The Secrets of Crestwell Hall by Alexandra Walsh

Author:Alexandra Walsh [Walsh, Alexandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-01-24T00:00:00+00:00

20

CRESTWELL HALL, SEPTEMBER 1605

‘No, Bess, I refuse to believe your spiteful accusations,’ said Gertrude, her eyes blazing with fury as she leapt to her feet. ‘My husband would never condone murdering the king. As for suggesting he would conspire to blow up Parliament – this is the voice of the devil working through you. Robbie has many friends who will be at Westminster, he would never hurt them.’

‘You’ve always been jealous of our group and this is you trying to destroy it again,’ hissed Dorothy Wright. ‘Bess, the Protestant Throckmorton, looking down her nose at the Catholics.’

‘My husband would never agree to such a terrible idea either,’ declared Margaret Wright, Dorothy’s sister-in-law.

‘Are you planning on giving our husbands up to Robert Cecil to gain a pardon for Walter?’ snarled Dorothy Wright, and Bess winced.

The torrent of shocked denials continued and Bess waited, neither commenting nor defending herself as the women she had known since childhood poured their fear and anger over her like brimstone. Each gave the other confidence as their insults swelled to a crescendo before ebbing as, like an autumn storm, they ran out of fury.

Arguments between the women were nothing new, they had been bickering and sniping since they were children. Bess knew this explosion of emotions was not a personal attack it was simply terror combined with guilt at the suspicions they had all been harbouring about their menfolk. Bess had forced them to face the darkness in the souls of those they loved and she understood it would take them time to recover. Despite the outbursts, she knew the friendship they shared was stronger than any row and, once their shock subsided, sense would prevail.

As the shouting calmed, the women resorted to tutting and throwing Bess confused or defiant looks until Dorothy Grant, the wife of John Grant and the sister of the Wintour brothers spoke into the growing void. Her voice held the soft lilt of the Midlands and her clear grey eyes moved from the face of one woman to the next.

‘Ladies,’ she said, casting a supportive look towards Bess, ‘this is not Bess’s fault and she doesn’t deserve our anger. We would all be lying if we pretended that we had not been suspicious of our husbands, brothers and cousins these last months⁠—’

‘But what Bess is suggesting is monstrous,’ interrupted Martha Percy, swelling with indignation again. ‘She has no proof, yet she makes these terrible accusations.’

‘I hope I’m incorrect,’ replied Bess. ‘Yet, for many months I have feared that Robin is lost in a world of make-believe. He has never coped well with the challenges of life and with such scope for possible harm, it would be a crime for us to sit by and let him continue with his plans unchecked.’

Gertrude, who had been pacing the room, sat beside Bess, taking her hand for both comfort and reassurance. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I shouldn’t have shouted at you,’ she said, ‘but when you invited us here, the last thing I expected was for you to accuse our husbands of such wickedness.

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