Women of Courage

by Tim Vicary

  “La fortune de la guerre, hein?” smiled Feversham. “So you are zis young man who uses war to capture young ladies, are you? I ‘ope it does not lead him to neglect his other duties, my Lord Churchill?”

  John Churchill smiled. “Not so far, my lord. I shall be ready to claim the young lady in payment myself when it does.”

  “I congratulate you on your luck, monsieur. Such beauty does not fall into the hands of tout le monde.”

  Ann blushed again, not knowing what to say, and Robert bowed.

  “Thank you, my lord. And may I say that having been favoured with such luck, I shall do my utmost to see that she does not fall into the hands of any other man.”

  There was general laughter at this, but Ann hardly heard it. After the conflicts of last night the words were the greatest compliment she would have wished for. As she caught his eye and looked her thanks, there was such pain and hope under the surface of the smile he gave her that she looked away again, unable to bear it. For some reason, despite all the power and opportunities he had, he loved her - gauche, ignorant and rebellious as she was. If only she could enter wholly into his world, and be what he wanted, then she would not feel so guilty at his kindness.

  They went into the dining room, and sat down around the table. There were about fifteen of them all told, but only five women, so that Ann had men all around her: Robert on her right, Lord Churchill on her left, and opposite, two officers from the foot regiments. Churchill turned to her while Robert was engaged in conversation with the people to his right.

  “I am glad to see you looking so much better than when we last met. I had no idea we had captured such a lady of fashion.”

  “I doubt if anyone would look so fine if they’d been treated as I was, my lord. I suppose we all look much the same when we come into this world, and leave it.”

  “With a few differences, yes.” He glanced down appreciatively at her bosom, then looked up with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “But I am all in favour of people improving themselves in the time in between, as you seem to be doing.”

  “I am glad you find me improved. After all, ‘twas you who ordered Robert to look after me.”

  “I did indeed. I only hope things go as well for the rest of your family.”

  Again she felt a cold shiver down her spine. But her courage was growing; perhaps she really could play this part that Robert had given her, at least in public. Her eyes did not waver from his.

  “Thank you, my lord Churchill. I am sure they are in God’s hands.”

  Which is more than I am, she thought; I am in my own hands now, and those of these men. But then God favours those who do not hesitate, as Lord Feversham said. She sipped the wine in front of her, and felt its glorious courage flood through her veins.

  “Tell, me, Lord Churchill, there is something Lord Feversham said just now that I did not understand. I wonder if you could explain it to me.”

  “It depends what it is. His Lordship moves in higher circles than I. Not all his reasoning is clear to me either.” The frosty clarity in his words reminded Ann of something Robert had said about Churchill hoping to be commander of the King’s forces himself.

  “It was only that he said that the Duke of Monmouth should know about regular troops being able to beat rebels, because of something that happened in Scotland. What did he mean by that?”

  Churchill laughed. “‘Tis a good question indeed, young lady, and raises some more interesting ones. Have you heard of the battle of Bothwell Bridge?”

  “No. Where is that?”

  “In Scotland. I suppose you are too young, and your friend Robert too. But ‘tis famous enough in the army. I think Colonel Weston was there, were you not, sir?”

  “Where’s that, John?” One of the officers opposite, a florid, red-faced man of about forty-five, leant forward, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  “With Monmouth at Bothwell Bridge. Miss Carter wants to know about it.”

  “Does she, by God! Damn fine battle, miss, best I was ever in! Brilliant campaign, superb - set out from London and caught the damn covenanting Highlanders while they were still doing their kilts up!” The man laughed, and winked at Ann as he bit enthusiastically into a drumstick.

  “Yes, but why were you fighting them?” Ann smiled to herself at the pop-eyed eagerness with which his eyes kept returning to her breasts. The other officer was staring at her too, eager to break into the conversation. A dress like this was certainly a wonderful way of getting attention.

  “Why? Damn load of rebels, that’s why! Covenanters, Presbyterians, like this lot here, rising against the King. But we gave ‘em what for! No match for regular troops, see. Half of ‘em never seen a musket before!”

  “And the Duke of Monmouth was with the King’s soldiers?”

  “With ‘em? He was leading ‘em, girl. Best campaign we ever fought, I say, though Maastricht wasn’t so bad. But he was too soft with ‘em afterwards, too soft by half. Hardly hung more than three or four at most - sent the rest home, telling ‘em to be good boys and not do it again. He was too soft-hearted.”

  “But they didn’t rebel again, did they? He was right about that,” said Churchill quietly, helping himself to some more venison.

  “No, John, they were too well beaten. But you’ve got to make an example of rebels. Now regular war’s a different thing. I remember at Maastricht ... “

  “But if the Duke of Monmouth defeated the rebels then, surely he may defeat you now?”

  The simple innocent question fell gently into a lull in the general conversation, so that more eyes turned to Ann in surprise. Colonel Weston’s jaw fell open, the words robbed from his mouth; then he recovered himself with a hearty laugh. Robert looked at Ann uneasily.

  “Ah, well now, there’s a question. But ‘tis rather a different situation, don’t you see. Quite different altogether, wouldn’t you say, John?”

  “As far as he is concerned, it is.” Churchill seemed amused by the stir Ann had caused, and glanced quizzically at Lord Feversham to see how he would take it. The Frenchman’s calm face gave little away.

  “But how is it different?” Ann persisted. “Surely if the Duke of Monmouth could win a battle then he could win one now. You said he was a brilliant soldier.”

  Churchill intervened. “He was brilliant then, Miss Carter, because he had men like Colonel Weston and his troops to lead. Well-disciplined troops, regulars, used to obeying orders in battle. And he was fighting men who two weeks before had been shearing sheep on the farm. But now the situation is reversed. It is he who is leading untrained rebels, we who are the regulars. And of course we have our own fine commander, who has shown us at Bristol the difference that that can make.”

  There was the slightest hint of irony in Churchill’s voice as he spoke of Lord Feversham, which made Ann wonder for a second about his sincerity.

  “But has Monmouth no regular officers as well?”

  “A few who he picked up in Holland, perhaps, or persuaded to come with promises of high office - such as my estates, now that I have disobeyed his royal command.”

  “Disobeyed his command? What do you mean?”

  An ironic smile dimpled Churchill’s youthful face as he glanced around him, to be sure of his audience. Clearly the joke was too good to be shared with Ann alone.

  “Oh, have you not heard? While I was at Chard I received a letter, most impressively sealed with some new concoction I had not seen before, from my old friend James Scott, Duke of Monmouth. Most courteous it was too, and better writ than many of his. It advised me, so far as I remember, that he had heard I was so far mistaken as to be in command of some troops raised in opposition to his royal authority, but advised me - wait, gentlemen, this is the best - that he had been persuaded by some counsellors friendly to himself that this was only some inadvertent mistake of mine, due to my not having heard of his being proclaimed King; and that he would overlook this venial fault if I would but repair to his royal camp forthwith.”

  Hi
s words were greeted with an uproar of laughter and astonished exclamation, in which Ann’s small voice was quite lost. Then Lord Feversham’s voice carried through the rest.

  “And what answer did you return to zis most gracious message?”

  “Why, my lord, the only answer I could give. I bad my trumpeter sound me boots and saddles at once, and set out immediately for his camp. But I found, as you did at Bristol, that our new monarch has a somewhat curious idea of hospitality. By the time I arrived, the birds had flown, so I sulked and came to you instead.”

  Amid further laughter, Colonel Weston called out: “I hear the Duke of Albemarle had such a letter too! But I wish I had! It seems our friend James has forgot his lesser friends, or indeed half of us round this table should have had one!”

  “Aye, and he could at least have remembered me, after the scrape we got him out of at Maastricht!” said the tall, cadaverous officer next to Colonel Weston.

  “And we at Mons!”

  Ann watched and listened as four or five of the officers round the table vied with each other for stories of how they had been close to the Duke of Monmouth, and should have had a royal letter from him. She was surprised that there seemed to be no embarrassment, no sense of divided loyalty or fear that one of them might obey such a command if it came. Churchill’s letter was just a joke, about a man whom they had once known and respected, but who had now stepped outside the pale, cut himself off from the rigid rules of their club.

  She remembered her own father’s serious, agonised soul-searching about whether to join the rebellion; and Monmouth himself, spreading his arms in boyish delight and gratitude for the love of his followers at Taunton. It all seemed a world away from the hearty, unquestioning loyalty that surrounded her here. Surely one of these men must feel something for their old leader, some doubt about their own cause? She saw Lord Feversham watching the others too, perhaps wondering the same thing. But she saw no doubt on their faces - only bullish confidence and laughter.

  “You’ve met the Duke of Monmouth, haven’t you, Robert?” she asked, as the conversation began again around them.

  “Not to speak to. I was at a party with him once, in London.”

  “What’s he like?”

  The lift of the eyebrows told her the stupidness of her question. After all, she had seen the Duke herself, as much as Robert had. But he played the game, his words answering her even as his eyes told her to drop the subject.

  “Tall. Handsome. A bit of a gambler, I believe. Though it looks as though he’s made his last throw now.”

  They looked at each other, alone together for a moment in the hubbub of conversation. He smiled, flushed with the wine, aware that the words had hurt her. Then his face tensed and she saw the pain and hope conflict in his own eyes, and felt how simultaneously strong and vulnerable her enhanced beauty made her.

  “What … will happen to the rebels, if you … when Lord Feversham wins?” She changed her words as she became aware that Colonel Weston was listening again, eager to break in.

  “I suppose the leaders will be executed,” Robert answered. “That is the usual way.”

  “Aye. It’s the chopping block for friend James now. Unless he escapes.”

  Colonel Weston wiped his red face with a napkin. Ann ignored him, sensing that there was something Robert was trying to spare her.

  “And what about the rest? The ordinary men in the army?”

  “It depends upon the King, I suppose, and Lord Feversham.” Robert paused, frowning, and now she was sure he was trying to hide something. “Some will be hanged, of course, for it’s a capital offence. But the rest may be pardoned and sent home, like the Scots after Bothwell Bridge.”

  “No, not this time, laddie.” The harsh voice of Colonel Weston boomed confidently across the table. “A rising of Scots is one thing - at least they’ve got the excuse of being foreigners. But this lot are Englishmen trying to unseat their own King, for all he’s a Papist. He’s got to put ‘em down hard, to see they never do it again. We should have done that to the Scots in the first place, if it hadn’t been for Monmouth. Rebellion’s an ugly thing.”

  “Have you tried this salad, Ann? It’s Mrs Taylor’s speciality.”

  “Yes, thank you, Robert. ‘Tis very good.” Ann brushed aside his clumsy attempt to spare her, and turned back to confront the delighted Colonel Weston, pale under her powder. She sipped her wine to give her courage.

  “And what do you mean exactly, Colonel, when you say you’ll put them down hard?”

  The Colonel grinned, mistaking her grim determination to know for a desire for vengeance.

  “Well, miss, the law’s penalty for treason is the chopping block for gentry, such as our friend James Scott. As for the common man, they are to be hanged, of course, as your lover here says. But he didn’t tell you what they do afterwards, did he? It doesn’t mean that they are hanged until they are dead, you understand. There’s a lot more to it than that. They cut them down before they’re dead, and cut pieces off. They start between their legs ... “

  “No!” Ann dropped her glass with a clatter, and the wine spilled across the table like blood.

  “Stop it, man! That’s enough! It’s not decent to inflict these cruel stories on a lady!” Robert sprang to his feet and reached out across the table to grab the Colonel by the collar. The Colonel knocked Robert’s arm away angrily, and stood up in his turn, his red face almost beetroot with fury.

  “How dare you, sir! Keep your hands to yourself, damn you! I demand an apology!”

  “Leave the lady alone. It is for you to apologise.” Robert’s voice shook slightly, but it was quiet and cold, cutting through the Colonel’s hot, blustering roar like a breath of winter wind.

  “Then you had better name your weapons, sir, and find some seconds. I am not likely to apologise to a young captain of horse scarce out of the nursery.”

  “Gentlemen, zat is enough! You are a disgrace to our table. Zere will be no duelling in zis army while I have command of it!” The glaring eyes of the two antagonists turned to Lord Feversham reluctantly, as to an irrelevance.

  “Then the Colonel should apologise, my lord. His behaviour was deliberately indecent and a disgrace to this house.”

  “I hardly see what is indecent about explaining the due processes of law to a young lady who asks about them. It is only that this young popinjay is so uncertain of his own charms that he cannot bear his mistress to speak to anyone else, for fear she might change her mind!”

  Robert’s face paled still further at the stir of laughter with which one or two officers greeted this remark. Ann saw his lips tremble, and his right hand unwittingly grip a fork and press its point down into the wood of the table.

  “I shall have satisfaction for those words too.”

  “Gladly. Captain Farquahar will be my second, I believe.” The cadaverous officer beside the Colonel nodded gravely.

  “Not in my army! Gentlemen, I forbid this duel to take place until we have beaten ze enemy. You will obey me, or lose your commissions.”

  “Don’t fight over me, please. It doesn’t matter, Robert, really. I was just a little shocked at what the Colonel said, that’s all. But I did ask him.”

  “It matters to me.” Robert’s cold glance cut her out of the quarrel altogether. No-one else appeared to have heard her at all.

  “I will stand second to Captain Pole, my lord, if he will have me.” Robert nodded his agreement to Lord Churchill. “Thus you may be sure that it will not conflict with military discipline.”

  “Be sure it does not. And now, perhaps, gentlemen, you could endeavour to forget the matter and resume our evening’s entertainment, which you have so rudely marred.”

  Robert and Colonel Weston sat down, and the conversation resumed in subdued tones around them. Colonel Weston began talking rather pointedly to his friend, Captain Farquahar, about other duels he had been in, while Robert glared at him in silence. Ann too was silent, feeling herself rejected and foolish. She had
started this, but did not know what to do to stop it. Her mind was still numbed by the ghastly thought of her father being treated as Colonel Weston had said. They must win, if that was the price of losing! And what other horrors were there, that Robert had stopped him from telling?

  Marianne attempted to rescue the situation, by suggesting that the ladies withdraw. She hoped that the gentlemen might not be too long in joining them, she said, so that they might have some music together. Ann rose, and followed the ladies into the withdrawing room.

  “Well, my dear, you seem to have made quite a stir,” said Marianne, settling herself comfortably near Ann in the window seat. “Two officers quarrelling over you already, and Lord Churchill and Lord Feversham almost contradicting each other! Quite an achievement for one night!”

  “Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs Ashley,” said Ann miserably, hanging her head so that the elaborate curls half obscured her face. She hated them now; they felt so conspicuous. “I didn’t mean to spoil your party, really. I should never have come here.”

  “Nonsense, girl! Spoil it? You have made it! We will be the talk of the town for months!”

  “But … what if they fight? Robert may be killed; and really there is no need for it. Colonel Weston didn’t mean to insult me, I’m sure.” She felt close to tears. It was all so stupid, so cruel, and so impossible to change.

  “‘Twasn’t an insult exactly, but he wanted to see you scream or faint, girl, which is much the same thing.” Ann turned to a large, matronly woman, Mrs Woodham, wife of one of the horse officers. “I’ve seen that man do the same thing many times. ‘Tis about time someone pulled his nose for him.”

  “And cousin Robert can take care of himself,” said Marianne. “He is supposed to be one of the best marksmen in Lord Oxford’s Horse, I believe.”

  “It just seems such a stupid thing to fight about. Especially when I do not feel insulted.”

  But Marianne’s cheerfulness could not be dampened. “Men are like that, my dear, surely you have realised that by now! All this business of a lady’s honour and insults that they fight over has nothing to do with how we feel about it at all. That hardly comes into it - it is their feelings that matter. You should be delighted to have them squabbling over you. Robert is paying you a great compliment, you know, to stand up for you like this.”