Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall (32 page)

“Well, I will tell you all that happens,” Nat said now, “when we return for the summer. And I trust they will set your father free, for there are so many being sent to the Tower there will be no room left soon.”

Two days after this conversation Edward returned to Hertfordshire for the Easter vacation and Nat set off for Yorkshire. As he rode on a hired horse Edward’s suggestion began to take root in his mind. Would it be possible to convince his mother that he had taken some action but without telling a lie? Who knew what might have happened to the Hordens in the two and a half years since Daniel’s death? Could he at least give an honest report to her about them? Could he talk openly with her of his reluctance to do personal injury to anyone? He had never tried to convince her it was against his conscience, because she leapt in so fiercely with her accusation of cowardice. Was he not old enough now to set aside the years of fearing her displeasure, of knowing he could never please her?

On the journey, despite the many interruptions by patrols who sneered at the travel pass his College had given him, he had many hours of solitary riding to brood on those years, to face how his lack of a mother’s love had affected him. He yearned for it still. If she could only look on him with some small mark of favour what would he not do? But he must not earn it by deceit or it would mean nothing.

By the time he reached Yorkshire he was fired up to achieve this. He left his horse at the stables of the inn in Easingwold and, arranging for the carrier to bring his saddle bags next day, he set himself to walk the last two miles to Darrowswick. The April evening was chilly after a clear bright day and he walked fast, imagining all the possible scenes that might meet him at home. When the hilltop church came in sight with the upper story of the square vicarage on the slope behind, all picked out by the low sun, serene and peaceful, his heart ached for his father.

In the village he saw Granny Woodman at her window. She hobbled to the door.

“Eh, Master Nathaniel, is it you?” she cried. “My eyes are not so good. You’ve come just in time. Your mother is very ill. She was bit by a stray dog when she was on one of her wanders about and her leg swelled terrible they tell me. The physician from Easingwold says she’s not likely to live.”

Nat hastened his steps. Was this to be the release for her, after all her torment, and for him from her demands for vengeance? He had not anticipated this and he hardly knew whether he felt relief or deeper sorrow at the futility of all her passion.

His father saw him from the bedroom window as he breasted the hill. A minute later and they were in each other’s arms, struggling against tears at the joy of meeting and the sombre circumstances.

“How is she?” Nat asked at last. “Granny Woodman intercepted me.”

“Come and see,” his father said simply and led the way upstairs.

Nat followed and peeped round the bedroom door. He frowned in dismay. The white pillows set off her yellow skin like old parchment. Her nose that had always been sharp was a thin bony ridge separating closed eyelids. Her hands lying flaccidly on the cover were skeletal. Was she dead already?

But his father went close and said gently “Anne.”

The eyes flew open and fastened on Nat.

“Oh, Mother,” he murmured, dropping to his knees by the bed. “I am so sorry to see you like this. Are you in pain?”

Not expecting an answer he was astonished when she spoke quite plainly in her old strong tones.

“You’ll do it now, Nathaniel, so I can die happy.”

He looked up at his father and mouthed, “Is her mind clear?” He nodded but Nat couldn’t guess at all what he would like him to say. It’s up to me. Edward was right. I must do something.

He turned back to her. “I will, Mother. I will go tomorrow. I will find the Hordens.”

Her lips cracked in what must be a smile. “And kill them,” she said.

It was a fearsome moment. He looked again at his father but her hand had gripped his wrist like a vice. “Kill them,” she repeated. “Say the words.”

“If it is God’s will, Mother.”

“Oh, it is,” she said. She released his wrist and patted his hand. “I will rise early and watch you go. When you return you will have my blessing, Nat.”

It was the first time she had used his name for what seemed years. He stood up and hurried out of the room and into the one he had shared with Daniel. He could hear Daniel’s voice saying, “Come to bed, Nat. If you are cold, I’ll warm you.” That was how it had been in the angler’s hut when Dan had lain down by him and held his shivering body until the fever left him. Nat sank onto the bed and sobbed.

His father was standing over him. “No, no tears. It was a good answer, son. She is lying quite content now.”

Nat sat up. “But I will go. I must know what has happened to that family. If Mother is still living when I return, I will tell her honestly.”

His father shook his head. “She will not last. You must wait and rest from your journey and then there will be no need to go anywhere.”

Nat stood up. “No, Father. I have told her I will go tomorrow and go tomorrow I will. For so long she has asked of me this one thing and I have done nothing. Did she not give me a smile just now? My whole life I have longed for some sign of love from her. If she dies now, at least I can treasure that smile.”

His father put his hands on Nat’s shoulders. His eyes were full of sorrow. “Oh, Nat. I don’t think I understood what a terrible void that was for you. You were so happy day by day with Daniel and you seemed to love our hours of study together. I should have rebuked her for her partiality. I fear I have been weak and shirked my duty. I knew not how to manage her strong passions.”

“No truly, sir. I
did
love our study. I
was
happy with Daniel. Your love and his were wondrous. It is perhaps since I became a man than I have felt what I missed. The young men at College, some no more than boys, it is their mothers they pine for. But let us go down and speak of other things for I will hold to my purpose and set off tomorrow for Northumberland.”

It was a month away from the proposed wedding when letters came for Bel and her father. They were in his study looking over the household accounts.

“Ah, this is from London,” he said. “It is Clifford’s hand. At last it will be his reply about the arrangements for the wedding. He has indeed left it late but maybe in the confused state of the country his letter has been delayed. And here is one for you from France – Henrietta’s reply to yours on the death of the poor babe.”

Bel had no wish to stay in the room while he read his from Clifford so she took hers to the bench outside the front windows.

Dear sister
,’ Henrietta wrote, ‘your sweet letter of sympathy took weeks to reach us. I suppose it is the fault of England’s horrid war. The one in which you wrote of the death of that wretched priest arrived with the other, so it had been even longer on the way. I believe all letters from England to France are being opened and resealed which is a frightening thought, though you and I write only of personal matters. Maybe when you get this you will already be married to William, but as our father wrote to Mother that the ceremony might be at Horden I am sending this there, not knowing at all when it will reach you. I wish I could be with you. There is so much now that you and I could share as sisters, so much I want to tell you about my own marriage to prepare you for yours, but it is hard to write it when we have not seen each other for so long. If only the fighting would stop, Mother and I would come since it seems our father doesn’t feel able to undertake the journey to France. But we hear such tales of the persecution of Catholics, of the terrible oath which everyone who is anyone is supposed to take to abjure their religion and against their conscience, that we simply dare not set foot on England’s shore till the nation has come to its senses and will tolerate all people believing and worshipping in their own way.

Enough of that. I am in good health and spirits again after seeing my poor little girl fade away of some unknown infection. Maurice has been very kind. But now I want you to know that I have no feelings of grief about Patrick Dawson. He was neither a good man nor a good priest. He tried to be both but he had a great weakness. You wondered in your letter why we sent him to you with messages we could and did put in letters. We did not send him. We dismissed him from our household and let his behaviour be known to the church here. That is why he went to England. He said he would teach drawing and not practise as a priest. I am sorry he troubled you and that his fearful death happened at our dear old home. When he left Cranmore House after the attempt on his life from which you saved him, he came to us as a refugee and proclaimed himself a changed man. He spoke often of you as a wonderful young woman which was how we knew you had changed but he hadn’t changed and after quietly carrying out priestly duties for a while he again showed his true colours. My baby was sickly and he came to me to pray over her but ... well, you can imagine the rest. I am glad you were spared his ill intents.

When I was a silly young girl I thought him so beautiful but then Mother found out his feelings for me and as you know my intended marriage to Maurice was soon brought forward. I was excited about going to France. It was to be all wealth and gaiety and happiness, warmth and colour after drab old Horden. Well of course it wasn’t but believe me, Bella, when you accept your lot in life and a new husband and settle down to it you can find a deal of contentment. The old man who was Mother’s guardian has taken a real liking to me, reminding him of Mother as a young girl and we both spend much time in his company. You will find that Clifford and Celia Horden will love you if you make their son a dutiful wife and I’m sure you will enjoy London life when the King and Parliament come to a truce as they surely will or the country will be ruined.

Give my duty to dear Father. I trust his health has not declined in the winter months. I wish you all happiness in your marriage and in your future life and long to be with you as sisters should be.

Your loving Henrietta.’

Bel put down the letter. She felt a yearning not for the Henrietta of her childhood, hard, sneering, self-confident, pleasure-loving, but for the one revealed in this letter. There was self-knowledge, doubt and much less assurance, even something she could call love. If Hen were here beside me, she thought, I believe we would be in each other’s arms in a moment.

She wanted to sit on in the fresh April morning, absorbing all she had learnt, but reluctantly she got up to seek her father. The hour of final confrontation over her marriage had arrived. Pleased as she was at her sister’s interest she was never going to be persuaded to change her mind.

Crossing the great hall to her Father’s study door she could hear him moaning. What could that mean? Was it that the thought of losing her to her cousin had finally come home to him and he grieved at her loss?

She knocked and called out, “Father?”

The sound stopped. There was a brief pause and then he cried, “Yes, yes, come in, Bella. You will have to see the letter.”

Puzzled, she slipped in. He motioned her to sit down. He gazed at her, shaking his head.

“It’s the end of everything, Bella.”

“How? What do you mean?”

He picked up the letter from the desk in front of him and as he reread the first paragraph anger took over. He slapped his hand on the page and barked, “He has gone back on his word, broken the agreement. My cousin, my own flesh and blood!”

Bel sat up. “What! I am not to marry William?”

He looked at her. “Oh I knew you would rejoice. But wait till you hear why. I told you, it’s the end of everything; Horden, our home, our livelihood, everything.”

“How is that possible?” She had seen him sunk in gloom many times but never looking as white and haggard as he did now.

He slapped the letter again. “Clifford is closer than ever to Parliament and has seen the latest lists of condemned properties. They call it sequestration. Horden Hall is one of them.”

“Condemned?” The word had horrible associations with execution.

“Seized by Parliament. So he writes that as
I
can no longer fulfil my part of the bargain it is null and void – as if
I
have reneged on our agreement. I cannot mortgage to him what doesn’t belong to me. Horden Hall will be sold to fill Parliament’s coffers.”

Bel jumped up, enraged at the injustice of it. “Why? How can they do that?”

“We harboured a Catholic priest here. We correspond with France. We are tainted. That apparently is enough.”

“That’s madness.” She was pacing about the small room. “Can you not appeal?” She suddenly remembered Nurse’s part in it of which Father was still unaware. He didn’t even know that a private Mass had been celebrated within these walls. He was a complete innocent. Another thought struck her. If he found out would he want to be rid of Ursula?

He answered her question. “I believe I can appeal. What then? If the sequestration is lifted and my bargain with Clifford restored, would you agree to marry William?”

“Would you want me too, after this?” She picked up the letter.