Daughters of England

by Philippa Carr

She told me that Titus Oates was gradually losing his power. There had been one or two cases from which he had emerged rather badly. Lord Chief Justice Scroggs had set the fashion. Others had discovered that they need not bow to Oates’s wishes, for they could avoid doing so without fear of retaliation. He was still there, still struggling to continue in his evil ways, but the tide was turning against him and he was no longer the man of power he had been.

  We always enjoyed those visits to London. It was well worth the uncomfortable journey to see Maggie and get all the news.

  Francine

  CHRISTOBEL AND I HAD always taken frequent rides. We both loved the countryside and one day, as we were riding through a narrow lane where it was necessary to fall into single file, we heard the sound of horses’ hooves coming towards us in the opposite direction. Christobel was ahead and we both moved as close to the hedge as possible to allow whoever was coming to pass.

  I saw a woman, very straight, rather angular, in an elegantly cut riding habit. Another woman rode behind her.

  “Good morning, Lady Rosslyn,” said Christobel in a very respectful voice. “Good morning, Mistress Galloway.”

  The woman who was in front returned Christobel’s greeting with a curt nod. The other lady smiled rather hesitantly at her.

  Then Lady Rosslyn was on a level with me. The look she gave me made me shiver, for it really seemed quite malevolent. Then she lowered her eyes, as though she did not wish to look at me, and passed on by. The other lady, who was quite a contrast, was plump and rosy-cheeked, rather subdued in manner. She also gave me a hesitant smile, having looked at me quickly and lowered her eyes as she passed.

  When they were out of earshot, Christobel said: “Well, that was unfortunate.”

  “Why?”

  “Meeting like that. She had to look at us.”

  “It was…my father’s wife, was it not?”

  “It was indeed. A very haughty lady, as you saw, and not very pleased to come face to face with a reminder of her husband’s misdeeds.”

  “You mean…me?”

  “Don’t look so unhappy. I wonder we haven’t met before. It would have been better if we had not been quite so close. But meeting in the lane like that…well, it was like forcing ourselves upon her ladyship’s notice, was it not?”

  “She did not like me, I could see.”

  “You could scarcely expect her to welcome you with honeyed words, could you?”

  “No, but…”

  “I know. You’re going to say it was no fault of yours. Nor was it. Whose fault, then? Hers? For not producing the desired offspring? I doubt not that my lord would have had his little adventures in any case. Well, don’t let it disturb you, dear child. The lady does not like you. Is it because you remind her of her husband’s irrepressible gallantries or of her own shortcomings? Who can say? So let us forget the matter.”

  “And the other lady?”

  “Mistress Margaret Galloway—a connection of her ladyship who lives on her bounty, I believe, and is her constant companion. Now, don’t fret, you’re hardly likely to come into such close contact again with her ladyship, and that was only a brief encounter.”

  So Christobel dealt with the matter in her own lighthearted way.

  Over the next year or so I did see Lady Rosslyn again on one or two occasions—not in a narrow lane, but on the road, and Christobel, who was invariably with me, would receive the brief nod of recognition while I was given a quick glance before being completely ignored.

  One day when we rode over to Featherston, Carrie had news for us.

  “What do you think?” she said. “Lady Rosslyn has been taken ill.”

  “Very ill?” asked Christobel.

  Carrie nodded. “She’s had a seizure. They didn’t think she’d live…but she’s come through. I met Mistress Hardy, who cooks in the kitchens at the Manor, and she told me all about it.”

  “And you are going to tell us,” said Christobel.

  “If you want to hear,” retorted Carrie.

  “You know we are all agog.”

  “Well, it seems she cannot walk. She was all seized down one side. They say she can’t talk much either. That cousin of hers found her. She went in one morning and there her ladyship was. They’ve had the doctor up there. They say his lordship is sending for some doctor from London. He’s on his way. The cousin will be there looking after her. They’ve been together for years…almost as soon as she came to the Manor, so she’ll stay to look after her.”

  “Is she…?” asked Christobel.

  “Not yet. They say there’s a chance she’ll live. But, poor thing, what’s life going to be like when you can’t move and can’t speak?”

  I thought of that proud, arrogant woman whom I had met in the lane, unable to move…unable to speak…depending on others. In spite of everything, I felt an immense pity for her.

  Later we heard that Lady Rosslyn was still alive and that the cousin, Mistress Margaret Galloway, was indeed looking after her.

  There was one matter which was giving me cause for thought above all else, and that was the relationship between Christobel and James Morton. It was gradually brought to my notice that they preferred each other’s company to that of any other. Christobel and I often met him when we were riding and then I had the distinct impression that, although he was always friendly towards me, he would have been happier if Christobel had been alone.

  Therefore I was not altogether surprised when, one day, as Christobel and I sat reading in that little room in the Dower House which had been set aside for what were called my “lessons,” she suddenly said to me: “James wants me to marry him.”

  “And are you going to?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said.

  So they were betrothed. There was no reason why the marriage should be delayed. James was manager of the Rosslyn estate and so had a good home to offer her. He was on excellent terms with Lord Rosslyn and mingled with the guests on occasions, as my mother had told me my grandfather had done all those years ago on the estate he had managed.

  So plans for the wedding were discussed at great length.

  I should not see so much of Christobel when she was married, of course, but she would be close at hand, so it was not as though we should have to face a sad farewell. We had become so much a part of each other’s lives that that would have been a very great wrench, but why contemplate it when it was not to take place?

  I had had occasional meetings with my father over the years I had been at the Dower House and one day he rode over to see Luke and me. Luke happened to be out, for my father had not announced his coming, and, as Christobel was with James, my father and I were alone together.

  He said: “I wanted to talk to you alone, Kate. I will talk to Luke later, for this concerns him too. This coming marriage will mean that Christobel will no longer be here and you will be without your governess. You and she have been friends and I have seen how she has brought you along. But of course she will have other duties now.”

  I wondered if he were contemplating providing me with a new governess.

  I said: “I am not a child any more. I shall be sixteen soon. Christobel has said that there is little more she can teach me.”

  He nodded. “Christobel has been a good companion for you…and will still be your friend. But I have been thinking a good deal about your future, yours and Luke’s. I am going to bring you both to the Manor. I have wanted to do this for a long time.”

  I gasped.

  “The idea does not please you?” he enquired.

  “I…I don’t know. It is so unexpected that I never thought…”

  “I should have brought you there in the beginning, but there were difficulties.”

  I knew the one difficulty. The haughty lady whom I had met in the lane would be the chief obstacle, I supposed.

  “Kate,” he said, “I want you to understand…”

  “I know you have done what you could for us…” I began.

  “I want to
tell you of this myself. You are my daughter, Kate. That means a great deal to me. And Luke is my son. I fancy you are a little fond of me.”

  “But of course. You have been kind to me.”

  “I mean as a father.”

  “Well, yes…a kind of father.”

  “A kind of father,” he said rather sadly. “I wish I could have been more like a real one. You see, it would have been very difficult for me at the time.”

  “I know.”

  “I think you know a great deal about the situation, Kate.”

  “My mother told me when she knew she was dying. She thought I ought to know.”

  “I loved your mother dearly, you know that, Kate.”

  “Did you? And yet…”

  “You know about my deceit, of course.”

  “Yes, she told me that too.”

  “You must have thought I was a very wicked man.”

  I was silent.

  “Thoughtless…” he went on. “In the society in which I lived, it was something which men did. It was thought to be rather amusing, God forgive us. Your mother was different from others. Most of the ladies involved in such matters would have settled for a good endowment of some sort…but not your mother. She would have nothing. I was wrong. I was wicked. Please understand, Kate.”

  “I think I do.”

  “You are a wise girl. I would like you to look upon me as your father…not as a kind of father, but as a real one.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I was not happily married. There was no love between us, even in the beginning. My wife and I were chosen for each other. The basic idea of our families was for us to make a suitable marriage. My family had been in existence in this county since 1066 and we believed the family had to go on. It was our first duty to continue the unbroken line, and, of course, we failed in that. It was ironical…for it was the sole purpose of the marriage.”

  “It would have been better perhaps if you had married for love.”

  “Ah, who shall say? What I want you to understand is why I could not bring you to the Manor before, because…”

  “Because of your wife?”

  “You do understand? So, the next best thing was to install you and Luke in the Dower House.”

  “But she knew we were here.”

  “It was not like being under the same roof.”

  “She is still at the Manor.”

  “Kate, she is unaware. She does not know who she is or where she is. She is looked after by her cousin, who has always been with her, but she often does not recognize her. Christobel will be married soon. You are growing up. I want you to live as my daughter…which you are. You, my children, you and Luke, I want you to be near me, so I am arranging for you to come to the Manor after Christobel is married.”

  When Luke came in my father was still there. When my brother heard the news he was overcome with joy.

  After my father had left, Luke said to me: “This means that we are really acknowledged.”

  I pointed out that we were before.

  “This is different. I am my father’s son, you are his daughter. Who knows?”

  I hoped he was not going to be too ambitious, for I feared he would be disappointed. I knew his greatest desire was to own Rosslyn Manor. But he should remember that that matter was all settled, and that Sebastian was there because he had been chosen to inherit the estate.

  Luke went around with brightly shining eyes. I was less euphoric. I thought of living in that house from which I had been excluded all these years because its mistress was that cold-eyed woman who had passed us in the lane. I was not entirely convinced that she would be unaware of the fact that her husband was bringing his illegitimate children into her home.

  I could not feel elated in such circumstances.

  Christobel was married at the beginning of the year and Luke and I went to live at Rosslyn Manor.

  I was overawed as we passed over the old drawbridge, and I looked up at those gray towers. Gray-stoned, rounded arches, and those thick walls built to last for centuries—which they had.

  I was to discover that a great deal of the Manor House had been restored over the years and it was possible here and there to detect touches of the more decorative Tudor style of linenfold paneling in some of the rooms.

  The Dower House, of course, had been built much later and lacked that air of brooding antiquity which belonged to an earlier age.

  I was given a room which was reached by way of a spiral staircase. It had a high vaulted ceiling and the size of the room dwarfed the four-poster bed, two chests and the carved wardrobe. The windows were long and narrow. Originally, of course, they would have been glassless, but fortunately that had now been rectified.

  I had been given a maid called Amy. She must have guessed that I was unused to such grandeur and asked me if she could help me to dress. I told her I could manage very well, as I always had, and she said that if there was anything I needed I had only to call her. She was about my own age and, for that reason it was rather comforting to know that she was there.

  That first night Luke and I dined with Sebastian and my father. The meal was served in what was called the small dining room, though it looked far from small to me. It was hung with tapestries depicting the Battle of Hastings which looked as if they might have been worked soon after that memorable event.

  There were two other large tapestries in the room and I gathered that these represented scenes from a more recent conflict—the Wars of the Roses—and, seeing Luke regarding them in wonder, my father told him that he would see many such scenes throughout the house, usually depicting the part the family had played in these events.

  “We were not always on the winning side,” he explained, “but we keep quiet about those occasions. With the Wars of the Roses it was different. Although we were on the side of York, which did not bring us much glory when the Tudors came, we recovered, and Henry VII was too wise to remain unfriendly to a family like ours and we soon returned to favor. We retrieved those estates which we had lost, and, as the royal marriage of Henry to Elizabeth of York united the two houses, the tapestries were hung and have remained here ever since.”

  He went on to talk of the family. Sebastian joined in and said he would show us the interesting parts of the house. It would take us some time to become familiar with it. It certainly had in his case, though now he knew it almost as well as my father.

  Luke listened, his eyes gleaming. I felt a twinge of uneasiness. I hoped he would remember that, although he belonged to this family, he could never be accepted as legitimate and this house could never be his.

  When I returned to my room that night, Amy appeared to see if I wanted anything.

  I rather liked her. Perhaps it was because I realized she could not have been much older than I, and she herself was a little uncertain, though she did her best to hide it. I wondered what it was like to come and work in a house like this. She must feel gratified because she was to look after me—who was as ignorant of the way life was lived in the house as she was herself.

  I told her I was all right, and could look after myself.

  She nodded. “Well, I hope you sleep well, Mistress. And if there is anything you need…”

  “I will let you know,” I said. “Good night.”

  I stood in the middle of that room and then thought that the silent house seemed to shut me in. I looked over my shoulder quickly, as though I expected to see someone standing there. I felt that eyes were watching me from every part of the room, so that if I turned to escape one pair I would be immediately in range of another.

  It was foolish, fanciful. This was the effect such ancient houses had on people. The Dower House had been cozy, with Christobel in the next room, and Mistress Longton not far off. No ghost would ever intrude in her house, I was sure. And Featherston was cozy too—or it had been until that terrible time when Sir Harold had been taken away and never seen again.

  I undressed and got into bed. I blew out my candle but
sleep was impossible. There was a half moon which shone in through the window, and I remembered my first night at the Dower House. Christobel had been close to me there. Here I felt isolated. I wondered how Luke was faring. He was doubtless dreaming of the glories of the Rosslyns and of this mansion, which was theirs and which he coveted.

  Oh, Luke, I thought, take care.

  I was tired and longed for sleep. Alas, it remained elusive and my mind raced on. I was back in Maggie’s house. My mother was there, dressing to go to the theater. I was sitting beside her, hearing her lines as she completed her toilette. It all seemed so long ago. And now I was here. Christobel was married and I had come with Luke to my father’s house—this great mansion which was bigger and far more grand than anything I had ever imagined.

  I must have dozed. I saw a woman’s face as I lay in bed. She was coming towards me. She had a look of disdain on her hard, cold features which turned to anger as she bent closer to me.

  I awoke with a start. I sat up in bed. Just a nightmare. Foolish, but natural, I suppose. Lady Rosslyn had made a deep impression on me, and now here I was…living under the same roof…because she was so ill that she was unable to protest.

  I felt I should never sleep. I was not sure I wanted to. I was afraid of the nightmares. It had been horrifying to see her face so close to mine, and dreams are like reality while they last.

  It was to be expected that my first night in a house like this would be restless. It would have been different if I had been born here and had lived the whole of my life here. It would be my home. But that was not so. I was here because my mother had gone through a mock marriage, a practice indulged in by degenerate young men whose main occupation seemed to be to think of outrageous adventures. If they involved others, that was just bad luck for them.

  I thought suddenly of the Duke of Monmouth and his friends slitting Sir John Coventry’s nose and killing a beadle. That was the way they amused themselves.

  I felt a sudden longing for Maggie’s simple household where everyone seemed good and kind and wanted to help each other. I thought of the Dower House and Mistress Longton, and Christobel, and Featherston and Kirkwell close by, and suddenly I wanted to go on like that. I did not want to live in a grand house where ghosts seemed to be lurking in every corner.