Spirit of the Highway

by Deborah Swift

  ‘It wasn’t my fault —’

  Jacob shook his head. ‘That’s what you always say. You’re a fool, Ralph. You’ve put the fox right among the pigeons this time. Father’s telling me the Chaplins are no match for his son. What shall I tell Abigail? Answer me that?’

  His desperate expression cowed me. I scuffed my boot in the dirt, I had never known Jacob so angry.

  ‘I didn’t mean to —’

  ‘It’s far too late for apologies. They’re after your blood. They’re saying you deliberately threw Ned Soper off a cart and broke his shoulder —’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Cutch said.

  Jacob sighed in annoyance. ‘Never mind the ins and outs of it all now, there’s no time. You’d best hide out somewhere until it all blows over. Have you somewhere you can go?’

  ‘Only Mother’s, and that will be no use, it’ll be the first place they’ll look. Is there really a warrant out for me?’

  ‘You don’t know my father. He sees any disorder in the village as a personal insult, and a slight on his ability to keep the law. He told Downall to get six armed men to come after you and your friend to bring you back to —’

  ‘Oh, grateful thanks, Ralph.’ Cutch threw down his fork. ‘Now my neck’s on the line too.’

  Jacob glanced over his shoulder. ‘Look, my father would kill me for even being here. But I had to come — I overheard Downall tell his men to shoot if they got within range of you, that they’d not to wait to see if you hand yourselves in.’

  ‘Hellfire,’ Cutch said. ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Look, I’m only doing this for Abigail’s sake, mind, because I don’t want her to have to deal with a dead brother. There’s a ruined cottage on the other side of Wheathamstead Wood, a few miles from here. It’s the only place I know where they might not look.’

  ‘Is it far?’

  ‘A couple of miles or so, and it’s well off the road, hidden in the woods — used to be the charcoal burner’s house, but he was lost at the battle of Preston and it’s all overgrown. Do you know it? We used to go visit with him when we were boys, remember?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Should be safe for a day or two until you think of something else,’ Jacob said. ‘It’s the best I can do.’

  ‘Thanks, friend.’ I reached out my hand but Jacob declined to shake it.

  ‘I must have lost my wits,’ Jacob said. ‘You sure as hell don’t deserve it. I’m doing it for Abigail. She’s had enough deaths for one year. You’ll need horses to stand a chance, though, Downall’s men will be close behind me, they were gathering in the square when I left.’ Jacob wedged his foot in the stirrup and mounted up. ‘Get well away. And once you’re out of the county, then you can send Abigail word of where you are.’

  With that he cantered away across the field in the other direction, probably anxious not to meet his father on the way home. Cutch hastily gathered all our tools together, one eye on the horizon, and we ran to the Manor yard, but there was nobody about. Perhaps they were all in Downall’s party. The thought made my mouth dry.

  We hustled our horses from the stables and tacked them up. Cutch vaulted into the saddle, but saw my hesitation. ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t just go,’ I said. ‘Not without speaking to Kate.’

  Cutch lifted a leg and bent to tighten the girth on his horse. ‘You’re mad. Those men are armed. Let’s get on our way. Time for all that later.’

  ‘A few minutes. Keep a look out, will you?’

  I heard him curse, then shout impatiently after me, but I ignored him.

  The kitchen door was locked, but I ran round to the main door, and to my surprise, when I tried it, it opened. Kate was standing in the hall. Her eyes were shadowed as if she had not slept, her hair tangled.

  ‘I saw you both come up the drive,’ she said, keeping her distance.

  ‘I have to go away,’ I said. ‘There’s a warrant for my arrest.’

  ‘Already? Downall’s wasted no time then.’

  ‘They could be on their way now, so I must make haste.’

  ‘So you will run, rather than face it?’ Her eyes challenged me.

  ‘Please.’ I put my hand out to her. ‘Don’t be like that. You know it’s not the first time I’ve hit someone. My fists seem to have a fury of their own. I fear no sweet words of Jacob’s will work to get me out of gaol, even if he tried. And they’re armed. Jacob says Downall will shoot to kill.’

  I saw the words register and her eyes flash with fear. ‘Saints preserve us.’ She swayed slightly. ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘Best you don’t know.’ My voice broke, betrayed me. ‘Best you forget I came.’

  Her eyes were travelling over my face, searching to see how I felt. ‘I can’t forget a single moment I’ve spent with you,’ she said quietly.

  Our eyes locked as I stumbled towards her, clumsily, wanting only to feel her in my arms. Her hands came round my waist, clinging to me as if she could not let me go.

  ‘I love you, Kate.’ The relief that she had forgiven me making my heart soar.

  ‘And I you. But it’s hopeless.’ She was already pulling away. ‘Before you go, you must read this.’ She pulled a letter from a hanging pouch in her skirts.

  ‘What is it?’ I was immediately wary.

  ‘There’s no time to explain. Just read it.’

  Dear wife, it began. So it was from Thomas. I looked up. Her eyes were full of pain.

  ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘read it. It is best you know.’

  My uncle and I cannot openly return to England. To do so would be to risk being hunted down by Cromwell and his men, and certain death or transportation would result. I have tried to negotiate with the Committee to make peace with Parliament, but so far they have proved less than amenable.

  As soon as I can arrange a safe passage I will come to fetch you. You will join me in France until the King’s fortunes are restored. Shut up the house, sell the furniture and all the livestock while you can. Conceal the gold plate somewhere where we can retrieve it later.

  Our time will come again, but meanwhile I ask you to take care of this inheritance, for it will be our children’s fortune in years to come. Prepare your travelling trunk with all haste, by the time you receive this I will be on my way. I will come by night, so be ready to make speed away.

  Endearments followed which I could not stomach to read.

  ‘Will you go with him?’ I had to know.

  ‘The estate will be broken up anyway, even if I do nothing.’ She could hardly speak the words for emotion.

  ‘You didn’t write to tell Thomas what happened when the Roundheads came, did you?’ I said softly.

  ‘No, there wasn’t time.’

  I passed the letter back, and she paced away down the empty hall, where the panelling still bore the gouges of Roundhead swords. ‘What shall I do?’ she asked.

  The house itself seemed sad. Grice the overseer had stripped it, then the Roundheads had finished the job. Thomas had not set foot here for more than six months, and no doubt would be shocked to see the state of the house now — his fine furniture gone, the portraits slashed or looted, the gardens overgrown with weeds.

  I knew how much Kate loved the house. To be truthful I could not see her anywhere else, but I could not admit that to myself; it opened too many wounds. Kate turned and came back towards me, the letter swinging limply in her hand.

  ‘You can’t leave here,’ I said. ‘They need you here. Only yesterday you were worried about the tenants. And what about Abigail’s position?’ I paused, grabbed hold of her hand. ‘What about us?’

  ‘Do you think I haven’t thought of us?’ She was almost angry. ‘I think of you every minute of every day. It’s like a puzzle maze — full of dead ends, and I can’t find my way out.’

  ‘How long have you had the letter?’

  ‘It’s no use. I’m just torturing myself. I’m under my husband’s command. Thomas is on his way, and if S
ir Simon has anything to do with it, Thomas will have orders to persuade me to go to France by fair means or foul.’

  ‘Isn’t there somewhere you can go where he can’t find you?’

  ‘Let me come with you.’

  ‘No. I wish I could say yes, but I can’t risk it. They’re shooting to kill.’

  ‘Then if Thomas arrives, I’ll try to stall him somehow. Ralph … you’ll come back, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I will. There’ll be a time for us, I promise.’

  A piercing whistle from outside. Cutch’s warning.

  I ran to the window. Outside I saw the faint outlines of a group of horsemen approaching, evidenced by the rolling cloud of dust.

  ‘Is it them?’ Kate asked, running over to join me.

  ‘I fear so.’

  ‘Then for God’s sake, go.’

  I pulled her to me, planted a desperate kiss on her lips, felt her mouth respond to mine and her faint heartbeat against my chest, but she pushed me away.

  ‘Go safe, my love,’ she entreated.

  At the door, I looked back at her, my heart a turmoil of longing. ‘I pray God, Thomas’s ship sinks,’ I said, ‘with him on it.’

  Outside, Cutch had my horse by the reins. ‘Quick,’ he shouted. ‘Christ in heaven, I thought you were never coming.’

  I vaulted astride and shouted, ‘Out the back way, across the fields. Head for the church!’

  We clattered out of the yard and kicked our horses on across the hard-packed ground. A shout from behind alerted us to the fact we’d been seen. Together we urged our horses faster. Ahead of us, the gate to the next field was open and with the sun in our eyes we headed for the narrow gap. Cutch pelted through, but I drew to a halt, pushed the gate shut with all my might. Cutch was a blur now on the other side of the field and I galloped after. Shutting the gate had lost me time, but I heard the curses and commotion as the party behind got to the gate. I looked over my shoulder just in time to see Downall level a pistol at me from over the wall. I heard the shot, but did not feel anything. My horse seemed to sense the danger and increased his speed.

  A second shot rebounded from a hawthorn tree just to my left, but I galloped on. When I turned to look back, the other party had just made it through the gate. We thundered through the village, our hooves clattering on the stony road, flying past the ale-house and the sheets tentered out to dry on the village green. As soon as we reached the woods we plunged into them, tree branches whipping in our faces.

  Ahead of me, a low branch took off Cutch’s hat. He slowed, his chest heaving. He was out of breath. ‘I’ll have to … fetch it,’ he said, ‘or they’ll see … which way we’ve gone.’

  ‘No time,’ I gasped. ‘Just keep going.’

  The track divided in several places and we just forged on, our sweating horses more and more reluctant. When we hit a clearing we stopped.

  ‘Which way?’ Cutch asked.

  I looked behind me. There was no sign of our pursuers.

  ‘Think we lost them,’ I said.

  We listened, our ears straining for the sound of horsemen breaking through the forest, but there was silence.

  ‘Do you think they’ve given up?’ Cutch wiped his sweating forehead.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. But I somehow doubted it.

  13 - A SAVAGE SECRET

  The woods were dense and we were jumpy as hares. It took us several wrong paths before we saw the charcoal burner’s house, because we were searching for the coppiced wood, the places where the undergrowth was thinnest, reckoning that the man would have done the most work nearest to his house. In fact, the cottage was almost overgrown, and there was no sign anyone had been here for years.

  ‘Well I wouldn’t exactly call it shelter,’ Cutch said, eyeing the crumbling wattle and daub walls, and the holes in the thatch.

  But it felt better than being out in the open, even in this ramshackle place. We would have a place to defend, at least, if it came to that. ‘And look — a trough,’ I said. ‘He must have had a horse.’

  There was a few inches of greenish water in the bottom, so we let the horses drink.

  ‘What about us? Don’t like the stink of that water,’ Cutch said.

  ‘There’s a stream about a half mile from here. One of us will have to go and fetch water, then say our prayers, because we can’t brew it.’

  We brought the horses over the threshold, out of sight.

  Neither of us could sleep. We were hungry, and too much on edge. Every noise of pheasant or partridge made my heart pound. Twice we leapt up at sounds in the forest. ‘Deer,’ Cutch said.

  The next day we set snares for rabbit, and dug a fire pit. We knew we would have to survive by our wits and could not risk going into the villages. We rethatched the roof with bracken and twigs for something to do, and because that way we did not think of our empty stomachs.

  Cutch found the stream about a half mile away, and filled water flagons.

  ‘See anything?’ I asked, when he returned.

  ‘Nothing. No sign of anyone at all. But there was a wild apple tree, so I filled my pockets with apples, and blackberries.’

  He tossed me a wormy apple, and we crunched our way through the lot. The blackberries were still red and sour, but the apples made me think of Kate’s harvest. I daren’t think about her. I feared she would be forced into exile in France. Would I ever see her again?

  Cutch picked up on my morose attitude and kept me busy building a fire pit. We would need to cook meat if we were to survive without the markets of the villages. Apart from our weapons, we only had our horses, our bundles of clothes and the tools that had been already in the saddlebags. Cutch had grabbed bows and quivers from the hooks in the stable, and with these we hoped to hunt boar or deer. We waited till dark to cook, and hoped no-one would see our smoke.

  ‘You made a decent job of that roof,’ Cutch said, as we sat roasting a rabbit.

  ‘Living with the Diggers was a good training. They burnt our houses that many times we got used to thatching.’

  He laughed, tore off some meat with his teeth. ‘Were you really a Digger? I thought they were all madmen.’

  ‘Well I’m one of them, so maybe you’re right. They were good people. But it was like a mouse fighting a pack of dogs. We just couldn’t survive. Too few of us. And hard, if you have to be so holy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We couldn’t fight back. The leader, Winstanley, was against it. He wanted peaceful protests. But there has to be a difference between just letting yourself be bullied and making a stand.’

  Cutch gave me a pointed look. ‘You seem to make a habit of making a stand. You keep thumping people.’

  I put down the rabbit bone I’d been holding. ‘I never intend to. It’s just when I get angry my fists speak instead of my tongue.’

  ‘Why, Ralph? What is it that eats you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Guess my father was like that when he’d had a bellyful of ale. He used to hit out when he’d had a few. And he couldn’t bear it if you didn’t follow his orders.’

  ‘Aye, he was like that on the battlefield right enough. But it was a good thing. He had control over his men.’

  ‘He shot a horse once because it would not obey.’

  ‘A horse?’

  ‘He wanted it to jump a ditch but it kept refusing. He shouted and bellowed, got it in a right lather. “You’re no use to me,” he screamed at it, and by the end he lost his wits, he got so red with rage that he jumped down and put a musket ball between its eyes. I couldn’t do anything to save it, the beast just crumpled before my eyes, its flanks still steaming. I’ve never forgotten it. It filled me with a kind of horror, that such a small ball could fell such a big horse.’

  ‘Gawd. Poor horse.’

  ‘I think I’m still angry at him.’

  ‘About the horse?’

  ‘No. Not just the horse. Everything. The way we all had to knuckle under to his orders. Useless though, to talk of him
, now he’s dead.’

  A sudden screech. We froze a moment listening, but it was just a hunting owl. It flew low over our heads like a pale shadow.

  ‘Makes sense that.’ Cutch wiped his greasy hands on the seat of his pants. ‘I’ve never said nothing — didn’t seem right, but when we were in Maidstone a few years ago, your father was defending an uprising against Cromwell over celebrating Christmas. But it was like you said, he just lost his reason.’

  I waited, watched him swallow before he could say more.

  ‘Folks wanted the day off, and to put up their holly trees and suchlike, like they used to in the season. Well, Cromwell had ordered us to take the trees down — pagan idols, he called it. But then the Copthornes from the Big House kept encouraging folks to put them up, and before long it grew into a riot, with the Copthorne family egging everyone on to sing songs and feast in the open air.’

  ‘The Copthornes? That name’s familiar.’

  ‘You slayed one of them at Worcester. The elder brother, Philip. But this is about his father, Lord Sydney Copthorne.’

  The face of the other brother, Edward, pricked at my memory. ‘What of them? What have they to do with my father?’

  ‘Your father and I were part of the troop ordered to quash the Christmas celebration. I was in the square burning the holly, when Lord Copthorne challenged me. I tried to run off, but he caught up with me and was just about to slit my throat, when your father came. He was in one of his rages and chased Copthorne off. Your father saved my life.’

  ‘Then I’m glad I got his son in the end.’

  Cutch shifted on the log he was sitting on, shook his head. ‘No. That’s not all. The next day, there was another skirmish. Your father was drunk again and Lord Copthorne had seen your father struggle to mount his horse. Copthorne shouted insults across the lines, told him he was too drunk to fight properly, made fun of him in front of his men, taunted him. Called him a drunken sot and Lord knows what else.’ Cutch paused, picked at a bit of grass near his feet. ‘But we were victorious that day, we quashed the Royalist uprising. But your father was not satisfied. I’ve never seen a man so angry. He took a troop of horsemen and …’