Kate listened but said nothing, just reached her hand to cover mine gently, her touch gentle as a snowflake falling. When I fell silent, she pulled me towards her to comfort me, but a flame of desire made me groan. I pressed my mouth onto hers. Her lips were soft and yielding. She smelled of sweet hay and sunshine. Her arms crept around my waist and we held each other a long while whilst I stilled the beating of my heart. ‘Dearest Kate,’ I said.
‘Don’t be in too much of a hurry to step into your father’s shoes,’ she said softly. ‘It can wait. You have your mother to think of, and grieving takes time.’
‘I suppose I must ride over to tell her.’ I dragged my mind back to the practicalities.
‘Later. Downall’s taken care of your old horse, Titan, whilst you were away, he’s still stabled in the yard.’
I scowled. I didn’t want Downall anywhere near my horse. I was reluctant to let the business of Downall go, but as Kate talked of Abigail and the running of the house, and how hard it was for just the two of them to see to all the chores, I softened.
Her fingers pulled at her curls in worry, so I reached up to take hold of her hand. Her eyes met mine. Again, that peculiar sensation, like falling. I could not drag my eyes away. My mouth turned dry, I swallowed.
Kate’s green eyes never left my face. ‘It’s so good to see you safe,’ she whispered.
‘You look beautiful,’ I said. And she did. My memory of her could never compare with the real thing, the faint dust of freckles over her nose, the lustre of her copper-coloured hair.
I reached out for her again, and she wrapped her arms around my back. I kissed her neck over and over, tasting her skin, salty with damp from the heat. She buried her head into my shoulder, and I gripped her tighter, pulled her forward until she straddled my thighs, her thick skirts and petticoats bunched against my knees. An urgent need rose in me that made my breath shallow and thin.
‘Ralph?’ she said, her hands tightening and pushing on my shoulders.
Reluctantly I let go. ‘What is it?’
‘I … nothing.’ A shadow passed over her expression.
‘Tell.’ I shook her gently to try to get an answer but she inclined her head.
‘My husband …’ Her voice was so faint I could barely hear it.
The kitchen door creaked open, and she leapt away from me, fear flaring in her eyes. It was Downall. His smirking face showed he had seen us, closer than we should be for decency.
‘I can’t get the stooks in,’ he said. ‘Rain’s coming and we need more hands. That is, if you’ve not got more important things to do.’
Insolent dog. He would never have dared to speak to Lady Katherine Fanshawe that way before Cromwell’s victory. ‘I’ll come,’ I said tersely, ‘and Cutch will help us. He’s in the stables.’
‘We’ll need all hands. Women too.’ He looked pointedly at Kate with his pale grey eyes, his thumbs stuck in his breeches, his shirt patched with sweat. It looked like it would please him to see Kate work, but for all the wrong reasons.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, glancing at me reassuringly. ‘Certainly, I will lend a hand.’
*
A crack of thunder. The first big drops of rain began to fall, soaking my shoulders as we scurried to load the corn into the barn. Kate waited to hold the door ajar whilst the rest of us ran back and forth across the slippery yard with armfuls of sheaves. It was nearly all in when the heavens split open and rods of rain like arrows pelted down on us. Ducking and squealing, the workers dived for shelter and we found ourselves all huddled together like sheep inside the barn.
I could not help but notice that the farmhands were surly with us, as if our presence displeased them. Mostly ragged women, and old wizened men, in dark puritan clothes, they hugged their skinny arms across their chests.
‘Just in time,’ Cutch said, looking brightly around him.
‘Thanks to us,’ Downall said. ‘Constable Mallinson was right. It would have spoiled for sure without us.’
‘It would have been quicker with the cart. If she’d thought to have the wheels mended.’ A woman with straggly hair pointed at Kate.
‘Show some respect,’ I said. ‘It’s Lady Katherine Fanshawe you’re addressing.’
‘There won’t be any “Lady this” or “Lord that” no more,’ she said. ‘She’ll be off this land, soon as there’s a Parliament writ from Cromwell. Mallinson told us we’d better look to ourselves. We could wait months before they decide what to do with the place. And then what would happen? The harvest would spoil, and we’d all go hungry, that’s what.’
‘Mallinson said that?’ Even as I said the words, I could well believe it. Jacob’s father would want what was right for the village. He would never consider the Fanshawe’s rights. Like all of us, he was an entrenched supporter of Parliament.
‘No order has yet arrived,’ Kate said, eyes flashing, ‘And until that time, the Fanshawes own this land and will decide what to do with it.’ Her chin was up, her mouth set in a firm line.
‘And you’ll make us, will you?’ Downall said.
‘Just a minute.’ Cutch inserted himself between Kate and Downall. ‘You said the cart’s broken. I can fix it if you like. I used to be a wheelwright.’
Part of me knew Cutch was trying to divert us, but I did not listen. ‘The sheaves can stay in this barn until we know what is going to happen,’ I said, stepping forward.
‘And what’s it to you?’ Downall’s voice was almost a snarl. ‘Got up the girl’s skirts have you?’
‘Take that back!’
‘Whoa!’ Cutch said, glaring at Downall. ‘This man was on the battlefield at Worcester for your cause! Do you dare to insult him —?’
‘Keep out of it, you,’ Downall snapped. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Please, Ralph?’ a restraining hand on my arm. I turned in frustration to see my sixteen year old sister Abigail, returned from the market, her wet hair hanging round her face. Her expression showed me she had not understood what was happening, could not lip-read these angry men.
I drew her into a hurried embrace to reassure her, but Cutch had his fists up already, his eyes fixed on Downall.
‘What’s it been bloody for?’ Cutch said. ‘For cowards like you? You don’t know the half of it, sitting here waiting for us to do all the fighting for you —’
Downall took a swing at Cutch who dodged and his fist nearly connected with my shoulder. Days of battle had made me jumpy, my fist shot out before I had time to think, but I was too far away. Downall leapt forwards, punched me in the eye.
A collective intake of breath. Half-blinded I whipped out my sword, but he was too quick and his second blow caught me full on the mouth.
‘You dare to draw swords here?’ Kate’s icy voice. I was only barely aware of the hands pulling me back. With a supreme effort I withdrew. ‘We will have order!’ Kate cried. ‘Are you men or beasts?’ Her words cut the air with their intrinsic authority.
Cutch took hold of my arm, whether to restrain me or prop me up, I didn’t know.
‘You fool!’ Abigail’s eyes were accusing, as she took in my bare blade.
Kate turned her gaze to me. Her face was controlled but her eyes were black with fury. ‘Work is over for the day. Get to your homes. There’s enough fighting on the battlefield without any of you bringing it here. Now go.’
With that she stalked out of the barn. I hastily sheathed my sword and followed her but she was too fast for me. She hitched her skirts and marched across the soaking stubble towards the house. Abigail threw up her hands at me with an expression of disgust, and went hurrying after her.
‘We cannot leave them alone in the house,’ I said to Cutch thickly, through my swollen lip, ‘They are only women.’
Cutch was reluctant to let Downall be. ‘Who does he think he is? Too cowardly to fight, but wants to do it in his own back yard!’ His blood was up. I dragged Cutch out by the arm and set off after Kate and Abigail.
When we
got inside there was no sign of either Abigail or Kate. We bolted the doors, fearful we were outnumbered and that if Downall had a mind, he and the harvesters would come after us. Cutch kept an eye on the window.
‘They’re leaving,’ he said.
I peered out over his shoulder. The crowd of workers were slouching away down the drive, heads bent against the driving rain. Downall walked slowly, his gaggle of hangers-on fawning on his words. We could not hear what he said, but it was clear it was not good. He kept glancing at the house and scowling.
I shot back out of view, shivered, lifted my hand to my face. My eye was tender and blood had dried in a crust over the bruise on my mouth. Another battle scar to join the others, but this time from closer to home.
The house was quiet, but once or twice I could hear muffled female voices echoing above. Eventually I heard footsteps on the stairs, the door burst open.
‘She won’t come down,’ Abigail said. ‘Why must you always do this?’
‘A fine welcome it is then, for your brother home from the war.’
I tried to embrace her but she pushed me away. Abigail had read my lips, I knew, but she walked away to the window, turned her back to me.
I stared at her neat back, the tightly-tied bow of her apron for a moment before I followed her, took hold of her by the shoulder, spun her round. ‘Abigail … Father’s dead,’ I said.
She searched my face, saw the pain, the tangle of emotion etched there. ‘No,’ she said.
I nodded my head, held out my arms, but she kept her distance.
‘No. You’re wrong. He’ll be captured somewhere, like last time.’
I slowly shook my head. ‘I saw him die.’ Her eyes raked my face again, and seeing the truth, she turned ashen.
She said not a word. Instead, she turned, walked like a sleepwalker to the door, twisted the handle, pushed. The door would not open. She needed to pull, not push.
‘Wait!’ I cried.
She jerked the door back and it almost hit her in the face. But she hardly noticed. She hurried out and I heard the increasing speed of the tread of her boots all the way up the stairs and along the corridor. Moments later, I winced at the slam of an upstairs door.
I stared round the empty kitchen, then reluctantly put my hat upon my head, picked up my weapons. I would not need them where I was going, but did not want to leave them where that rogue Downall might find them. Puritan or not, he had a temper to match my own. I picked up my sword and slid it from its scabbard to look at it. I shouldn’t have drawn it on Downall, I knew.
I fingered the cold hilt; an elegant swirl of etched steel. A shiver whistled up my spine. Maybe it was bad luck. It was the sword belonging to Copthorne’s brother — the one that Cutch had taken from the battlefield. I sheathed it hurriedly. Tomorrow I’d give it back to Cutch. I could not help wondering if Copthorne had forgotten me by now. Wherever he was, I wagered he was having a better homecoming than I was.
6 - SISTERLY LOVE
Cutch and I rode over to Mother’s cottage in the dusk. The thunderstorm had left the tracks wet and the gateways were churned with mud. Mother knew straight away from my face that father was dead. She seemed to be expecting it. Her face was already grey and haggard as if she had not slept.
‘Black crows came three nights ago to roost on my roof,’ she said. ‘I knew then.’ She sat us down in the parlour, put her hand to her forehead. ‘I don’t know how we’ll cope. Will they take you on, Ralph? If no man of mine is working for the Fanshawes, they’ll not let me stay on at the cottage.’
‘Don’t worry, Mother, I’ll see you can stay.’
‘Have they got someone in charge there now since Grice?’
‘Yes, Downall from the village. A Puritan. Do you know him?’
‘Jack Downall?’
‘Big man with sand-coloured hair, heavy jowls?’
‘Aye, that’s Jack Downall, but he wasn’t a Puritan last time I looked.’ Mother’s face showed she did not like him. She lit up the rushlights to fill the cottage with flickering light. ‘He likes to throw his weight about, be the cock of the roost. And he’s always got some great cause he’s shouting over. Always a one for speaking atop a tub, was Jack, even as a lad.’
Cutch and I grimaced at each other. ‘Well he seems to be a Puritan now,’ I said.
‘Sounds likely. He’ll be on whichever side lines his pocket. And he’s never liked us, not these last twenty years. He offered for me before your Father did, see, but my parents turned him down. He’s not forgiven either of us. Bitter, he is. When our house burned down he came with the rest of the village but he didn’t lift a finger, just stood watching in his smock, pipe stuck out of his mouth. It couldn’t mask his smile. He’d see me out of this neighbourhood altogether if he could.’
I sat down, leant my elbows on the table. ‘I’ll talk to Kate, I mean Lady Fanshawe. She’ll make sure you’re looked after, Mother; she’s soft-hearted — not like her kin.’ Even to speak of her brought heat to my face.
Cutch looked away, embarrassed, but even in this light my mother had seen my red face and Cutch’s meaningful look. She frowned. ‘I hope you’re not getting any ideas, Ralph Chaplin. Thomas Fanshawe and his uncle are not men to cross.’
‘They won’t be back,’ Cutch said, ‘Not if they’ve got sense. They’d be fools to show their faces till the heat’s cooled. Cromwell will have them transported, soon as look at them, like the rest of the King’s sympathisers. Mind, I wouldn’t wish that on any poor sod. I’ve seen the boats – stinking great carcases, full of the court’s minions, bound for slave labour. Such a caterwauling and complaining, you never did hear.’
Mother frowned at Cutch as if it was his fault. Then she sighed. ‘What will happen to us all? Land needs experienced men to look to it, or where will we be? I hate all this uncertainty. I just want things back how they were.’
Cutch threw me a look, as if to say ‘told you so’.
Just then my little sister Martha came running in. She’d seen our horses. ‘Ralfie!’ She jumped into my arms and I swung her round. Then she hid behind me, peering out at Cutch. Cutch gave her a gap-toothed grin and she retreated again, her finger in her mouth in her old childish gesture.
Cutch stuck his thumbs in his ears and waggled his fingers at her until she giggled.
‘Would you mind waiting outside a few moments?’ Mother said coolly to him. ‘Ralph and I need to talk — alone.’
Cutch masked the hurt on his face by bowing too low, and then hurrying out. As soon as he was out of the door Mother said, ‘Who on earth is he? Where’s he from?’
‘Cutch? He’s a good friend. Someone Father asked to keep an eye on me.’
‘Cutch!’ Martha repeated. ‘Cutch, Cutch, Cutch!’
‘Well I don’t want him here,’ Mother said, slapping at Martha’s skirts.
‘Why?’
‘Anyone can see he’s as common as they come. He probably can’t even read. He’s not fit company for you, not if we want to maintain any form of social standing in this county. Can’t he stay somewhere else?’
I sighed. ‘Oh Mother, we have no social standing, have had none these last five years. Not since we lost our house. Cutch is a good fellow. You just don’t know him yet. Father said he saved his life.’
She sniffed, tears were threatening to break through. ‘Well he failed this time, didn’t he?’ she whispered. Her bitterness was replaced by entreaty: ‘Was it quick? Just tell me it was quick.’
‘Instant,’ I lied. ‘A round of gunfire. He died bravely.’
I took father’s signet ring from my pocket and gave it to her, eliciting more weeping. After I had comforted her, and persuaded her that Cutch and I could both stay under her roof, for the time being at least, she asked me about how Downall had come to be at the Manor. I told her that Constable Mallinson had sent him, to save the harvest. ‘See this?’ I touched my swollen mouth. ‘Downall did it. Punched me.’
She swayed back in horror. ‘Not from fighting t
he King’s Men, then?’
‘No. Downall went for me. He was rude to Kate … I mean, Lady Fanshawe, and he was spoiling for a fight.’
‘Lord have mercy. Same old Jack. Then you’d better apologise and try to get along with him if you can, if Constable Mallinson sent him. Grease the wheels a bit. You know Elisabeth’s set her cap at Jacob Mallinson?’
‘Elizabeth?’ It didn’t make sense.
‘Don’t look like that, Jacob Mallinson’s not a bad catch.’
‘But mother, it’s Abigail that Jacob’s keen on, not Elizabeth.’ But in an instant I’d realised. Curse Elizabeth. She must have got wind of the fact that Abigail and Jacob were close. Trust her to want to ruin it all.
‘But Elizabeth said —’
‘Oh Lord. Can’t I be away two minutes, but Elizabeth makes more trouble? I’ll have to speak to her.’
‘Is Liz’beth coming?’ asked Martha, twirling a drop-spindle round and round, ‘will she bring sweetmeats?’
‘No, peachkins. Not today.’ Mother turned to me again, ‘Elizabeth said Jacob would be calling, and when he did, I must be sure to give him my permission to court her, at least until Father came home. But now of course, he won’t be coming back. So don’t you go upsetting the applecart by falling out with Downall and Constable Mallinson. Jacob’s of a good family; Elizabeth could do much worse. And Jacob seems nice enough, now the pair of you have given up those foolish Digger notions.’
I stood up to object but she waved her hand at me. ‘Enough Ralph. I know what I’m talking about.’ She rubbed her temples with her fingers. ‘I daresay the courtship will have to be longer now before they can be wed. We’ve no dowry saved, and I’m afraid it will be up to you as man of the house to see what you can do for Elizabeth and Abigail.’
I sat down heavily. It had never occurred to me that now Father was gone, I’d be responsible for my sisters. ‘I hope they’ll be patient then. It could take years, and I’m not sweating my guts out for one of Elizabeth’s cock-eyed notions. She knows Abigail likes Jacob. That’s why she’s doing it.’
Spirit of the Highway Page 4