Lady of Hay Barbara Erskine (reading books for 7 year olds TXT) 📖

you did"—her eyes suddenly flashed—"the day I came here, Mother. "

Matilda sat down on a carved joint stool and gazed into the glowing embers of the fire. "If you believe all that of me, Tilly, why did you come back to us?"

"I came to see Gruffydd. I didn't know if he would be allowed to come home. I had to come here. "

"I see. " Matilda's voice was flat. "Well, my dear. You'd better go to him, then. " She shifted slightly on her stool, turning her back to Tilda, and sat in silence.

Her daughter stood for a moment, hesitating, half regretting her outburst, then with one backward glance at her mother's hunched figure she swept past her out of the door.

Matilda saw to it that they were never alone together after that, and although she spoke kindly to Tilda and treated her with every consideration, it was with relief that she saw her leave Hay at last with Gruffydd.

William, his elbows firmly spread upon the table, commented at the meal that evening. "That was a good marriage. I've had my doubts about the politics of it often enough: the link wasn't strong enough to hold old Rhys, but Gruffyd is a good enough man, for a Welshman. I could wish he were stronger, but I reckon he's made our daughter a good husband. She looked well and happy. " He glanced at her, grinning. "I know you were never content to see her off into the Welsh hinterland, Moll. I hope this visit has at last put your worries at rest. "

All Matilda could do was lower her eyes and nod.

"No! That's wrong!" Jo was shaking her head. "William knew! He knew she was not his daughter! He would not have said that! He would not have cared.... "

She staggered slightly, her hand against the cold, shadowed castle wall; her head was spinning and her mouth was dry. She felt slightly sick. She rubbed her eyes with her knuckles trying desperately to clear her head. "He would not have called her 'our' daughter. He knew. He knew about Richard by then. He had forced me to tell him.... "

But did he know? She could feel her heart beginning to pump uncomfortably beneath her ribs. Was it William who had questioned her about her unfaithfulness with Richard, or had it been Sam? Sam pursuing her into the past. A Sam who had taken upon himself the face of William de Braose. A Sam who had forced her to strip and then whipped her— something the real William had never dared to do.

She closed her eyes, breathing hard.

When she opened them again she was conscious suddenly that a man was staring at her. He had parked a Land Rover in the shadow of the wall near her, watching her closely as he climbed out and locked it. She smiled uncomfortably at him and forced herself to walk on slowly, aware suddenly that he probably thought she was drunk.

She stumbled again, and as her hand shot out to steady herself, she stared at her fingers braced against the stone. Make notes. That was the thing to do. With a pencil in her hand she felt real; she could fight Sam and William and the past and everything they threw at her.

Determinedly she groped in her bag for her notebook, trying to fend off the strange dislocation that still lingered as she stared up toward Pen y Beacon and the pearly mist that clung about its summit.

Three-quarters of the way across England, at Clare, Tim Heacham, a page meticulously cut from a newspaper in his pocket, was standing by the walls of what had once been a mighty castle. The taxi that had brought him out from Colchester had gone. He was alone. Slowly he walked over the grass, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground a few yards in front of him. There had to be something he could do, but his mind was a blank.

Nick and Sam Franklyn. He should have known. He should have trusted his instincts. He should have warned Jo while there was still time. Now it was too late. Whatever was to happen was already in train, and there was nothing he could do. Nothing.

He looked up at the sky. "Oh, God, Jo, I'm sorry, " he whispered. "I'm so very sorry. "

Chapter 31

Ann Clements was fifteen years younger than her husband, a plump, very blond woman with large teeth and a warm, irrepressible smile. She kissed Jo as if she had known her for years.

"Are you going to interview me or shall I interview you?" she said cheerfully as they picked their way into the house over the two small toddlers, a vast quantity of scattered Legos, and a large white rabbit with pink eyes.

Jo laughed as she patted one of the children on the head. "Perhaps we'd better toss for it. "

"All right. " Ann smiled at her. "That is Polly you're stroking. The other one is Bill and the rabbit is called Xerxes. Sit down. I'll make us some coffee. Once Ben comes in I'll start lunch. " She turned to an immense heap of unwashed dishes, searching for two mugs. "Ben told me all about you, of course. Put that down, Polly. " She had not turned around and Jo concluded with a grin that she had eyes in the back of her head as the little girl with her mop of blond curls guiltily put down the milk jug. "I've seen people being regressed back home in the States—it's practically a minor industry there—but your case sounds absolutely amazing. Ben tells me you intended to write a book about it. "

Jo nodded.

"But you changed your mind?"

Jo shrugged. "I thought I had when I saw Ben. Now I'm undecided again. I went straight from here to Brecon on Tuesday after I'd seen him. I regressed there, and once again yesterday in Hay. Both times deliberately.