dare not open herself further to his rejection.

'I have committed no sin
against you, Francis. But how should I prove it? My words are worthless in
comparison with your captivity, but I will pray for your safe keeping, and work
to achieve it.' She pushed the packet further on to the table with a sharp
little gesture, then stepped back to fold her hands tightly together. 'I
believe that this will bring you some comfort. I have nothing else to give.'

There was no response from
him.