Beloved Enemy

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Ah, Wentworth. You’re back from London. What news?’

  The man paused to catch his breath. ‘Oh Master Campbell, ’tis grave. We took the three prisoners to London as you ordered. They are in the Tower, but not, I fear, safe. The Royalists refuse to wait for the King’s return.’ As the young man paused again for breath, Campbell looked up at him keenly, and Charmian stopped eating and waited for him to continue. ‘They are lusting for blood and have taken matters upon themselves. They have condemned your prisoners—along with several others—to death. They go to the block the day after tomorrow.’

  Charmian gave a little cry. ‘Oh no! No!’

  Campbell appeared to be deep in thought for a moment and then, to Charmian’s distress, he quietly continued eating his breakfast. ‘Thank you, Wentworth. You may go.’

  ‘But, sire …’

  ‘I said, you may go, Wentworth,’ Campbell repeated firmly.

  ‘Ay,’ the young man muttered and left the room.

  Charmian watched this man who was now her husband. Quietly she asked, ‘Do you mean to let them die without even a proper trial, without even the word of His Majesty?’

  ‘I cannot think,’ he replied with deliberate calmness, ‘that you can possibly have much affection for your father after the way he has treated you—and—your mother.’

  ‘I—no, I suppose not, but he—he is still my father. If the King decrees he must die then—then so be it. But on the King’s word and not at the hand of bloodthirsty Cavaliers.’

  Campbell twirled the goblet set near him, his eyelids lowered hiding his eyes. The length of the table separated the two young people physically, but their beliefs, their differing backgrounds, were destroying their chance of happiness together. And then Charmian’s next words finally cut that tenuous bond, sweeping away the lingering memory of their night of love in the morning’s cold, harsh light of reality.

  ‘What of Timothy Deane? He was led by his elder brother. He would not have been party to my abduction. He tried to care for me, protect me and …’ She paused, breathing heavily, her bosom rising and falling, her eyes flashing.

  ‘And what,’ Campbell asked with deceptive languor, ‘ does Timothy Deane mean to you—exactly?’

  ‘I do not understand your question. He—he helped me, he was kind to me …’

  Campbell’s head snapped up. ‘Are you in love with him?’

  Charmian gasped, wide-eyed. So that was it. Campbell was prepared to sit here and do nothing whilst his three prisoners were sent to their deaths just because of a belief that she—his wife—loved Timothy Deane.

  When she did not answer his question, Campbell rose slowly, almost menacingly, to his feet and leant, his knuckles upon the table, towards her. ‘ Was that what you meant when you said you wanted to marry for love? Was that why you hesitated over your vows in the chapel? Was it the wrong man standing at your side? Were you wishing for Timothy Deane?’ As he spat out the name, he flung his chair to the side of the room and then with one violent movement, he upturned the table, the dishes and goblets, the food and drink, spilling on to the floor.

  Terrified of his sudden rage, Charmian ran from the room. His outburst spent, Campbell listened to the sound of her feet flying up the stairs. He groaned aloud and for a moment covered his face with his hands. Last night he had begun to hope, but now, in one brief moment of jealous outrage, he had shattered those moments of tenderness perhaps for ever.

  Then he raised himself. ‘Wentworth! Wentworth!’ he bellowed, and when the young soldier appeared, ‘Give orders for my horse to be saddled. I must speak with my father and then we ride to London. But my wife is not to be told. She is to think only that I am on business about our estates. See to it.’

  In her bedchamber—the bed still rumpled from their love-making of the previous night—Charmian paced the floor in a ferment of anger. How could he be so unfeeling, so obstinate?

  Nell sidled into the room.

  ‘Where is he, where is Campbell?’ Charmian snapped at her.

  The girl jumped then said, ‘He’s just ridden off, miss, I mean madam.’ She giggled and then realizing her mistress was in no mood for humour, pulled her face straight. ‘I’m told he has gone on business about the estates. Everything’s in a turmoil, madam. Whilst him and his father …’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Charmian waved her aside. ‘Go away, Nell. I must think.’

  As the door closed once more behind the girl and Charmian was left alone she began to scheme. So, she thought, he will go casually about his estate and leave men to die, will he? Well, she told herself, if he will not go to London, then I must. I am his wife now and daughter-in-law of Sir Geoffrey Denholm by marriage, am I not? Maybe there is something I can do.

  ‘Nell, Nell,’ she called now, ‘ send word to the stable for a horse to be saddled. I wish to— to go riding.’

  Only the older, most trusted servants knew where Campbell had really gone. The rest, like Charmian, believed him to be riding about his own estate. So, the stable-boy believed that the young bride wished to follow her husband and ride with him, and swiftly he prepared a mount for her. No one except Nell and the stable-boy saw her leave. No one else saw her canter down the long drive leading from Ashleigh Manor, through the parkland, past the lake, past the deer grazing in the park and out of the boundaries of the estate.

  Having asked the way, she was soon cantering steadily along the road to London, congratulating herself on her escape.

  It was an hour or so later when one of the older grooms, who knew where Campbell had gone, learnt of his young mistress’s departure.

  ‘She’s only gone in search of her ’usband,’ the stable-boy told him and grinned cheekily.

  ‘Maybe she has,’ the elderly groom, Joby, replied. ‘But she’ll not find him! He’s ridden to London!’

  ‘Nay!’ the stable-boy said. ‘ ’As he?’

  ‘Ay,’ the old man wrung his hands. ‘ We’d best send out looking for the young lady, else she’ll be lost. Run to the Manor and see that Sir Geoffrey is told.’

  By noon the men who had been out searching for Charmian returned one by one to the Manor house. Sir Geoffrey and Lady Denholm waited anxiously for news.

  ‘We’ve scoured every part of the estate, sire,’ a weary Joby reported. ‘ There is no sign of the young mistress, nor of her horse.’

  ‘And you say she knew nothing of Campbell’s journey to London?’

  ‘No, sire. He was very firm. She was to be told only that he was out attending business of the estate.’

  Sir Geoffrey pondered and then asked, ‘ Yet you say she heard all that Wentworth had to tell Campbell this morning?’

  ‘So I believe, sire.’

  ‘Then I am very much afraid,’ Sir Geoffrey turned to his wife. ‘That Charmian most probably believing that Campbell meant to do nothing to help her father, has tried to take matters upon herself. I fear she has set out for London.’

  ‘Oh no! The child will be in such danger on the roads. And even if she should reach the city what can she hope to do? Nell,’ Lady Denholm asked of Charmian’s maid. ‘How was your young mistress dressed when she left the house to go riding?’

  Nell thought for a moment. ‘In her old grey dress and black cloak, madam.’

  ‘Oh Geoffrey,’ Lady Denholm put her hand upon her husband’s arm and her eyes were brimming with tears as she looked up at him. ‘Charmian has gone amongst those bloodlusting Royalists in her Puritan dress!’

  Briefly, Sir Geoffrey touched his wife’s hand in a gesture of comfort. ‘ Then I must follow her at once.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  If it had not been for the urgency of her mission and for the anger in her heart against Campbell, Charmian would have enjoyed her morning ride towards London.

  Spring was in the air. The cold frosts had gone and the hedgerows were giving promise of the new growth to come. Her horse was tiring, she knew, and she too was hungry. But in her hasty flight she had not thought to bring any coins with h
er. Sheltered and protected always, she had never needed to think of the necessity for such items.

  There was an inn ahead and she decided to try her luck there. Perhaps Campbell’s name was so well known that she would be served anyway. She rode into the inn yard and almost at once regretted her impulse.

  Standing talking were three soldiers, Cavaliers all three. She tried to spur her horse to turn around, but one of them had already seen her and swiftly he ran forward and seized the bridle of her horse, making the animal rear dangerously. Desperately, Charmian clung on.

  ‘Well, well, well. What have we here? A Puritan maid fleeing for her life? And alone too.’

  ‘Leave go of my horse, sir. My name is—is Charmian Denholm. I am Campbell Denholm’s wife.’

  The man laughed and called out to his companions. ‘Hear that, this wench says she’s Denholm’s wife. Now, I had not heard that he had married, had you?’

  Their guffaws of laughter reached her ears. Another strolled over.

  ‘Campbell Denholm married? Never in this world. Oh the ladies love him, but he slips their noose every time.’

  Charmian held out her hand towards them, trying to still its trembling. ‘There is his ring—see for yourself.’

  But the handsome Cavalier’s eyes were on her face. Suddenly he swept off his plumed hat and made a majestic bow. ‘Of course, m’lady,’ he winked at his companions. ‘Whatever you say.’ He was handsome but with insolent eyes, a long nose, and a small mouth which was hidden behind a moustache and pointed beard.

  ‘What say we offer this lovely lady a ride in our coach—to wherever she is going, eh?’

  The other two laughed heartily and agreed.

  ‘My name is Anthony de Lisle,’ continued the acknowledged leader of the group. He swept down in a low bow once more. ‘I should be honoured if you would sup with me before we travel on.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘If you are worried because we are strangers, let me put your sweet head at ease. I—and my companions—are well acquainted with your—er—husband, Campbell Denholm.’

  Charmian was still doubtful, but not only would it solve the problem of her impecunious state, but also her horse was extremely tired and really ought not to be ridden farther.

  ‘Then I should be most grateful,’ Charmian murmured, reassured by de Lisle’s mention of Campbell’s name as she allowed him to help her dismount.

  As he ushered her inside the inn, de Lisle murmured to one of this friends, ‘I did not think m’lady would succumb so easy!’ And his friend laughed aloud.

  Sir Geoffrey, in pursuit of Charmian, stopped at every inn on the road to London leading from Ashleigh Manor, but Charmian had a few hours’ start ahead of him, whilst Campbell, ignorant of the danger his bride of but a few hours was now in, was already in London.

  Charmian had enjoyed a meal of roast veal and now they were in de Lisle’s coach bowling along the highway towards the city. This coach was a deal more comfortable than her father’s, Charmian thought, and the roads leading to London were better than the country lanes she was used to travelling upon.

  ‘I wish to be taken to the place where the King will be,’ Charmian said leaning forward. ‘What do they call it—the Palace of Whitehall?’

  ‘As far as we know His Majesty is not returned to London, yet, m’lady.’ De Lisle’s eyes mocked her.

  ‘I know, but I wish to be waiting when he does return. There—there are people I must see there.’

  Soon they were passing through the narrow streets of London. Open sewers ran down the side of the road and the houses overhung the road so that much of the light was shut out. The coach drew up before a terraced house in a better quarter of the city.

  ‘This—this is not the Palace of Whitehall, is it?’ Charmian observed shrewdly and met de Lisle’s gaze squarely.

  ‘I thought you would be far more comfortable at my town residence.’ His eyes challenged her insolently.

  ‘How dare you?’ she raged, but suddenly she realized that she was helpless against the three of them. Fear began to creep over her, fear and a sense of shame at her own foolish impetuosity. How angry Campbell would be—and he would have every right! Yet, unbidden, came the thought that at this very moment she would have given anything for sight of him.

  At first de Lisle was courtesy itself. His two companions left, with much chaffing and nodding and winking to de Lisle. He ushered Charmian up the steps and into his house. He was charming, courteous and attentive, and some of her fears were briefly allayed. He ordered refreshments for them and plied her with sweetmeats and wine and for over two hours he was a considerate host. But Charmian was agitated lest she should arrive too late to plead for the lives of her father and the Deanes.

  They were due to go to the block within twenty-four hours, whether the King returned or not.

  ‘Please, Master de Lisle, take me to the Palace of Whitehall. I must seek help on a most urgent matter.’

  ‘Can it not wait until the King returns? Everything must wait until the King returns. And in the meantime …’ His eyes glittered, and Charmian felt afraid again.

  ‘No—no. This cannot wait. Some friends of mine have been wrongly arrested and—and condemned. I have come here to try to help them.’

  ‘Ah,’ de Lisle said, leaning back with a satisfied smile upon his face. ‘Then you are a Puritan. I thought as much!’

  ‘What I told you is the truth. I am Campbell Denholm’s wife. But I am the daughter of a Puritan.’

  She faced him resolutely and under her steady gaze, de Lisle’s confidence seemed to falter and for the first time real doubt crept into his mind. ‘ If you are speaking the truth, then Denholm is like to kill me for what I have done.’ Then he gave a short bark of laughter. ‘No, no, ’tis not possible. Denholm married to a Puritan? In exile, he swore death to every Puritan that ever drew breath!’ De Lisle leant towards her and made as if to grasp her in his arms. ‘I cannot think that even a wench as pretty as you could make him break his oath.’

  Charmian screamed and sprang up and tried to rush from the room, but de Lisle was to the door before her, barring the way.

  Sir Geoffrey entered the fifth inn along the road to London.

  ‘Have you seen a young lady riding on horseback pass this way, landlord?’

  ‘Nay, sire,’ the landlord said, ‘I don’t believe I have … What is it, boy?’ he added impatiently as a stable-lad pulled at his sleeve.

  ‘Sir, there was a young lady, she had a meal here with those three Cavaliers.’

  ‘Aye, but the gentleman said she was alone, not with three others.’

  ‘But she came alone. They stopped her in the yard, thinking she was a Puritan trying to escape.’

  ‘Describe her to me, boy,’ Sir Geoffrey demanded sharply.

  ‘She was wearing a cloak, sir, a dark colour, but she had fair hair, gold, it was.’

  ‘And you say she—she was with three men?’

  ‘Ay, they took her off in their coach.’

  Sir Geoffrey’s face was dark with fury. ‘ Did you know them?’

  ‘I knew the one who owned the coach. It had his crest on the side. It was Lord de Lisle.’

  ‘My God—de Lisle,’ muttered Sir Geoffrey, his hand automatically touching the hilt of his sword, ‘that notorious scoundrel!’

  He turned and hurried from the inn. ‘Jem,’ he shouted to his manservant accompanying him. ‘ Ride on to London—to the Palace of Whitehall. You can ride quicker than I now …’

  Brusquely he brushed aside the cruel thought that once he would have been strong and fit enough to ride full speed all day. Now the years were forcing him to pass the task to a younger man. ‘Find Campbell. Tell him that de Lisle has Charmian.’

  The young man spurred his horse and clattered out of the inn yard, leaving Sir Geoffrey to remount and follow as quickly as he could.

  The landlord, watching from the doorway, allowed himself a wry smile. ‘ I wouldn’t be my Lord de Lisle when Master Camp
bell Denholm catches up with him!’

  ‘Now, come on, my little beauty.’ De Lisle was advancing towards her. ‘You would not like me to hand you over to my friends, would you? They are intent upon seeing all Puritans at the end of a pike.’ Charmian blanched and, keeping her eyes on him, moved backwards around the room. Frustrated passion glowed in de Lisle’s eyes. ‘Ah, so you want to make a game of it, my lovely, do you?’

  ‘If you dare to touch me,’ Charmian said, trying hard to keep the tremble from her voice, though her legs felt as if they would give way at any moment, ‘my husband—will—will kill you for sure.’

  ‘Husband? You still expect me to believe that, do you?’ He made a lunge towards her but she dodged backwards. De Lisle licked his lips. Her rebuff only heightened his desire. He came forward again. This time he had her pinioned in a corner. There was nowhere else for her to escape. He grasped her shoulders and pulled her towards him pressing his wet mouth on her lips, forcing his tongue between her teeth, while his hand gripped her dress and made as if to tear it from her.

  With a viciousness born of desperation, Charmian bit down hard upon his probing tongue. With a cry of pain he released her and stepped back. She saw the fury on his face, knew that she had enraged him as he raised his hand to strike her. But then her fear poured strength into her body. She lunged herself at him pushing him backwards. The unexpectedness of her attack caught him off balance and he reeled backwards, falling heavily and knocking his head against the corner of the table. As he went down she heard him give a deep groan.

  Charmian lingered to see no more. Wrenching open the doors, she fled from the house, leaving her cloak behind. Picking up her skirts, she ran, half-sobbing, along the street, distraught, dishevelled and completely lost. Only when breathlessness caused her to slow, did she stop and look about her. She had run into a street bustling with life, but no one took any notice of her. The overhanging buildings made the street dark and the stench from the open sewer made Charmian feel a little ill.

  Timidly she entered a baker’s shop where even the appetizing aroma of freshly baked bread could not allay the street smells.