By the Sword (3 page)

Sir Francis sat in a chair by the window of his bedchamber overlooking the garden, well rugged up even though the day was warm and sunny. He looked up as Kate entered the room, placing the bowl of roses on the small table at her elbow. She saw amusement in the faded eyes and cursed the freckles that had appeared around her nose at the first touch of sun. Her hair fell in an ungovernable tangle from beneath her cap. She was certain that she must look like a common kitchen maid, not a proper wife of this man's grandson.

His hand, long-fingered and almost skeletal, reached out to touch the blooms with a reverence that surprised her.

"I've been watching you at work, Katherine. I fear the garden is something of a lost cause,” he said.

"I don't like to be idle,” she said and pushed back a stray lock of hair to cover her embarrassment.

Sir Francis nodded. “I approve. There is no room on this earth for idle people. It was one of the finest gardens in the county before several troops of Parliament horse trampled it in ‘45 looking for my scapegrace grandson. They cut down most of the orchard too.” His thin lips compressed. “Since then I've had not the time or the money to rectify the damage.” He looked at her sharply. “It pleases me that there is someone to care for it again."

Kate looked down and touched the roses. The remains of a fine, sunken rose garden had become her focus; she spent the afternoons clearing the beds of weeds and pruning back the wilder branches and the roses, responding to the attention, bloomed in the warmth of early summer.

"I have some of these same roses in my garden,” she said. “Richard told me his mother had planted them from stock she brought from Seven Ways. Every year David would place the first blooms on her grave.” She hesitated before adding self-consciously, “I made sure that I remembered to do the same this year."

The old man looked into the past, some distant point over her shoulder. “Bess would have only lived to see them bloom once,” he said softly. “It is kind of you to remember."

"David Ashley loved your daughter, Sir Francis. He never stopped loving her,” Kate said in a rush.

He returned his gaze to her and nodded as if in approval. “Thank you, my dear. I know that. I have always known. Now, Nell tells me that you are returning home?"

"In a few days,” she said. “I have my own responsibilities I must return to."

The door opened and Nell entered.

"Oh! Kate, I did not expect to find you here,” she said.

Kate caught a flash of paper, hastily concealed in the folds of Nell's skirt.

"Ah, Nell,” her grandfather greeted her. “I was just going to say to Kate that I will miss the boy. I enjoy our chats.” He smiled ruefully. “I do believe he's not scared of me. Have I lost the power to intimidate, do you think?"

Nell smiled indulgently. “Grandfather, St. Peter himself will not dare refuse you entrance to heaven!” She looked at Kate. “I have some business with my grandfather, Kate. Would you excuse us?"

Sir Francis smiled at Kate and gestured to the window. “I suggest you return to your Herculean task while the weather stays fine."

Kate smiled and with a brisk curtsy swept out of the room to return to the roses.

Later in the day Nell joined her, spreading a blanket beneath an oak tree while Nell's little daughter, Ann, pottered after Kate, picking daisies in the overgrown lawn. Nell watched them both, her ever-present embroidery in her hand.

As the afternoon wore on, Kate abandoned her task, dropping down beside the younger woman. She wiped her face on her sleeve and surveyed the overgrown garden. Her poor efforts were a mere drop in a pond compared to the work the garden required, but it satisfied her need to be busy.

Nell laid down her embroidery hoop and picked up the flowers her daughter had brought her, weaving them into a chain. She placed the chain of flowers like a crown upon Ann's golden curls.

"Look, Mama! I'm a queen,” Ann declared and turned around on her toes, letting her skirts billow out.

"And a lovely queen too,” Nell agreed.

"I'm going to show Tommy."

Ann had caught sight of her cousin in the company of his newfound friend, young Peter Knowles, son of the tenant of Home Farm, coming out of the stables behind the house. The two women watched as the little figure hurtled across garden towards the boys.

"Tom is very patient with her.” Nell sighed as they saw Tom stoop to pick up the flowery crown that had toppled from her head.

"He's used to small cousins. My sister has six children and more to come.” Kate laughed.

"You're so fortunate to be part of a large family,” Nell remarked wistfully. “Nan and I will miss you sorely. Must you go quite so soon?"

A strange, unfamiliar feeling gripped Kate. In the month she had spent at Seven Ways she had come to like Nell very much and regretted that they lived so far apart.

"We must. I'm sorry."

"I'll miss you,” Nell said, picking up her frame again.

Kate peered enviously at the fantastic beast that appeared as if magically beneath Nell's needle. “Why do you stitch with wool and not silks?” she asked.

Nell did not look up. “I can't afford silks, Kate."

Even after a month, Kate felt she knew as little about this woman as she had on the first day. Nell, although warm and happy to chatter endlessly about domestic matters, seemed very good at keeping the details of her life private.

"Where is Longley Abbey, Nell?” Kate asked.

Nell waved a slender hand in a northerly direction. “Two miles yonder, behind the woods. It is firmly in the possession of a poxy Roundhead Colonel by the name of Price.” She flushed. “I do beg your pardon, Kate, I keep forgetting..."

"That I am a poxy Roundhead too?” Kate laughed. “Nell, I hold no candle for either side. Nell, how can you endure it?"

Nell shrugged. “I don't allow myself to think of it,” she said. “I live in the misplaced hope that Giles may make his peace with Parliament and come home but as we are...” She stopped as if remembering herself. “He has his reasons not to,” she said quickly.

"I thought it was hard for us in the north in the early years,” Kate said, “but I had no idea how much harder it must have been for families like yours."

Nell's lips tightened. “No,” she said simply. “I don't suppose you would. Now, there is something I have been meaning to say to you all day. You should take better care of your skin. You are going quite brown and freckly. Most unsuitable! I have some excellent cream you may care to try. I make it myself."

Kate laughed. “Nell, I gave up on myself long ago,” she said. “I just have to look at the sun and I go a most unfashionable brown, and as for my hair ... it simply won't do what it's told. My sister has tried but I'm afraid I'm a disaster."

"Well, you will never catch another man unless you take better care of yourself,” Nell remarked. “You're really very pretty. You shouldn't stay a widow forever."

"I've no wish to catch another man!” Kate declared.

"Why ever not? Has no other man shown an interest in you?"

Kate felt the heat rise to her face. “I've had suitors,” she said.

"Were I ever to lose Giles,” Nell said, “which God, in his mercy, will never let happen, I don't think I would stay a widow for long. Although with Giles so long gone, I sometimes wonder if being a widow wouldn't be preferable! At least I would have a chance to improve my lot."

"Nell!"

Nell smiled. “Don't sound so shocked, Kate! I adore my husband, but I cannot deny that Nan and I find ourselves in a parlous situation. When Sir Francis dies, who is to say what will happen to us?"

Kate looked at the house, the red bricks glowing warmly in the afternoon sun.

"What will happen to Seven Ways when Sir Francis dies?” she asked.

Nell hesitated for a fraction of a moment. “Besides,” she continued, ignoring the question, “I think a woman needs a husband."

"I don't need a husband,” Kate said. “Richard and his father left me quite well provided for. I have my sister and her family to keep me company. What more do I need?"

Nell's mouth pinched in amusement. “Men do have their uses, Kate,” she said, a sudden colour rising to her cheeks.

"So, Nell, tell me about your wonderful Giles and his uses?"

Nell laid down her frame and a look of wistful longing crossed her face. “Oh Giles ... He and Jonathan were of the same age and inseparable friends. I loved Giles ever since I was very young. Happily for me our families agreed we would be a good match and we were betrothed when I was thirteen, just before the war.” Her face saddened. “We were married five years later and in a few months he was in exile in France for his part in the second war."

Kate did a mental calculation. “So in all your years of marriage, how much time have you spent together?"

Nell hesitated. “Six months."

Just long enough to conceive a child
, Kate thought.

Both women looked up as Ann ran across the garden towards them with cries of “Mama! Mama!"

"Has he ever seen Ann?” Kate ventured.

Nell shook her head.

"Where has Tom gone, Nan?” Kate asked as the child reached them.

Ann ignored the question. “Tommy gave me this,” she said, opening a slightly grubby paw to show them the sweetmeat Tom had used to bribe her with.

"Look at that hand!” scolded her mother. “Mistress Ann, you had best come with me and have a good wash."

Picking up her work, she took her little imp by the offending hand and marched her firmly towards the house.

Deprived of his usual playmates, it had not taken the gregarious Tom long to become friendly with young Peter Knowles. The boys were of the same age, but Peter had a flair for devilment that Tom, used to being the leader among his cousins, found new and intriguing and it had been Peter who introduced Tom to slingshots.

Tom's accuracy with the slingshot still required a great deal more practice and the two boys found a convenient perch in the large oak beside the main Kidderminster road, about one hundred yards from the gate to Seven Ways. Here they could take pot shots at the birds they had lured with crumbs on the ground.

As Tom took aim, Peter looked up.

"There's an ‘orse coming,” he said.

"Just one shot,” Tom squinted and pulled the shot back—even as he released it, he winced, seeing with absolute clarity what would occur. The rider had come upon them too fast and Tom's wayward shot skewed sideways, hitting the horse on the chest.

The animal screamed and reared, its forelegs pawing the air. It took a masterly rider to maintain his seat under the circumstances and the boys watched, frozen in horror as the cursing rider brought the plunging beast back under control. The horse eventually stood still, its skin quivering while the man slid from the saddle and threw an arm over the neck of the handsome grey mare, talking softly into her twitching ear.

Peter did not wait to feel the wrath of the rider. He leaped nimbly from the tree and disappeared like a hare into the woods. Tom followed but landed awkwardly, twisting his ankle. He gave a sharp cry and tried to stand but fell back to the ground where he huddled, holding his foot.

The rider, having placated his horse, turned towards the boy, looming over him, a tall, menacing figure in dark clothes with a wide brimmed hat casting his face into shadow. Tom shrank back against the oak, trying not to cry. He braced himself, expecting, and indeed deserving, a sound telling off, if not a threat to haul him before the magistrate or a thorough cuffing around the ears.

"I'm sorry, sir,” he said. “I didn't mean any harm."

"At least you're honest enough to admit your fault, boy."

The stranger spoke well, a gentleman, Tom decided, and to his surprise the stranger's mouth twisted into a smile.

"Well, fortunately no real harm was done. My horse just got a bad fright and my neck is still in one piece. Next time try setting up some old jars on a wall and leave the birds and horses in peace."

"I will, sir. Thank you, sir."

Tom waited while the rider turned back to his horse, gathering the reins to mount, before trying to pull himself up and execute a dignified exit. The sharp pain made him cry out and fresh tears start in his eyes. He slid back down the tree trunk again.

The rider swung around. “Did you hurt yourself, lad?"

"My ankle...” Tom said.

"Let's have a look,” the man said and, leading the horse, walked back to the boy.

Tom gingerly removed his shoe and stocking and the man crouched down and gently picked up the injured foot.

"Can you wiggle your toes?"

Tom grimaced and succeeded in producing some movement. The man looked up at him and despite the shadow cast by the hat, Tom sensed he was smiling.

"A sprain, no more,” he said and gently pulled the stocking back over the foot. “Now, young sir, perhaps I should get you home before you get into any more mischief. Where do you live?"

Tom wiped the back of his hand across his nose.

"I'm staying with my great-grandfather at Seven Ways Hall, sir."

The stranger sat back on his heels. “Your great-grandfather? You mean Sir Francis Thornton?"

"You know him?"

"I...” The stranger paused, then continued in a puzzled tone “...know him well. What's your name, lad?"

Tom sniffed. “Thomas Ashley, sir."

"Thomas Ashley? Indeed,” the man said thoughtfully. “Well, Thomas Ashley, give me your hand and I will put you on my horse's back and take you back to Seven Ways as that is where I am bound."

"What's your horse's name?” Tom patted the grey mare appreciatively. “She's very fine."

"Her name's Amber."

The man lifted the boy up onto the cropper of the saddle and swung up behind him. Tom wanted to ask who the man was and how he came to know his grandfather, but the stranger had fallen silent.

They had turned the corner of the drive where the hall suddenly sprang into view.

"My mother's working in the garden,” Tom said, turning to face his rescuer then added, fearfully, “Please don't tell her what I did. She doesn't like me playing with slingshots."

The man looked up at him gravely. “Very well,” he said. “It will be our secret, Thomas Ashley."