A Corruptible Crown

by Gillian Bradshaw

  Faith turned tearful eyes to her mother, her mouth mulish. ‘But who will look after us if they put you and Da in prison?’

  Mary hesitated, stricken; her husband cried with forced cheerfulness, ‘There’s no danger of that, sweet! Come, leave off this foolishness, kiss Lucy goodnight, and go up to bed!’

  Lucy took the child’s face between her hands. ‘You won’t be left alone again, Faith, I promise it. I pray God you need not fear for your parents’ freedom, but if ever they do fall into danger, I will look after you. I would come down from Lincolnshire to fetch you.’

  Faith hugged her tightly and began crying again. ‘I still don’t want you to go!’

  ‘Oh, sweet, life’s full of partings! I didn’t want to part from Jamie last year, nor he from me, but here we are well-met again at last! You and I will meet again, too, you may be sure of it. Go up to bed, darling. In the morning you’ll be ashamed of how you carried on tonight.’

  Faith kissed Lucy, cast a look of loathing at Jamie, and fled upstairs.

  ‘Forgive her,’ Mary urged Jamie anxiously. ‘She will miss her bed-mate; and, indeed, she has been a troubled and fearful child of late, with the streets full of soldiers and the times so uncertain.’

  Jamie cleared his throat uncomfortably. He felt like a robber – no, like a soldier, come to requisition something precious. ‘She’s but a child. Of course I am not angry.’

  John Lilburne raised his cup of sack. ‘Here’s to your safe return from the wars, Mr Hudson! And may all our soldiers soon do likewise!’

  They all drank to coming home from the war. The sherry was sweet, but with an acid edge that hurt Jamie’s teeth. His joyous reunion had already become uneasy.

  ‘Have you lodgings for tonight, Mr Hudson?’ Dick Overton asked, when the cups were empty.

  ‘I bespoke a room in Smithfield, where I left the horses.’

  ‘Horses!’ repeated Lucy in surprise.

  ‘Aye. My father loaned me two.’ At her look of alarm he burst out, ‘You need not come at once! I told my father that you could not leave your friends suddenly, after all their kindnesses to you. There is time to . . . to make whatever arrangements are needed.’

  ‘But you do mean to remove to Lincolnshire,’ she said, watching him closely.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, and swallowed. Faith’s ‘She wants to stay here with us!’ echoed miserably in his mind. He was dreadfully afraid that the night would end with his wife in tears, begging to be allowed to stay in London. He had dreamed of returning to her so long and so desperately that he didn’t know if he could bear it. ‘I – my father wants me at home,’ he said, struggling to get words out. ‘We can talk over how best to manage it. I know that it will grieve you to leave your friends here in London, but I hope . . . I hope we can arrange matters so that you and I can be happy.’

  ‘You’re reconciled, then, with your father?’ asked Wildman.

  Jamie nodded. He felt he ought to elaborate, but his throat was clogged with all the things he wanted to say to Lucy.

  ‘I’ll hear the whole tale tomorrow,’ Wildman said, slapping him on the arm. ‘For now; I’m sure you’d prefer your wife’s company.’

  ‘I’ll fetch you some things for the night,’ Mary offered Lucy. ‘Best you don’t go upstairs just now; it will set Faith to weeping. Come back in the morning; we’ll talk then about what is to be done.’

  It was only a few minutes later that Lucy found herself closing the door of the house on Coleman Street behind her. She told herself that of course it wasn’t for the last time – she would be back in the morning; she’d probably be coming back every morning for the next week, while her friends looked for someone to replace her on The Moderate.

  She knew, though, that in an important sense it was for the last time. She would not inhabit this house again. She was stepping out into the darkness with a hulking near-stranger, and she wasn’t even sure whether the giddiness she felt sprang from exhiliration or terror.

  When she’d seen him standing in the street, a tall slouched form alone in the darkness, something inside her had seemed to shift, and all the resolutions about what she would say and do had gone out of her head. Running to him, having his arms around her, had felt right somewhere deep inside. The questions, though, were crowding back. What would she do in Lincolnshire?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie said awkwardly.

  The Overtons had loaned them a lantern, which Jamie was carrying in his good, left hand; as he turned toward her the wavering light cast the scarred side of his face into shadow. Lucy frowned up at his half-profile, the single eye gleaming darkly under the brim of his hat. That face had changed since she’d seen it last: suffering had shadowed the eyes and drawn deep lines around the mouth. He was so thin, too! Rob had warned her, but still it had shocked her. ‘For what?’ she asked.

  ‘I know you’d sooner stay in London than remove to a place unknown.’

  She made a face. It was actually a relief, to know for certain that she was to leave London. She’d been unsettled ever since Barker’s assault, and events since the Army’s arrival filled her with dread. She was now more worried about her promises to Mary and to Faith than about the prospect of moving to Lincolnshire. If Jamie refused to give the Overton children house-room, what could she do about it? Even if he was willing to honour her promise, what if his father forbade it?

  Of course, she might never be called on to keep that promise. Indeed, Mary wasn’t really even threatened, this time – though she’d probably be glad of a safe refuge for the little ones even if it were only Dick who went to prison. Lucy hoped fervently that Dick, too, would be safe, but the Army’s recent doings, and the Leveller response to them, made her queasy with apprehension.

  ‘Your brother wished me to come away to Lincolnshire last month,’ she told Jamie. ‘It gave me occasion to accustom myself to the thought of such a remove. Pay no heed to what Faith said. She’s but grieved to lose a friend. But . . .’ Her heart sank. She shouldn’t have made such a weighty promise without consulting him, so how could she explain that she had to keep it?

  ‘But?’ Jamie repeated, watching her with what seemed almost fear.

  She burst out, ‘What I promised Faith just now – Jamie, the Overtons have ever treated me like their own bloodkin. How could I treat them as less?’

  His eye widened in surprise. ‘Oh!’ he said, as though he’d forgotten all about the promise. He smiled tentatively. ‘I’d be most willing to receive Mistress Faith.’

  ‘There are three children,’ admitted Lucy.

  That brought a frown – but only momentarily. ‘They would all be welcome.’

  ‘Truly?’ she asked, scarcely daring to credit it. ‘I know it’s much to ask, but . . .’

  He interrupted. ‘Lucy, your friends have supported and protected you all this long year, while I could do nothing for you! It shamed me; I think it even shamed my father. Of course I would be glad of the chance to repay some of the debt I owe the Overtons!’

  ‘But – your father? Would he . . .’ She checked herself, then went on nervously, ‘Jamie, one thing your brother said that troubled me very much was that you’d agreed to give up your adherence to the cause, and . . . and it seems to me that if your father understood whose children they were, he would not welcome them.’

  Jamie looked sick.

  ‘He’ll forbid it,’ she said, her heart sinking again.

  He shook his head impatiently. ‘It’s not his affair. We will have a house of our own soon, I hope. It would never do, for you and I to squeeze into the manor alongside my father and brother and all. But . . .’

  ‘We’ll have a house of our own?’ she repeated in relief. This was enormously good news. She would not have to become a humble dependent of Jamie’s intimidating family!

  ‘Aye,’ he said impatiently, then continued urgently, ‘But as to what I promised Rob – Lucy, I only wanted not to quarrel with him! Nick was dead, and Rob was all I had; I thought we could be at peace if I only agr
eed to hold my tongue! I never meant to . . . to surrender! But he took it as meaning more, and now . . .’

  ‘I saw how he took it,’ Lucy said, when Jamie faltered again.

  He swallowed. ‘I haven’t turned against the Agreement, Lucy. It’s what we’ve fought for all these years, and it was worth fighting for. But, sweet, I am so tired of fighting!’ Then he looked down and added, in a low voice, ‘And I fear that whatever we do now, Cromwell and Ireton will win.’

  That touched the heart of Lucy’s own apprehensions, and she had no reply to it. ‘But I can tell Mary that you agree to have the children, should they arrest Dick?’ she asked at last.

  ‘Oh, aye, gladly!’ he exclaimed in relief.

  She reached out and caught his hand. It was the bad hand; the iron was cold under her fingers, but the rough palm curved eagerly about her own, enfolding it warmly. ‘Thank you!’ she said in relief. ‘I’d not have you think Faith is always as troublesome as she was tonight. In truth, usually she’s too good and quiet for her own peace. That outburst was much unlike her, and I’m sure only came about because she’s been so frightened, poor child. She’s scarcely slept all week. She lies awake worrying. It was bad enough to have the streets full of soldiers, but now the committee’s to be cast aside, and her father’s on it. She’s a wise child, she knows what’s afoot.’

  ‘What committee?’ Jamie asked in bewilderment.

  She peered up at him in surprise – then remembered that he’d spent weeks out in the country and on the road. ‘Did you not hear that Free-born John, and Dick, and Major Wildman were asked to a committee with Ireton and some Parliament men, to draw up a settlement for a new form of government?’

  Jamie stared a moment, then shook his head. ‘There was some talk of this, before I left the regiment, but I didn’t know it had come about. It actually met, did it? And it’s to be cast aside?’

  She nodded miserably. ‘They agreed a settlement, Jamie! A settlement that was everything we’ve wanted all these years! But instead of being taken forward, all their work is now thrown to another committee, for more discussions – and meanwhile the real business is done in secret between Ireton and what’s left of Parliament. The new committee is ignored. All everyone talks of these days is how there’ll be a trial of the King. And this is after that treacherous purge! Did you hear of that?’

  He winced. ‘Aye. On the road south.’

  She thought he must have: the furore surrounding the Army’s purge of Parliament had been long and loud. The Levellers – and, to be fair, the Army leaders – had called for the dissolution of Parliament followed by fresh elections. Instead, Westminster had been surrounded by troops and all the members hostile to the Army had been excluded, leaving the rest in place. The House of Commons had become a creature of the Army, a rump representative of nobody. Cromwell, who’d been summoned south when the Army first marched into London, had taken a long time on the road, and managed to arrive in the capital the day after the purge was over, reaping the benefits while escaping the blame.

  ‘Dick and Honest John have walked out of the new committee,’ Lucy went on. ‘Major Wildman wants them to come back. He says that though the new committee is an affront, yet to give over is but to surrender and let Ireton have his way.’

  ‘Ireton will have his way whatever they do,’ said Jamie heavily.

  Lucy bit her lip. Lilburne had spent most of that evening’s Leveller meeting denouncing Ireton as ‘a dissembling juggling knave’, and promising to write a pamphlet to lay bare all of the Army leadership’s deceits. She’d listened, but privately feared that a pamphlet wouldn’t be enough. Pikes and muskets were the only power in London now. ‘Free-born John means to appeal to the common soldiers,’ she said half-heartedly.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ Jamie said unhappily, ‘we lost at Ware. Cromwell was too strong for us even then – and all this last year his power has grown and grown. All the glorious victories of the war were his. Lord General Fairfax spent all summer sat miserably before Colchester – it’s no wonder he was thrust aside when the Army marched on London. It’s Cromwell’s Army now. Things might be different if we still had Colonel Rainsborough, but he’s dead. Honest John’s as gallant a gentleman as ever drew breath, but even he won’t prevail now.’ He gave her a desperate look and went on, ‘Whether or not I hold my peace will not turn the scales by a hair – but it would cost me dearly. My family have welcomed me back, Lucy; my little sister Peggy ran and threw her arms about me when she saw me, for all that she’d not seen me since my maiming, and I was filthy from the road. And my father . . . my father wept. It would kill me to quarrel with them again!’

  Lucy finally understood that he was afraid she would quarrel with him, forcing him to choose between her and his family. She felt a sudden overwhelming stab of pity. If he feels he can pay no more, Mary had said, who are you to tell him he must?

  ‘Then don’t!’she said impulsively. ‘Peace is a joy, if you can win it. If Dick and Honest John agreed to hold their peace, their wives would thank God for it. I should not have said that! I beg you, never repeat it!’

  He stopped, staring at her in astonishment. ‘I will not. You’re not angry with me?’

  She reached out with her free hand and touched his chest. ‘You are my husband, and you came back to me alive despite all this cruel war could do to us. How could I be angry?’

  He set down the lantern, pulled her to him, and kissed her. ‘Oh, my darling! I thought you would weep, or curse me!’ He was in tears.

  She reached up and stroked the scarred side of his face. ‘Jamie, if removing to Lincolnshire is the worst grief I must suffer, I’ll count myself blessed.’

  He kissed her again. ‘I thought of you day and night. Dear God, and even at the last I nearly lost you, and never knew it! I think if I had come here and found you dead, it would have driven me mad. I never want to part from you again!’

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. She felt as though she, not he, had endured a long hard journey, but at last come home, into the circle of his arms.

  He hurried her the rest of the way to his inn. It was across the road from the livery stable where Nedham kept his mare. That gave her a moment’s pause, but then she turned her back on it and the memory. They went up to his room, and – because it was a cold night – climbed under the bed’s thick covers before undressing, shedding shirts and shifts and stockings out from between the sheets. There they found paradise again, readmitted to Eden and to innocence after the long walk in shadow.

  Afterwards, though, she got up and lit a candle. He groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

  ‘We must talk, Jamie!’ she said severely, getting back into bed and snuggling against him. ‘Tomorrow I must tell Mary and Dick – and Mr Mabbot! – what I am going to do, so that they can hire someone to take my place on The Moderate. They will want to know when I’m leaving!’

  ‘Aye, aye, aye!’ he sighed, turning to look at her, and beginning to smile again as he did. ‘Very well. When are we leaving, then?’

  ‘When Mr Mabbot’s found someone to replace me. But I also have a great deal to settle about Lincolnshire, and what we shall do there! I know not so much of Bourne as where it lies!’

  ‘It’s between Stamford and Grantham,’ he told her. ‘A pretty little market town a few miles from the Great North Road.’

  ‘Near the North Road!’ she exclaimed in pleasure. There would be coaches going back and forth to London, with passengers who might buy blackletter ballads – or cheese, if she decided to run a dairy. ‘And shall we truly have a house of our own?’

  ‘I’d scarce considered it,’ he said, ‘but, aye, we shall. My father has one married son under his roof already. If we stayed there as well, all the neighbours would shake their heads.’

  ‘So we might have a house in Stamford or Grantham?’ she asked. ‘There must be plenty of call for blacksmiths on the Great North Road!’

  He hesitated. ‘As to that – I’m not certain that I . . .�
� He sat up in bed, gathering her into his arms and frowning down at her. ‘There’s . . . another matter. My brother Nick is dead, and Rob’s only son died by mischance, and my father fears that my sister-in-law will have no more children.’

  It took her a moment to grasp what that meant. ‘You’re now heir to the estate?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘Aye. At present I am, after Rob. That carries weight with my father. He says now that he should never have had me apprenticed in a mere mechanical trade, and that he is sorry he used me with less esteem than he did my brothers. He now finds it convenient, too, to have a son who fought for Parliament. I . . . think he might not be happy to have me setting up nearby as a lowly blacksmith.’

  ‘But what would you do?’

  ‘Help manage the estate, I suppose.’ He frowned again. ‘Though as to that, if he expects me to help him drain fenland and turn the inhabitants out to beg, he should think again.’ He sighed. ‘Sweet, I know not what we will do – but I’m sure we will find something.’

  Jamie was heir to an estate? For a moment Lucy was dismayed – then she told herself not to be foolish. Why should she be dismayed to learn that they would have more money and a better position than she’d expected? It was good news! It meant she could do more – run, not just a one-woman press, but a printing business which employed others, or a dairy that sold cheese all up and down the Great North Road. If friends needed help, she’d be in a position to supply it.

  ‘You’re most silent,’ observed Jamie, brushing her hair tenderly away from her face.

  The love shining on his face was like the sun. She understood suddenly that she had been wrong ever to doubt her choice, because what she had chosen was love, and there was nothing in all the world to compare with it. She cupped his face in her hands, wanting to hold that look for ever and ever, and whispered, ‘I think we will be happy.’

  What Really Happened

  (and What Happened Next)

  Imagine two contemporary historians sitting down to write a history of the war in Iraq; imagine that both are honest and painstaking, but one is an Iraqi academic, the other a former advisor to the Bush administration. Would you expect their two accounts to agree?