“Love Cecil? I love him better than my life! My love for Cecil is the best thing about me. It is not Cecil.”
“Who is it then?”
“I will tell you, though you may hate me for my words. Piers, I took the ring you lost. I meant no harm in the first moment; mischief and jealousy were then so mixed, I don’t know which of them led me. I saw you asleep. I slipped the ring off your finger. I told myself I would give it to you in the morning, and claim my forfeit. In the morning, the Duchess was cross; and you were cross; and the constables were in the house; and I was afraid. And I put it off and off, and every day my fear of trouble–and perhaps my hope of doing mischief with it–grew stronger. I had then hours of believing that I should like to be your wife, and I hated and envied Kate Atheling. I hesitated until I lost the desire to explain things; and then one day my maid Justine flew in a passion at me, and accused me of stealing the ring. She said it was in my purse–and it was. She threatened to call in the whole household to see me found out; and it was the night of the great dinner; and I bought her off.”
“Oh, Bella! Bella! that was very foolish.”
“I know. She has tortured and robbed me ever since. I have wasted away under her threats. Look at my arms, Piers, and my hands. I have a constant fever. Last week she promised me, if I would give her two hundred pounds, she would go away, and I should never see or hear of her again. I gave her the money. Now she says she has made up her mind to go to India with me. That I cannot endure. She has kept me on the rack with threats to tell Cecil. He is the soul of Honour; he would certainly cease to love me; and if I was his wife, how terrible that would be! What am I to do? What am I to do? Oh, Piers, help me!”
“Where is the woman now?”
“In my apartments.”
“Can I go with you to your parlour?”
“Yes–but, Piers, why?”
“Where is the ring, Bella dear?”