For a moment, Mrs Berncastle looked thunderstruck. ‘Mistletoe! Of course,
Beth stood like a statue, transfixed by that accusing finger. Clifford! The name pounded in her brain. The barrier cracked. Her name was Clifford. Of course it was.
The room and everyone in it seemed to melt into a hazy, indistinct blur. She felt she was floating, revolving in a cloying mist. It was a mist of memories, and guilt, and unbelievable pain. A moment later, the mist dissolved as if drenched by a shower of sheeting rain.
She remembered it all now, every last mortifying moment of it. She could feel the shivers convulsing her body as if she were still ploughing on through that freezing, howling gale. She closed her eyes for a second, but when she opened them again, nothing had changed. She was still freezing, still shivering. And the house guests were still staring at her as if she had sprouted devil’s horns.
Near the open doorway, Jon stood frozen, his face ashen. He must have heard it all. He had learned he was married to a thief, and the revelation had shocked him to the core. Such an honourable man would surely never touch her again. Beth could not blame him. She was to be an outcast. All over again.
Pain engulfed her. The familiar tunnel began to close in. She picked up her skirts and fled from the room while she could still see.
The headache had lessened but Beth had not slept.
She swung her bare feet to the floor and crept across to the window to peep out. Still much too dark. In half an hour or so, perhaps. At least she would not have to climb out of the window this time, as she had done from old Lady Marchmont’s house. This time, the key was on Beth’s side of the locked door. For the moment, she was still in control of her life.
She returned to the bed, checking yet again that everything was ready. She had laid out her simplest, warmest clothes. Her stout boots were on the floor alongside. And her little valise contained the few essentials she would need. She could dress in these clothes without Hetty’s help, and she would be gone long before anyone in the house was aware of it. Hetty would mourn, of course, and not only for the loss of her place. The girl had tried so hard to help and console Beth last night, even though she had not understood the cause. She would understand everything by now. The news of the mistress’s disgrace must have spread like wildfire below stairs.
And Jon? What was Jon thinking?
It had been cowardly to lock him out of her bedchamber, to refuse to see him or speak to him. But truly, Beth had been unable to bear the thought of it. Jon had been plainly horrified to learn that his wife was a fugitive from the law. By now, his horror would have turned to disgust, perhaps even hate. Beth knew she could not remove the slur from her name. Nor could she undo their marriage. The most she could offer him was her absence, in hopes that, eventually, the scandal would die down and the gossips would leave him in peace. He would remain bound to her, however, and the brother he distrusted would be his heir. He would blame Beth for that. Rightly. She was guilty of so much.
But she had not known! She would never have married him if she had known the truth of her own past! She had tried so hard to warn him, but he had refused to listen. He had been so sure that the rank he offered was enough.
She dropped her head into her hands, but the cold metal of her wedding ring jarred accusingly against her skin. Why was she wearing it? She was taking almost nothing that Jon had given her. Her fine clothes remained in the dressing room, and her jewels were in their cases. He would have no cause to reproach her there. She would take a little money, but only just enough for her journey. Her wedding ring, however…
She turned it on her finger. Last night, she had taken it off and laid it aside, but then she had put it on again. She had told herself that, if she was claiming to be a poor widow, she would need a wedding ring to prove her status to the world. But of course that was not the whole truth.
She twisted it off once more and laid it by the letter she had written to him. She had asked him not to follow her. But why should he want to, after all she had done? More likely that he would be glad to be rid of her.
There was no time now to start composing another letter. This one had taken hours, and many tears. With a sigh, she picked up the ring and slipped it back on to her finger. She could not leave it behind. It was the only thing she would have from him.
Time to dress now. Soon, it would be time for her to go.
‘Could you please cease this pacing, Jon? You are making my head spin.’
Jon sank on to the end of her
His mother sighed. ‘You saw what happened, my dear. We all did. Beth fled from her accuser, without saying a word in her own defence. That had all the appearance of guilt.’
Jon ground his teeth. He had come to ask his mother’s help for Beth, not to hear yet more condemnation. He believed-no, he was certain-that his wife was innocent and good, but everything was so confused that he was incapable of working out how to defend her. ‘Mama, I-’
‘In the end, it may be for the best,’ his mother continued quietly. ‘Indeed, you would be better off without her, were it not for the child. You could-’
‘What do you mean
‘There is no need to play the innocent with me, Jon. I know that she is breeding, and I know that she used it to entrap you into marriage. It is a sorry business, and if the child should prove to be a girl after all…’
For a moment, Jon was struck dumb. Then he began to laugh. He laughed until his whole body was wracked with pain. His mother looked by turns indignant and then hurt. Jon ignored her. At last, when the pain became too much, he dropped his head into his hands. His laughter cracked and stopped dead.
Jon felt the brush of his mother’s silken wrapper against his leg. Her soft hand reached out to cover one of his. ‘Jon?’ Her voice was low, the thread of worry clear. ‘I do not understand. It is as if you were bewitched.’
Jon flung himself to his feet and began to pace again. He could not endure her touch. There was only one touch he needed now.
‘Jon?’
He stopped abruptly and turned to face her, planting his feet firmly and his fists on his hips. ‘You are wrong, ma’am. You could not be more wrong. You tell me that Beth is breeding, that she seduced me into marriage.’ He gave one last shout of bitter laughter. ‘If only you knew the lengths I had to go to, in order to persuade her to accept me.’
‘I do not understand.’ Her usual confidence seemed to have left her.
‘Beth did not entrap me into marriage, Mama. What made you think such a thing? It seems you have a very low opinion of my character.’
‘I am sorry, Jon. All the physical signs pointed to pregnancy-her tiredness, her sickness. Miss Mountjoy was quite sure of it.’
Jon clamped his jaws together. Miss Mountjoy again! But she was dealt with. He would not lecture his mother about her now.
‘And the fact that you, who are so very conscious of your position in society, should have rushed into marriage with a woman with no name and no family… How else could I explain it, but by your need for a legitimate heir?’ When Jon did not reply, she swallowed hard and added, in a small voice, ‘I have tried to like her, Jon, but I found it impossible to overcome my disgust of what she had done to you. Except that now you tell me it was not so?’
‘No, Mama, it was not so. She refused me.’ The Dowager frowned up at him. ‘Twice,’ Jon added, with deliberate emphasis. ‘And when she was finally persuaded to accept me, she added onerous conditions that I had to fulfil. If there was entrapment, ma’am, it was my doing, not Beth’s.’
The Dowager let out a long breath. ‘Then she is not breeding?’
‘She was certainly not breeding when I took her to the altar, ma’am,’ he responded stiffly. ‘The symptoms you mentioned are a great embarrassment to her. She feels-felt guilty about her missing past. That, and open hostility,
