Daughters of England

by Philippa Carr

  “I like Luke very much.”

  “A good boy. Ambitious…I like that. Perhaps it is good…but perhaps not. That remains to be seen. I gather you are exploring the countryside?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have been to Featherston?”

  “Yes, we have just returned from there.”

  “And you have been meeting Mistress Christobel’s family?”

  “Yes, I met her brother and her father…”

  “Ah,” he said, frowning. “Her brother is an enterprising young man, making the best of a difficult job. How they have let that place go to ruin! But he’s doing well. He will do it. The old man is not much use.”

  “You mean Sir Harold?”

  “Yes, Sir Harold. If only he paid as much attention to looking after his home on earth as he does to concerning himself with his seat in Heaven, he might be able to offer his children some security. So you met him?”

  “It was not for long.”

  “And what did he say to you?”

  “He talked mostly about God.”

  That made him laugh. “Oh, these saints,” he said. “How uncomfortable they make everyone else!”

  “And Maggie is well? You said that London was not a pleasant place to be in at this time.”

  “You have heard of Titus Oates?”

  “Yes, everyone was talking about him before I left.”

  “Well, it has become worse. He has produced this plot which the Catholics are said to have hatched and which is designed to bring England back to the Church of Rome after murdering all the Protestants. It is making life very uncomfortable for a number of people.”

  “And Maggie?”

  “This would not touch Maggie. But there is something unpleasant about the whole business. That is why I said that at this time London is a place from which it is best to be away.”

  “So many things happen there. There was the plague and the fire.”

  “Before your time, my child. It is the capital city, and, as you say, such events are more likely to take place there than in small unimportant towns or villages. Well, I am glad to see you have settled in. Mistress Longton tells me you and she are good friends and that Mistress Christobel is a pleasure to have in the house. So everything seems satisfactory.”

  “And you, my lord, are well and happy?” I said.

  He looked at me oddly, a strange smile on his lips.

  “I thank you for your kind enquiries,” he said. But he did not answer my question.

  There were so many other questions I wanted to ask him. It is rather unsettling, suddenly to be confronted with a father and a brother whom one did not know one possessed not very long before.

  But I could not say I was displeased by my new life. Much as I had hated leaving Maggie, I could not help being pleased that I was at the Dower House.

  The Spy

  IT WAS ONLY RARELY that I thought about the strangeness of our situation. I suppose it was accepted by the people around us more easily than it would have been in another age.

  The King had several illegitimate children: they enjoyed high honors and included the Duke of Monmouth himself. In our community Lord Rosslyn was as the King, and if he pleased to house his children in his Dower House, that he might in a mild manner supervise their upbringing without any inconvenience to himself, it was not for his inferiors to question the matter. He could hardly have brought the children into his immediate circle. But what of Lady Rosslyn? How did she feel about having other women’s children brought to live as her immediate neighbors? It could seem like an insult and a reproach.

  However, it seemed that the situation was accepted by most people, including ourselves.

  Luke, though, often cast envious glances at the big house. I think he had some secret dream that one day Lord Rosslyn would relent, depart from tradition and accept his son—though an illegitimate one—as his heir, since he had no other to take that place and become master of Rosslyn Manor.

  As for me, I was enjoying life at the Dower House. I had Christobel with me and we saw a great deal of her brother, whom I was liking more and more. Then I had my own half-brother and he seemed to like me as I did him. Roger Camden was also interesting to be with. We were a happy little group and I had never before known so many young people, for, although they were all older than I, they were young in comparison with Maggie and Martha and Jane who had been my main companions after my mother had died.

  All through those winter months I learned about the place I lived in, the people surrounding me. I saw my new father occasionally. I found it all interesting enough to prevent my brooding on the loss of my old life.

  Then spring came, and with it tragedy.

  It started with the arrival of strangers in the neighborhood.

  In the village of Nether Green, which was nearest to the Dower House, two men came to stay. At first they were thought to be two travelers who would stay for a few days and then move on. Instead, they prolonged their stay and asked the innkeeper a great many questions, all concerning the priest Father Greville, who for some time had been living in the neighborhood. They wanted to know which of the local inhabitants had sheltered Father Greville and who were his friends. It was all very strange, and the innkeeper and his wife could not understand why these two men should be so interested in an old priest.

  Christobel and I had made a habit of riding out each day and almost always called at Featherston Manor. We usually found Kirkwell working somewhere and we would stop and have a chat with him. I would often stop with him while Christobel went to see her father.

  I had occasionally seen Isaac Napp about the place. Often he worked with Kirkwell, sometimes with another of the men. He had a faintly sanctimonious air and I imagined he was critical of those about him. I had heard him admonishing Jem Lee, one of the cottagers on the Rosslyn estate, on account of his irreligious ways. Kirkwell said he was a good worker, but he did not like that air of sanctity which he assumed.

  On this particular morning I saw Isaac Napp walking some little distance from the house, and he was in the company of two men.

  I said to Christobel: “Look. Is that not Isaac Napp?”

  “Oh yes, it is,” said Christobel.

  “I do not know who those others are. Has Kirkwell been employing any more men?”

  “No,” replied Christobel. “Oh, I see. They are those men who are staying at the inn.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” I said, and I watched them for a moment. They were deep in conversation.

  “Perhaps Isaac is converting them,” I added with a laugh.

  “That is not unlikely,” replied Christobel.

  And we rode on towards Featherston Manor.

  As we came into one of the fields, Christobel’s horse broke into a gallop. I spurred up Lively Lady, expecting her to follow in her less than lively way. Then suddenly it happened. I was thrown forward. I felt the ground rising to meet me and I was down.

  I lay there for a second, bewildered. Lively Lady meanwhile stood patiently beside me.

  Christobel was bending over me. “Kate, what happened? Are you hurt?”

  “She…she threw me…”

  “I’d better get help. We’re near the house, thank Heaven. Kate, don’t move. I’ll be back right away. We must get help.”

  In a very short time she was back, and Kirkwell was with her.

  He was kneeling beside me. There was deep concern on his face.

  “Kate…are you in pain?”

  “My foot hurts,” I said.

  “Let’s see if you can stand.”

  He helped me to my feet. I tried to stand and cried out when my left foot touched the ground.

  “It seems as if you have twisted your ankle,” he said, as I tottered towards him, and he caught me, holding me against him.

  “I’m going to get you to the house,” he said. “We’ll find out what is wrong. What happened to Lively Lady?”

  “She stumbled over this root, I think,” said Christobel.


  It transpired that I was not badly hurt, though my ankle was sprained, which would necessitate my resting it for a while.

  Christobel said that it would be best for me to remain at Featherston Manor for a few days and she would stay there with me.

  This was how I came to be there right at the heart of the tragedy when it happened.

  I had spent a happy day at Featherston. Kirkwell had carried me to the bedroom they had prepared for me on my first night there. I had had a very pleasant day lying on the sofa in the solarium, which still showed signs of its old grandeur. In spite of its shabbiness there was a very pleasant atmosphere about Featherston Manor. Its lack of affluence seemed of little importance. Carrie made much of me and she and her niece May saw that I was comfortable: and my mishap, apart from the pain in my ankle, seemed to have been the means of giving everyone an exciting adventure.

  There was no ceremony at Featherston Manor and Carrie and May sat with us while we discussed what had happened to make Lively Lady lose her footing.

  Kirkwell said, “The poor creature is getting old. She may not see as well as she once did. Perhaps you should find a new mount, Kate. What do you think, Chris?”

  “I think so. I have wondered for some time whether you should do that.”

  And so we talked.

  It was later that day. I was still on my sofa. Christobel and I were reading aloud, taking it in turns to read a page before passing it on to the other. It was a pastime we often enjoyed.

  Kirkwell came bursting into the room. I could see he was distraught.

  “Father Greville has been arrested!” he said.

  “Arrested!” cried Christobel. “For what reason?”

  “For plotting against the King and the state.”

  We stared at him in amazement.

  “I like it not,” he said, sitting down and staring ahead of him and frowning.

  “I don’t understand,” cried Christobel. “Father Greville is a feeble old man. How could he plot against the King?”

  “He is a Catholic.”

  “Well, what of that?”

  “You know what is happening in London, do you not? It started before you left. The Popish Plot has now become the main concern of the country, it seems.”

  “But what could Father Greville—an old man—here in the heart of the country have to do with that?”

  “It seems that innocent people are being arrested. It only needs suspicion.”

  “Arrested,” repeated Christobel. “I cannot believe anyone would arrest Father Greville. Who has done this?”

  “It is those two strangers at the inn. They were not what they seemed. They are agents of Titus Oates.”

  “Surely not. There must be a mistake.”

  “Father Greville is their prisoner now.”

  “Where?”

  “He is in jail at Bridgwater. They say that he will be taken to London.”

  “It can only be a rumor. You know how these stories start. Doubtless he has been seen with those men…”

  “I wish it were so.”

  I said: “We saw those men from the inn. Do you remember, Christobel? They were talking to that new man of yours.”

  “Isaac?” said Kirkwell, and I saw a sudden fear in his eyes.

  “They are spies, those men,” said Christobel. “Spies for that man Titus Oates. Why should they talk to Isaac?”

  “They will be finding out who were Father Greville’s friends,” said Kirkwell. “They will be asking questions of everyone.”

  “Do you think they were asking Isaac questions?”

  Christobel and Kirkwell were looking at each other in the utmost apprehension.

  “Oh, God help us,” murmured Kirkwell.

  “What will happen to Father Greville?” I asked.

  They were both silent.

  Gloom had fallen over the house. We were all very frightened. Titus Oates’s spies were questioning people. They were going to take Father Greville to London. He was now waiting in the jail at Bridgwater until they were ready. I think we were expecting it when it came.

  When we heard them knocking at the iron-studded door which opened into the great hall, it was like the toll of the funeral bell.

  I lay on my sofa, my heart hammering.

  I heard their voices, loud and hectoring, and Kirkwell’s, protesting.

  There was silence. Christobel and I stared at each other with wide frightened eyes.

  Christobel whispered: “They are with my father. He will do nothing to save himself. I pray to God they do not take Kirkwell.”

  “How can they…?”

  “These men do what they will. They twist people’s words. But my father will do nothing to save himself.”

  We sat in silence, waiting. Then we heard them descending the stairs.

  They put Sir Harold on a horse and took him away.

  There was nothing we could do.

  It was with immense relief that we saw that Kirkwell was still with us.

  My father came riding over to Featherston Manor. He was clearly worried.

  “Is it true?” he demanded. “I heard they have taken Sir Harold to London.”

  “He is now in the jail at Bridgwater awaiting removal to London,” said Kirkwell.

  “This is a monstrous thing.”

  “The Popish Plot is a monstrous plot.”

  “Surely people are not such fools as to think your father—”

  “People do not think. Titus Oates has them on leading strings.”

  “But Father Greville is an old man. He would not harm a fly. There is no justice.”

  “None with such as Titus Oates. Nevertheless, I shall go to London. I must do what I can to save our father.”

  “There is nothing you can do,” said my father.

  “It is just possible that I may be able to do something.”

  “It is well to keep away.”

  “I could not do that.”

  Christobel said: “If you go, I shall go with you.”

  “I will come too,” I said.

  My father looked at me in amazement.

  I looked steadily at him and said: “I must be with Christobel and Kirkwell at such a time.”

  I thought he was going to forbid me to go, but he did not. He seemed rather pleased in a way. He said: “It is a grievous thing that has come upon us. Why does this man do it? It is to call attention to himself, I’ll swear. He is the most talked-of man in England. He is given money for his pains.”

  “Why does not the King see that he is exposed for what he is?” cried Christobel.

  “The King is cautious. He never forgets that his father lost not only his kingdom but his head. Our King Charles is determined that shall not happen to him. He knows the people’s feeling. It could take little to bring about division in the kingdom such as we knew before. We have rid ourselves of the Puritans. We have had the Restoration of the monarchy and right glad the people were to have it back after years of Puritan rule. But the King is wise. Many times I have heard him say he will not go wandering again. He knows the people listen to Titus Oates. What do you think would happen if the fellow were put where he deserves to be? Riots, of a surety. It is the warring religions that are at the root of it. The majority of Englishmen and -women are determined never to have a Catholic monarch on the throne again, but the King has no legitimate heir. There is only the Duke of Monmouth, the firmest Protestant of all, and he is only the King’s natural son. But the people are afraid of Catholic James, the heir to the throne. There is a protest against him at this very moment.”

  “And what of our father?” asked Kirkwell.

  There was silence.

  Then Kirkwell went on: “I must be near him. There may be something I can do. There may be someone who could help. Someone in court circles…”

  He was looking at my father, who, after a moment’s hesitation, said: “There is little I or anyone can do. I could speak to someone highly placed—Stafford, Arundel, Buckingham, perhaps
even the King himself. But, as I say, this is not a matter of reason. The people at this time believe Titus Oates because they want to. They are afraid that when the King dies the Catholic Duke of York will be King. They want to keep the Catholics from the throne of England and they support this tale of Catholic plots.”

  “You make it sound as though there is little hope.”

  “Once a man is accused by Titus Oates there is little hope.”

  “Oh, our poor father. You see, he will do nothing to save himself. So I must do all I can.”

  “I will come to London with you,” said my father. “If it is possible to do anything, that shall be done.”

  It was agreed that they would go to London, and as I desperately wanted to go with them, my father said that, if my ankle was well enough, I could go.

  It was a somber journey.

  We had seen Father Greville and Sir Harold leave Bridgwater as traitors, and we all knew that there was but the flimsiest hope of our being able to do anything to save them.

  Christobel and I went to Maggie. It was certainly a pleasure to see her again, and for a moment I tried to forget the dismal reason for our coming. Maggie could not hide her pleasure in seeing me, but naturally she deplored the reason which had brought us. Kirkwell stayed at my father’s lodgings and it seemed that it would not be long before the fate of Father Greville and Sir Harold would be decided.

  Maggie wanted to hear how I was faring at Somerset, and I gave her an account of the Dower House and Mistress Longton; she nodded appreciatively, and talking of it made me stop brooding, if only briefly, on the fate of those poor old men who we now knew had been taken to the Tower and, like all the victims of Titus Oates, were being accused of treason.

  Christobel and Kirkwell were seeing some friends they knew in London who they felt might have some influence, and I believed my father was doing all he could.

  That left me with Maggie, and she talked to me just as she used to in the past. Alas, on this occasion the talk centered round Titus Oates, but that was because, as I quickly realized, that man seemed to have taken possession of the town and he was the most dominant figure in London.