The Rebel’s Daughter (16 page)

“
May I
help you as well?” Helena asked, half-rising.

Meghan waved her away. “I have strapping
girls enough to help me here, and a kitchen full of servants who
need no excuses to avoid work.” She turned away with a groan. “Deb!
Not three jugs at once, you’ll be bound to break one.”

The sound of the outer door opening announced
the arrival of Elias, who had been absent most of the day. His
clothes sported a layer of dust, and he looked sweaty and
uncomfortable, a grim expression on his handsome face.

“
Exeter
busy?” His father asked, a casual question Elias didn’t answer
straight away. Instead, he eased out of his coat with an expressive
sigh. He hung his hat on a hook by the door, then turned to face
the room. “The militia found Monmouth.”

An expectant hush fell on the usually noisy
kitchen, hands stilled in mid-task and conversations ceased.

“
It’s
all here in the newssheet.” He slapped a page onto the kitchen
table, which was instantly tussled over by two of his
siblings.

He slid onto the wooden bench beside
Helena, his gaze holding hers. “He was found in a ditch, somewhere
near Cranbourne Chase.”

“
Was
anyone with him?” Helena asked, her fists clenched in her lap as
she awaited his answer.

“
A man
named Oliver Buyse, but no one else.”

“
I see.”
She summoned a weak smile, not knowing whether to feel relieved or
sad.

Elias placed a gentle hand on her arm.
“Helena, Monmouth’s been executed. Beheaded. At Westminster Hall
three days ago.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Without
a trial?”

Elias shrugged. “He didn’t need one. The
King issued an Act of Attainder against him. He was
doomed.”

Doomed
. The word her mother used when she
last spoke of her father. Who would tell Henry? He still thought
Monmouth was a hero. When he knew he was dead, would he lose all
hope for their father too? Would she lose hope herself?

“
So it
is over?” Seth asked, his face pale.

“
It was
over after the battle at Weston.” Samuel silenced him with a look.
“It says here, the King granted Monmouth a final audience,” he read
aloud from the newssheet he had wrestled from Seth. “I assume he
did so to torment Monmouth, for it’s a privilege usually extended
to those about to be pardoned.”

“
How
cruel,” Meghan muttered from a stool where she mended a torn
petticoat. Her deft fingers pleated the edges so the tear could not
be seen.

Helena gripped the much creased petticoat
in her lap. Suddenly her fingers wouldn’t co-operate, so she
abandoned it with a sigh.

“
Cruel
indeed,” Samuel said, nodding. “It seems Monmouth pleaded for his
life and even offered to convert to Catholicism.”

“
Oh. He
shouldn’t have done that.” Meghan tutted. “King James would despise
him for such weakness.”

The door latch clacked again, and Henry
burst inside from the yard, Robbie and Debs close behind. His face,
if not carefree and happy, at least looked healthy from good food
and time spent in the sun. His wound had healed well, a yellowish
bruise above his eye the only remaining evidence, which Meghan
assured him would not leave a scar.

Rebekah removed a basket of eggs from
Debts unsteady hands, handing it to her mother. She bent and
whispered something to her sister, at which Debts brown eyes slid
to Helena and away again.

Robbie straddled a stool, one leg bent
across the other as he struggled to remove his boots. “Two troopers
offered Henry and me five shillings for turning in fugitive
rebels.”

Meghan transferred eggs from Debts basket
into an earthenware bowl, pausing only to throw her exuberant son a
reproachful look.

Helena tried to catch Hendry’s eye, but he
had already spotted the newssheet.

“
May I
see the Gazette, sir?” Henry asked, his hand already reaching for
the paper in Samuel’s hand.

“
Samuel.” Meghan’s voice held a warning, while she continued
transferring eggs into a bowl.

“
It will
do more harm to keep things from him,” Samuel said, handing it
over.

Elias uttered a low groan, and Helena held
her breath.

Hendr
y’s gaze slid across the page, his
enquiring look changing to raw anguish. His mouth worked in silence
and he staggered backwards, turned and fled the room, almost
colliding with a returning Susannah, a full bucket in her
hands.

“
Henry?”
Helena called after him, retrieving the newssheet from where he had
dropped it, her gaze on the closed door through which he had
disappeared.

“
What’s
upset Henry?” Susannah asked, her eyes wide.

“
That
the Duke is dead, of course. What did you think?” Seth snapped at
his sister.

“
Oh no,”
Susannah slumped onto the bench opposite. “Why didn’t anyone tell
me?”

While she and Seth squabbled, chided by
Meghan, Helena stared at the door through which Henry had
disappeared.

When it was evident he wouldn’t be coming
back, she turned back to the newssheet. Turning it over, she gasped
as the words jumped off the page, turning her insides to
water.

Jack Ketch had taken several blows at the
Duke’s head before throwing down his axe. Forced by an angry crowd
to end Monmouth’s misery, he had finished the job with a
knife.

* * *

Samuel strolled through the
stone archway in Broadgate that led to Cathedral
Yard
, and
turned into the entrance to Tom Molds, Exeter’s answer to a Coffee
House. “Bad morning, Master Ffoyle?” the proprietor asked, setting
the cup of the thick, almost black brew in front of him.

“
An
unpleasant business altogether Tom.” Samuel thanked the man with a
nod.

Thirty men had been brought before Judge
Jeffreys that morning at the Guildhall, each of the wretched
creatures huddled in the dock harangued as if the Judge harboured a
personal hated for each one.

Samuel had chosen a seat at the back of
the hall, hoping his presence would go unnoticed. The heat and
stench of the press of unwashed bodies in the airless building had
made the atmosphere almost unbearable. Bending his nose to his
sleeve, he gave a quick sniff and grimaced.

“
All
condemned?” Tom asked, applying a damp cloth to a nearby
table.

“
Aye.”
Samuel said, acknowledging Tom’s resigned nod.

Samuel had not joined the crowd who
accompanied the prisoners to the gallows at the Heavitree. He had
never regarded the spectacle of dying men the culmination of an
entertaining day. Instead, he had made his way to the Guildhall
with the intention of slipping into Gandy Street unseen. What
happened next was something he didn’t intend to reveal to the
gossiping landlord of Tom Mols.

Before Samuel had reached the door, a
warden stepped out of a room in front of him, barring his way. “His
Lordship asks if you would spare him a word, Master Ffoyle.” His
voice held a sneer, as if he was in possession of superior
knowledge he had no intention of sharing.

Samuel froze, hoping his fear did not show on
his face. What would Judge Jeffreys want with him? Did he knew the
whereabouts of Sir Jonathan Woulfe and his son?

Beckoned by bright sunshine from the half
open door, Samuel considered making a run for it. A tempting
thought, but one he rejected immediately. He was too well-known.
Then there were the fates of his own large brood, not to mention
Helena and Henry Woulfe.

“
As his
Lordship wishes,” Samuel inclined his head, and followed the clerk
inside.

In Molds upper room, Samuel sipped the
bitter-sweet brew, re-living that strange interview in every
detail.

His thoughts were still far away, when a
booming voice announced the entrance of two men. Lord Miles Blanden
and a companion scraped back chairs at the table beyond a wooden
screen beside Samuel.

In order to acknowledge the newcomers,
Samuel would have to stand up and move into their line of vision.
He decided the effort required more energy than he was willing to
expend and instead, reminisced further about his recent talk with
Judge Jeffreys.

Lord Blanden ordered a jug of ale in his
coarse, aggressive voice, before resuming his conversation.
Apparently overwhelmed, the serving boy spilled ale on the table
and received a stream of abuse for his clumsiness.

Samuel
’s mind drifted, until the word
“Loxsbeare” came clearly through the screen.

Alert
, Samuel leaned toward the screen to
listen.

“
That
greedy blackguard Jeffreys has ordered an examination of the
property.” Blanden banged his jug on the table in a display of
temper.

“
You
think he has his eye on it for himself?” his companion
suggested.

“
I doubt
it. He has a fine manor in Taunton. He sees this only as a
profitable exercise.”

“
Your
loyalty to the King should be rewarded.” The other man whined, in
an obvious effort to be ingratiating.

“
I shall
be, with the house and the land,” Blanden said, not bothering to
keep his voice down. “Though it will cost me twice what I
originally offered.” He gave the harsh, grating laugh of a man
unused to controlling his baser instincts in polite company. “And
I’ll wager our esteemed Judge keeps part of the money himself when
it’s all settled.”

“
Even at
that price, it’s still a bargain.” The second man sounded
envious.

“
Aye, I
know, and soon Loxsbeare will be mine.”

“
Have
you heard that the younger Woulfes are still in the
district?”

“
I
heard.” Blanden gave a derisive snort. “I haven’t seen for myself.
I thought they left Exeter when their mother died.”

“
There
have been rumors about that too.”

“
What
sort of rumors?”

“
That
she was murdered by the militia for her jewels.”

The hairs on Samuel’s neck stood up and he
had to force himself not to burst from behind the screen and
confront them.

Blanden sniggered. “Makes no difference to
me how it happened. Though they would do well to be out of the
district before I take possession of the manor.”

The men drained the last of their ale and
left.

When Samuel emerged onto the cobbles
outside Moll’s, there was no sign of either Blanden or his unknown
companion. Tipping an idle link boy with a coin to watch his horse,
Samuel retraced his steps and returned to the Guildhall.

The crowds had dispersed, and the judges
long gone, when he located the clerk he had spoken to earlier. This
time the man showed more respect, and answered his questions
without curiosity, even presented a few documents for Samuel to
riffle through.

What he found there gave him pause for
thought on his ride home to Ideswell.

Chapter
10

Helena
watched as Samuel took a clay pipe
from a box on the mantelpiece, then roll it between his fingers
without lighting it. She had waited for his return all day, but now
he was here, she dreaded hearing what he had to say.

The family knew where Samuel had gone, and
why. As soon as his horse was spotted on the road, they had crowded
into the parlour in anticipation.

“
The
sentences were harsh,” Samuel began without preamble. “But no less
than expected.”

“
Which
was…?” Elias asked. Having been refused permission to accompany
Samuel to the Guildhall, resentment was visible in his set jaw and
narrowed eyes.

“
Sir
Jonathan and Aaron Woulfe were on the list of those ordered to
account for themselves during the uprising, though they did not
appear in court.”

Helena expelled a breath she hadn’t
realised she had been holding.

“
Which
means they’re still wanted fugitives?” Henry said.

“
Or
dead,” Seth blurted, blushing furiously at his father’s hard
glare.

“
Over
thirty men were tried at Exeter this morning,” Samuel went on. “Ten
received whippings, and seven will be transported. The others…” he
broke off and stared at the pipe in his hand, brows
knitted.

“
So much
misery meted out in one day.” Meghan stabbed her needle into the
hem of a gown Deb had torn on a nail.

“
Hundreds of rebels died in an hour and one half on
Sedgemoor,” Henry said, his voice hard. “Hundreds more cut down by
bullets and plug bayonets as they ran or-”