He woke late, but was still up before his wife. He left Lucy sleeping and went to find her some breakfast. Everyone he met grinned at him and asked after his wife. It seemed that the story had already spread about the camp.
When he returned to the room with bread and small beer, he found Lucy awake. She was sitting on the clothes chest in her shift, right leg bent over left, her skirt turned up above the knee. She pulled it down hastily when the door opened.
‘Are you hurt?’ he asked with concern. He thought he’d caught a glimpse of red on her upturned knee.
She made a face, then – awkwardly, still shy in his unaccustomed presence – she pulled the skirts up and showed him where the skin was rubbed raw on the inside of her knee. ‘It was the side-saddle,’ she told him ruefully. ‘I’d never ridden with one before, and it’s flayed me. And, oh, Jamie, I ache so!’
His own experience of that ache was too recent for him to smile. ‘Aye, hard riding’s a cruel trial,’ he said sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry you were put to it.’
She smiled up at him coyly. ‘And I thought you were pleased to see me!’
The best answer to that was to set down the mug of small beer and show her exactly how pleased he was to see her. She laughed joyfully, and was his paradise again.
Lying on the mattress afterward he inspected the flayed knee. ‘I’ll find you some cloth to bind that,’ he told her, tenderly kissing the inflamed skin at the edge of the wound.
She sighed contentedly and stroked his hair. ‘Thank you. I dare not ride with it like this, and I should start home today.’
‘Today?’ he repeated, lifting his head in startled dismay. He had counted on at least one more night together. ‘Surely you should rest first!’
‘Jamie, I’ve left Mary Overton doing my work for me! I can’t burden her with that any longer than I must – and I must do all I can to keep Mrs Alkin’s business. I’ll be in a hard spot indeed if I lose it.’
‘Alkin?’ he said vaguely.
‘Elizabeth Alkin, who hired me to print her newsbook! I wrote you of it.’
‘Aye,’ he said, remembering. ‘Only I forgot the name. Well, does it matter so much if she takes her business elsewhere?’
‘Jamie! It’s licensed, and it’s twenty-two shillings a week!’
He was silent: she was being paid four times as much as he was, and, unexpectedly, it stung. He saw that he’d been thinking her work was the same as when he shared it. He’d known that she’d since taken positions which were more professional and better paid, but he’d only ever seen her banging out Leveller tracts for a pittance to help the cause. He told himself that he ought to be pleased that she could support herself so well, but what he felt had nothing to do with pleasure. Her success left him feeling shamed.
‘It’s but four shillings and sixpence for me, once all the costs are paid,’ she said, understanding something of his silence. ‘That’s scarce enough to pay the rent – in fact, the Overtons are remitting me a shilling, so that I can keep up my visits to the Major. Truly, Jamie, if I don’t get other customers besides Mrs Alkin I’ll be a burden to my friends – but if I lose her business I’ll have to borrow or sell the press. I’ve had no time to find any other customers. Sorry as I am to leave you, I need to get back to London!’
‘Nay,’ he said, suddenly irritated, ‘You’ve no need to toil thus at all! You are my wife now, a gentleman’s wife. You might go to Bourne.’
She stared. ‘Lincolnshire? Why would I go there?’
‘You’d be safe among friends.’
‘So I am in London! Why . . .’
‘London is the unsafest place in England! Those of our friends who aren’t in prison now might be set there at any moment! And Lieutenant Barker knows now where you are!’
‘Aye, and I know who he is, too! If he is the man who tried to decoy me with that foul lie, he’d be a monstrous fool to show his face again! Jamie, I’m safer now than I’ve been for a twelvemonth, and I’ve just bought a press! Why on earth should I go to Lincolnshire?’
‘You are my wife,’ he pointed out. ‘I wrote you of my brother’s visit. Now we’re friends again, my family ought to do their duty to you – and they’ve never even met you!’
‘Aye, and if they have any wish to meet me, they’ve been strangely slow to let me know of it!’ She caught her breath, met his eyes, and went on resolutely, ‘The truth, now: they were angry because you married me, were they not?’
He tried to think of a tactful answer, realized that his pause had given him away, and admitted, ‘Aye. They knew naught of you, see, and my father was angry because I didn’t ask his blessing. But I think Rob will have set them straight. Most likely they’re curious to meet you.’
She let her breath out slowly. ‘If they are, they should say as much. You said you’re friends again – which means you weren’t, before.’
He’d forgotten that he’d never explained that to her, and forgotten, too, the speed of the mind behind those bewitching eyes. He looked away, embarrassed. ‘My father was angry that I went to fight for Parliament,’ he admitted. ‘It was . . . we never agreed well. He called me disobedient, and I suppose I was. When I went off to war he made it plain he’d have no more to do with me unless I returned to what he called my duty. But . . .’
‘And you would have me go to him? The Leveller girl his disobedient son wed without his blessing? Am I supposed to forswear all and humbly beg his pardon on your behalf?’
He didn’t know how to reply. ‘All I want is your safety!’ he said at last.
She gave a snort of contempt. ‘Jamie, I’ve told you: I’m safe in London! No. I’ll not go to Bourne. I’ll start back to London as soon as I’ve seen this Lieutenant Barker of yours.’
He was deeply dissatisfied: he was her husband, and he was trying to protect her. She ought to obey . . . but now that it had been pointed out, he could see that he’d been a fool to think she might be welcome at Bourne if she turned up there uninvited. His father would treat her with outright contempt – God, the old man was perfectly capable of making her work as a serving-maid, or turning her off as a vagrant! He would have to write Robert first, and explain the situation.
There was a knock on the door. Lucy hastily picked up her gown and pulled it on, just as Rainsborough’s servant came in smiling and told them that the colonel would be off to visit headquarters shortly, and that they were invited to come with him.
Rainsborough’s staff had found Jamie a horse. Nobody said anything about Cousin Wentnor and Jamie, relieved, didn’t ask. Lucy sat pillion as they rode through the camp and across the Colne. The pressure of her body against his back was like sunshine in the persistent rain. He noted how the men of the regiment stared in surprise and admiration, wondering how their one-eyed blacksmith had managed to get himself such a beautiful wife. He sat straight in the saddle, smiling.
At the headquarters in Lexden Ireton was willing to see them; he was not, however, able to be any help. It seemed that Lieutenant Barker was away with dispatches, and was not expected back for at least a week.
‘When did he leave, sir?’ Rainsborough asked politely.
‘Three days ago,’ said Ireton, looking from the colonel to Lucy and Jamie. ‘Why do you ask?’
Lucy curtsied. ‘Sir. The day before yesterday a man sought me out in London . . .’
Jamie, listening again, was very glad that she was there to tell the story herself. Ireton might have ignored a letter with the same information. He could not ignore this simply dressed young woman standing before him and recounting what had happened to her plainly and without speculation. He was visibly troubled by it: he frowned angrily, and his small neat hands clenched. When Lucy finished, he inclined his head to her. ‘It was an abominable trick, Mistress, to try to turn a poor woman’s love for her husband to her undoing! You are to be commended for ’scaping the snare. But I presume from Colonel Rainsborough’s questions that he suspects Lieutenant Barker. I pray he is mistaken to do so. Colonel, what
grounds have you for this suspicion?’
Rainsborough made a face and spread his hands. ‘Lieutenant Barker matches the description. The story Mrs Hudson was told referred to our attack on the abbey gatehouse, which was taking place at the time he left Colchester. He knew of the gentlewoman and where she lodged from some letters which had passed through his hands, and he is a bitter enemy to Mr Hudson. He’d challenged him once and lost.’
‘What?’ Ireton straightened angrily. ‘I knew nothing of this!’
‘I knew little more, sir, until it was done. The engagement was ended at first blood, out of respect to their common service, and your man sustained no more harm than a scratch.’
Ireton waved that aside. ‘Why did you not report this to me?’
‘Because it was done with, and no hurt taken,’ replied Rainsborough. ‘And you and I, sir, are not on such terms that we could afford another cause of contention.’
There was a silence. Ireton regarded Rainsborough with narrowed eyes.
‘You would have blamed my man,’ said Rainsborough, ‘and I would have defended him.’
‘I hope, colonel, that we would both have had more respect for the law than to defend either party to a duel!’
Rainsborough gave a snort of amusement. ‘Oh? So you never meant to fight Mr Holles?’
Jamie was astonished to see the cold and ruthless Henry Ireton actually blush. It was notorious that he and Denzil Holles, both members of Parliament, had engaged to fight one another after a particularly stormy session of the House of Commons. The duel had been prevented, not by second thoughts, but their friends.
‘Holles would provoke a saint,’ said Ireton, still flushed.
‘You and I are in agreement on that, at least, sir,’ replied Rainsborough. ‘My only complaint would be that you didn’t fight the man and run him through. My point, however, was that gentlemen will fight, whatever the law may say about it, and since in this case no harm was done, I thought it best to look the other way.’
Ireton still looked dissatisfied. ‘I should have been informed. I have trusted Barker; I need to be sure he is trustworthy. You say that he was the challenger?’
Rainsborough glanced at Jamie, who stirred uncomfortably and said, ‘I termed him a coward, sir, for his conduct on the road. You know my reasons. He demanded an apology. His second urged me to make peace. I would have been willing, had Lieutenant Barker been willing to explain himself.’
The cold eyes fixed him a moment – then Ireton sighed. ‘I see.’ Jamie felt shamefully relieved. Ireton was not going to defend Barker; at least, not while Barker’s morals were otherwise in question.
The general drummed his fingers on the desk once, then fixed his attention on Rainsborough. ‘Suspicion is not proof. I am sorry that Lieutenant Barker is away, and that we cannot settle this at once. Mrs Hudson, I must ask you to remain here until he returns. I will see to it that you have fitting accommodation until then.’
Lucy looked up sharply. ‘What? Sir, it’s not possible! I must start back to London today!’
Ireton’s eyebrows rose. ‘Out of the question!’
‘Sir, I have a printing business which is all my livelihood, and which cannot long endure my absence!’
‘This is a serious accusation against a trusted servant!’ Ireton protested irritably. ‘You cannot make it, then go back to London leaving Lieutenant Barker under such a cloud!’ He glanced irritably at Jamie. ‘Tell your wife she is to stay here until Lieutenant Barker returns!’
Part of Jamie wanted to do just that: the thought of having Lucy at his side for a week was delicious. The sight of his wife’s angry face dissuaded him – and what right did Ireton have to order her about, wrecking the business she’d worked so hard to create? He crossed his arms. ‘Sir. My wife has been deprived of support from me – as you well know, since it was your doing. I will not suffer her to be deprived of her livelihood as well.’
Lucy shot him a look of gratitude.
‘In truth, sir,’ said Rainsborough, ‘I think it would be most unjust to deprive the poor gentlewoman of her livelihood, merely to spare Lieutenant Barker a “cloud”. Why must she stay here to identify the man who assailed her? If Lieutenant Barker denies guilt, you can send him to London, together with a witness to report. He’ll look no different there than here!’
Reluctantly, Ireton agreed.
Rainsborough had regimental business to conduct with Ireton, but before starting on it he borrowed paper and wrote a notice. ‘Here,’ he said, smiling as he handed it to Jamie. ‘You have four days’ leave to escort your wife back to London. Her cousin has asked to remain here at Colchester a few days more, and I’ve invited him to do so as my guest.’ He turned the smile on Lucy. ‘He’s as witty a fellow as I’ve met in all my life, and marvellous well-informed.’
Jamie took the pass with delight; Lucy, however, looked uneasy. She bit her lip, then burst out, ‘Sir, you should have a care of my cousin. He’s a great gossip and wine-bibber, and he has never liked our cause. Tell him a secret and next week you’ll hear it in every tavern in London. To speak truthfully, I’d not have sought him out at all, except that I needed a horse.’
Rainsborough only smiled again. ‘Have no fear; I’ll tell him no secrets! Mr Hudson, I expect you back in camp in four days.’
Jamie gave no more thought to Cousin Wentnor until the man came to bid Lucy farewell as they prepared to leave camp. ‘I suppose you are happy?’ he asked sourly.
She straightened, chin lifting defiantly. ‘Aye, sir, I am.’
He snorted, gave Jamie a glare, then brought out a packet of letters. ‘You might deliver these for me, since you’ve brought me here for nothing. Here, this one is for the innkeeper of that place in Widford where we left the horses – will you cast an eye over my Honey, whilst you’re there? See that she’s well tended? This is for my liveryman in Smithfield – have a care that your husband changes his coat before you speak with him, or he’ll feel himself ill used! The other two should be left at The Sun in Convent Garden. The landlord will know what to do with them.’
Lucy took the packet and stowed it in her tiny bundle of luggage. Her cousin grinned, then swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly. ‘A kinsman’s privilege!’ he said, when Lucy looked flustered and Jamie frowned. ‘Fare you well, sweet cousin! As for you, Mr Hudson – you have better fortune than you deserve.’
He swept off jauntily. Jamie helped Lucy up into the side-saddle of her rented horse, then mounted his borrowed one, and they set off.
It was raining when they crossed the Colne and turned their backs on Colchester, but Jamie felt as though the sun shone. He had four days free of the siege, two of them to be spent with Lucy! He watched her tenderly, wincing in sympathy when she jarred her bandaged knee, asking her whether she wanted to stop early, ‘for we can do the journey in three days, if you please. I can ride hard on the return’.
‘Nay,’ she said, with a weary smile, ‘two days will be well enough. We can stop in Widford tonight, where we changed horses yesterday.’
‘Where your cousin wants you to check on his horse. I never knew you had a Wentnor cousin in London.’
She glanced about nervously; there was no one nearby. Still she lowered her voice when she said, ‘I don’t.’
Jamie frowned in puzzlement.
‘That was Mr Nedham.’
Jamie reined in his horse. ‘What?’
‘Hush!’ she said urgently. ‘Jamie, he came here to help me. He dared not do that under his own name, and I couldn’t let him be taken!’
‘Mercurius Pragmaticus?’ Jamie protested incredulously. ‘Mercurius Pragmaticus is Colonel Rainsborough’s guest?’
‘I warned Colonel Rainsborough!’ Lucy said.
Jamie shook his head. ‘Not strongly enough! We must go back and tell him the truth!’
‘No!’ said Lucy in alarm. ‘They might hang Mr Nedham for a spy!’
‘So? Likely he is a spy!’
‘Nay, he’s a newsm
an! And Jamie, he only came to help me. He does not deserve to die for that, surely!’
Jamie remembered Nedham’s parting kiss, and the man’s open hostility towards himself, and saw that he’d been made a fool of. Rage sickened him. ‘Indeed he came for you! He is all a-bubble with lust, and he hoped to find me dead, the malignant rogue, so that he might have his way with you!’
Her face flushed. ‘Jamie, he’s treated me fairly and with kindness, and he never did you any harm!’
‘Kindness!’ he spat. ‘Altogether too much kindness, I’ve no doubt!’ It suddenly struck him, though, that Lucy had told everyone from Ireton down to the camp sentries that Nedham was her cousin. If Nedham were hanged for a spy, what would the Army do to her? The mood in the camp was savage. She could not expect mercy just because she was young and beautiful. ‘What were you doing, turning to such a man?’ he asked in horror.
‘I told you! He had a horse! I wanted to borrow the horse and leave the man, but he insisted on coming with me!’
‘You should have borrowed another horse!’
‘I didn’t know anyone else who might lend one, and I was afraid you were dying!’ There were tears in her voice now.
‘Then you should have stayed home, rather than trust to such a man!’ he declared furiously. ‘He’s a mercenary son of a whore! I thought you’d done with him months ago!’
‘He had a horse!’ Lucy said again. She was starting to cry.
‘Aye, and did you let him ride you to get it?’
He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Lucy gazed at him a moment, her face wounded and white with outrage. Then she turned away and kicked her mount to a trot.
He wanted to gallop after her and beg her pardon; he also wanted to pull her off the horse and shake her. Instead he drove his mount after her and grabbed the small package of luggage tied behind the side-saddle. She cried out and grabbed it back. ‘Nay, I’ll have his letters, anyway!’ he told her angrily. ‘I’ll not have you carrying sedition for him!’ Perhaps, he thought, the letters would contain some boast about Lucy.
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