Lady of Hay

38

John was sitting by the fire in one of the side chambers above the hall when the prisoners, still ragged and damp from the sea and the rain, were brought before him.

He turned in his chair without comment as the three women and Will, reunited at last, stood before him and their guards fell back. Matilda raised her head and looked the king full in the eye for a moment, then proudly, without lowering her head, she knelt before him. The others followed suit, and she could hear, with a sudden snap of irritation, that Mattie had begun to sniff again. No one spoke.

The king held his hands out to the fire and began to rub them slowly together, not taking his eyes from Matilda’s face. “So,” he said at last. “We meet again.”

She was the first, eventually, to look away, dropping her gaze to the border of his mantle, which brushed gently in the rushes around his chair. He stood up so abruptly she had to force herself to remain still and not flinch backward as he came to stand above her. He was so close she could smell the oil of lavender in his hair. The room was silent save for the rattle of rain against the window screens and the occasional hiss as drops fell into the glowing embers on the hearth.

She thought for a moment he was going to touch her, but he moved away again, walking over to the table that had been drawn up against the far wall of the room. It was laden with parchments and books and held the king’s pens and ink. He picked up a letter and unfolded it slowly as he turned back to the prisoners who remained kneeling by the fire. His face was hard.

“Prince Llewelyn has, it appears, thought fit to join your husband, my lady, in making trouble for me in Wales.” His voice was icy. “That is unfortunate.” He strode back to the fire, the letter still in his hand. “Unfortunate for you, that is, if your husband persists in his rebellion when he knows that I hold hostages.”

Matilda clenched her fists together nervously, very conscious of the iron fetters that encircled her wrists. She swallowed. “Will you give me the chance to raise the money to pay my husband’s debts, sire?” Her voice came out huskily and too quiet. She wasn’t sure if he had even heard her. Mattie and Will, side by side, were completely silent.

“Your Grace,” she tried again, a little louder. “Before we fled from Hay I was able to put by a little money and some jewelry. I am sure with the help of our friends and my other sons we could raise some of the money we owe. If Your Grace would accept that as a start and-”

Her voice trailed away as he turned from the fire at last and looked down at her.

“It is no longer only a matter of money, Lady Matilda.”

“I will persuade William to give himself up to you. And on his behalf I can surrender all the de Braose lands…” She could not keep the note of pleading from her voice and, though she despised herself for it, the anguish in her tone was real.

“Your lands, my lady, are no longer yours to surrender,” he said sharply. He looked from Margaret to Will and Mattie behind her suddenly. “It appears that Ireland has become a nest of traitors. The lands of the Lacys are all confiscated too, your husband’s, Lady Margaret, and those of his brother. It is as well for them, perhaps, that they seem to have escaped, for if either of them show themselves again, their lives might well be forfeit.” He spoke quietly. Margaret shrank behind her mother as the king’s cold eyes fixed on her for a moment. Then he threw the letter down on his chair, talking half to himself, half to them. “I shall subdue Ireland. Every man here shall acknowledge me as king or I shall know the reason why. And when I return to Wales, make no mistake, I shall reduce that country-and its princes too-to ashes if I must…Guards! “ He raised his voice for the first time. Their escort sprang forward and the king eyed them critically. “Take the prisoners away,” he ordered.

Matilda began to rise to her feet, awkward and stiff after kneeling for so long. To her surprise he stepped forward and held out his hand to help her. But his face was grim. “I shall consider your offer of money, Lady Matilda, but I feel that nothing short of the full amount of forty thousand will do now. And that may not be enough. Meanwhile you and your family will remain my prisoners. We leave Carrickfergus tomorrow, and you will travel with us back to Dublin.”

The king sent for Matilda only after they had been encamped for several days at Dublin. She was brought to his tent, which had been set up in the midst of his army overlooking Dublin Bay, and appeared before him in midmorning, leaning on the arm of the tall knight who had been appointed her escort. The king had ordered her fetters removed when they had reached Kells, and she and Margaret and Mattie had been allowed serving women and provided with fresh linen and hot water, but Matilda was very tired.

There was no compassion in his face as the king looked at her. “The sheriff of Hereford has written to tell me that your husband has now attacked one of my castles. He requests my instructions and begs me to declare this man, once for all, outlawed. William has gone too far this time, Lady Matilda.”

She went pale. Her escort had withdrawn from the tent and she felt suddenly weak, standing alone before the king. She half glanced around, hoping to see a stool. Finding nothing to sit on, she slowly sank to her knees.

“Give us one more chance,” she whispered. “See, I beg you on my knees. Somehow I will find the money. I will make William submit. He will surrender. Only give us the chance to talk to him.”

John pushed back his chair with an exasperated exclamation. “It seems to me we’ve had this conversation before. How many chances must I give this man?”

“Sire, I know where I can find the money,” Matilda rushed on desperately, hardly taking note of what she said. “I have thought about it much and I am sure I can raise it. I know I can. Let me see him again. Please, Your Grace, give me that one chance.”

John turned away. He went to stand at the door of the tent looking out toward the dazzling blue of the sea. Far out on the edge of the haze three small boats sailed slowly northward, trailing their nets. He watched them abstractedly for a moment, chewing his nails. Then suddenly he swung round. “Why do I find it so hard, even now, to refuse your pleas?”

For a moment she thought his face betrayed a hint of pity, but it was already gone when he spoke again. “Very well, one last chance. But this time I must have your promise in writing.” He stepped to the desk and, reaching for his bell, summoned one of the chancery clerks. “An agreement; Matilda de Braose, the Lady of Hay, agrees to pay a fine of fifty-yes, fifty, you must pay for my patience-fifty thousand marks to the royal exchequer before”-he hesitated, counting on his fingers-“before Lammas next. That gives you a year, my lady. You will sign the document and on reaching Wales your husband will sign it too. You and your family will remain in my custody until your husband pays me the first installment. That is the last time I intend to discuss this matter. It seems to me that I have already been too lenient.” He leaned forward, watching the clerk laboriously copying out the formal words of the document. “I mean to see the barons of this country learn to respect me, Matilda, whoever gets hurt in the process. I’ll not be played with, remember that. You tell your sons and your precious friends the Lacys and the Earl Marshall and all William’s cronies that if they defy me and compound treasons against the crown they will find out just how strong an arm their sovereign has. I’ll not see the safety of the realm endangered.” He bent and snatched the finished parchment from the clerk, who was blowing on the ink. “I’ve reduced Ireland and now I’ll reduce Wales.” He took the pen from the clerk and held it out to Matilda, who rose to her feet with some difficulty. “And you had better pray that this time your husband respects this agreement, because I shall hold you and your son accountable, if necessary with your lives.”

Matilda took the pen, glancing at his face as she did so. Two red spots of anger glowed on his cheekbones and his mouth was set in an uncompromising line as he stared down at the document before them. She felt the cold black shadow of fear hovering over her heart as she blinked back the sudden scalding tears. “Please, Holy Mother,” she whispered as she dipped the pen in the ink, “let William come to the king.” Her hand shook as she carefully wrote her name at the end of the lines of black, crabbed writing. Then she let the pen fall.

They landed at Fishguard on the northern coast of the Pembroke Peninsula two days later. It was raining. Matilda scarcely noticed the route they took, sunk as she was in misery and fear. Her eyes remained lowered, dully taking in the streaming chestnut mane of the mare she rode. For several miles she worried a burr out of the tangled wet hair, twisting it in her fingers, watching unfeeling as tiny spots of blood sprang up on her skin to be washed away almost at once by the rain.

As soon as they had landed the king had dispatched riders to take her message to William, if they could find him in the high fastnesses of Elfael, bidding him come to ratify his wife’s agreement.

“You fool, Mother,” Will had said. “You complete fool. You know he won’t come. If they tell him how much money you’ve promised he’ll run or die of shock, but he won’t come.”

“He will come, he will.” She clenched her fists, gazing at her son’s pale face with such an ache of protective tenderness that for a moment she was unable to go on. Then she gained control. “We have money, Will. Our tenants will raise it for us, and our friends. Reginald and the Lacys must have reached France and Giles. There are so many who can help us, my dear. And there is the money I hid. It will be there still.”

“Did you tell Father where it was hidden?”

Matilda shrank at the bitterness in her son’s voice, but she shook her head. “He could not find it, even if I had. It is in a secret place in the mountains. I think I would have to go there again myself to be sure…”

“And, even then, you might not find it, Mother dear.” His voice was gentle again suddenly. He kissed her forehead lightly. “It seems to me that we must pray for a miracle.”

It was at Bristol Castle on the feast of St. Eustace that the prisoners were summoned at last to the great hall after the evening meal was over. John was listening to the carolers who had arrived from Gloucester. He sat on his great chair, his legs stuck out in front of him, a goblet of wine still in his hand.

“It appears your obedient husband has decided to accede to your wish, Lady Matilda,” he called loudly as soon as he saw her. A hush fell over the crowded hall and Matilda drew herself up, feeling hundreds of eyes on her as she walked slowly toward the dais and waited, her eyes lowered. John gestured at one of the servants and he ran, bowing, to a door.

The two men had obviously been waiting just outside, for they came in at once, hastening to the dais, where both went down on one knee. Matilda saw with a sudden lurch of her heart that one of them was William. He did not look at her, and she saw his surcoat and tunic were torn and mud-splashed and his beard unkempt. The old, unhealthy pallor had returned to his cheeks.

John rose, belching slightly as he moved, and set his cup down. He clicked his fingers at a clerk, who brought forward a parchment, which Matilda recognized at once as the one she had signed only weeks before, in Dublin.

“You agree, I take it, Sir William, to your wife’s terms.” John spoke curtly. “Fifty thousand marks she has promised. You realize that?”

William nodded almost imperceptibly. Still he did not look at her. “Then you will sign the agreement?” John stood and watched as pen and ink were brought to William. Then the de Braose seal was produced from his companion’s pouch. There wasn’t a sound in the great hall as the red wax dropped slowly onto the parchment, the pungent smell for a moment stronger even than the aroma of food and fire and candles and the strong smell of sweat that came from the lower tables of the hall. There was a hiss as the seal met the wax and the clerk carefully removed the document and passed it to the king. John waved it away. “Enough. I want to hear the singers. The first installment, Sir William, by the feast of St. Agnes, and”-he shot his head forward suddenly, his eyes blazing-“not one day later.”

They were all ushered from the hall as the minstrels struck up a merry tune for the king.

Outside in the icy ward Matilda flung herself at her husband as he turned away toward the stables. “William, will you not even greet me? Surely you’re allowed to talk to me before you go? For pity’s sake!”

He turned back and looked at her, his face blank. “What am I to say, Moll? I have to go to find this money. There is so little time.”

Matilda threw herself at him, clinging. The guards made no attempt to stop her. “It’s not so much, the first installment. Ten thousand marks, that’s all, my dear. The marshall will help and Reginald and Giles, of course. You must write to them at once, and our friends in the Marches. Please, William. You will try?”

“Mother.” Will was behind her suddenly, his hand on her arm. “Mother, come into the warm. My father knows what to do.”

“You do know, William? You will do it? There’s so little time. Oh, my dear, you will help me…” She was sobbing now, still clinging to him.

William turned away, shaking her off. “I’ve told you, woman. I’ll do what I can. What else can I say?” A gust of wind blew his cloak open as a groom brought two horses forward and the guard closed in on Will and Matilda, beginning to hustle them toward the corner tower where they were lodged.

“William, William…” Her voice rose to a scream as Will put his arm around her and pulled her away. “William, help us, please! Please, Please help us .”

But already his horse was trotting toward the portcullis as it slid upward into the darkness of the gateway. Seconds later the two figures had vanished into the night.

Matilda collapsed onto Will’s shoulder as Margaret and Mattie ran, consoling, to her side, and slowly they led her back to the tower as the first drops of rain began to fall on the cobbles.

Sam was standing looking out of the window across the square. There were tears on his cheeks as his hand clenched in the curtains. Slowly he turned. “So William left you, my lady,” he whispered, “to fetch the money.” He laughed bitterly. “Did you believe him? Did you wish that you had been a faithful and loving wife? Tell me how it happened, my lady. Tell me how it felt when finally you realized that William was never coming back.”

Jo’s fingers moved restlessly over the cushions on the chair, scratching harshly at the tapestry work, shredding the wool beneath her nails. Her eyes moved unseeing over the flickering TV screen.

“William,” she cried again. “William, for the love of the Holy Virgin, please, come back.”

Tim knocked on the door, easing the heavy camera bag on his shoulder. He was panting heavily after climbing the long flight of stairs.

Judy opened it at the third knock. She was wearing her painting smock and old jeans. She looked slightly harassed as she saw him standing there.

He grinned. “I hope I’m not too late. You did say any time after eight would be okay.”

“Oh, God, Tim, I’m sorry, I forgot. Come in, please.” She dragged the door wider. “I never meant you to go to so much trouble. When I asked you to do the catalogue, I didn’t realize you were going abroad.”

“It’s no trouble, Judy. You put quite a challenge to me. A catalogue of your inner thoughts, not just reproductions of your paintings. How could any photographer resist the temptation to photograph a lady’s inner thoughts!”

She laughed. “I shall obviously have to censor them heavily.” She closed the door behind him. “Can I get you a beer or something?”

Tim shook his head. “I think I’d rather get on. I want to look at the work that’s going to the gallery in Paris and the studio, and I want to look at you.” He smiled at her impishly. “You realize a lot of this will rely on the processing and I’m going to have to leave that to George, but he’ll do it well. I think you’ll be pleased with what he produces.” He put down the bag and pulled it open. “First I want a picture of you in front of that sunset before it fades.”

The back window of the studio was ablaze with crimson and orange. Judy glanced at it. “I’ll change-”

“No! Like that. Jeans, paint stains, everything.” He caught her shoulders and propelled her toward the window, turning her in profile to the light. “That’s it. You’ll be almost totally in silhouette. Just the slightest aura of color around your face and those streaks of red on your shirt. They look like overspill from the clouds.”

He photographed her dozens of times against the window as the light faded to gold and then to green, then at last he turned his attention to the pictures. One by one she brought them forward into the strong studio lights.

“Are you really leaving tomorrow?” She studied his thin, tired face as he raised the light meter in front of a huge, unframed canvas.

He nodded. “Tomorrow evening.”

“And you’ll be gone months?”

“At least three.” He squinted through the viewfinder and then retreated several paces before clicking the shutter.

“Are you going to see Jo before you go?”

He was suddenly very still. “I don’t know. Probably not.” He stepped away from the camera and helped her replace the canvas against the wall. “I had thought I might call in on my way back from here, but I’m not sure. Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t see her again.”

Judy raised an eyebrow. “You made that sound very final.”

Tim gave a harsh laugh. “Did I?” He helped her lift the next picture onto the easel. “Jo has plenty to occupy her without me intruding. I want you in this one, standing facing the painting, that’s it, back to the camera with your shadow cutting across that line of color.”

“It’s only a catalogue, Tim. You’re turning it into a work of art-”

“If you’d wanted anything less you’d have asked your boyfriend to bring his Brownie,” he retorted.

Judy colored. “My boyfriend?”

“Is Pete Leveson not the latest contender for the title?”

Judy stuck her hands in the seat pockets of her jeans. “I don’t know.” She sounded suddenly lost. “I like him a lot.”

“Enough anyway to dish the dirt on your ex-lovers into his lap.”

“Why not?” she flared suddenly. “Nick hasn’t been exactly nice to me. I hope he rots in hell!”

Tim laughed wryly. “I think he’s been doing that, Judy,” he said.

The king rode out of Bristol three days later, leaving his prisoners behind in the custody of the royal constable. They were allowed the use of several rooms in the tower and their babies and the nurses were lodged on the floor above them, but nothing hid the fact that there were guards at the doors of the lower rooms and two men on duty always at the door out into the ward.

Matilda spent long hours at the window of their sleeping chamber gazing out across the marshes toward the Severn and the mountains of Wales beyond. Slowly the last leaves dropped from the woods, whipped off the leaden branches by cutting, easterly winds that blew gusts of bitter smoke back down the chimney into the rooms, filling them with choking wood ash. In spite of the fires they were cold, and though clothes and blankets were brought for them, Matilda seldom stopped shivering. She could not bear to allow the northern window shuttered, watching through the short hours of daylight for the sight of her husband’s horse.

But he did not come.

The feast of St. Agnes passed and no word came, from William or the king. Then as the first snowdrops were pushing their way up through the iron-hard ground a detachment of men arrived escorting two of the king’s household. They were lawyers.

Matilda stood before them alone, wrapped in a mantle of beaver fur, watching their gray, bookish faces for any sign of human feeling or concern.

One, Edward, held out her signed agreement. “Your husband, Lady de Braose, has failed to produce the said sum of money by the agreed date. Are you able to produce the money in his stead?” He looked up at her, mildly curious, uninterested.

Matilda swallowed. “I have money hidden. It may be enough, I don’t know. I’m sure my husband is on his way. Can you not give him a little longer? I’m sure the king-”

“The king, my lady, has had word that your husband is fled to France.” It was the other man speaking. He was seated at the side of the table, idly paring his nails with a knife. “There is no mistake, I’m afraid.” He too was watching her now.

Matilda bit her lip. Now that it had happened she felt calm, almost relieved that the waiting was over.

“Then I must raise the money myself. I hid it with the help of my steward at Hay. There was some gold, jewelry, and coin. We put it in coffers and carried it up to the mountains.”

“This money.” Edward was tracing the writing of the document. “Would it amount to fifty thousand marks?”

“As your husband has defaulted we would require the full amount at once, you see.” The younger didn’t bother to look up this time. He was still working on his thumbnail.

“I was thinking in terms of the first installment,” Matilda groped for her words cautiously. “There would be ten at least, I should think. I could raise more if I were allowed to go to Wales to-”

“Out of the question, I’m sorry.” Edward drew a parchment toward him on the desk. “Did you make no note of the value of the money you hid, Lady de Braose? Perhaps your steward could be found to bring it. If I may have his name we can send riders.”

“There were about four thousand marks in coin, if you must know.” She shrugged. “Most of my jewelry was there. That must be worth a lot, and my husband’s rings and chains, and gold.” She glanced from one to the other, but both men were shaking their heads.

“I’m sorry. It’s not enough.” Edward rose, licking his lips nervously. “I must tell you, my lady, that His Grace has ordered that the judgment of the realm be carried out against your husband. He is now an outlaw in this land. The king has also decreed that unless you were able to meet to the last penny the amount required within three days of St. Agnes’ feast, the day stipulated in the agreement you yourself signed of your own free will, you should suffer the full penalties for your husband’s default.”

He paused as the other lawyer too rose to his feet and began to push the pile of parchments together into a heap. The gesture was somehow very final.

“What penalties?” Matilda heard her voice as a whisper in the silence of the room.

He shrugged. “I have letters for the constable. You and your son, William, are to be removed to the royal castle of Corfe. The other ladies and your grandchildren will remain here for the time being, I gather.”

Matilda looked from one to the other. She could feel her panic rising. “When must we go?”

“Today. As soon as an escort has been mounted.” The two men bowed together and made their way past her to the door. Then they had gone and for a moment she was alone, before the knight who had brought her from the tower was again at her side. “You’d best go and make your farewells, lady,” he murmured kindly. “The constable had an inkling of what the letters were going to say. The men are already summoned to escort you.”

“Corfe,” she whispered bleakly. “He uses that as a prison.”

“No more than any other place. It’s a favorite residence of his sometimes. Don’t worry. You’ll be out of the way there. He’ll forget about you soon enough, and then your friends will be able to buy you out.” He put his hand for a moment on her arm, a small gesture of comfort, but she could not help a shiver of terror at his words. She looked at him bleakly for a moment, then, slowly, she followed him back to the chamber she had shared for so many long nights with Margaret and Mattie and bade them a tearful farewell. Then she hugged the two babies and, last of all, her beloved little John, who clung to her, crying.

“We’ll see you again very soon, Mother, never fear.” Margaret took her hand for a moment and held it close. “Don’t worry. You have many friends and they will all be working on the king to release you. He won’t hold you to blame for long for Father’s faults. You’ll see.”

Matilda forced herself to smile. “Yes, my darling, we’ll see,” she whispered slowly. “I’m sure it will all come out right in the end.” And she reached to kiss her daughter one last time.

“Enough!” Sam moved across the room and stood before Jo, looking down at her, his face haggard. “It is too soon. John may intend to kill you, my lady, but I can still save you.” Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself with an effort. “This time I can. This time I shall follow you to Corfe. I shall atone.” He knelt before her and took her hand in his. “Dear God, I didn’t mean to make you suffer so. Only a little longer, Moll. Only a little longer. You have to go there. You have to go, but I shall follow you.” He was crying openly now, his face twisted with anguish. “My brother has much to answer for! But he will not be the one to save you. I will get there before him, Moll, I will save you.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss upon her fingers. Then slowly he stood up. “And now, to keep you safe till morning. You will stay here, my lady, not moving, until dawn breaks. Then and only then will you set out on your last journey to Corfe. I have one last debt to pay tonight.” He smiled suddenly, straightening his shoulders. “Then I shall follow you and tomorrow you will be mine.”

Letting her hand fall, he went to the TV and turned up the sound. Then, slipping the cassette from the stereo into his pocket, he glanced around the room. Jo had not moved. Her eyes were once more on the TV but they did not register any movement. Her face was pale, and on the shredded cushion below her hand her fingers were still. He tiptoed out of the apartment, banged the door behind him, and ran down the stairs. In Gloucester Road he hailed a taxi.

Judy put the two mugs down on the table and pushed the packet of sugar toward Tim. “You know, I never expected you to spend so long over this. I really am grateful.”

He took two spoonfuls, scattering crystals over the table, and stirred them slowly into the black coffee as, far away below, the street door banged. Footsteps began climbing the flights of stairs toward the studio.

“I’m sorry I can’t see the whole project through.” Tim smiled at her. “Perhaps, if I’m honest, I spent longer than necessary. I wasn’t looking forward to spending this evening on my own. Caroline is packing and washing her hair and convincing her mama she is not going to join a guru and never be seen again. I’m meeting her at the airport tomorrow afternoon.”

Judy glanced at him. There was a touch of humorous sympathy in her eyes. “We could split a take-out dinner if you like-” She looked up in surprise at the sudden knocking on the studio door.

Tim climbed to his feet. “You’re on,” he said. “Chinese or what?” He pulled open the door and stepped back abruptly as Sam thrust his way past him into the room.

Judy jumped to her feet at the sight of him.

“Sam?” Her voice was frightened. “What are you doing here?”

Sam had stopped dead as the door swung back against the wall. He looked swiftly from Judy to Tim and back, then he smiled. “So.” He took a deep breath. “You two?”

“Get out, Sam.” Judy put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here, but get out. Do you hear me? If you don’t, I’ll call the police again!” Her voice was unnaturally shrill. “You are not welcome in my studio.”

“Come on, Sam.” Tim took a step toward him. “You heard what Judy said. Just leave quietly, there’s a good fellow.”

Sam laughed. “There’s a good fellow,” he mimicked mockingly. “Oh, no, my friend, not this time. This time I think we have some scores to settle, some scores that go back a very long way.” As he stepped menacingly toward Tim, Judy turned and dived into the bedroom. She grabbed the phone, but Sam was immediately behind her and with a quick jerk he had torn the wire from the wall.

“No more police, Judith, my dear,” he breathed. “I think we can manage very well without them this time.”

Judy went white. “You’re crazy, Sam,” she shouted. “Crazy!”

Behind Sam, Tim had appeared in the doorway, and for a moment none of them moved. Then Sam threw down the end of the wire. “It was you I came to see, Judith. I seem to remember we had an unfinished piece of business to settle. Each time I leave Joanna I have this urge to come here, it seems. To visit another whore. All women are whores. Even my mother, or she would never have had another child. A whore to my father!” He took a deep breath, controlling himself with an effort. “You should be flattered that I share my brother’s taste in beautiful women. As you do, of course.” He turned to Tim. “I’m almost glad you are here, so I can deal with you once and for all. My wife’s eldest daughter, remember…?” His eyes were suddenly blazing with emotion.

Judy backed away from them as Tim eyed him warily. “Forget it, Sam,” Tim said coldly. “Forget it. It’s all in your imagination.”

“Is it?” Sam took another step toward him. “Joanna doesn’t think so.” He laughed.

“If you’ve been near Jo again-” Tim suddenly squared his shoulders. Though of much lighter build than Sam, he topped him by several inches. “If you’ve touched her, I’ll kill you, so help me God!”

“Of course I’ve touched her.” Sam sneered. “Did you think I would leave her alone? She admitted everything, you know. How she had cheated me. How she slept with you. I beat her for it, did she tell you? And if I beat her, what more should I do to the lousy bastard who seduced her!” He was only feet from Tim now.

Tim backed away hastily. “Sam, for God’s sake, calm down. Let’s talk about this.”

“Not this time. I sat back and let it happen long ago. I pretended I didn’t know. I watched people snigger and laugh behind their hands and call me cuckold. I could do nothing about her fornication with the king, but you-you are a different matter. I was never entirely sure. She was too clever for me in the past, but now things are different. Now I am in control. And now I know the truth.” He picked up the brass candlestick from the low chest near him and held it up menacingly. “You are going to pay for what you did, de Clare!”

“No!” Judy screamed as he lifted his arm.

Tim, his face white, dodged back toward the bedroom doorway. As he did so his foot caught on the Persian rug that covered the polished boards. He staggered for a moment, then he slid sideways, crashing against the edge of the door.

Sam laughed. “Now I have you, de Clare! On your knees like your paramour!” He raised the candlestick high above his head as Judy launched herself at him, catching his arm. As they wrestled for a moment Tim slipped slowly onto his hands and knees, then on down to the floor. There was an ugly bleeding gash from the door latch on his temple.

Abruptly Sam let his arm fall. He stood staring down at Tim.

“Tim?” Judy threw herself down on her knees beside him. “Tim, are you all right?” She raised a white face toward Sam. “He’s unconscious.”

For a moment Sam did not move, then almost reluctantly he squatted down beside Tim and felt below his ear for his pulse. Judy held her breath. She felt very sick.

“He’s okay,” Sam said at last. His voice was calm again. “But you’d better call an ambulance in case.” He stood up. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper.”

Judy backed away from him. “You lousy shit!” Her eyes were blazing. “Get out of here, Sam! Get out, or I swear I’ll see you go to prison for the rest of your life. You should be in a straitjacket!”

She ran to the bed and grabbed the phone, then with a sob she flung it down. “I’ll have to go and call from the apartment downstairs. Shall I put a pillow under his head?”

“No, don’t touch him.” Sam was still standing looking down at Tim’s inert body. After a moment he pulled a blanket off the bed and tucked it around him, then he looked at Judy. “You’d better phone quickly,” he said.

Music echoed out of the open windows in Berkeley Street as the party warmed up. Jane was sitting on Jim Greerson’s lap when the phone rang and for a while neither bothered about it. Then finally Jane leaned forward and picked up the receiver.

“Nick?” she called. “Anyone here seen the boss man? There’s a guy here on the end of the line says it’s an emergency.”

Nick materialized at last, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was grinning. “A phone call at this hour? It’s probably a complaint.” He pulled himself onto the desk. “Hello?”

On the other end of the line the voice of Judy’s downstairs neighbor launched into an excited and apologetic monologue. For a moment Nick listened, puzzled, then abruptly he stood up. “An accident, you said? Who’s hurt?”

“I don’t know,” the unknown voice at the other end was out of breath. “A very nice gentleman, very tall. He hit his head. Miss Curzon went with him. They took him to St. Stephen’s…”

Judy was sitting alone in the dimly lit hospital waiting area. Her eyes were red with crying.

“What happened?” Nick put his arms around her and held her close.

She shook her head and sniffed. “They think he’s cracked his skull. They’ve taken him up to the operating room.”

“Who?” He pushed her away from him so he could see her face. “Who is hurt, Judy?”

“Tim. It’s Tim Heacham!”

“Tim?” Nick stood quite still for a moment. “But for God’s sake, what happened?”

“He came over to take some photos of my paintings and your brother arrived. He threatened Tim, and…” She began to sob again.

“Sam hit him?” Nick sat down abruptly next to her.

“No.” She sniffed hard and groped in the pocket of her jeans for a soggy tissue. “No, he tried to and Tim dodged. He slipped on my stupid rug. Oh, Nick! Supposing he dies!”

“What were they fighting about?”

“Sam called him de Clare. I think they were fighting about Jo. He talked about his daughter.”

Nick’s lips tightened imperceptibly. “My brother really is insane,” he said at last. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. “God, what a mess! Where is he? Did he come to the hospital?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know where he went.”

They both looked up as a young fair-haired woman in a white coat appeared. She carried a clipboard.

She sat down beside them with a tired smile. “I understand you came in with Mr. Heacham?”

Judy nodded. “How is he?”

The young woman shrugged. “He’s still in the operating room. We’ll know more later. I wondered if you could give me details of his next of kin?”

Judy clutched at Nick’s hand. “He’s dying?”

“No, no. It’s normal procedure. We have to try to contact his family.”

They looked at each other. “I know nothing about his family,” Nick said slowly. “I’m sorry. We’re just friends of his.”

“I see.” She slipped her pen back into the pocket of her coat. “You don’t know his wife?”

“He has no wife,” Judy said softly.

The young woman frowned. “He was conscious for a few minutes upstairs before he went into surgery. He was talking about his daughter. Matilda, was it? Perhaps if we could find her?”

Nick stood up. His face was very tense. “He has no daughter either,” he said.

As the woman disappeared through the swinging doors Nick turned on Judy. “Aren’t you going to rush to the phone and call Leveson? I should imagine this will make a juicy headline!”

Judy colored. “Of course I’m not.” She sat slumped in her chair. “How long do you think the operation will take?”

Nick shrugged. “I suppose I should call Bet Gunning. She knows Tim best. She must know where his family is.” He glanced at his watch.

“Jo might know,” Judy said softly. “I wonder if Sam’s gone back there? He said he had come from her apartment. Nick?”

Nick had stood up. His face was white. “Are you sure?” Already he was striding toward the door. “You stay here, Judy.” It was all he said, then he was gone.

Judy subsided onto the chair and began to sob again. It was midnight.

“Jo? Jo, can you hear me?” Nick crouched beside her and took her hand in his. It was ice-cold. She was staring unblinkingly at the blank TV screen. Automatically Nick reached to switch it off, then he passed his hand up and down in front of Jo’s eyes. Her eyelids did not move. He felt cautiously for her pulse. It was there, very slow and unsteady.

“Jo? Jo, love, listen to me! You must listen. Please.” He chafed her hands vigorously in turn. “Jo, I need you. For God’s sake, my love.” He took a deep breath. “Jo, I am going to count backward from ten. When I reach one, you will awaken, do you hear me?” His voice was shaking badly. Gently he pushed her back against the cushions. He touched her forehead. Her skin was strangely cold. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.” He caught her wrists. “Wake up, now. Wake up!”

She did not move. She still had not blinked. Nick looked around wildly, then he leapt to his feet. Jo’s address book was lying by the telephone. He ran his finger down the second page and found the number he was seeking: Bennet, C. Office-home/town-home/country. Praying, Nick dialed the second number.

The phone was answered by the sleepy voice of Mrs. Bennet. It was only four seconds before her husband was on the line.

He listened to Nick intently. “It sounds like a catatonic trance,” he said almost to himself. “I’ll come straight over. Don’t try to wake her, Nicholas. I’ll be with you in twenty minutes. If she seems cold wrap her up warm, then get yourself a drink. I’m on my way.”

Nick glanced at his watch. It was one-fifteen. Grimly he found two blankets in the closet and tenderly he folded them around her, then he went into the kitchen and put on the kettle. It was nearly two before the doorbell rang.

Bennet crossed the room in two strides. Gently he pulled the blankets away from Jo’s face. “How long has she been like this?”

Nick shrugged. “Maybe since my brother left her, I guess about nine or ten.”

“He put her in this trance?” Bennet scrutinized Nick’s face.

“I suspect so,” Nick said grimly. “But we both know she’s capable of doing it herself. I thought she was beginning to learn to fight it, but maybe she couldn’t manage it when she was alone. Is she going to be all right?” He knelt beside her and took her hand.

Bennet smiled. “I think so. She is showing signs of eye movement-see? I think she’s coming out of it naturally.” He sat down next to Jo and, putting his hands on her shoulders, pulled her gently to face him. “That’s it, now, Lady Matilda, can you hear me? That’s right, you recognize my voice. You can speak to me without fear, my dear, you know that. You are tired now, are you not? And very cold. I think it would be nice if you woke up, my dear. You are going to wake up slowly-”

He broke off as Jo jerked backward in his hands. Her eyes had lost their vague unseeing stillness and were focusing past him on Nick’s face.

Nick stood up, smiling with relief. “Jo, thank God-”

But she had torn herself out of Bennet’s hands and pulled herself shakily to her feet.

“Please,” she said wildly. “Please, give me more time. I have the money. I told you, it is hidden in the hills above Hay. Please, give me more time. Please.” Tears were pouring down her cheeks. “William will come back. He promised. He will come back, if not for me, then for our son. Please, Your Grace, please-” She threw herself on her knees in front of Nick. “Please, punish me if you must, but not my son. Not Will!” She was sobbing violently. “Take me. Do what you wish with me, but spare my son! He has done nothing. It is my fault. It is all my fault!” She looked up, her hair, trailing across her eyes, wet with tears. “You loved me once, Your Grace. Can your love have turned so completely to hatred?”

Bennet caught her shoulders gently. “Come, my dear. This will do no good-”

“ No! ” Her voice rose to a scream. “I will not go! You must listen. My liege! My lord king. Please, spare me-”

She was sobbing hysterically, clinging to Nick’s sweater.

Quietly Carl Bennet turned to the case he had brought with him. He swung it onto the coffee table and, opening the lid, produced a hypodermic syringe. “Hold her still,” he commanded in an undertone. “I’m going to give her a shot to make her sleep.”

Nick caught Jo’s wrists gently. “Come on, love,” he said. His voice was shaking violently. “I will spare you. I will…”

She did not seem to notice as Bennet pushed up her sleeve, swabbing quickly and efficiently before he inserted the needle in her arm. Within seconds her fingers loosened on Nick’s sweater and she slumped at his feet.

For a moment he could not move. His throat ached with anguish. Carl patted his shoulder gently. “I’ll help you carry her to bed. I’ve given her thirty-five cc’s of Valium. That will knock her out for several hours. When she wakes she will be all right.”

Nick pulled himself together with difficulty. “You’re sure?”

“Quite sure.” Carl’s smile was brisk and reassuring. “I’ll come back about”-he glanced at his watch-“about ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I would like your permission then to rehypnotize her and very strongly implant the suggestion that she never take part in any regressions again, induced by others or by herself. I think it will work this time. She is sufficiently afraid of the consequences to cooperate.” He stooped and lifted Jo’s shoulders from the floor. “Come, help me put her to bed.”

Carefully they laid Jo on the bed. Nick removed her sandals and covered her with a blanket, then, smoothing her hair back from her face, he kissed her gently on the forehead. Five minutes later he had shown Carl Bennet out. After pouring himself a gin, he went to the French windows and pushed them open. The sky was still completely black above the glare of the streetlights around the square. The air was cold and fresh, cutting through his thin sweater, making him shiver. It was clean though. Clean and good and it bore the hint of rain.

He turned his back on the window and threw himself down on the sofa. Tomorrow-no, today-it would all be over. Jo would be made to forget any of this had ever happened. But he would remember. He and Sam, and Tim.

Poor Tim. With a groan he stood up, glancing at his watch, then he dialed the hospital.

“May I ask who is inquiring?” the impersonal voice on the other end of the wire said in response to his question after a series of clicks and silences.

Nick spelled out his name patiently. “I was at the hospital earlier,” he said. “Tim is a very old friend.”

“I’m sorry, then, Mr. Franklyn.” The voice suddenly became compassionate. “But I have bad news, I’m afraid. Mr. Heacham never regained consciousness after the operation. He died at a quarter to three.”