hand in hand, praying for gentle Brey.
Now that Father Alec was with the rest of the family and she was alone, she felt a peculiar comfort wash over her. Brey was gone and yet more than ever she felt his presence, gentle and encouraging. His death was a sign to her, the sign she had needed but did not want, not in this form, that it was far past time for her to pursue her destiny.
After Brey’s interment she would enter the convent and no one would stop her.
Until then she would try to be what comfort she could to her family and poor little Cecily, who would no doubt be lost without her bosom companion.
But now, just now, she wanted to be alone. She wanted to be with her brother.
She took his hand, holding it in hers, casting her eyes at the face, so serene in his eternal sleep. Such potential, now gone, all gone. She could not think of it.
It was God’s will. She must tell herself that.
She believed it, truly.
The family broke fast the next day in silence. None were attired in black as they had not brought mourning clothes with them. It seemed a mockery to go on donning the colours of life when one of the liveliest things in their world was no more.
Father Alec, struggling to remain collected, shifted his eyes from one member of the family to another in growing concern. Lady Grace drank cup after cup of wine undeterred. Lord Hal stared at his plate, picking at his bread with fumbling fingers. Mirabella did not eat but sat, staring at the table before her without seeing it. Cecily, her eyes swollen and red from sobbing the night through, her lips puffy and nose chapped, held her piece of cheese without eating it.
“There is nothing left now,” Lady Grace said, breaking the suffocating silence with her low voice as she stared into her empty cup.
“More wine?” a servant asked.
Lady Grace scowled, waving the servant away. She shook her head, pushing her cup away from her. It fell on its side with a clatter, causing Cecily to start and Mirabella to avert her head.
“Nothing!” Lady Grace screamed.
“My lady—” Father Alec began.
“No!” Cecily clenched her fists, rising. “You still have your daughter. You cannot forget her!”
Lady Grace fixed Mirabella with a hard glare. Then, to everyone’s horror, she began to laugh. She rose. “I have no daughter.” She smiled. “As I said. I have nothing.”
“Grace!” Lord Hal seized her wrist. Lady Grace withdrew it.
Mirabella stared at Lady Grace, her mouth agape, her eyes filled with tears. “You cannot mean it, my lady. For all that has been, I am always your daughter. Please … take comfort in me.”
Lady Grace shook her head, her disconcerting laughter low in her throat. “You are not mine. You have never been mine. You belong to your father, that much is so. But I am not your mother.”
“Stop!” Lord Hal commanded.
But it was too late. The words were out.
Lady Grace tipped back her head and laughed. The grating, joyless sound pierced Father Alec’s ears. “Ask your father about her. Who was she, Hal? Ah, yes. Julia was her name. The daughter of his father’s treasurer. The jewel of his family, his gift to the Church. Sister Julia. So holy. So pure. So irresistible to the lusts of a hot-blooded nobleman.”
“For God’s sake, Grace!” Lord Hal screamed.
Mirabella quit the table, Lord Hal chasing after her.
Cecily sat, stunned and trembling.
Lady Grace’s face went slack. She held out her cup. Wordlessly, a servant filled it.
Father Alec shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the scene. At last he sighed. “Perhaps, since you found it appropriate to favour the young ones with this knowledge now, you would like to explain further to Lady Cecily,” he said at last.
Lady Grace regarded the startled girl before her, her heart clenching in agony. What had she done? All that she was capable of doing, it seemed. Wreaking havoc, destroying lives. But she did nothing that had not been done to her! Was she not destroyed, irreversibly destroyed, years ago? Since then she had slowly degenerated into despair.
And now she was required to explain.
“You were never to know,” Hal told Mirabella, who lay face-down on her bed, sobbing, her shoulders quaking as he sat beside her to rub her back. “It had been agreed to long ago, to save us all. To save you. And your mother.”
“Which one?” Mirabella seethed as she sat up, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands, the gaze she fixed upon her father accusatory.
Hal bowed his head, his heart sinking. “Both, I suppose.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Julia was the daughter of my father’s treasurer, it is true. She was set to enter the convent; it was her calling, like you. I was newly married to Grace then, a woman I had not set eyes on till my wedding day. Julia Grayson had been a childhood companion and it so happened that she grew into a beautiful woman—”
“This talk is vile,” Mirabella spat, her voice thick with horror.
“Yes, Mirabella, it is vile. It is shameful and all that is bad. But you must know,” said Hal. “I cannot undo what has been done. Now that you know the truth some sense of it must be made.”
Mirabella was silent.
Hal continued. “I was drunk when it happened. Had been out with the lads. My memory of the actual night is so hazy … suddenly all I knew is that I was with her. It was one time only.”
“You … violated her?” Mirabella’s voice was low as the realisation settled upon her. She shook her head. “Only one time? As if it would make a difference if it were one time or a hundred for what you stole from her! One time. That is all it took? One time?” She clicked her tongue in incredulous disgust.
Hal nodded, his face wrought with shame. “My father told me from my earliest childhood days till manhood to rise above my peers, to hold myself to a higher standard: God’s standard. He said that women were creatures of God to be protected and cherished, never misused as many men are wont to do, and that few sins were as selfish and wicked as adultery. I failed my father; I fell short of everything he taught me. I failed God. And in that failing my guilt has plagued me; no self-imposed torture is enough to expiate it. I have repented for that ‘one time’ ever since. I have begged God for a forgiveness I am not worthy of, but, Mirabella, you must know how sorry I am for taking that woman’s innocence. I have worn a hair shirt since that day. I—”
“It does not matter,” Mirabella said, shaking her head. “You took what was not yours, a gift that was saved for God alone, and you broke your marriage vows to do it.”
Hal bowed his head, tears trailing slow, even paths down his cheeks. “Yes. I deserve all of your hatred.”
“You have it,” Mirabella said, her tears dry, her voice hard. “Tell me what happened to my mother.”
“She was with child,” Hal said. “She kept it to herself a long while. She still planned to enter the convent after the child was born. It was kept quiet. A dowry was arranged that no abbess could refuse and I would raise the child—you—acknowledged. It was only right and fair. I would not let my child be raised by anyone else. I had brought you into this world and would be responsible.”
“And Mother?” Mirabella inquired. “Or should I say ‘Lady Grace’?”
“I went along with the plan,” Lady Grace told Cecily, who sat silent, riveted by the haunting tale. “What else could I do? I was not about to be disgraced by a bastard, legitimised or not. Better the child be seen as mine. I had heard of other women humiliated by their husbands who allowed their bastards by servant wenches run of the house. I would not be one of them. So the servants were dismissed