Prue Phillipson - Hordens of Horden Hall (36 page)

Both dead. Nat stood absolutely still absorbing this. Mother will say she cursed them. And Sir John died today! It is indeed uncanny, as if my arrival in the town had conjured it. But my task is done. I can go home. He felt strangely numb and irresolute. His mother imagined he could bring Daniel’s body back. That could never be. But even to learn of his burial place was hardly possible after all this time and with both the Hordens dead! Rather than leave at once though, he thought, now I could see where he died. A trial was held at Nether Horden. I would like to look at that place. Newcastle’s gates are shut at sunset. I must fetch Jed and ride.

Once he had made up his mind he almost ran to the inn stables, mounted Jed and was on his way. Only then did the huge relief enter his soul. No act of vengeance was to be required of him. His mother could call him what she would. He had left it in the Lord’s hands and this was the outcome.

CHAPTER 18

Bel reached Alderman Johnson’s house just as Molly returned from her errand to fetch the doctor. He was two paces behind her, grave and intimidating as he had been before.

“Oh my lady,” Molly cried, seeing Bel on the steps to the front door. “I’m afraid he’s gone. We didn’t know where you were.”

“Gone?”

“Now then,” the doctor said, as the door was opened. “No one has ‘gone’ as you put it until I have pronounced death.”

Bel, sick that she had not been there, that she had been laughing with that odd young man, lifted her skirts and took the shallow stairs two at a time. Mistress Johnson was at the door of her father’s room.

“Oh my dear, I sent to the church but you weren’t there. We’re not quite sure when he slipped away, but it was very peaceful. He never woke that we saw at all.”

The doctor put them all aside and went in.

Bel stood in the Upper Hallway, transfixed, not looking at Mistress Johnson or Molly but at a tiny chip in the wainscoting by the doorway. Father is dead ... the fringe of my skirt is dirty ...I have worn this gown two days ... I even slept in the petticoat ... Father is dead ... I only untied my corset. I was too tired to remove it though there was a pretty nightgown laid out for me ...Father is dead.

The doctor came out. “I would say he died an hour ago.” He laid a hand on Bel’s shoulder. “I am very sorry for your loss. If I had been called earlier it would have made no difference. He was worn out. I will send a good woman for the laying out, but if you wish to go in he is very peaceful.”

He was speaking to Bel. They would expect her to go in. She had neglected him all morning. He might have wanted her even though his eyes were closed. He might have said her name in his mind or just murmured it and she was not by him to catch it, to hold his hand or wipe his brow. She went in. The doctor had turned the sheet to cover his face. She could see where the point of his nose was.

“No,” she cried, “he is not there. He has gone and left me. I didn’t say goodbye.”

Mrs Johnson’s arms were round her, drawing her to the bed. “So say goodbye now. You’ll feel better. Give him a kiss.”

“No, I have seen too many dead. I am not fit to be around people. I have a devil in me. They die. They all die.”

“She’s hysterical,” came the doctor’s voice. “Give her this sleeping draught I will prescribe. She will feel better in the morning.”

“No, I must have Ursula. If I have Ursula I will be well.”

“She speaks of that poor little deformed creature. She could be sent for. Benjamin who rode with her yesterday could go for her.”

“Oh, yes, please, ma’am.”

Mistress Johnson took her into the next room, the one she could have had the previous night. She was shaking in every limb and could hardly sit on the bed. They brought wine which she was unused to, but drank eagerly. She was aware that everyone was being very kind. She was even aware that this was a family that had not known of her existence the day before yesterday but was now cumbered with a death in their house and an hysterical girl. Bel Horden can do better than this, she told herself. Bel wanted to be a man. Then she remembered the extraordinary morning she had had. Her guilt was extreme and yet she didn’t want to forget that young man she had met. There was something about him; honesty and gentleness but an innocent humour too. She had never encountered these qualities together in a man. She lay back on the bed and thought about everything they had said. It wasn’t he that was odd. He must have thought
me
quite preposterous. Giggling a little, she curled on the bed as the wine flew to her brain. When Ursula was brought in later she was deeply asleep.

Nat rode north after showing Sir Bertram’s letter to the guard at the Pilgrim Gate. “I will not be long. I am going to see the place where my brother died. That is the family business his letter refers to. I have to satisfy my mother about it. She is very ill and I must return home as soon as possible. Yes, I will be back long before you lock the gate.”

The guard seemed to assume his brother had died in some skirmish on the King’s side and made no demur.

Jed had been well fed and rubbed down at the inn and was happy to gallop so the miles were soon covered. A cowherd at a field gate told Nat that if he kept straight on he would come to Nether Horden. If he turned right on a gravelled track he would come to Horden Hall. He was keen to see the Hall, but the village was where it had all happened. He was still some way off when the gallows on its hill came into sight. Then he did draw rein and the thought of Daniel hanging there made his gorge rise. He closed his eyes and tried to let his mind cling desperately to his father’s vision of immortality. We will have eternity together. What are the sufferings of this life compared with that? The track into the village skirted the hill with a duck pond on his left and brought him down one side of the village green. He drew rein again and looked round, spotting the low school building where the ‘trial’ was held.

People were staring at him, he realised, and he was glad that he had tucked his over-long flaxen hair under his hat which he had kept well pulled down all day. He had not removed it even in the church knowing it was now often seen as Popish to take off one’s hat as a sign of reverence. Well, he had seen the village now and he had no wish to excite too much curiosity. The people in remoter places were very jumpy and he knew from Daniel’s experience how quickly they could turn violent if fearful or angry. He turned Jed and rode back, passing the hill with his eyes down, and then saw that riding towards him was a lad in the uniform of a Sergeant in the Royalist forces.

“What are you doing here, stranger?” he demanded.

The truth will serve best, Nat thought. “My brother died here. I came to look at the place, that’s all. I am returning now.”

“There have been no battles here. How could he have died? You’re a Parliament spy, aren’t you?”

“Nay I am not. I am for the King, like you.”

“Not like me. Where is your uniform? We have had Parliament men sneak in here and break into houses and commit murder.”

“I am unarmed.”

The Sergeant pulled his horse close up to Nat and in a sudden movement snatched off his hat. Nat’s flaxen hair fell down.

The Sergeant stared. “I thought you had a pistol hidden there. Hold! I’ve seen you before. Where have I seen you before? That light hair!”

Nat considered the lad and made a wild guess. “You are not Sam Turner are you?”

“Sergeant Turner. God in heaven. You are a ghost. You fired our stack, we hanged you.”

Nat shook his head, smiling sadly. “You hanged my twin brother. I am no ghost.”

Sam’s colour came back into his face. “Man, you gave me a start. Ay, I see it now. You said you came to see where your brother died. You are not here to stir up trouble, are you? It was all fair and square. He had a trial. He must have done it. I know it was hard, because he was a kind of idiot, wasn’t he? He may not have known what he was doing.”

“He spoke of seeing a fat boy. Why was he never found and interrogated?”

Sam’s eyes betrayed fleeting surprise. “Your brother told you that? How could he? You were not there.”

“I was not far away, sick of a fever. He told me he’d seen a fat boy but he left me again to seek food.”

“There was no fat boy,” Sam said quickly. “It was ... no, there was no one could have done it. It’s all in the past anyway. You are like him but he was broader, quite a big man.”

“I believe there
was
a fat boy. Maybe he fled the scene when he saw what he had done. Daniel would never have fired a haystack, nor was he capable of lying, but I am not here to plead his cause. Only we – my family – would like to know where he was buried. We made inquiries without success.”

Again the lad’s eyes – he looked no more than eighteen – looked surprised and wary. “I never knew of any inquiries. No one asked me.”

“Do you mean you knew?”

“Ay, but I was told to keep quiet. I was only a boy, you know, and the Scots army were in charge.”

“Where then? Tell me. I won’t blame you. What happened?”

Sergeant Turner dismounted and motioned Nat to do the same. He led the horses to the edge of the wood where an upward pointing tree branch had been pruned to clear the track. They threw the reins over it and went a little way into the wood.

“It’s somewhere about here. The Scots left him hanging a week as a warning. They were strict at first about looting and suchlike. When they took him down I was at the foot of the hill getting blackberries for my ma’s jam and puddings. They had put the body in a sack but they were foot-soldiers and had no transport. They saw I had a spade. I’d brought it to beat down some of the tangles to get at the fruit behind so they shouted at me to help them dig a hole. I dug a bit and they all took turns. When it was big enough they threw him in and filled it up and pulled some of the brambles over the top. I asked them if the landowner had given permission. They were threatening then and said, ‘If ye dinna tell he willna ken.’ Their talk was so broad I mostly couldn’t understand it but I remember that.”

“But you won’t remember the spot now?”

“I do because there’s a stream further on and when the soldiers had gone I went and fetched a big stone out of it and dropped it on the place. With the edge of the spade I scratched a D and a W on it because I remembered he was called Daniel Wilson. See there it is. I’m sure that’s it but moss has covered the letters.”

Nat ran forward. He snapped off a sharp twig and scraped at the moss. Sam Turner came up and drew his sword. “Let me.”

How easy to kill me now, Nat thought, and lay me beside him. But the young Sergeant soon scraped the stone and the very rough D and W could still be seen.

“There it is then. You’re not going to dig him up, are you? There was no coffin.”

Nat felt unable to speak. He just shook his head. Sam seeing how moved he was, sheathed his sword and mumbled something about leaving him then.

Nat grasped his hand and then, breaking into sobs, embraced him. “I thank you a thousand times. Thank God I met you.”

Sam grinned with embarrassment. “I was given some leave to see my family at the farm. Life has been hard for my father without me, but Sir John had to send a troop to the King’s muster. He was too ill to go himself and his son was dead so I got the charge of them,” he finished proudly.

Nat said, “You won’t have had news of Sir John today?”

“No. Why do you ask? He went into Newcastle on business yesterday. My father lent horses.”

“I have been in the town. I heard a report – and I believe it – that he died this morning.”

“What, Sir John dead? Just this morning? Ay, well, last time I saw him in church he looked fit to drop. I must tell my folk. My God, this is a sad day for his tenants. He was a good man and tried to spare us hardship. What in the world will happen to us now, I wonder.”

“There is no heir, then?”

“Just his daughter, Arabella. She was to be married to a London Horden, a wealthy merchant’s son but their maid, Mary – she and I are to be wed when the fighting’s over – she said it was called off. The poor young mistress will be desolate. Her mother and sister are in France and like to stay there for they’re Catholic.”

A strange feeling came over Nat. “What did you say her name is?”

“Arabella.” He laughed a little. “She likes to call herself Bel, just B-E-L. A canny lass. A mind of her own.”

Nat nodded and held out his hand again. “Well, Sam Turner, I must let you go to your family. Thank you again and God bless you for what you did for Daniel.”

Sam, obviously fearing tears were erupting again, retreated to his horse and unhooking the reins, sprang lightly into the saddle, waved his hand and was gone.

Nat stood by Daniel’s stone, not for the moment thinking of him but of the astonishing fact that he had been talking for an hour or more with a member of the Horden family and had not known it. Poor young mistress indeed. Everything she had said to him fitted and yet her demeanour was so strange; a mixture of merriment and deadly earnest. I must find her again, was his first thought. But how? He had no idea where she had been staying and if he had he couldn’t intrude on her grief. I know what I can do. I will write to her when I return home and express my sympathy. What that might lead to he didn’t dare to think. Now all that mattered was getting home in safety.