She knew the cat wanted praise and amended her tone of voice. “Well done. Now, go catch some more.” The cat, whose smoke-gray fur was relieved only by what looked like white hose on its legs, gave her a disdainful look and disappeared into the bedroom, where he would no doubt try to climb onto the bed. He liked to sleep with her, but Alys usually shooed him off before going to bed.
A knock on the door took Alys by surprise. She wasn’t expecting anyone and wasn’t really in the mood for company. She set the sewing aside, kicked the dead mouse into the corner to be dealt with later, and went to open the door. She always kept it on a latch since she was on her own most of the time and was afraid of someone walking in unexpectedly.
Bess entered the house, Libby sleeping peacefully on her shoulder, her fair hair peeking out from beneath a linen bonnet.
“Would ye like a cup of ale, Bess?” Alys asked, wondering why her sister-in-law looked sour as a lemon. “Is everything all right?”
Bess sat down on the bench and glared at Alys. “No, it’s not. People are talking.”
“What about?”
“About ye.”
“And what are they saying?” Alys asked, cold dread settling in the pit of her stomach.
“They’re saying that ye’re Lord Lockwood’s mistress and the child ye bore is not yer husband’s.”
“And who is it that’s spreading such vicious lies?” Alys demanded, sounding braver than she felt.
“Everyone,” Bess snapped. “Well, Nell mostly,” she amended. “But others are repeating it.”
“And how would she know?” Alys cried.
“Lord Lockwood was seen coming this way more than once, and when he comes, he stays for a time. And it’s always when Peter is not here.”
“That’s just vicious gossip,” Alys replied weakly.
“Well, people are vicious, Alys, and once they make an accusation, they’re not likely to take it back. I hope yer lover can protect ye.”
“Protect me from what?” Alys whispered.
“Whatever is to come.”
“Nothing will come. Lord Lockwood is the master of all ye see. He owns everything from the minister to the lowliest farmer. What can they do to me?” Alys asked archly.
“So, ye admit he’s Jamie’s father?” Bess asked, her eyes widening with shock.
“Yes, he is. Just as he’s the father of the babe I’m likely carrying. He loves me, Bess, and I love him.”
“Lady Marjorie is not one to put up with humiliation, Alys. She’s a lot more cunning than ye think.”
“Oh? Are ye on friendly terms with her now?” Alys asked, her fear egging her on.
“I don’t need to be. She has eyes and ears, and sooner or later, she’ll find out the truth.”
“Maybe she will, but she still has to answer to her husband.”
“I hope ye know what ye’re about, Alys,” Bess said as she stood. “Will is so angry, he doesn’t even want to lay eyes on ye.”
“And what’s he got to be angry about?” Alys demanded. “He was willing to marry me off to a man I didn’t even like. I have a husband and a home of my own. He needn’t worry about me.”
“I hope ye’re right,” Bess said, shaking her head in dismay. “Oh, Alys, ye’ve really done it, haven’t ye?”
“Done what?” Alys demanded.
“Reached too high. People like us need to keep our heads down in order to survive. Lift yer head too high, and…” Bess dragged her finger across her neck to illustrate her meaning.
“Jeremy will protect me,” Alys snapped, now really unnerved.
“Oh, it’s Jeremy, is it? Will he let ye call him that before his wife? I think not. Ye just watch yerself, Alys. He’ll not protect ye if he thinks ye’re a threat to all he holds dear.”
Bess turned and walked out, leaving Alys to stare at the closed door, her heart hammering beneath her ribs.
Chapter 62
Nicole
After Kyle and I finally got out of bed, showered, dressed, and had breakfast, I retreated to the library to write. I could have just as easily worked in my room, but I wanted to be close to Marjorie’s journal, my only tangible connection to Alys and the tragic story that had played out in this very house all those years ago. Once I got going, I couldn’t stop, my fingers flying over the keyboard like they had a will of their own. I knew enough to set the scene and introduce my characters. The rest would come soon enough.
I was nearly ten chapters in when my mobile rang. I glanced at the time before answering the call. It was nearly one o’clock. Time for a break.
“Jonah, hi,” I said, trying to sound more optimistic than I felt. I hadn’t expected him to call until later in the day and assumed he hadn’t found anything of interest.
“Hello, yourself,” he said, sounding very chipper. “You won’t believe it, Nicole, but I found it.”
“Really?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t misunderstood him.
“Yes. The clerk knew exactly where to look and took me down into the cellar where the archives are housed. There was so much dust, I could barely breathe,” he complained. “I don’t think anyone’s been down there in years. But once I had the ledger for the correct year, I found it. A marriage license was issued to Peter Warren and Alys Bailey on December 12, 1639, for the parish of Chesterfield. And I think that’s rather significant,” he added triumphantly.
“In what way?” I asked, holding my breath. I couldn’t believe it. I had tangible proof that Alys had been married. I hoped Jonah
