McFeeley's Rebellion

by Theresa Murphy

  Unprepared for the reaction in the old women, Henrietta took an involuntary step backwards as the old one fell to her knees, looking up adoringly at her.

  ‘You are truly a blessed woman,’ the old lady said as tears poured down her lined cheeks. Then she controlled herself and came up onto her feet. ‘Come, dearie. Now there is all more the reason to hide you!’

  Taking Henrietta to the side of a huge chimney, she pulled a dusty drape to one side to reveal a cavity in a thick wall. Henrietta squeezed in. It was tight, smelled strongly of damp stone and was very dark inside when the woman allowed the drape to fall back in place, but Henrietta felt secure.

  The whole place was peaceful for some time then, with only the sound of the old woman moving around reaching the three concealed fugitives. Then there was the sound of the back gate opening, and the voice that had shouted at them called to the old woman.

  ‘Are you at home, Mrs Olaf? This is Colonel Penruddock!’

  There was the sound of the door of the house opening, and from their uncomfortable places of concealment, McFeeley, Henrietta and Piper heard the old lady reply caustically, ‘I know who you are, Colonel. I’d recognize that mouth of yours in a gale of wind. You have not been invited on to my property!’

  ‘We are here on military business; searching for three fleeing rebels. Have you seen anything of two men and a woman, Mrs Olaf?’

  While Penruddock was conversing with the woman he was having his men make a search. The door to the malt house creaked open. McFeeley and Piper held their breath as hands pulled at the rubbish that lay on top of them. A sword was thrust down through the pile. Before the point of the weapon dug into the ground, it disturbed a rat. Giving a muted little squeal the creature scurried away, alerting the searching soldier so that he withdrew the sword and thrust it down through the rubbish once more.

  This time the blade came so close to McFeeley that it sliced through the skin of his left forearm. Struggling against the instinctive reaction of pulling his arm away, which would have disturbed the rubbish and had them discovered, McFeeley gritted his teeth when the sword was withdrawn and warm blood began to trickle down his arm.

  ‘Nothing in here, sir,’ a voice close to them called.

  ‘We’ll take a look in the house, Mrs Olaf,’ Penruddock’s voice said.

  ‘Will I achieve anything by objecting, Colonel?’ the old woman asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ the colonel abruptly replied, and the sounds of the militia entering the house had McFeeley and Piper worrying over Henrietta.

  But the search of the house went without incident. They heard boots scuffing their way out through the gate, which closed with a rattling bang. Then the old lady was tugging the rubbish off them. Back in the house she fussed over McFeeley’s slashed arm. Washing and bandaging the arm, Mrs Olaf issued a warning, her eyes worriedly on Henrietta all the time.

  ‘Don’t think Penruddock was fooled. He knows that you are round here somewhere,’ she said, wagging her neat grey head worriedly. ‘He’ll be waiting out there somewhere. We must take care of you, dearie. You have the future of our country in your womb.’

  The old lady insisted on making them a hot meal. They had protested when she stated her intention, but the aroma of the food cooking had them realize just how ravenous they were. It was dark when they had finished eating, and Mrs Olaf had another surprise in store for them. Reaching into the wall cavity in which Henrietta had hidden away from the militia, the old lady pulled out two muskets, one at a time. As McFeeley and Piper grabbed the weapons, enjoying the sense of security the feel of the muskets gave them, their hostess went to the wall running alongside the heavy table at which they sat. First with her fingertips, then using both hands, she removed a loose stone from the wall. From the cavity inside she produced bullets, powder and ramrods.

  ‘How did…?’ Piper began, but Mrs Olaf stopped him with a raised hand.

  ‘Ask not from whence they came, son,’ she said with a sweet smile. ‘Simply repay me by using those weapons well and wisely.’

  ‘We respect your privacy, madam, but I daresay you have had a life filled with adventure,’ McFeeley commented.

  ‘My husband, John, was a member of Cromwell’s House of Lords, my son,’ the old lady said, eyes going a little vacant in reminiscence, ‘and the Protector had no stauncher supporter than him.’

  ‘Your husband has passed on, Mrs Olaf?’ Henrietta asked with a womanly interest in the homelier side of things.

  ‘These many years,’ the old lady was saddened by recall of her loss. ‘John played no small part in the trial of Charles I, and upon the Restoration he had to flee to Europe for his own safety. Not that it did poor John any good. He was murdered one morning on his way to church.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Henrietta said feelingly.

  Taking a look at the muskets, McFeeley suggested quietly and politely, ‘And you are seeking revenge?’

  ‘Against whom?’ Mrs Olaf asked. ‘This country of ours has been in turmoil for years. My faith was pinned on the Duke of Monmouth. Now we will just have to wait until the dust has settled!’

  Anxious to be away, McFeeley stood up from the table. Concerned for the old woman, he asked, ‘You do appreciate that if it is learned that you have harboured us you will be severely punished?’

  ‘With that swine Penruddock involved, it is a certainty that I shall be.’

  ‘Oh no …’ Henrietta groaned, giving voice to her and her two companions’ concern over the old woman.

  ‘Don’t worry on my account,’ Mrs Olaf told them perkily. ‘I would much rather die for a good cause than from old age. Now, it is you three who we must think of. Take heed that Penruddock and his men will be waiting out there for you.’

  This had been on McFeeley’s mind. It shared his thoughts with others on the tragic death of Lucy Yates, and the fact that this gentle, caring old lady was likely to be sentenced to burning for high treason, which was the punishment for women, because she would be judged as having helped three Monmouth followers. It would be a miscarriage of justice in the extreme, as Henrietta was a lady, and Piper and himself soldiers of the king. But Colonel Penruddock’s killing of Lucy ruled out any hope of putting the case of Mrs Olaf straight with him. McFeeley decided that he must concentrate on getting the three of them to London.

  ‘With the hay in for the winter, Mrs Olaf,’ McFeeley began, ‘where is the nearest barn from here?’

  ‘Less than half a mile away, over the back of that hill,’ the old lady replied, pointing to a wall of the room, seeing the hill in her mind.

  It was to the south, McFeeley recognized as he asked her a second question. ‘Is the man who owns the barn any relative or friend of yours?’

  ‘Nothing could be further from the truth,’ Mrs Olaf replied with a little laugh. ‘The barn is on Colonel Penruddock’s farm. Ben Bendall runs the place, but Penruddock owns it.’

  This was good news for McFeeley. Doing some rapid planning, he then told Henrietta and Piper, ‘You two wait here for me, but be ready to leave once I get back. If I should not return within an hour, then you must move out and head for London. Take care, Piper, and take your musket and ammunition with you.’

  As McFeeley divided the powder and bullets to take some with him, the wise old Mrs Olaf gave a smile as she said, ‘I think that I know what you have in mind!’

  Although he had neither seen nor heard anything definite, McFeeley was conscious of the colonel and his soldiers lurking somewhere in the night. But he moved stealthily, either slithering snake-like on his stomach or creeping on hands and knees until he was some distance from the house. He had covered the major part of the distance to the barn at a run then.

  He found the barn packed to the roof with hay that had been tinder dry when cut and stored. It ignited that fast that flames were licking out angrily at him so that he was lucky to get out through the barn door without being burnt.

  Dashing to a hedge he dropped to the ground underneath it, sliding himself
into concealment, turning to keep observation on a barn that was now a blazing inferno with flames shooting up high into the night sky. He had only minutes to wait before there was much shouting and yelling as figures came charging out of the darkness into the orange glow of the raging fire. The figures wore uniforms and McFeeley, who had no idea what Penruddock looked like, heard his distinctive voice raised to shout panicky orders.

  Satisfied that the fire, which was already sending up sparks that had ignited two smaller buildings and had set the thatched roof of a nearby cottage ablaze, would keep the militia occupied for some time, McFeeley headed back the way he had come at a fast sprint. With no need to keep under cover, he made good time, arriving back at the house to find Mrs Olaf, Henrietta and Piper standing out in the garden looking at what had the appearance of an exaggerated and fiery false sunrise.

  ‘That’s a really ambitious diversion, sir,’ Piper complimented McFeeley.

  Hearing the words, the old lady put a hand on his arm. ‘I just knew that you were an officer!’

  ‘It is you that concerns me now, Mrs Olaf,’ he said, noticing how the poor light had aged her by accentuating the lines in her face. The fire was bright enough now, despite the distance, to tint her silvery hair pink in places. ‘Once they have put out the fire they will come for you!’

  ‘I shall be ready for them, my son,’ she told him enigmatically. ‘Now, take your charges off with you. I will be relying on you to get that lady and her unborn child safely to London.’

  ‘You can depend on it,’ McFeeley told her as they clasped hands for a moment.

  Without a word, perhaps because none of them could trust themselves to speak, the trio went out through the gate at the foot of the garden. They had walked something like a hundred yards when McFeeley looked back, something he had been disciplining himself not to do, and saw the frail little figure standing watching them, framed by the gateway.

  ‘Keep walking. I’ll catch up with you,’ he said gruffly to his two companions.

  Eyes made weary by long years of living studied him curiously as he walked back to the old woman. She called to him urgently. ‘You must go as quickly as possible. Off with you now! Don’t fuss over an old lady. I have lived my life; the three of you still have yours in front of you.’

  Coming right up to her, McFeeley leaned his musket against the fence and took both of her thin hands with their wrinkled, sagging skin in his. He held her gaze for a considerable time before he spoke. It seemed to him that if he continued looking into her eyes he would see both her past and his own future. Not wanting to view either, he lowered his gaze.

  ‘I couldn’t leave you with a lie,’ McFeeley said softly and apologetically. ‘I have met Monmouth and have admired him, but I am not of him. Forgive me for not telling you when we first met you, Mrs Olaf. You see, I am a lieutenant in the king’s army.’

  There was a stunned expression on her face for a moment that had McFeeley cringe inside at having induced her to sacrifice her life under a misapprehension. Then life flowed back into her eyes and tightened the skin of her face so that she was every bit as bright and intelligent as before.

  ‘Thank you for coming back to tell me,’ she said, giving one of her sweet smiles as her fingers tightened on his hands. ‘What is in our heads, our choices, who we serve, are transient and not important. It is what we hold in our hearts that we must listen to attentively. You are a good man, my son, and if I have been of assistance to you that makes me both happy and very proud. Go with God.’

  Before releasing her hands, McFeeley kissed her lightly on her corrugated brow. When he turned and walked away he was not in the slightest abashed to feel tears stinging his eyes.

  They had walked all through the remainder of that night and the following day. Now, as the sun dipped to their left and the evening grew cold, they crossed Bagshot Heath and entered into the welcoming social warmth of the Greyhound Inn. McFeeley was confident that they had put enough distance between Colonel Penruddock and themselves to be able to relax. As head of the local militia, the colonel would have neither the resources nor, probably, the inclination for a long pursuit.

  The only people they had encountered along the way had been a group of ragged gypsies at Old Basing, and some castaways a little further along. The latter had been desperate enough to be dangerous, but the sight of the muskets that McFeeley and Piper carried had discouraged them from making any aggressive move.

  These muskets were now worrying the landlord of the tiny inn. A short man with a paunch that defied gravity, he shook his head doubtfully, bloodshot eyes on the weapons, when McFeeley requested a room for Henrietta and another for Piper and himself.

  ‘Just for the one night,’ McFeeley emphasized in the hope that it would help sway the owner of the inn.

  ‘Can’t help you, mister,’ the landlord looked away, either shyly or slyly. ‘As you can see, this is a small house and all the rooms are taken.’

  Aware of how weary Henrietta was, McFeeley was disappointed. He looked towards where she had slumped onto a bench when they had come into the inn. The ground they had covered without rest had taken its toll on two hardened soldiers like Piper and himself, so he could only make a probably inaccurate and inadequate guess at how it had affected Henrietta. To her absolute credit she had uttered not one word of complaint, not even a solitary sigh.

  ‘If it’s the muskets bothering you,’ McFeeley told the landlord, ‘then forget it. We are soldiers.’

  Whether the fat-gutted man believed him, or simply wanted to stop McFeeley from nagging at him, he said grudgingly, ‘The three of you can lie in my barn for the night. I won’t want nothing off you for it.’

  This offer wasn’t as good as having rooms, but it was probably better than they could have hoped for, and McFeeley accepted it. They had a refreshing drink and some bread and cheese, which eased but didn’t satisfy their hunger, then went out to the barn.

  There was enough straw when gathered up to make a bed for Henrietta at one end of the long barn, and for Piper and McFeeley to be able to bed down comfortably at the other end. A fairly sturdy breeze had sprung up to produce an orchestrated squeaking and creaking of the roof and sides of the barn. It was a disconcerting sound, and it was perhaps responsible for Henrietta calling McFeeley, as he was about to settle down for the night, eager to rest his tired body.

  ‘Colm, I can’t bear to be alone tonight!’

  Gathering his straw up under one arm, McFeeley left Piper and went to the far end of the barn to lay the straw down, careful to place it several feet from where Henrietta lay.

  ‘Are you still awake?’ she called softly a few minutes later.

  There hadn’t been time to even get near sleep, and McFeeley stifled a minor irritation as he replied, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll reach London in time, Colm?’

  ‘I’m sure we will,’ he said, recognizing that she was speaking of pleading for the life of James Scott. ‘As he is the King’s nephew I can’t imagine that he’ll be executed!’

  Henrietta wasn’t convinced. ‘That Quaker, John Whiting wasn’t it? He was certain that James would be executed.’

  ‘If that is so, then as I have said, he is the king’s nephew so the execution is not likely to be carried out speedily. We’ll reach there in time for you to see the king.’

  ‘I pray that we are,’ she said fervently. Then she fell quiet for some time.

  The next time Henrietta spoke it was close to his ear. She had moved herself and her loose-straw mattress very near to him. ‘I need to be held, Colm.’

  One of her arms went around his neck, her breath was warm on his cheek, and her spare hand was fumbling with his clothing and her own. He knew that the inevitable was about to happen. It was something that he didn’t want intellectually but couldn’t resist physically. The knowledge that she was carrying Monmouth’s child should have been enough to have him push Henrietta away, but he found that he was welcoming her.

  ‘Sir!’ />
  Piper’s warning hiss had come through the darkness, immediately putting an end to what was developing into frantic play between male and female. Piper’s call solved McFeeley’s conscience problem, and brought him immediately alert.

  ‘What is it, Piper?’

  ‘I’m sure that I heard soldiers outside, sir.’

  Sitting up, McFeeley was straining his ears when it became unnecessary. A stentorian voice came from outside. ‘This is Colonel Penruddock, you men. Take heed. Open the barn door, very slowly, and throw out your arms. Then walk out slowly, holding your hands where we can see them and you won’t be harmed. You have my word.’

  Hurrying to pick up his musket, McFeeley went to stand beside Piper, who was already armed. The soldier asked, ‘How many do you think we’re up against, sir?’

  ‘If there’s only two of them, which I doubt, then it’s one too many for us in this position, Piper,’ McFeeley faced the facts.

  ‘Then what…?’ Piper began.

  ‘Wait for a moment,’ McFeeley said, going over to help Henrietta to her feet and taking her over to sit against the front wall of the barn before returning to Piper.

  ‘She’ll be safe there if they blast us when we open the door,’ McFeeley said. ‘We’ve got to take a chance on this being a squad of boys playing at being soldiers, Jonathan. I think that Penruddock is all that holds them together. If we get him, they’ll run.’

  ‘How will we get him without them getting us first, sir?’ Piper inquired, not questioning McFeeley’s ability, but with a soldier’s need to know what tactics were to be employed.

  ‘First we have to locate the pig,’ McFeeley said, fondly using Mrs Olaf’s epithet for the colonel. He raised his voice to shout. ‘Can you hear me, Colonel?’

  ‘I hear you!’

  ‘This is Lieutenant McFeeley of the Kildare militia.’

  ‘Don’t waste my time,’ Penruddock yelled back. ‘Do exactly as I told you. Open the door, carefully, and throw your weapons out.’

  Looking at Piper, McFeeley pointed to the right of the door in a two o’clock direction. ‘That’s where he is, Jonathan.’