Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall (17 page)

“And I am ugly.”

“No, you are not. I see you with the eye of an artist. That square jaw you think ugly ... no, the line is strong and as you grow into womanhood that fine bone structure of your whole face will have beauty. Oh if I could come back in a few years without the burden of priesthood ... but we know not what lies ahead for us. What can I say?”

“You have said more than enough, Father Patrick.”

“No, not that, please. Master Dawson if you will, or just Patrick.”

“If I understand this nonsense at all, it is that you would like to give up being a priest, come back when I’m grown, marry me and be close to Henrietta again without suspicion. Now, may I please pass and go back to Ursula, who will be wondering what I am doing and will be very surprised when I tell her what has passed in here.”

“But you wouldn’t? And you have misunderstood me. Henrietta is married and for ever out of my thoughts. It is you I have observed. There is a quality about you which she lacks. You do not set out to please or charm as she does. There is nothing false in you. You do what you have to do, but it touches you not at all. You are only happy with Ursula for she is pure love. But I could love you as a man; a love you will need one day if you do not seek it yet.” He put out a hand and touched her breast.

She smacked the hand hard, punched his midriff and when he shrank back, bolted past him and out of the door. She ran furiously back to Ursula, bursting to tell her all, but the moment she saw her, bent busily over one of the beds, tucking in the quilt and then looking brightly round at her with those eyes shining with smiles she knew she couldn’t speak of it.

How could I hurt her? she thought. She thinks ill of no one. She has never had a man touch her. She never will and nor will I ever again if I can help it. I hate men. All except that poor innocent hanged man who was only hungry when he took that hen. The world says I am old enough to be married. When I was still young, I thought I was in love with Sam Turner, but that was when he was good fun and before the THING happened. Now I see all the bad in people, as I did in him. He became scornful, callous, shallow. More like Robert. And this hollow, lecherous priest is the same. What would the other girls have given to have him touch them, or say the things he has just said to me! As she tucked in the next sheet she surreptitiously rubbed her breast where he had touched it. The place was defiled.

Her thoughts still seethed. I am sure as anything that the devil is still inside me. Henrietta said I had a devil and she was right. I see evil in everyone except Ursula. Henrietta and Patrick! Did Henrietta suffer when he was sent away and she was whisked off to France to be married? She showed no sign of grief or torment. She loved his pretty face as these girls do. Patrick is flattering himself. He can’t keep his eyes away from all this female flesh around him. But whatever the truth of it I can never love my sister enough to feel sorry for her.

Bel was so deep in her thoughts that she started when Ursula said, “Next bed, my precious. You have tucked that one over and over again.” She was chuckling in her gladsome abandoned way as if the grim grey room and the grim grey day outside were a flowery meadow under a summer sun.

Bel laughed with her and moved over beside her. She could tell from the expression of the poor twisted face that Ursula guessed that the cloud might be hovering again. She can sense that but she is too innocent to see how evil I am. I must never destroy her happiness. She must never know my dark secret. Let her sing all day long. She has no devil in her. I suppose she is actually a saint, a beautiful hideous saint, and I need her always beside me. How will it be when I go home for Easter? Suddenly she was fearful of the prospect.

Benjamin Hutton came bounding up their staircase and burst in upon Nat. His pale face was glistening with the effort and alight with joy at the news from London.

“They’ve arrested the Archbishop of Canterbury.”

Nat looked up. “Poor man. He’s old. They could have let him die in peace.”

“But did I not tell you that the petition last week would succeed? There were fifteen hundred signatories demanding the abolition of ‘the ungodly institution of Bishops root and branch.’ Root and branch. Is not the Archbishop the root and all the rest the branches? You said it was too extreme and nothing would come of it.”

“Where have they taken the sad old man?”

“To the house of the Sergeant-at-Arms, but it will be the Tower presently.”

Nat felt nothing but disgust that this peevish youth should exult over the fall of Laud. Maybe the Archbishop had pushed the Church of England too far back towards Rome and provoked these so-called purgers and purifiers, but he never abandoned the prayer book which Nat’s own father had stood by through thick and thin. “Pray keep silence, Benjamin, for a while if that is possible for you. I have received a letter from my father which I am anxious to finish reading.”

Benjamin slouched out of the room saying he would find someone with the right notions. “They will be rejoicing at Emmanuel.”

Nat had heard there was a large Puritan faction there and he heartily wished Benjamin would enrol there and leave him in peace. He turned back to his father’s letter. The first sentence expressed his joy that Nat had been awarded a scholarship but reiterated the sad advice that he should not return to Yorkshire for Christmas.

He read on, seeing a name which filled him with apprehension.

‘I have had a visit from Captain Carter inquiring about your whereabouts. I told him the truth but I fear it was only partial truth – that you had been seized with a fever and left behind when the regiment went forward and that you were stricken with grief on learning what had happened to your brother. I acknowledged that you should have reported to him when you were recovered, but in the retreat of the army from Newcastle you were never reunited with your troop. I pointed out that you had since received a place at Cambridge and it was necessary to take it up or lose it. He seemed to accept that and I don’t believe he will take things further. Indeed the army may well be disbanded as he admitted that pay was seriously in arrears. All would then have been well but as he was about to mount his horse your mother came running from the house and laid hold of his sleeve. “Where have you buried my Daniel?” she demanded, not understanding I suppose that he could have no knowledge of that. “Do you not care for the men under your command? Are you satisfied that they should be falsely accused and hung? When will you lead a troop to Horden Hall and arrest those murderers?” I disengaged her with difficulty and murmured to him that her mind had been turned by grief but this she heard and seized upon. “My mind is clear that we have had no redress, we know not even where he is buried.” Anxious to ride away Captain Carter assured her he would make inquiries but she shouted after him, “I writ to Sir John Horden myself to demand the body of my son but he has not deigned to reply.” That was the first I heard she had done so but I recalled her speaking one day with a tinker at the door. She bought some thread and gave him a few coins and something which he put in his pocket. It might have been a letter to deliver but of course he would take the money and throw the letter away. I would myself write to Sir John but I have so longed to let Daniel’s memory rest quietly on my heart that I have shrunk from stirring trouble about him. He bore no ill will to anyone all his life and in death he would want no revenge. He is at peace. I long to be at peace too.’

Nat lowered his head then and wept for his father. I should go to him, he thought. Why did he ever marry that wild beautiful red-haired Irish girl, as he once described my mother in those days? He told me she had lost her parents in an uprising of Catholic peasants. So she came to stay with an aunt who lived in our parish when he was first appointed there as a young vicar. They fell in love, a state I am still ignorant of, but I can see how he was taken with her striking looks and the lively nature that had helped her overcome her sufferings.

He gave her a position in the community and she loved him with her whole passionate soul till she found his quiet, submissive nature tedious. I know she lost some babies which embittered her till Dan and I were born and then she lavished all her love on Dan, believing I was too much of a weakling to live. But I did live, Mother, and proved too clever and studious for you. But Dan loved her and she found solace in his devotion. Oh I can understand how his death and above all my guilt in it has twisted her brain. Between the lines of Father’s letter, I read his dread that my coming will inflame her further. There is not much to fear from Captain Carter but I believe my father is going through a living hell and hopes to spare me from it and alas! perhaps from fanning the flames of it.

Nat sat a long time more, not looking at his books, oppressed with sorrow for his father and guilt that he himself was too far away to be able to help him.

CHAPTER 11

Spring 1641

Bel’s heart lifted as Caesar turned into the gates of Horden Hall and she saw the daffodils bordering the drive and the old, unloved house squarely ahead of them, the twisted red brick chimneys afire from the sun’s beams and the whole scene alive with light and springtime. Even the statue exuded a cheerful look as if the old baronet were saying, “See what a lovely day it is.”

The place wants to be loved, she thought, and I’ll try to love it. I’ll love Father too if he’ll let me get close to him.

She was thankful that the road to the Hall didn’t pass by Nether Horden or the Turners’ Farm and she resolved never again to use her childhood shortcut through the woods to the village. She wanted only bright memories of home to share with Ursula.

She and Robert had passed two nights at inns where they had been eaten by bugs and she had wept for the parting from Ursula. Robert had had to prise her off as she clung to her, saying, “Oh Ursula, how will I live without you?”

“Why easily, my lamb, it’s only for three weeks.”

Robert had plucked at her arm. “Let us be on our way. Caesar is impatient to start for home.”

Caesar knew he was home now and trotted happily round to his stable.

Tom appeared and held up his old arms to Bel. “Why, little Mistress, how you have grown in not much above half a year!”

And then, who should appear at the kitchen door but Bel’s old nurse “Ay, I’m here again. They couldn’t do without me. Well, well, you’ll be worn out with riding but you’re young. Come away in.”

In fact Bel had found it exhilarating to be out in the countryside, to see lambs in the fields, to smell the wind off the moors. Uncomfortable as it was to ride behind Robert on Caesar’s broad back it was wonderful to be released from the greyness of Cranmore House where the stone walls seemed perpetually to enclose winter. If it had not been for the brightness of Ursula’s friendship, she thought, she would have run away long ago.

“Where’s Father?” she asked Nurse.

“Why, in his bedchamber but he has risen and dressed for your coming.”

“What ails him, Nan?”

Robert had dismissed her questions on the journey. “You needn’t fret, Bella. It’s nothing with a name. The old give up on life.”

“Father is
not
old.”

“If he’s decided he is, he is.” And that was all Robert would say.

Nan was as bad. Instead of answering Bel’s question she took her cloak and bonnet and said brightly, “Happen you’ll cheer him up. There’ll be some supper for you when you come down.”

Bel ran up the stairs and tapped at her father’s door. His “Come in” sounded husky and when she peeped round the door, his pallor and emaciation was a shock.

He was reclining on a couch by the window with a rug over his knees and cushions at his back. He gave her a wan smile, but when she ran to him and stood questioningly by his couch, he held out his hand and clasped hers and gazed at her with what looked like longing.

Her dismay at his appearance made her demand abruptly, “What is this, Father? Are you ill? It’s a lovely spring day. Why are you not taking the air?”

He glanced at the sunlit window and then back at her. “Still the same Bella. Always asking questions.” His eyes were wistful. “Your mother and sister are afraid to come. Robert is just waiting for me to die. Now I have only you. But you are grown. You look well. You are not a child any more. You do not need to go away again. You will stay now.” He still grasped her hand and though his voice was thin it carried authority and confidence.

She stared back at him, taking this in. Suddenly he needs me, she thought. I was sent away an unwanted package but now I am to be picked up and planted back here to become his companion. That was the meaning of his ‘dear little girl’ in the letter. So am I never to see Ursula again? That cannot be.

She slid her hand out of his and sat herself down on the window seat.

“What are you saying about Mother and Henrietta?”

He shook his head with a sort of sad impatience. “Tales are carried to France of the persecution of Catholics here. There have been terrible attacks in London but in the main they have been on priests. I am sure that two distinguished ladies could pass safely through the country with their servants. But what can I say? If they were set upon and murdered, I could never forgive myself.” He reached a hand towards her again. “I am oppressed, Bella, with the evil in this world of ours. Will you not come closer and give me a kiss?”