Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [414]
She had to think hard to remember herself as she was – those light-hearted days seemed so far away. But when she remembered, she smiled sadly at the irony of her life. Oh yes, she had got what she wanted – wealth, fine clothes, a manor house – all of them: at the price of long cold years that made her wince as she looked back on them.
Lizzie had been gazing downstream. How many times she had done the same thing from the house, always with the same thought. In an hour or two, the water passing her would be flowing gently round the big curve in the river by the edge of the city; some of it would be diverted into the water-channels that flowed through the streets, some of that water would even flow past her childhood home. If only she could dive into the stream and travel southwards with it.
She would have left, countless times. Except that she knew very well that Robert would have kept their children, would probably have kidnapped them if she had tried to spirit them away. She could not bear to think of them left alone with him.
Which was why a new development in recent years had been all the more terrible.
For the children, despite her husband’s cold and sometimes cruel treatment of them, were starting to side with him against her.
It was nothing sudden, nothing obvious. It was a quiet, unspoken business.
When they were young and their father came into the room, looking around with his cold, menacing eyes, they would watch nervously, keeping as close to her as they could. They were both pale, thin little creatures and it had seemed to her that they needed protecting. When Robert began one of his rages, both the little boy and the girl would cling to her, or try to hide behind her if they could. How often had she borne the brunt of his cruelty to protect them.
But now they were almost full-grown. Robert seldom directed his anger towards them any more, but chiefly at her. And when he did, cursing her horribly in their presence, she was first astonished, then hurt to find that they did nothing to defend her. They hardly even looked shocked. Instead she would see their two small, narrow faces turned towards her, their eyes calmly watching, measuring, as carefully and dispassionately as a cat watches a wounded bird.
They no longer needed her. They were her husband’s children.
Lizzie watched the young fellow coming towards the little bridge. She recognised him and tried to remember his name. Of course. He was the Wilson boy her husband had thrown out of his cottage. She gazed at him curiously, then smiled to herself.
The boy’s features were familiar in more ways than one. They reminded her of Robert’s father, old John Wilson, the spider. Years ago, when she had first seen the boy and his father, and noticed this similarity, she had wondered if they might be the same stock; but she had never mentioned the subject to her husband for fear of how he might react. After all, he was a Forest these days.
Now the boy was on the bridge.
“You’re Will Wilson, aren’t you?”
He nodded, looking at her cautiously.
“What are you doing here?”
“Leaving, lady.”
“Leaving? You mean for good?”
He nodded again.
“Leaving Sarum. Nothing for me here.”
“So where will you go?”
“Dunno.”
And then, to his absolute astonishment, the lady of the manor said, as though she really meant it:
“How I envy you.”
The statement was so senseless that he could only stare at her in disbelief. Then it occurred to him that she might have gone mad. That would account for her wandering by the bridge at this early hour. Perhaps she was going to drown herself. Well, it was no concern of his.
Seeing his face, she laughed.
Yes, she was obviously mad. He wondered if she would try to stop him passing.
“Leaving your family at Avonsford?”
He had no idea of the hidden meaning in her words.
“All dead, lady.”
She did not pursue the point. The thought of leading this boy back to the manor and introducing him to