Daughters of England

by Philippa Carr

  Christobel was stretched out on her sofa while we all gathered in her sitting room. In a month’s time her baby was due.

  We were all talking about the arrival of the Duke of Monmouth in England. It could only mean a rebellion, and that must have its effect on us all.

  Luke’s eyes were gleaming.

  “The King should have made him his heir. Then this would not have happened.”

  “He could scarcely do that when the King’s heir was here waiting,” said Kirkwell.

  “Monmouth could have been the heir,” insisted Luke.

  “Ah, but he was not, though,” said Sebastian.

  “Charles had seen this coming. He might have married Monmouth’s mother and settled the Monmouth claim, if he wished,” said James.

  “It might have been that they were married,” said Luke. “There was talk of proof.”

  “You mean the little black box with the marriage certificate in it? Oh, you can’t believe that. Lucy Walter, Queen of England. Come, Luke, be realistic.”

  Luke said: “I hope he succeeds.”

  “Treason,” said Sebastian flippantly.

  “This is a serious matter,” cried Luke hotly.

  Kirk said that he agreed. “It is a very serious matter. But I cannot believe the King married Lucy Walter.”

  “He was an exile at that time,” insisted Luke. “He had no throne then.”

  “It’s fortunate that he did not marry all the ladies in his life,” said Sebastian, “or we should have too many to choose from now.”

  James said that, whatever there was to be said for a Protestant Monmouth against a Catholic James, James was his brother’s legitimate heir and that was the law and that was how it stood with him, and any attempt to dethrone him was treason.

  “But it is easy to see the way everything is going,” said Kirk. “You can depend upon it. James will attempt to lead the country into the Catholic Faith. He will try to return us to Rome, and I do believe that that is something the English will never allow to happen.”

  “But he is the King, whatever his religion,” said James.

  “That is no reason why he should take this country where it does not wish to go,” argued Kirkwell. “The will of the people is all-important.”

  Christobel sighed and said: “It is a pity it has to affect us when all we want to do is live in peace.”

  “’Tis indeed a pity,” replied her husband. “But there it is, my love. What should we do? Depend upon it, the people of this country will attempt to be rid of James if he tries to enforce his religion on us.”

  “Perhaps he will realize that,” I suggested.

  “If he did,” said Kirk soberly, “he would not proclaim so openly his Catholicism in a country he hopes to rule.”

  “Perhaps he thinks it would be dishonest not to admit it.”

  “He has flaunted it. To go to Mass in the Queen’s Chapel where anyone can see him. It is clear what will happen. There will be trouble. ’Tis better to be rid of it now before it gets greater.”

  “And you think to do that by supporting Monmouth?” I asked.

  There was some hesitation. Kirk frowned and said: “We cannot have another such war as we did when the Parliament decided to rid the country of the King’s father. Wars do no good to anyone.”

  “Then why have them?” asked Christobel.

  “That’s not an easy question to answer. Sometimes they are resorted to in order to prevent something worse.”

  “And now you think…?”

  “Monmouth for King,” mused Kirk. “That is not ideal. He was a wild young man…but sometimes wild young men become wise ones. We have the true heir to the throne who threatens to turn an inherently Protestant nation into a Catholic one, which is certain to provoke bloodshed; and on the other hand we have an ambitious young man, who has not proved he has the necessary qualities for government, but who is a Protestant. He is young. He can learn. King James never would.”

  “What a pity,” said Christobel lightly, “that the management of these things cannot be arranged around this table. I am sure you could solve the country’s problems far more efficiently than those in whose hands they lie.”

  Sebastian said: “I’ll swear that, wherever the news of Monmouth’s arrival in England has been received, men and women will be sitting round tables such as this and discussing this very subject and all of them will think they are as wise as we are.”

  One of the workers on the estate came hurrying in. It was Tom Ricks, whom I knew slightly.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” he said, looking at James. “But I thought you’d be wanting to know right away, like. It’s news from London. Gentleman just come in from Bridgwater. He says Lord Monmouth has taken Taunton. He has five thousand men now, rising to seven thousand. He’s come into Bridgwater and they’ve crowned him King.”

  Luke had risen, his eyes gleaming.

  “It has come. I knew it would. Down with the Papists! Long live King Monmouth! I am going to join Monmouth’s army. I shall leave today for Bridgwater.”

  “I’ll be with ’ee,” said Tom Ricks, and as he went out a silence fell on us all.

  “So,” said James at length, “it has come to this. This means…fighting.”

  “He is already proclaimed King,” insisted Luke.

  “That does not make him so,” replied James quietly.

  “We are going to make him so,” said Luke earnestly. “It is wonderful. He has just arrived and already is called the King.”

  “Bridgwater is not the world,” said James.

  “We are going to make the whole of England follow Bridgwater.”

  “Luke, don’t be too hasty. Have you thought of what this means?” James asked Luke.

  “I am certain it is what I wish to do. While King James is on the throne there will be conflict throughout the country. Once we have a good Protestant King the people will settle down. They will no longer be afraid of Catholic customs. They will be happy and we shall all live our lives in peace. I shall go to Bridgwater at once. The new King will need all the men he can get.”

  Kirk was staring ahead of him, with a very serious expression on his face.

  He said: “I am not sure of the Duke of Monmouth. He was very wild in his youth. Do you remember Sir John Coventry, whose nose he and his friends slit, and how they murdered the beadle who tried to keep order?”

  “That was his wild youth,” said Luke. “He is different now that he will have the responsibility of the crown.”

  “He has not acquired it yet,” Sebastian pointed out. “A cheer and a hurrah in a little country town is not a loyal reception in London. Forget not, the King has a strong army at his command with men like John Churchill leading it. Unless they have rebelled against the crown, they will be for the King, and how do you think Monmouth and his little band will stand up to James’s trained men?”

  “Bridgwater calls him King,” said Luke.

  “Bridgwater, dear fellow, is a very small place in a very small county. Do not set too much store by Bridgwater.”

  “The question is, which is the right cause to join?” said Kirkwell. “Is it a choice between two evils? On the one hand there is a Protestant country cursed with a Catholic King: on the other a Protestant King as yet unfitted to rule. It is not a very good proposition.”

  “Do you think James is fit to rule?” demanded Luke.

  “Alas, no. But I think England, being England, would be better with the Protestant. When are you leaving, Luke?”

  “Tomorrow morning at dawn.”

  “I shall come with you,” said Kirk.

  It is known through the depth and breadth of the land what happened in the next few days, how the proud young Duke was humbled, how his arrogant belief in himself was not supported by his deeds. How he reveled in those few days of his glory and how quickly that glory melted away.

  We were deeply concerned. We were very close to the fighting and the field on which in due course the fatal battle was fought.<
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  Our arrogant, foolish Monmouth was like a boy with ambitions which he could not hope to fulfill. James had done some foolish things, but he was wiser than his would-be rival. He was a mature man; he was the hero of several naval battles: he had the Earl of Frensham and Sir John Churchill beside him, seasoned warriors, against the inexperienced Duke and, as the people were unkindly calling them, his pack of country yokels.

  But for those days when he called himself King, Monmouth reveled in the glory for which he must have longed ever since he had discovered that he was the King’s son. Leaving Bridgwater, he had marched to Bristol, expecting as easy a victory there as he had enjoyed in Taunton and Bridgwater. Alas for him, the King’s men had heard of his approach and were ready to meet him in such force that he lost heart and hastily turned back to Bridgwater. Defiantly he issued a declaration, offering five thousand pounds for King James’s head.

  It was ludicrous.

  Meanwhile we waited at home for news. It was of the utmost importance to us now. Luke, my brother, and Kirk were there.

  James was grim. He said they had been rash to go. Even Sebastian showed concern. As for me, I was thinking constantly of Kirkwell. What if I never saw him again? I wished then that I had agreed to marry him. Perhaps, had we been betrothed, I might have persuaded him not to go. I longed for his return. It was because I loved him, far more than I had thought.

  Christobel was no longer blissfully happy and was clearly distressed. James was worried. It was not good for the baby. He said that Luke was a good-hearted fellow, he knew, though he had this obsession about his birth which had made him side with Monmouth; but to rush in like that was rather foolish. What he could not understand was Kirk’s going with Luke. He would have thought Kirk would have had the sense to wait a while…to see how things went before he rushed in to serve a cause which might be of short duration. And, if it were, that would not have done a great deal of good to those who had supported it.

  The King’s forces were gathering around Bridgwater. The army was formidable and the great generals had decided to support the King against Monmouth. They knew Monmouth for the reckless man he was. Many of them believed that the law must be obeyed. Monmouth was not the true heir. Many times King Charles had denied that he had married Lucy Walter. If he had, why should he not have admitted it? For then he could have produced his son and heir, which every king and every man of property desired to have.

  But no, the King had said it many times. “I was never married to Lucy Walter. Let them bring forth a hundred black boxes, a thousand certificates to prove that I was…I will continue to assure you, I was never married to Jemmy’s mother.”

  The country did not want a Catholic King, but the people insisted that the law must be adhered to. Only the true heir could ascend the throne of England.

  And so came the terrible tragedy of Sedgemoor. Poor Monmouth! What chance had he and his band, untrained laborers most of them? How were they to stand against an army trained and equipped with experienced soldiers, under the command of men such as Churchill and Frensham? Monmouth himself was not the bravest of men. He had shown that during his reckless days, when he had cringed before the King, begging his pardon when he was suspected of complicity in the Rye House Plot.

  Monmouth would quickly see how the battle was going and he, so the story went, slipped away before the end. That might have been slander from his enemies, but we did know that he was found cowering in a ditch, covered in ferns when he was captured, and that he was taken to London where he begged his uncle to see him that he might crave his forgiveness.

  He found his uncle less lenient than his father had always been.

  Monmouth’s dreams were over. Fourteen days after he had arrived in England to claim the throne, he lost his head on Tower Hill.

  We were living in a nightmare. I was filled with dread. The Battle of Sedgemoor was lost and men who had escaped from the battlefield were wandering around the country, seeking shelter—the fugitives from the defeated army. They were not to be allowed to shrug off their misdeeds, their treason, as the victorious side were calling it. Men could not behave so and then act as though it were of no moment. The country had to be shown that treasonable acts were given the treatment they deserved.

  Kirk and Luke were in my thoughts all the time. I dreamed of them. Where were they? If they had escaped, they would come to us, surely. But where were they?

  A whole day and night had passed since the battle and there was no sign of them. I greatly feared that I should never see them again. My dear brother, who had had such ambitious dreams…wild dreams that could never come true without a miracle. And Kirk…Kirk. I had not known how much I loved him until now.

  I tried to imagine life without him. I thought of his tender looks for me, his kindness, his tolerance. Why had he gone into this wild adventure? I knew why Luke had. I could follow his way of thinking completely. But Kirk? He was no ardent fanatic, no fervent supporter of the Protestant Faith or hater of Catholics. He believed in freedom of worship for all. But he had believed that England would never support a Catholic King, and that there would be trouble for the country—and that meant for us all—if Catholic James remained on the throne. He was right: James’s reign would be an unhappy one. But Monmouth! He was nothing but a boy playing at being a great warrior throughout his entire career, who had shown his weakness.

  It was dusk. I went to my room. I sat down and my thoughts were on the battlefield.

  Kirk…Luke…where are you? I was thinking over and over again.

  There was a knocking at my door.

  It was Amy, wild-eyed and tearful.

  “What is it?” I cried.

  “Oh, Mistress Kate, he be down below. He’s hiding out. Scared out of his wits, he be. Wants to see ye. He’s out there by the shrubbery.”

  “Who? Who?”

  “Tom Ricks, Mistress.”

  I was speeding across the grass to the shrubbery.

  “Tom!” I cried.

  “’Tis I, Mistress. I have to see you. I was with him, Mistress. He said to tell you and give this to you…if I got away.”

  He put a ring into my hand. I knew it well. It was gold and Luke had treasured it. He had told me it was the ring our father had given his mother. He had always worn it.

  “He was hurt bad, Mistress. In the chest, it was. He couldn’t speak much, but he weren’t in pain. Well, not much anyway. He knew he was going, and he spoke of you. He wanted me to bring this ring to you if I were able…so you’d know it was certain, like.”

  I heard myself murmuring: “Luke…brother Luke. Oh no, not like this!”

  “’Twere so, Mistress. I were right beside him. Might have had it myself. A miracle I didn’t. When he gave me the ring, he just closed his eyes. I stayed with him for a bit…then I had to go. They say they’re looking for us. I’ve got to hide myself, Mistress.”

  “Oh, Tom,” I said. “Take care.”

  “Right sure I will, Mistress. They say terrible things will happen to them who fought on Sedgemoor for him that lost.”

  “Oh, Tom. Get away, then.”

  “This’ll be the first place they’ll come looking. There was more than one from these parts as was there. I’m going to my uncle’s over Taunton way.”

  “Oh, Tom. Good luck…and thank you.”

  I watched him disappear in the darkness. I was too shocked and bewildered to do anything but go to my room. Heavy-hearted and desperately afraid, I sat through the night.

  In the morning I heard that the supporters of Monmouth who had not been captured on the battlefield were being rounded up. Tom Ricks had been caught on the way to Taunton and was now lying in Bridgwater jail.

  Luke was dead. My brother, so full of life one day and then no more. All his dreams of one day being Lord of Rosslyn Manor, gone forever. And all for the ambitions of a King’s bastard son! How our lives were governed by the acts of others. But for Monmouth’s ambitions, we all would have been congregating in Christobel’s sitting
room, talking, talking…

  And Kirk…where was Kirk? I greatly feared that he was one of the thousand slaughtered on that fatal battlefield. I would never go near Sedgemoor again. Never, I told myself.

  If only I knew! Was it better to know the worst, or go on in suspense, hoping, hoping? And as time passed those hopes became more unlikely of being fulfilled.

  There was a gloom on us all. Luke’s death had sobered us.

  “How I wish we could have news of Kirk,” said James. “This is dreadful for Christobel…and at such a time.”

  Sebastian was gentle and tender. He really seemed to care. He was more serious than I had ever seen him before.

  My thoughts were for Kirk. I pictured him lying dead on that battlefield…perhaps so badly wounded as to be unrecognizable. Where was he? My mind went back to that time when we had hidden him in the Devil’s Tower. He had been in acute danger then.

  “Oh, God,” I prayed. “Let me know where he is.”

  If he were dead I should never know the details. There were so many dead. It was just by chance that Tom Ricks had happened to be near Luke when he had died. But no one had any news of Kirk.

  I wondered after whether my prayers were answered, or was it because Kirk and I were so close that there was some communication of the mind between us. But I could not stop the memories of that other occasion from returning to my mind. It seemed—or so I thought afterwards—that something, some secret force, was urging me to go to the Devil’s Tower.

  It was two days after the Battle of Sedgemoor that I went.

  It was a hot afternoon. There was no wind and stillness was everywhere. I went through the trees and there it was…grim, forbidding, haunted.

  I felt a certain excitement. I felt that Kirk was close and where could he be but in the Tower? He was a fugitive, as so many were, and where else would he think to hide himself but in the place he knew so well, because he had been there before?

  It may sound ridiculous, but I knew I was going to find Kirk in this place.

  I pushed open the heavy door. I went up the spiral staircase. I made my way to that room which I had visited so often during that other time, when Titus Oates’s men were in the neighborhood.