‘I imagine the sight of you drove all such matters from his mind!’ Rob said, with half-hearted gallantry, then sighed. ‘I’d not known this, about his commander being of the same faction – yet I suppose he was required to serve where he was posted. I’m sure that if he’d been free he would have left the Army altogether.’
Lucy suddenly understood that Rob was trying to convince himself that Jamie hadn’t lied to him; she hoped, savagely, that he had. ‘He surely told you that I am a Leveller!’ she said.
Rob nodded glumly. ‘I had understood as much – but you’re a woman. I am sure you will be obedient to your husband.’ He hesitated again, then went on, with sudden resolution, ‘He did say that all the ill I’ve heard of this faction was lies, and, indeed, from aught I’ve seen and heard he spoke truth! I’ve seen none of the evils that others cry out against. But our father will never be reconciled to such new-fangled opinions, never! And if Jamie wishes to be at peace with him, he must let this adherence drop.’
Lucy glared in indignation and fear. Mary took her arm and leaned over to whisper into her ear, ‘Say nothing you’ll regret!’
Lucy let out a breath and nodded slowly. It was clear that even Rob now had doubts about what this promise had actually meant. She should listen to what Jamie had to say about it before she spoke out. ‘I know that Jamie greatly desires to be friends with his kin again,’ she said neutrally. Her heart sank: that was certainly true.
‘And they with him!’ Rob said forcefully. ‘Which, as it happens, is the matter I’ve come to talk about. But there’s no cause to talk on an empty stomach; let’s send to this cookshop you spoke of.’
He gave his purse to his servant with orders to accompany Faith to the cookshop; they went out and presently came back with good wheat bread, a pot of broth, and some braised kidneys. Lucy and Mary had meanwhile cleared the papers off the kitchen table and set out the good beeswax candles. They all sat down to the meal together. The children ate with relish. It was much finer food than they normally had for supper. Lucy, however, picked at her portion, despite having been so hungry earlier. Fear of what the Hudson family might be about to propose for her had completely killed her appetite.
When the meal was over, Rob leaned his elbows on the tabletop and smiled at Lucy. ‘I must apologize again for arriving so suddenly. The truth is that it was my father’s place to write to you, and I feared he might say something to offend. He’s used to his own ways and slow to change them, and he is still deeply grieved for my brother Nick. He lashes out at all the parties he blames for Nick’s death, and you were of a faction he numbers among them.’
It was only because Rob had identified ‘Nick’ as ‘my brother’ that Lucy remembered who he was. Jamie had only mentioned him once, briefly, in a letter months before. Killed at Maidstone, she recalled. Jamie hadn’t said which side he’d been fighting for, and she’d simply assumed Parliament. Now she understood otherwise.
‘He is not unkind, though,’ Rob continued. ‘I told him how you are situated, and what you’d said, that you would take no money that had not his blessing, and it shamed him. When I showed him your last letter, that said you had work with your friends, he fretted that you were obliged to rely upon their kindness rather than our duty. Then there was – well, I’ll tell you of it later; what concerns is that at last he said that it was not fitting that his son’s wife should be left unsupported in London, and he agreed that I should come hither and bring you home!’ He beamed.
Lucy swallowed sickly. It was what she’d feared: she was supposed to leave her work and her friends, lose all her hard-won independence, and rely instead on the charity of Jamie’s horrible old father – and be grateful for it! It was clear, too, that Rob had worked hard to get the old man to make this offer. Turning it down would cause deep offence. She might be able to shrug off their displeasure, but Jamie wouldn’t.
She thought of the green-ribboned crowd she’d been part of that morning, and the exhiliration of knowing that she had helped to raise it. She remembered all the outrageous injustices Parliament had inflicted on her friends, and ached at the thought that in future she would be able to do nothing to help. She thought, too, of the money under her bed, the brief weeks she’d been mistress of her own press, her daydreams of being so again. What was there for her in Lincolnshire? Her life was here, in London!
Faith Overton, who’d been listening to this with a frown of alarm, exclaimed suddenly, ‘You can’t take Lucy away!’
‘Hush!’ said Mary reprovingly. ‘Lucy is a married woman, Faith; she must do as her husband wishes.’
As her husband wishes. With a flood of relief, Lucy remembered that she had a way out, if not one that would please Faith Overton. ‘But Jamie will be coming here!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s been discharged from the Army. Had you not heard yet?’
Rob sat up straight. ‘What? No, I’d heard nothing!’
‘I had the letter two days ago,’ Lucy said. ‘I’ll fetch it.’
She ran upstairs, desperately glad of the worrying letter. Nobody could blame her for staying in London to wait for her husband! She pushed from her mind the fear that the reprieve was only temporary, and that when Jamie did arrive he would expect her to move to Lincolnshire with him. She could argue with him then. There was no point borrowing trouble from the future.
‘Here it is,’ she said, returning to the kitchen with the folded paper. ‘I’m sure he must have writ you, too, but likely the letter missed you on the road.’
Rob read the letter over slowly, frowning. ‘Barker again!’ he exclaimed. ‘By God, that rogue haunts us like an ill deed!’ His jaw set. ‘Is it true, do you think, that Jamie spoke no word to him?’
‘I know no more than what he says there, sir,’ Lucy replied, ‘but I cannot think Jamie would have writ me a bare-faced lie.’
‘No,’ agreed Rob, embarrassed. ‘Forgive me. So this sudden shameful arrest is down to what he told me of, a struggle within your Army between your faction and Cromwell’s?’
‘It must be,’ Lucy agreed. ‘Certainly all the world now knows that Sir Henry Cholmley hated Colonel Rainsborough. It’s said that when they brought him news of the murder, he laughed.’
‘Where does Jamie say that?’ asked Rob in confusion.
It was Mary who answered. ‘Every newsbook in London had an account, Mr Hudson. If you care to read of it, I have that writ by my husband last week.’
Rob shook his head. ‘I am behind the times, it seems. If the matter’s so notorious as that, then even Father must accept that poor Jamie was caught up in it willy-nilly.’
‘I am very troubled about this court martial,’ Lucy confessed. ‘It sounds as though it is to try this Captain Rokeby, because he had no right to order Jamie arrested – but I fear what might happen if the captain’s acquitted. And who will defend Jamie, with Colonel Rainsborough dead?’
‘Who indeed?’ asked Rob, now looking worried. ‘You know no more than what’s set down here?’
Lucy nodded. ‘I hope to ask Jamie’s friend Major Wildman, who will know how the law stands – but he’s from London at present.’
‘I remember a Captain Wildman, who writ us after Jamie was wounded,’ said Rob. ‘This is the same man? Is he still with the Army?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘He quit it summer before last.’
‘So Jamie has no interest in the Army he might call upon?’ asked Rob.
Lucy blinked. She hadn’t considered Wildman in that light. ‘I . . . I should think he has friends in his regiment . . .’ she faltered.
Rob snorted. ‘They did little enough for him when he was ill! And when I saw him last, he seemed disaffected from all his officers but Rainsborough, while they had little trust of him. He says here he’s been discharged. How likely is it that those who neglected him before will exert themselves on his behalf now?’
Lucy stared. She’d been worried before; now she was getting really frightened. ‘He . . . he wrote as though he soon hoped to have leave to go!’ s
he protested.
‘He would be bound to put a brave face upon it for you,’ Rob said dismissively. ‘Any man will strive to keep his wife from fretting for him.’ He thought a moment. ‘What funds has he?’
The silence that greeted this was its answer. ‘None?’ asked Rob in dismay.
‘Your father, sir, gave him an allowance,’ said Lucy. ‘I was very glad of it. The Army scarcely sees its pay one week out of twenty, and of late, I think, not at all.’
Rob swallowed. ‘Father stopped Jamie’s allowance after he rejoined the Army and . . . and . . . ahhh . . .’
‘Wed me,’ finished Lucy. Jamie had never mentioned that, but it was easy to guess. ‘Oh, God have mercy!’
‘God help him!’ exclaimed Rob in horror.
Mary stirred. ‘I cannot think he is without friends,’ she said. ‘Colonel Rainsborough’s regiment is full of our friends!’
‘But I had required him to break off his adherence to your levelling “friends”,’ Rob said unhappily. ‘It’s no good: he is certainly penniless, and probably at the mercy of his enemies. He may have written to me begging for help – I’d know nothing of it if he had!’ He ran a weary hand through his hair. ‘I will start for the north tomorrow.’ He got to his feet. ‘Sister Lucy, I had hoped to bring you back to Bourne with me, but it seems you must remain here a little longer.’
Lucy ducked both her head and a direct response. ‘I am very glad that you can go to Jamie’s aid,’ she said instead. ‘With all my heart I thank you, sir! I do not know how he does, but I am quite certain he will do much better for your coming.’
Rob gave her a tired smile and took her hand. ‘The more I see of you, Sister, the more I approve Jamie’s choice. God keep you well until we meet again.’
When Rob and his servant had left, Faith came over to Lucy and stared earnestly into her face. She was a solemn child, weighed down by her responsibility for her younger brother and sister, which had struck her cruelly when her parents were both in prison. She and Lucy shared a bed, though, and Lucy often succeeded in making her giggle with some titbit of news or an old country-tale. ‘Do you want to go away?’ she asked now.
Lucy hugged her. ‘Oh, Faith, sweet! I love you dearly, but you know I am only here because my husband is at the wars.’
‘Do you love him?’ asked Faith.
‘Aye,’ said Lucy – though a part of her wondered whether it was true. The burning conviction with which she’d begun the marriage had cooled under the cold airs of distance and ignorance. A large part of her now wished that she could just stay with the Overtons – living as Faith’s aunt and Mary’s younger sister, working on the press and sharing her bed with no one but this solemn child.
‘I married him,’ she told Faith – and herself. ‘Once he returns I could not stay here even if we continue in London.’
‘But I want you to stay here!’ cried Faith rebelliously. ‘We love you, too! Why does his love matter more?’
‘That’s enough, Faith,’ Mary said sharply. ‘God himself joins man and wife into one flesh, and none may sunder them. Time for bed.’
‘But Mr Hudson’s done nothing for Lucy all this year!’ protested Faith. ‘We’ve been all her family! And she doesn’t want to go; you know she doesn’t!’
‘Fie on you!’ replied Mary severely. ‘For shame, Faith, to wish an honest wife parted from her husband! To bed with you at once!’
Mary took Faith upstairs, settled her and the younger two, and listened to them as they said their prayers. When she came downstairs again Lucy was finishing the washing up.
‘What will you do?’ Mary asked quietly.
Lucy bit her lip. ‘What can I do? For me to ride north would slow Mr Robert, and give no help to Jamie!’
‘That was not what I meant.’
Lucy looked down; she knew what Mary meant. ‘What can I do?’ she repeated miserably. ‘If he has promised to forswear the cause for the sake of peace with his father, and if he decides to take me back to his father’s house . . .’ She looked up. ‘It would go much against my heart. I suppose I would beg him to think again.’
Mary let out a huh of acknowledgement and sat down at the cleared table. ‘Did you ever meet John Wildman’s wife Frances?’ she asked after a minute.
‘No,’ said Lucy, startled. ‘I know she and her kin were of the King’s party, and it caused a quarrel.’
‘She’s a Papist,’ said Mary.
Lucy goggled. Everyone she knew spoke of the Church of Rome as an oppressive, idolatrous tyranny – the Whore of Babylon, drunk on the blood of the saints. She’d never met a Papist, though, to talk to. ‘Did he know what she was when he wed her?’ she asked.
‘Aye,’ said Mary. ‘And the troubles of the state had begun then, though it hadn’t yet come to war. The Major has always been for toleration, of course, and I suppose in his eyes that justifies him – yet I think that if he’d told her and her friends plainly, “I am for Parliament and common right”, there would have been no marriage. Still, she did marry him, and when the war began she could not understand why her husband must take up arms for the party that most hated those of her religion. She begged him to remain neutral, at the least, and when he refused, she was bitterly hurt, and went back to her kin. For this she has the name of a scolding shrew, but I met her once, when she came to see her husband on some business. She was a soft-spoken gentlewoman, and very sad.’
Lucy was silent.
‘Men expect their wives to follow their opinions,’ Mary said. ‘A woman who presumes to disagree with her husband is condemned by all. Do you think I was a Leveller when first I met Dick?’
Lucy stared at her friend, now shocked.
‘Oh, I am now,’ Mary said wearily. ‘And for that matter, Dick wasn’t one when we wed, for there was no such thing. I walked beside him as he followed that road, and agreed with him at each turning of the way. If I’d known how much it would cost us, I might have dug my heels in – but I didn’t, and here we are. What I mean to say, though, is, if your Jamie truly has given up the cause, you have no choice but to surrender it as well. Poor Mrs Wildman at least has wealthy kin who are willing to give her support and protection. Your kin, by all you’ve said of them, would straightaway tell you to go back and obey your husband.’
‘I . . . I could work . . .’
Mary shook her head. ‘Where? Do you think Mr Mabbot would employ you against your husband’s wishes? I promise you, he wouldn’t; a scandal on his press could cost him his Licensorship. Dick would let you stay here, out of pity – and, oh, how we all would rue it! A married woman lodging with family friends while her husband’s at the war is one thing; a woman who’s left her husband to live in the house of a leader of the faction she adheres to – that’s another. To speak plainly, they’d call you Dick’s whore, and me Dick’s cast-off. We would be spat upon in the street – aye, even the children would suffer for it!’
Lucy pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, which were burning. Mary was right, of course. She had no choice but to obey her husband. For the first time she wished whole-heartedly that she had never married.
‘Jamie’s brother m-may have heard what he wanted to hear!’ she stammered at last. ‘I think he fears that he did. When I speak to Jamie, I . . . I may well find him of my mind!’
Mary nodded. ‘It’s likely true that your new brother heard what he wanted to. But it’s a bitter thing thing to be sundered from your kin. Your Jamie has suffered much in the wars, and it’s not to be wondered at if he wishes to have peace at last.’
‘Peace at the cost of accepting injustice?’
‘And was it justice that killed my baby?’ Mary demanded, her voice suddenly cracking. ‘The cost of fighting injustice is no pittance! I’ve paid it in flesh and blood – and so has your Jamie. If he feels he can pay no more, who are you to tell him he must? Don’t quarrel with him, Lucy; for God’s love, don’t quarrel! By all means tell him your wishes, but listen to what he has to say, as well! If he wan
ts to go home, go with him peaceably. Owning a press in London might be a fine thing – but it’s not worth the breaking of your marriage or anybody’s heart.’
Lucy began to cry. ‘It’s all wrong!’ she said thickly. ‘Why must I choose? Men don’t have to choose!’
Mary suddenly hugged her. ‘The world is full of wrongs. We fight those we can, but the rest we must endure. Our consolation must be that this sad life is but a vapour, and soon gone. The only things which endure are faith, and hope, and love.’
Fifteen
Jamie had intended to follow Rainsborough’s coffin to London. This was only partly out of respect for the murdered man: the journey would be easier and much cheaper if he could make it in company, sharing food and quarters with others. The twenty shillings he had been given might be more money that most soldiers had seen all year, but it wouldn’t pay his keep all the way to London. He went to the assembly point in Doncaster market on the morning the cortege set out – only to have the captain who was organizing it tell him he had to remain in the town.
‘Sir,’ Jamie said politely, ‘Colonel Rainsborough discharged me from the Army, and it was my intention to follow his body to its burial.’
‘You’ll be needed to bear witness against that scoundrel Rokeby,’ replied the captain. He frowned. ‘Have you no wish to see justice done?’
‘Sir,’ Jamie said, more sharply, ‘I have barely money enough to carry me home if I travel with these others. I have no more entitlement to free quarter, and until my wound heals I cannot work. Must I starve for the sake of Captain Rokeby’s trial?’
‘I’ll see to your support until the hearing!’ the captain said impatiently. ‘But you must remain here. The Army may have discharged you, but it can still command your attendance in court.’
It was clear to Jamie that he couldn’t tag along with the cortege when the man in charge of it forbade him to. Still, he knew better than to trust a mere verbal promise of support, and dug in his heels until he got a formal written order.
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