Page 106 of By the Sword
At the sound of his voice, the woman froze and then swung around sharply on her heel, her eyes wide and her mouth fallingopen. He put his finger to his lips to stall her from declaring his name for the world to hear.
‘You,’ she said. ‘I never thought to see you again.’
He forced himself to look down at the child; a girl, he saw with a lurch of his heart. She looked up at him with bright, curious eyes–brown like Mary’s.
She seemed about the right age. Could it be possible that Prescott had told him the truth and that this was indeed his daughter?
‘Bet, I must talk to you,’ he said. ‘Can we meet?’
Bet considered a moment. ‘I must get madam here home and in some dry clothes and see to Dame Judith. I could meet you in an hour, perhaps,’ she said. ‘Where?’
He hesitated. They needed privacy and somewhere dry.
‘The church of St Michael. In an hour.’
Bet nodded. The church of St Michael had been the favourite meeting place for Jonathan and Mary and Bet had willingly aided and abetted her mistress in the first flowering of youthful love. Later, in the more deadly game of adultery, Bet had carried their notes and arranged their trysts.
She nodded and jerked the hand of the child, who had become bored with the conversation of adults and was poking an already damp foot at the puddles. ‘Come on, madam, we best get you home afore your Grandam gives us both a telling off.’ Jonathan watched them until the door of the Woolnough house slammed shut.
***
The church of St Michael stood open and quiet. A few godly souls occupied the front pews, too intent on their prayers to notice the tall man who slipped quietly into a darkened pew to the rear of the church.
Jonathan removed his hat and knelt and lowered his head to his hands, grateful for the peace and the chance to make some amends with God.
It had long gone past the hour before Bet slipped in beside him with muttered apologies for her tardiness.
‘You’ve not changed, Bet,’ he said.
‘You always did have a silver tongue.’ She blushed and self-consciously patted the brown curls that strayed from beneath her cap. ‘I can’t say the same for you. I scarce recognised you in the street.’
It was not the time for idle gossip, so he came straight to the point.
‘I’ve come about the child,’ he said, adding, ‘…my child, I believe.’
Bet paled and sat back against the pew. ‘How did you hear about her?’ she said. ‘Master and Dame Judith were dead set about you ever knowing.’
Hundreds of questions suddenly flooded into Jonathan’s mind. He caught his breath and finally asked the one question that had haunted him for the last six years.
‘Why didn’t Mary tell me she was with child?’
Bet’s cheerful face clouded over. ‘Oh, Sir Jonathan, at the time you went, she wasn’t sure and she didn’t want to trap you into taking her with you.’
Agonised, Jonathan twisted his hat in his hand. ‘I would never have left her to Prescott and that old harridan if I had known, or even suspected.’
Bet touched his arm sympathetically. ‘It went ill with her. She couldn’t hide the fact that the child could not have been her husband’s but in the end, it wouldn’t have changed anything. Like as not she’d still have died. She were just too small for childbearing.’
Jonathan swallowed and looked up at a beautiful lily window that had survived the ravages of war. A representation of Mary in her blue robe, clutching a lily in her hand, the colours bright in the evening sun.
His mouth had gone dry. ‘What’s her name?’ He forced himself to speak.
‘Tabitha. Mistress Mary named her afore she died.’
‘Tabitha.’ He tried the name out. He brought his gaze back to Bet. ‘What sort of life has she led?’
Bet sighed. ‘She’s led a lonely life, poor, motherless thing. There’s only her great grandam left now…and me. I tell you the old lady is not long for the world, although she’s going to her Lord kicking and screaming.’
‘I can imagine,’ Jonathan remarked grimly, remembering his last, unpleasant interview with the old woman during which he had been likened to Beelzebub.
