Thomas’ eyes jerked to her face, startled.
“She is your daughter as much mine, Tom. And she is no demon.”
“No … no, she isn’t.”
Margaret’s face and body lost some of their tension, and she leaned back in the seat, content for some minutes to watch Thomas continue to nurse the baby. When it seemed he had truly relaxed, Margaret spoke again. “Tell me of Alice.”
“What?”
“You know my sins, Tom… you have reminded me of them often enough. Now tell me of yours, for I would know the darknesses hiding within my husband.”
“Where did you hear that name?”
“My lady Katherine spoke of her, just briefly, not knowing then that it was your child I carried. She implied that this Alice, and the wrong you’d done her, was the reason you’d entered holy orders.”
The child in his arms forgotten, Thomas let his eyes drift away from Margaret and settle on the garden. Look, there sprang a clump of foxglove, used no doubt to strengthen the failing hearts of the brothers. And there some corn honeywort, used to cool painful swellings.
“Who was Alice, Tom?”
Thomas’ eyes now followed a bee that dipped and rose over the garden, wondering if it belonged to a hive maintained by the brothers, or by some nearby peasant. It was a fat bee, and doubtless cheerful to be released from the bonds of winter.
“Who was Alice, Tom?”
Oh merciful Lord… Alice!
“She was my paramour,” he said. “My mistress.”
“Your whore.”
Thomas flinched, wishing he’d never thought to call Margaret a whore.
“She was a virtuous lady, and her husband a gentle and chivalric knight.”
“And the presence of a husband imbued Alice with virtue where a lack of one made me a harlot?”
“She was a beautiful and accomplished woman, and fascinated me where no other woman had. I was only a young man, barely old enough for my spurs, when first we met. I wanted her, and made my want known. For a year or more she resisted, but finally her own lust overcame her doubts. She and I bedded for over a year, whenever we had the opportunity.”
“And her husband?”
“He did not know.” Thomas paused, his eyes still roaming over the garden. “One day King Edward sent him to the court of the Flemish count on some matter concerning wool exports. He was gone eight months.”
“And in those eight months Alice fell pregnant to you.”
“Aye. I could not bear the shame that would grow with the child.”
“And so you abandoned her.”
“You are right virtuous all of a sudden!” Thomas snapped, finally looking at Margaret. He was surprised to see her face full of pity rather than any degree of satisfaction.
He jerked his eyes away, lest she should see the tears that had suddenly filled them. “But, yes, I abandoned her, and would not acknowledge the child.”
Margaret was silent, knowing what must come next.
“And … and so she murdered herself,” Thomas finally said, his voice almost a whisper as if he could barely force the words out. “Herself and the child she carried… and her three daughters by her husband.”
“Oh, Tom! No!”
“She locked herself and her children in an abandoned water mill—the stream it was built on had dried up—and spread straw about. Then she set fire to it.”
Margaret had her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and staring. She had thought there to be a tragedy, but this? No wonder the man had fled his entire life and sought to appease his guilt within the Church!
“She sent herself and her children to hell,” Thomas whispered, “and I lifted not a finger to save them.”
He turned on the seat so he looked Margaret directly in the eye. “I will never allow anyone to take this child,” he said. “Never.”
Margaret turned her head and closed her eyes, still so appalled and saddened that she could not even savor her victory.
How could the angels, normally so careful, have misjudged so badly this one, critical time?
Had they misjudged, or was there even yet a trap she could not see?
THAT NIGHT Margaret received a visitation from beyond death.
During the night Margaret found herself suddenly awake—and saw a statuesque blond woman standing by the bed. The woman was handsome rather than lovely, but with such comely eyes and mouth that she exuded a. pleasing femininity. In her arms the woman held a baby, and behind her, very shadowy, three small girls clung to the woman’s skirts, peering shyly at Margaret, who had now raised herself into a
sitting position in her bed, more wary than she’d ever been in her life.
She glanced at Rosalind, asleep in her cot a little distance from the bed.
“Your baby sleeps peacefully,” said the woman.
Margaret was suddenly very afraid for her daughter. “You are Alice,” she said, low.
“Aye,” said Alice, and smiled sadly. “I am Alice. Margaret, do not fear for your daughter. I have not come to harm either her or you.”
“Then why?” said Margaret. She reached slowly for a wrap. “Why are you here?”
“Because I am so sad,” said Alice, “and happy all at once. It was a great relief to me when Thomas recognized your child, and stood by you.”
“He should have done that for you, too.” Margaret stood, tightening the wrap about her shoulders, and she stepped closely enough to Alice that she could see the baby in her arms.
It was clearly a Neville child, with its dark curly hair. And a girl. Thomas’ first daughter. Dead before she had a chance of life.
“I should not have done what I did,” Alice whispered. “Murdered my children.”
To that Margaret had nothing to say. No, desperate as Alice was, she should not have done what she did.
Alice made a visible effort to steady herself. “But I came here to say something else, Margaret Rivers, soon to be Neville.” Margaret looked at her, suddenly more wary than ever. “Yes?”
“Be careful how you treat him, Margaret. Do not rely on deception alone to win his love.”
Margaret went very cold. “There is more at stake than merely winning myself a husband, Alice. 1—”
“Do you think that I do not know that?” said Alice. “Margaret, Thomas thinks that I, and my children, and his child, suffer in purgatory. But that is not so. Even if I cannot forgive myself for what I did, someone else reached out to me, and did forgive me.”
As she spoke she turned her head very slightly, as if looking over her shoulder.
Margaret looked as well, and gasped, her arms suddenly crossing themselves about her breasts as she hugged herself in awe, her eyes wide, more terrified and more joyous than ever she’d been in her life.
Behind Alice and her group of children the room had vanished. Instead Margaret found herself looking up a hill to where stood a cross. At the foot of the cross Margaret could just make out the figure of woman on her knees, her belly rounded in pregnancy, her hands to her face in the extremity of her grief.
She could not see the woman’s face, although somehow Margaret felt as if she knew her.
Margaret looked from the woman to the cross itself. There was a figure there, but it was surrounded with such an ethereal glow that it was even more indistinct than was the woman.
Margaret, said the figure, and she wept, for she well knew the voice of her Lord Jesus Christ. Margaret, be wary what you do.
“I must, my Lord. I have no choice.”
We all have choice, Margaret.
Margaret sunk to her knees, unable to look any longer on Christ.
Margaret, know that I lave you, and what you do for me…
“My Lord …”
Blessed Margaret.
And then Margaret was aware that the room had reformed itself behind Alice, and that Christ and the strange woman kneeling at his dying feet had vanished.
“Margaret,” said Alice. “Will you tell Thomas that I have been saved? Will you tell him that he need no longer fear for my soul, and those of my children?”
“I can do better than that for you,” Margaret said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Thursday and Friday before the Feast of
the Blessed SS Philip and James
In the first year of the reign of Richard II
(28th and 29th April 1379)
LANCASTER STRETCHED OUT his long legs, leaned back in his chair and regarded Thomas over his steepled fingers.
“Richard has my every support,” he said. “I have watched him grow from infancy.
He is no demon and you can show me no proof to change my mind.”
“Nevertheless,” Thomas said, “I cannot imagine how he is not! Who else would have the nerve to send his man to Bramham Moor friary wearing your livery? He was the one to benefit from the demonic deaths of his grandfather and father.”