Daughters of England

by Philippa Carr

But it seemed this was not to be so and Luke’s dream was over.

  We talked a good deal about politics too, and speculated on what would happen when the King died. He was approaching fifty and although he had always seemed unusually healthy, there had been an illness, brief fortunately, but nevertheless a warning of what would have to come one day.

  “I cannot believe that the Duke’s reign would last long unless he changed a good deal,” said James.

  “He may well do so when he sees what is at stake,” suggested Kirkwell.

  “There are his daughters Mary and Anne, of course,” put in Sebastian. “The King has made a point of seeing that they are brought up in the Protestant religion, in spite of their father’s objections. James has many virtues. Mayhap he will change when the day comes.”

  “If he does not, there will be trouble.”

  “There is Monmouth, of course,” suggested Luke. “The King could easily secure the throne for him by declaring that he had married Monmouth’s mother.”

  “But apparently he did not,” said Kirkwell, “and he has denied that many times. Though I believe there is a certain pressure to make him admit that there was a marriage…for the sake of peace.”

  “It seems to me,” said Sebastian, “that it is not a very healthy situation. All we can do is pray for the King to continue in good health and to rule over us for another twenty years. By that time they may have sorted it out.”

  So they talked, and it was amazing how often that topic seemed to come up. Perhaps it was so in many houses in England.

  The popularity of Titus Oates was increasing. He strutted through the streets of London, surrounded by his guards. He wore episcopal garments, silk gown and cassock and called himself—as many others called him—the savior of the nation.

  “It seems,” said Kirkwell, “that we shall soon not need a king; Titus Oates will be our ruler.”

  “His main target is the Queen,” added James. “What next, I wonder? I heard today that they had arrested Her Majesty’s physician, Sir George Wakeman. If he is found guilty, the next victim will surely be the Queen herself.”

  “But she is an innocent gentle lady,” I broke in. “She loves the King. She would not plan to kill him.”

  Kirkwell said bitterly: “A man or woman does not have to be guilty to be found so by Titus Oates and his men.”

  There was a great deal of interest in the trial of Sir George Wakeman, and rumors of what the outcome would be were even reaching places as distant as Somerset. The local people were very interested. Indeed, had we not had our own little glimpse of what the tyranny of Titus Oates could mean?

  Lord Chief Justice Scroggs was to try the Wakeman case. He was notorious for his hatred of Catholicism. He had recently declared in court that it was a religion that unhinged all piety and morality. Catholics ate their God, killed their King and made saints of murderers.

  It seemed that Sir George Wakeman was doomed. James said that a great deal hung on the result of this trial. If Sir George was found guilty, the Queen would surely be condemned with him.

  One morning when I went downstairs, I found Mistress Longton looking both shocked and exhilarated, as people are when they are about to impart something which excites them because they are the first to tell it, yet they know they should be horrified to do so.

  I said: “Something has happened.”

  “It looks like murder.”

  “What?” I cried. “Who?”

  “It does not surprise me. He being who he is.”

  “Who is it? Do tell me.”

  “It’s that man who was here…spying.”

  I murmured: “Isaac Napp?”

  “That’s the one. He was found not far from Fifty Acres. That’s just beyond the Rosslyn Estate. There’s a little stream running along near the farm.”

  “Drowned?” I asked.

  “Drowned! A child could stand up in that little stream and the water would come barely to its knees. No…that was just what finished him off. He was half dead before he was put in. Someone had strangled him.”

  “It sounds terrible.”

  “I doubt not he had his enemies, that one. Men such as he are certain to have. He’d been half-strangled and put face down to drown. There’ll be a bit of noise about this, I shouldn’t wonder. It looks like murder. Couldn’t be anything else. And when you reckon he’s that Titus Oates’s man…Oh yes, there will be some bother about this, I’ll swear.”

  I felt sick. I could not help thinking of Isaac Napp in the courtyard of Featherston Manor, and Kirkwell gripping his neck in his hands.

  We waited in a state of near panic. Christobel’s thoughts were similar to mine.

  As soon as we heard the news, Christobel and I rode over to Featherston Manor. James, who was proving a good friend to Kirkwell, was already there.

  Kirkwell was looking tense.

  Christobel said: “Oh, James, you’ve heard the news. It is good of you to come.”

  “But of a surety I must come. I do not like this. I’m not surprised. The man must have had many enemies.”

  Kirkwell said: “I swear I did not do it. On everything that I hold sacred, I swear.”

  “We believe you,” said James. “But what I fear is that, because of this man’s work for Oates, this will be regarded as more than an ordinary case of murder.”

  “What shall we do?” asked Christobel.

  James laid a hand on her arm. “You must not worry.” Then he shrugged his shoulders. “What a foolish thing to say! Of course you cannot help worrying. We are all worried.”

  “I tell you, I have not seen the man since I ordered him out of the courtyard that day. I had no idea he was still in the neighborhood.”

  “I believe you,” said James earnestly. “So do we all. But this is one of Oates’s men. Oates will want to find someone to blame.”

  “But he will not be able to prove—”

  “Oates does not need proof. He decides on his victim and he is so powerful that everyone bows to him. Once Sir George Wakeman is committed to the Tower and executed on a charge of treason, he will have the Queen in his grasp…and then we might as well say it is not King Charles who rules this country but Titus Oates.”

  “The King will surely save the Queen?”

  “Mayhap he would be glad to be rid of her. Mayhap he is more enamored of his countless mistresses than of her,” said Christobel. “There are some who say he would welcome the opportunity to be free and to marry again…a Protestant wife who would give him a son and settle this whole business of the succession.”

  “He is not a cruel man,” said James. “I believe he is always markedly courteous to the Queen. He would not let this happen to her.”

  “Then why does he allow this man to behave as he does? He strikes terror into all the King’s subjects. None can feel safe.”

  “The King is clever. He is afraid of trouble in the land and he realizes that to attempt to suppress Oates now could mean riots in the streets.”

  “How can he rule his kingdom if he is so much afraid of this man?”

  “If the Queen were to be found guilty of treason and put to the axe…I tremble to think what would happen,” said Kirk-well. “How could a man like Oates rise to such eminence?”

  “Be careful what you say,” warned James. “But let us think what we must do. Let us not blind ourselves to the truth. You are in danger, Kirkwell…unless the true murderer is found. You will be under suspicion, because of what happened to your father and mayhap because Jem Lee saw you threatening Napp. People like him tend to exaggerate. He heard you threaten to kill Napp.”

  “Where is Jem Lee now?”

  “He is no longer working on my land. He was only a casual laborer. I did not have enough work to occupy him all the time and cannot afford to have a man with me if it is not profitable to do so.”

  “And he will not keep to himself what he saw in the courtyard that morning, I’ll swear.”

  Christobel looked fearfully at James. “Wh
at then?”

  “Perhaps Kirkwell should be called away on business and no one is sure where.”

  “Would that not look like guilt?”

  “I fear it might. But on the other hand it would not be good to be here when Oates’s men come to look for a culprit. Depend upon it, they will not allow all this to pass. One of their men murdered!”

  We all looked at James. He was older than we were, more knowledgeable and wise.

  “Perhaps we should not hurry into some action which might be unwise.” He looked at Kirkwell, his brow puckered. “It would not do to go away immediately…but if Oates considers it worthwhile to send his men down here to look for a scapegoat, there will be no alternative.”

  “I do not want to run away and appear to be afraid of being accused of something I know nothing about.”

  “I understand that,” said James. “But there are times when one must consider these matters carefully. It will not matter to these men whether you are guilty or not. They will come here to make an example of what happens to anyone who touches the servants of Titus Oates. You would be a good choice: You were seen to threaten Isaac Napp and you are the son of one of their victims. I fear that if they come they may settle on you. You would be the ideal choice from their point of view.”

  “You would have me run away? Leave my land?”

  “I would have you save your life. But do nothing rash. Let us see what transpires. It may be that they will find the murderer here before Oates’s men arrive. It may be that Oates will be too concerned with what is happening in London. Sir George Wake-man is more important than anyone here can possibly be. Mayhap Oates is too concerned with that to pay much attention to us at this time.”

  “What shall we do, then?’ asked Christobel.

  “For the moment…wait.”

  I could see that Christobel was very frightened, and I shared her fear.

  Enquiries were made about the death of Isaac Napp but there was no sign of any men from London.

  It was not discovered who had killed him. He had not been much liked; he was a newcomer, and the truth was no one cared very much that he had come to an untimely end. Informers were men to be feared and people felt more comfortable when they were not around.

  Scraps of news from London reached us, and it seemed possible that what was happening there might be the reason why no one had been sent to Somerset to find a scapegoat for the murder of Isaac Napp.

  To the amazement of all, Lord Chief Justice Scroggs, fiercely anti-Catholic that he was, had not acted in the manner expected of him.

  Sir George Wakeman was a wise and clever man. He was a man of great dignity and integrity, highly respected at court. The Queen’s physician was also a zealous Roman Catholic. He was able to defend himself with great skill. The witnesses against him were Titus Oates and his accomplice Bedlow, and men such as they were no match for the wit and wisdom of a man like Sir George Wakeman.

  Sir George exposed the two schemers for what they were in a manner which could not be doubted. Oates declared that he had recognized Sir George’s signature on a document which was a receipt for money he had received from the plotters, but when he was presented with a number of different examples of handwriting and was asked to pick out Sir George’s he had chosen one which was quite different from that of Sir George and which could never have been mistaken for his by anyone who had seen it before.

  Moreover, the other accuser, Oates’s confederate Bedlow, claimed an acquaintance with Sir George and declared he had become on intimate terms with him in his duty to discover how base he was.

  Sir George replied that he had not seen Bedlow before this trial began and appealed to the court, asking them if they really believed he could have been on intimate terms with such a man.

  Such a friendship would certainly seem incongruous and the Lord Chief Justice, in his summing up, stressed this. It was clearly due to him that Sir George was released.

  This was the biggest blow that Oates had received since he first brought the Plot to the notice of the people. He was furious and vowed vengeance on Scroggs, which he attempted to carry out, but when he had to face Scroggs in court he was completely outwitted by the Lord Chief Justice.

  This was a major blow to Oates, and he must have known it. It was small wonder that, for the time being, he had no time to concern himself with what was happening in the remote countryside.

  The Devil’s Tower

  OCCASIONALLY MY FATHER RODE over to the Dower House. He liked to talk to Luke and to me. He was a strange man. Sometimes, when I was alone with him, I felt he was going to confide in me, tell me something about himself. Then he would become aloof and I would feel that I was merely a duty in his life, the result of an unfortunate mésalliance.

  One day he visited the Dower House and I was alone there. He looked rather pleased to find me thus and I thought it would be one of those sessions when a certain intimacy seemed to creep into our relationship.

  He looked at me rather searchingly as we sat together, and said: “You are growing up fast, Kate. You always seemed in advance of your years. When I am talking to you I feel I am not talking to a child but to a young woman.”

  I was pleased and showed it.

  “You have not lived much with the young, Kate,” he mused, and looked sad. “That might be a pity.”

  “I was very happy with my mother and Maggie…”

  “I know. And now?”

  “It is not easy to forget. But I think I have…a little.”

  “You are getting fond of the people here?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Christobel has been a good friend, has she not?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “So I did well to procure her as your governess?”

  “Yes. She has certainly taught me a great deal.”

  “And you are fond of your brother Luke and of Christobel’s brother? I fancy you are fond of him too.”

  I felt myself flush a little.

  My father noticed and smiled. “Yes, I am aware of it. Well, he is a good young man. He will work until he has brought Featherston back to what it should be. James Morton says so, and he would know…Kate, I think your friend Kirkwell may be in some danger. What think you of what happened to Isaac Napp?”

  A terrible fear took possession of me then. My father realized it and he took my hand and pressed it.

  “The man was an informer, a spy of that accursed Oates, who has caused much misery to many. We must do what we can to stop him doing his mischief here.”

  I did not speak.

  “I have news,” he said. “Oates is sending men this way.”

  “Here?” I asked.

  “He cannot allow one of his men to be despatched just like that. He will want revenge for the death of Napp.”

  “But they could not find those who killed him.”

  My father looked at me sadly. “Napp was indeed a rogue…and a stranger here until that time. He is no great loss, and whoever sent him on his way doubtless had a good reason for doing so. But you see, Oates cannot allow that to happen to one of his men. It reflects on Oates himself, who considers himself the all-powerful avenger, and for his own sake he must protect his minions.”

  “So…they will come here. But they will not find the murderer of Isaac Napp.”

  “Mayhap not. But they will find someone whom they will accuse of the murder.”

  “Oh no!” I said. And I heard my voice tremble as I spoke.

  “There is a place on the estate,” he said, not looking at me. “It is called the Devil’s Tower, though no one speaks of it now. I have not heard it mentioned for years. It is said to be haunted. It is more or less a ruin. There is a roof over part of it, so it is secure in some places from the elements. It would provide shelter and, providing a man were not afraid of ghosts, he could be as safe there as anywhere. It is on Rosslyn territory, some way from the house. There is some old story about the place. All old families have these skeletons in their cupboards. Most of
them get lost in people’s memories as the years go by. I think a wayward daughter of our house was walled up in the Tower by some of her zealous relations. She is the ghost. She would be kind, I am sure, to fellow sufferers from tyranny. No one goes to the Tower now. In fact, the place is so overgrown that one can scarce force a way through to it.”

  There was meaning in his words. I knew that Oates’s men were coming. They must find a scapegoat, and that could well be Kirkwell, who was such a friend of mine. It was certain that Oates’s men would look to Kirkwell as one who had reason for hating the man whom he would regard as his father’s murderer.

  “I would like to show you this place,” said my father. “Shall we take a ride together now?”

  I said: “Yes, I should like to see the Devil’s Tower.”

  When I left my father I found Christobel and told her where I had been and what my father had said.

  “We must not lose any time,” she said. “I must talk to Kirk without delay. He is in great danger.”

  We found him in one of the fields and I told him that my father had news that Oates’s men had set out from London and were on their way to us.

  “There is only one thing to do,” said Christobel. “You must go away, Kirkwell, at once. They will suspect you immediately.”

  “They’ll suspect me if I go away.”

  “Not if you go now, before they arrive. They will not know that you were aware that they were coming, so they will not think you have left on that account. I think we ought to speak to James. He is very wise, and I am sure he will agree that you must go.”

  I was in terror lest the men should arrive before Kirkwell could make his arrangements to leave, but I was sure that Christobel was right. He must not be here when they came and he must not appear to have gone away because of them.

  When James was with us and heard what we planned, he was in favor of it. He said: “We shall immediately tell everyone we know that Kirkwell has had to go away on urgent business. He has left for the North. He left in such a hurry that there was little time to explain everything. It is to some farmer in Yorkshire that he has gone.”

  “Will they not go searching for him?” I asked.