Good evening all. A shorter chapter this time, while I decide exactly what I'm putting in the next. It also happens to be the first chapter of my 23rd year on this planet, so it gets special significance! No beta-ing either cos i've been away and haven't had a chance to talk to Trudi yet :p Hope you like it, I really am being mean to Chip at the moment, its for good reason though! Hope you all had a happy Easter :D
Chapter Eleven: Identity
The first thing that Chip did on his arrival in the tower was sleep. As the iron door clanged shut behind him, he collapsed on the bed, closed his eyes and stayed that way for hours. He dreamed of nothing. He had nothing left.
The tower was much cosier than it had been a few decades earlier when it had been little more than a cold stone room with straw on the floor. Now it was basically furnished with a small bed, a chair and a table. Candles burned day and night, providing some light and warmth, and a threadbare rug disguised the stone underfoot, but it was still very obviously a prison cell. Iron bars on the window and door put paid to its otherwise sparse but homely feel. It was hardly ever used, for the King and Queen had few enemies. Its last resident had been a guest at the summer ball who had had on too many glasses of wine and been placed in the cell for his own protection. Come the dawn, he had been let out complete with a sore head and a sheepish grin, and the room had lain empty for months, until now.
Chip was woken by the sound of keys jangling, and realised he was freezing cold. The torches had gone out and his ruined shirt and torn trousers were little protection against the chill that often set in in the early evening. He sat up and pulled the blanket from the bed around his shoulders as the door opened, revealing a familiar figure standing in the gloom. Mrs D'Arbigne, nee Mrs Potts—his mother. Never had he been so glad to see her.
"Ma?" he said softly as he got to his feet.
"Oh, Chip."
She shook her head wearily in response before placing the clothes and blankets in her arms on the bed and taking him in her arms. He hugged her tightly to his chest as her small white head came up no higher than his armpit, all the time breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and camomile.
She released him and he could see she'd been crying. He hated to see his mother cry. It was even worse knowing he was responsible for her tears. She smiled meekly and picked up the bundle of linen once more.
"I brought you some more clothes and a few blankets. I'm sure they forget how cold it is up here."
As Chip took them gratefully and started to undress, his mother went back out of the room and came in again, this time carrying a bowl of hot water, some towels and a covered dish of food. She had long ago perfected the ability to carry several items at once.
"Here's your supper. Some broth and crusty bread. I managed to persuade Chef to give you a bigger portion. You need to keep your strength up, love."
She placed them all on the table and then sat on the chair, watching quietly as Chip removed his riding boots and changed them for the clean socks she'd bought him, secretly wishing it would take longer so she would not have to tell him what she now felt she must. She couldn't hide the truth anymore no matter how long she wanted to keep it inside her. Chip was no longer a child, a permanent angel—he had not been for some time—and now she no longer had the excuse of wanting to protect him. Her continued silence had meant people had gotten hurt, and although she could never claim to know exactly what went on in her son's head, she knew he was different, and she couldn't help but feel she also knew why.
He was fully dressed now and looking every inch a gentleman on the outside. On the inside, it was a different story altogether. He smiled at her and reached for the food, not realizing until now how hungry he actually was. Without wasting another second, he tore the bread and dunked it in the broth before stuffing it into his mouth and relishing in the delicious meaty flavour. He hadn't finished chewing before he dunked the bread again and devoured it, causing a drop of broth to dribble down his chin. Across from him, he saw his mother laugh and instantly felt ashamed.
"Sorry," he mumbled, as he wiped it off with a serviette, before grinning guiltily, and picking up a spoon.
Evelyn couldn't help smiling back. No matter what happened or what she told him, he would always be Chip, and nothing could ever change that. She took a deep breath.
"Chip….," she began, but was cut off.
"I didn't do it, Ma," he said seriously, his bright blue eyes never leaving hers.
"I know you didn't, love," she sighed, "but I think it'll take a bit of time for everybody else to realize that."
"Have they spoken to Raisse yet?"
A pause.
"Raisse's gone, Chip."
Chip hastily swallowed his mouthful before he choked on it.
"Gone?"
Evelyn nodded.
"What do you mean, gone? Gone where?"
"No-one knows. Everybody's out looking for her. She disappeared from her room this afternoon."
Chip discarded the broth and rubbed his face with his hands trying to make sense of the information.
"Chip, there's something I need to tell you and I need to tell you now before anything else happens."
He suddenly got to his feet.
"I need to find her."
"Chip, no!"
He didn't seem to hear her as he fumbled with the door handle which, unsurprisingly, didn't turn. He kicked the door in frustration.
"This is all my fault!" he shouted, as his foot collided with the metal.
"Sit down!"
His mother's voice was surprisingly fierce.
"You're under arrest, remember? And there's nothing you can do about it right now, so sit down and listen to me!"
He slunk back down on the bed, his anger leaving almost as quickly as it had come.
"Alright, I'm listening."
………………………………………………………………………………………
Catherine stood, her deep brown eyes glassy with tears, in the doorway of her home. It was the beginning of summertime and the air was ripe with the scent of roses growing nearby. It lingered all around her and the gentleman at the doorstep. A coach and horses stood waiting nearby. The horses tossed their manes to fight off the flies and midges that also came with the scent of the flowers.
"My love, I fear you shall be gone too long."
"No, my darling Catherine, it will all be well. A few months, that is all, and I shall be at your side once more."
"How can you be sure?"
"I have too many good things waiting for me here to ever need to spend more time elsewhere."
Catherine smiled, and it filled the gentleman's heart with sorrow. To be called away to London now—it was as if fate scorned him. His eyes drifted to his wife's belly. No swell yet, but there soon would be. A mere two days earlier, a midwife had confirmed what they'd dare not hope. After ten years of trying, a child. His heir—and now he had to go away and leave them both behind.
With a final kiss, the Lord Charles Dudley said goodbye to his beloved wife and unborn child, and headed to his coach, his boots crunching on the gravel as he went. Catherine stayed at the door until he was out of sight, then reluctantly she went back inside, where she was greeted by her oldest and dearest friend, her maid, Evelyn Potts.
"He will be back before you know it, child, and then you can both enjoy this special time together."
Catherine smiled, caressing her belly as she did so, and then went to continue embroidering some cotton for her maternity dresses.
Charles was right. Fate did scorn them. Less than a fortnight later, the child was lost. For days, Catherine neither slept nor ate, but wandered the house like a wraith, not seeing anything but her wasted future. Her beautiful hair became lifeless, her skin paled and stretched over her bones; she seemed to age another ten years overnight.
A month went by, and a message came from court addressed to the Lady from her husband. In it, he regretted that he must stay away longer, at least another six months. He hoped that Catherine was well and that he would be home in time to see the baby born. On receipt of the letter, Catherine tore it into a hundred pieces and watched them flutter to the floor without a sound. Against the advice of her household, she bade them not reply with the news that there was no longer a child for him to come home to. She could not bear him knowing once again her inability to produce the son he craved. When people protested, she went up to her room and locked herself away, declaring that she would see no-one until she could be a successful wife and woman. The household once more drifted along, choosing not to think about their master's return and their mistress' torment.
Then, a miracle, or so it seemed. The midwife burst into the pantry one night.
"She's with child! She's still with child!"
There was much rejoicing but underneath that was an air of uneasiness. Something was not right. The Lady had miscarried but two months previously, yet here she was once again, apparently pregnant. There were rumours and whispers and talk of dismissing the midwife, but days turned into weeks, then into months, and Catherine blossomed. First her dresses were altered, then discarded and new ones made. Catherine laughed and smiled again, marveling at the changes in a body she once thought barren, but Evelyn knew in her gut that the child could not be the same one. With sadness, she felt that the Lady must have had a lover, but quiet words exchanged with the guards and night watchmen seemed to state that this was impossible. They would know of secret visitors, they protested, no man could have come into the house without them knowing. It was a miracle indeed.
True to his word, Lord Dudley's coach rolled up to the house when the baby was due any day. His face was a joy to behold when he saw his wife's figure and he vowed not to leave her side until the baby was born.
But, despite the midwife's insistence that the child was due, Catherine showed no sign of being anywhere near her time. A month went by and she grew bigger, but there was no baby. Another month, she grew bigger still, so much so that she could walk for no longer than a few minutes at a time before needing rest, but there was no baby. Concerned, Charles sent for another midwife, the midwife to the Royal Family no less, supposedly the best in England. Initially, Catherine refused to see her, stating that there was no need and bursting into tears whenever an examination was mentioned, but Charles was starting to doubt his wife—and with good reason, for it had been almost a year since he'd left his wife tearful and newly pregnant on the doorstep.
The new midwife came to the house one crisp spring evening, when the days were just starting to grow longer, and spent an hour with the Lady. She emerged from the bedroom, and said she would speak to no-one but his Lordship.
The next day, Lady Catherine Dudley and her unborn child were banished from the house. She gave birth in an abandoned cottage in the woods a week later, and died soon afterwards.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Evelyn watched as Chip didn't move from his position. She knew he was a bright boy and willed him to put two and two together, so that she would be spared having to say it out loud, but he said nothing, just kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling above the bed.
"Chip," said Evelyn as steadily as she could manage, "the Lady Catherine Dudley was your real mother. She died giving birth to you and I raised you as my own."
No reaction.
"Chip? Please…say something, sweetheart," pleaded Evelyn desperately.
Slowly, Chip sat up. He turned his head and looked up at her.
"What on earth do you want me to say?"
Evelyn couldn't answer because she honestly did not know.
He repeated himself, his eyes flashing dangerously.
"What do you want me to say? That I'm glad my mother was a whore?"
Evelyn gasped, astounded by Chip's harsh words.
"Chip! How can you say that? She was your mother, and she loved you with all her heart."
"Well, it's the truth isn't it?"
"Of course not! She couldn't have…"
"Then, who is my father? Who is he?"
Chip was on his feet now. He fired the questions at her like bullets. Evelyn was beside herself. She knew Chip would never hit her, but she had never seen him so angry. She desperately tried to think of something to say to make the situation better.
"I…I…I don't know. I wish I did, truly I wish I did. I'm so sorry, love."
He turned his back on her.
"Why now?"
"I…what?...I," stammered Evelyn, confused.
"Why are you telling me this now? Now, of all times."
"Because I think it's connected," she blurted out. "There's something about you, Chip, something about your life…"
Chip had heard enough.
"Get out." he said quietly.
"Chip, please love, I…"
"I said, get out! Leave me alone!"
Sobbing, she picked up the empty plates and dirty clothes, and did as she was told. When she was at the relative safety of the door, she looked back.
"Chip, you'll always be my son, always. Nothing will ever change that."
Then, the door slammed and she was gone.
Chip sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like his world was crumbling all around him.