Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall (28 page)

“But if he had succeeded, sir,” Nat asked, “would his own supporters have triumphed?”

“If he had sent Pym and his cronies to the Tower as they sent the Bishops? No, I do not believe so. He has outraged the moderate voices and the staunch royalists in the Commons are too few in number now. Many are staying in their home counties, frightened to come up to London to take their seats. If they vote against Pym they fear arrest.” He ran his hands through his thick hair, mostly dark still and curling on his shoulders. “That it should come to this! What did the King gain by being conciliatory before? Who advises him to these sudden rash acts?”

He frowned all round as if challenging for an answer. Nat could tell from all their faces that the scene was unprecedented. When no one spoke Lord Branford went on, “Pym and his friends will lie hidden till the danger’s passed. I tell you the Lord Mayor knows not who to answer to. He is being told by both King and Parliament to muster the Trained Bands ready for action. Who will they fight?” He bent his thick brows on his son, who looked, Nat thought, white and startled. “You know, Edward, that your brother is with loyal troops near Oxford. Will the King go there and raise more men from the shires and lead an
army
against London? As things stand now, it would not surprise me. I would like you and Nathaniel to slip away to Cambridge as quickly as possible and I will send the ladies into the country.”

Nat knew the family seat was in Hertfordshire. It wasn’t far from London but if the capital was to be the focus of bloodshed he supposed it was far enough.

Hermione looked up then and protested that the country was too quiet.

“Quiet” said her father “is what we are all going to want very soon and find it has vanished from our lives. We will start on our preparations after supper.”

Nat had little enough to pack up and could have left at once but it was decided their boxes should go first by the carrier and he and Edward should ride out as inconspicuously as possible the day after.

When he said his farewells to the assembled ladies they received his thanks for his entertainment with brief courtesy. Lady Branford had a distracted air and only Penelope gave him a tiny smile. Hermione put her hand to her own cheek in a significant gesture and her eyes and mouth were full of scorn. He merely bowed. His cheek would have a slight scar for a long time.

As he and Edward rode out on the way to Cambridge they passed more and more of the Trained Bands exercising in the streets. Parliament had put their own choice of leader in command without reference to the King and it was evident they expected an assault on London. Apprentices were building barricades and digging ditches and the two young students would have found it hard to pass if Edward had not thrown a purse among them.

Once clear of the straggling outskirts Nat expected to heave a sigh of relief. Instead he felt a strange regret that they were escaping from the turbulent centre to the quiet backwaters. But I cannot be involved, he told himself, because I know not the rights and wrongs of it now. The old certainties have gone. Father would say, leave the squabblers be and continue with your studious life. But if the whole country breaks into strife is it possible to stay on the sidelines? He recalled Ben Hutton’s prophecy of civil war. Would that poisonous little fellow be proved right after all? And was he so poisonous?

I have seen how Lords and Ladies live and I have not been impressed with their morals or the values they truly hold dear, he thought. I have seen a little too of the poverty and squalor of London. I have heard the King’s wisdom doubted and his name profaned on the streets. Would I have done better to go home to Yorkshire and draw strength from Father’s quiet steadfastness? I have avoided inflaming Mother’s sad state by staying away, but where did my duty lie?

He rode on, unsure of many things and disinclined to talk when Edward who hated silences tried to draw him out.

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CHAPTER 15

September 1642

It was a September day of warm wind and small scuttling clouds that briefly interrupted the sunlight flooding the cropped grass before the Hall. With no one to keep the lawns trim, Sir John had bought sheep from Turner’s farm and Bel through half-closed sleepy eyes was watching the white blobby shapes as they moved slowly over the green expanse. She had worked hard all morning weeding the vegetable garden and Ursula had said after dinner, “Rest for have half an hour on the bench, my precious. Read that book on husbandry you wanted to study.”

The book now lay on the gravel path beside her and she was stretched out along the bench with her head on a cushion, noticing nothing but the sheep and the brief chill when one of the cloud shadows passed over her.The book with its cheerful advice about harvesting and saving the gleanings for the poor had at first turned her reluctant thoughts to the devastation that hostilities were bringing to the countryside. Here it was the King’s troops plundering, there it was Parliament’s forces. All over England fights were breaking out which seemed to Bel utterly pointless and which left ordinary people hungrier than ever and many homeless. Then, when she had turned a page and seen a drawing of a well-constructed hayrick, her mind flew back to the fire she knew she had started just over two years ago. She visualised the wayward flames creeping to the base of the stack and triumphantly rising up the sun-baked straw. Over it all she saw again the hanging body and its one accusing eye. Would that sight never leave her?

At that point she threw down the book and tried to send her thoughts anywhere else to escape the vision. She even sent them to London where her betrothed and his parents must be struggling with the effect of the unrest on trade and commerce. They had written nothing for months now about the Northumberland cousins coming to visit. Sir John said, “They are ashamed that they represented the capital as so safe.”

Despite the state of the country he was sleeping better, his cough was less troublesome, his face less drawn. Perhaps her consent to be betrothed to William had had something to do with it, but Bel believed in her heart that as long as Ursula was with her she had some sense of peace and could communicate this to her father. The cloud had not gone but usually it lay on the horizon of her mind.

She was annoyed that the Book of Husbandry had brought it sharply back. She had set herself to learn everything her father could tell her about the estate, its history, its farms, the extent of arable land and pasture. His delight at her interest was touching and she was moved to tears the day he said, “If only Robert had troubled himself to know so much he would not have made hasty and foolish decisions when I was not well enough to control him. He enclosed some of the common grazing land and provoked dispute among the farmers over the rest. He raised rents – which I fear we had to do – but he did it unequally and with no heed to the family circumstances. We are going to put things right now.” That ‘we’ gave Bel the same thrill that his ‘my little one’ had done in his letter to her at Cranmore House.

As she lay on the bench she reflected on their simple daily lives since Robert’s death and the departure of the London Hordens. Ursula had grown strong again and she and Bel with Tom and Mary’s help managed the work of the Hall, shutting off all the rooms that were not in use. Bel soon found her father didn’t like to see her performing any domestic duties, so she made sure she helped with the cleaning and washing before he rose in the morning. He was happy for her to bring him a small breakfast in bed and he didn’t inquire if she disappeared for an hour before noon. If he guessed she was helping prepare the dinner that they ate at twelve he never commented, except to say, “Tell Ursula that was very good.”

Bel had at first shocked him by demanding that Ursula as her friend should eat with them in the dining-room, but Ursula went to Sir John herself and said, “Such a wish would never enter my head, sir. Mary and I and Mistress Nurse when she sometimes drops in for company are very happy in the kitchen. If I may still call your dear girl Bel to spare my poor lips it is all I would ever presume to do.”

And so, despite the disturbing news which arrived by word of mouth and in news-sheets and pamphlets distributed in Newcastle, the reduced household at Horden Hall, with backs turned to the probability of outright war, experienced a peace and harmony it had not known for many years.

It still seemed to be assumed that she would marry William in about six months’ time but she avoided the subject with her father for the sake of peace. When her thoughts had reached London she let them cross the Channel to France and rest wonderingly on her baby niece whom she seemed unlikely to see for a long time. Henrietta’s letters said the child was beautiful but she could not bring her to a hostile England. Her mother’s letters suggested Sir John and Arabella should come to them and stay till England was at peace again. But Father will never leave Horden Hall to the looters, Bel reassured herself.

Today was so peaceful it was unbelievable that only a few miles away Newcastle was heavily fortified for the King, but there were rabid Puritan factions within the town ready to join a siege by Parliament if that should happen. Still anxious to keep away the sight of the hanging body, Bel concentrated her gaze on the sheep and half-heartedly counted them. Now her eyes were closing and her limbs relaxing on the warm wood of the bench. She was asleep.

It was again a passing shadow that stirred her senses. But this one didn’t pass. Why was it stationary over her? She wanted the sun’s warmth again. Did she dream that a voice said ‘Arabella.’ She opened her eyes.

A bearded man in a wide brimmed black hat was leaning over her. She screeched and swung her legs to the ground so suddenly he had to jump backwards.

“I’m so sorry I startled you.”

“What ...? Who ...?” She was still befuddled with sleep.

She heard Ursula’s little running steps. They stopped abruptly at a short distance and she exclaimed, “Mother of God, Bel! ‘Tis Father Patrick come!”

Now Bel peered hard at his shadowed face under the hat, heavily masked with this dark beard, and there were his grey, searching eyes looking out at her, already, she felt to her disgust, undressing her. She had a well-shaped figure now and she rose and held herself fiercely upright before him.

“Whatever brings you here?” she snapped at him.

“Oh Bel, that’s no way to greet Father,” Ursula cried and held out to him the ale she had been bringing to Bel in a pewter tankard. “’Tis a thirsty day, sir. How far have you travelled?”

A poor nag, weighted down by panniers and a leather roll behind his saddle, was standing a few paces off on the gravel path, eying the grass but hardly able to summon the strength to walk to it.

“He could do with some refreshment too, Ursula. We’ve come a long way today.” Patrick had taken the tankard and held out his other hand to her. “It’s good to see you. We were so happy to know you were here after Cranmore House was closed down. I’m afraid Arabella is not so pleased to see me, but I have come from France at the urgent request of her mother and sister and at a grave risk to my own life.”

“You’d better take him in to Father, Ursula,” Bel said. “I’ll send Tom to see to the poor beast and prepare some food.”

“Oh Bel, will
you
not take Father Patrick in?”

He laid a hand on Ursula’s arm. “I am a travelling artist, Patrick Dawson. Forget the priestly title unless we are totally alone. The King is under a terrible necessity to show antagonism to all things Catholic. He had two priests hung in York and one was nearly ninety. They had done nothing but minister to small flocks adhering to the old religion. I am carrying sketches and paintings done abroad to sell at market fairs or to show in schools for a few days’ teaching to hopeful pupils. I have now been given safe-conduct papers from both parties, but every patrol I encounter, whether royalist or parliament, has been suspicious I might be a spy for the other. I may not be allowed to return to France if they fear I have been spying for a Catholic country. Several times I have believed I was being followed.”

“Let us get you indoors then,” Ursula cried, looking towards the gates.

He followed her glance anxiously and Bel, smiling a little at his nervousness, said, “They are never locked these days because we have no gatekeeper to open them. There is not the household of servants you will remember here and we have done away with your escape hole. But come in. Father will have wakened from his afternoon sleep.”

When Ursula saw that Bel was leading the way she slipped round to the stables to alert Tom to the arrival of a strange horse. Bel shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t sure what they were to do with their visitor but they could hardly send him away after feeding him so she supposed he would have to stay the night. He could sleep in Robert’s room.

Father must be in his study or he would have heard the goings on at the front of the Hall. He had a couch in there where he could rest and be close to his small library and the shelves where the estate books were kept.

Bel tapped at the door. His “Come in” sounded startled as if he had just wakened.

“We have a visitor, Father. Mr Dawson, the art teacher.”

She just glimpsed his bemused face and his lips mouthing “Art teacher?” and then she beckoned Patrick in and nipped out herself, closing the door behind her.

It was not till the three of them sat down to the meal Ursula had prepared from the meagre store in the pantry that she learnt why Patrick Dawson had come, or at least the reasons he gave which she suspected did not tell the whole story.