Shadow on the Highway

by Deborah Swift

  That was a jest all right. But I couldn’t believe that, about Jacob. Ralph must only be saying it. ‘But what about Lady Katherine?’ I asked. ‘Is there room for her too?’

  ‘Don’t call me that, please,’ she said. ‘Plain Kate will do.’

  ‘She stays with me,’ Ralph said. ‘But it’s only one night. The regiment will be moving on tomorrow to go to Worcester, and maybe it will be safe then for you both to return to the Manor.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to go back. It does not feel like I belong there anymore. It’s all spoilt. The troops have destroyed what five generations have made. My mother would have wept to see it.’

  ‘Then it’s a mercy she can’t,’ Ralph said, taking hold of her hand and interlacing his fingers with hers.

  She smiled shyly, but then the smile was replaced by a worried frown.

  ‘What is it?’ Ralph asked her.

  ‘I was thinking about Grice.’

  ‘He won’t come back,’ Ralph said. ‘We met him on the road – left him where his so-called Royalist friends could find him. They know he’s a spy, and I don’t suppose they’ll show him much forgiveness.’

  Lady Katherine’s face was still troubled. She let go of Ralph’s hand and stepped away. ‘But if word gets to my stepfather and my husband, they will –’

  ‘Let’s not talk of them,’ Ralph said firmly, drawing her back into his arms. ‘The sun is coming up and it’s going to be a beautiful day. Tomorrow will take care of itself, I dare say.’

  23. Farewell

  We spent the next day at Jacob’s cottage. Kate and I took Jacob’s bedchamber and he and Ralph slept downstairs in the kitchen where they could be ready with swords if any more trouble should come. Kate said they talked a long time, she could hear their voices murmuring below. I slept like I had not slept for months, with Kate next to me to hear for me, and knowing we were safe.

  We rose again late in the afternoon, ready to eat and make plans. Jacob made us tell him the tale of the night’s events as we feasted on bread and barley soup. I was embarrassed, for I had only my boy’s clothes, and it made me aware of the shape of my legs, on display for all to see, and not hidden under skirts as they should be. I caught Jacob looking, so I sat down hurriedly and pushed my legs underneath the table.

  Kate was pale and tired-looking, but composed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kate, I will have to go with the regiment,’ Ralph said.

  ‘Do you have to?’ I asked.

  ‘I took Cromwell’s shilling as part of the bail, and failure to report counts as desertion. You know what the penalty is for that.’

  The noose.

  ‘Give it back then,’ I said.

  ‘Once in your hand it is a pledge. It should only be a short campaign though, and our troops will win. When I was talking with… when I enlisted they told me that the Scots have failed the King, and that it will be over in a day. Never fear, you won’t be rid of me for long.’

  I saw how he was careful not to mention my father as he spoke. My heart blessed him.

  ‘When is the muster?’

  ‘Dawn tomorrow in the town square.’

  ‘What will you do, Kate?’ I asked.

  She traced a fingertip on the table and did not look up. ‘Last night I dreamt of my mother. She was walking in the rose garden at the front of the house. The sun was on the grass and the windows sparkled with light. I knew she wanted me to bring the Manor back to life. A resurrection, if you like. And then there are the tenants, like your mother. I will give them their cottages back, if after all that’s happened, I can sort out the mess and they want to come.’

  Ralph had turned away, hurt.

  She looked towards him and spoke up. ‘I’ll never forget the Diggers, but I know I’m not free to make a Digger’s life. My stepfather would kill anyone who came between me and Thomas’s affections. If he was to hear about Ralph – if anyone were to breathe a single word – then he would show no mercy. I’m going back to Markyate Manor not because I don’t care, but because I care too much.’

  Ralph turned at this, and such a look of longing hung there that it made me blush.

  *

  The evening was spent in quiet conversation. Jacob had borrowed some clothes for us from the alms box at his father’s house, so that when the cock crowed the next morning both Kate and I had dressed by the candlelight in brown homespun and faded linen caps.

  When it got light, a noise from outside drew Kate to the window. It was the baggage train setting off for the muster in the square. We watched the oxen and carts trundle by with their deadly loads of powder kegs and pikes. We were fascinated but sobered to watch it pass, with so many tented wagons like a great city on the move. We went downstairs to tell Ralph and Jacob, but they were already dressed and by the window.

  ‘The infantry won’t be far behind them,’ Jacob said. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘As ready as I will ever be,’ Ralph said.

  ‘Then best say your farewells whilst there’s time.’

  Kate waited for him to embrace her, but he was suddenly awkward. He went to the door and opened it, and stood on the threshold. Jacob and I exchanged glances. Neither of us would want to be in his shoes, preparing to put down his life for Parliament.

  Kate approached him from behind, and wound her arms around his waist until he turned and looked her gravely in the face. He seemed to see what he wanted, and smiling, lifted her off her feet and kissed her on the lips. When he put her down his eyes were full of unshed tears and he strode away in sudden haste, without even a word.

  ‘Keep safe!’ Kate cried after him.

  We ran out into the street to watch his back as he went. We shouted, ‘Farewell! God Speed!’ waving our kerchiefs like frantic fools.

  Kate was a long time coming in. Jacob and I had swept the hearth, washed the churns and collected the eggs by the time she came.

  ‘He will be alright,’ I said, to cheer her. I tried not to think about the musketeers that had marched down the road after him. And the fact that the King would have armed men just like them.

  Kate picked up an egg from the bowl and cupped it gently in her hand before placing it back. ‘I know I have no right to ask, Abi, but would you come back to the Manor with me? I don’t think I can manage without my friend.’

  ‘Like a companion you mean?’

  ‘If you’ll come. It will be hard, waiting for news. And there will always be work for you where I am – that is, if you want it.’ She looked down, as if fearing I might say no.

  ‘You mean you’ll be needing someone to scrub now the troops have gone,’ I said laughing.

  ‘No, no – I meant –’

  ‘I know,’ I said, softly, putting my hand on her arm. ‘I was jesting. Of course I’ll come. I would not let you go back there alone.’

  So it was settled. Jacob’s father had heard of the disturbance and had gone over to the Manor, but had found it deserted. Nevertheless, we waited until late in the afternoon to go back. We did not want to meet any troops on the way, and we needed to make sure they had gone from the Manor. Jacob could not come with us as he’d promised to meet his father that afternoon. But he gave us a pack pony carrying provisions and other essential things he thought we might need.

  ‘I wish I could come with you,’ Jacob said.

  ‘We’ll be careful,’ Kate said.

  ‘I’ll ride over this evening, if it’s alright. And I was wondering – when you have a day off Abigail, whether we might walk out together.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ I said before wondering if I’d heard him right and before he could change his mind. He gave an almighty grin and I felt like my heart might boil over.

  ‘Just tell us which day, and she’ll be there,’ Kate said.

  Jacob Mallinson had asked me out! I smiled then as if my cheeks might crack.

  Kate and I walked to the Manor in the late afternoon heat, arm in arm. The building rose from the ground just the way it had, months before. Except that now it was
familiar, I knew every inch of that house. I was the one who’d polished it and swept it and made it shine. And now it felt as though it could be my home.

  We stopped about an acre away. We were both wondering what lay within, whether we could bear to see the shell of it. Kate set off towards the front door, then at the last moment turned to go in at the back. In we went, through the deserted kitchen, up the servant stairs and into the empty hall.

  We stood in the silence. Sunlight streamed in over the dust formed by hundreds of tramping feet.

  ‘We’ll soon bring it back to how it was,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ Kate said. ‘Not how it was. A new beginning, like the Diggers said. There’ll be no more orders from me, we’ll work together.’

  My gaze took in the overturned chairs, the bare windows and the doors gouged with the marks of bayonets. Yet somehow it didn’t seem daunting.

  I could not wait to get started. ‘Come on then, Kate,’ I said, ‘best roll up your sleeves.’

  Historical Notes

  Roundheads and Cavaliers

  In the middle of the seventeenth century, England went to war – not with another country, but with itself. This was a war which spread to Scotland, Wales and Ireland and to all levels of society. The dispute was one in which both men and women were prepared to take sides on matters of principle, and fight for their beliefs to the death.

  In simple terms, the War was one between the King and his followers – the King’s Army, and Parliament on the other – The New Model Army, led by Cromwell. Sometimes these groups are known as Cavaliers and Roundheads. ‘Cavalier’ from the Spanish, caballero, originally meant a mounted soldier, but came to be used as an insult to denote someone who would put themselves above their station. ‘Roundhead’ was a term used to describe the short-haired apprentices who first came out in favour of Parliament.

  The fighting was over matters of political policy, and on how Britain should be governed. The differences between the two factions were complicated by their differing religious views; the Anglicanism of the King versus the Puritanism of Cromwell’s men. The War began when the port of Hull refused to open its gates to the King, and in 1642 the King proclaimed war on his rebellious subjects.

  The English Civil War killed about two hundred thousand people, almost four percent of the population, and brought disease and famine in its wake. It divided families and stripped the land of food and wealth, as troops rampaged the countryside foraging and plundering whatever they could find.

  Towns were flattened, and communities dispersed. For example, records show that Parliamentary troops blew up more than two hundred houses at Leicester just to provide a clear line of fire, whilst four hundred more were destroyed at Worcester and another two hundred at Faringdon.

  There were nearly ten years of fighting and unrest. Some children barely knew their fathers as they had been away in the wars for most of that time. In effect there were three main periods of fighting, and this book is set between the last two bouts, when the King is about to make his last stand against Cromwell’s increasingly efficient New Model Army.

  The seventeenth century saw a King executed, followed by the establishment of a military dictatorship under Cromwell. It was also a time that transformed society, and gave birth to new ideas about political and religious liberty, as demonstrated by the Diggers and sundry other sects with alternative or utopian ideals.

  The Diggers

  The Diggers were the first group of people to try and live in what we would nowadays call a ‘commune.’ Led by Gerrard Winstanley, the movement began in Cobham, Surrey in 1649, but rapidly spread to other parishes in the southern area of England.

  The Diggers advocated equality for all, even equality between men and women, which was viewed as a radical idea in the seventeenth century. Their ideas also included the sharing of all goods and property, the replacement of money with bartering, and the ability to worship freely in whatever way one chose.

  The name ‘The Diggers’ came from Winstanley’s belief that the earth was made to be ‘a common treasury for all’, and that all should be able to dig it, and provide themselves with what was necessary for human survival – food, warmth and shelter. The Diggers made several unsuccessful attempts to build houses in different locations, but were suppressed by the land-owning classes and dispersed by force, and the communities wiped out. Although the Diggers were a short-lived movement, their ideas had a far-reaching effect, sowing the seeds of communal living and self-sufficiency for future generations.

  The Real Lady Katherine Fanshawe

  Lady Katherine Fanshawe really did exist. Katherine was born on 4th May 1634 into a wealthy family, the Ferrers. Tragically, her father, Knighton Ferrers, died two weeks before she was born, and her grandfather shortly after, leaving her the sole heir to a fortune.

  A few years later her mother was married again, to the spendthrift and gambler Sir Simon Fanshawe. Unfortunately, Katherine’s mother died when she was only eight, leaving her at the mercy of the Fanshawe family. Sir Simon supported the Royalist cause and the King needed money to fund his army. Sir Simon conceived of a plan to marry off his nephew, Thomas Fanshawe, to the rich heiress, thus gaining control over Katherine’s wealth and land.

  This is where my book begins! But the stories about Lady Katherine that I found really fascinating were the reports of her exploits as a notorious highwaywoman. The legend has been handed down through the generations, and the story of her night-time raids has been made into a film entitled, The Wicked Lady.

  Whilst researching this book I took into account both the real history and the legend. I also discovered that Lady Ann Fanshawe, who features in my story, wrote a diary, and I used this as part of my research. There are no historical records about Ralph Chaplin, although his name always appears in the stories. I have taken the liberty of giving him a fictional family, including a sister called Abigail. Lady Katherine Fanshawe, (Kate), Ralph and Abigail will also appear in my next book, Ghost on the Highway.

  Research into Deaf Education in the Seventeenth Century

  I chose to have a deaf girl as my main character because there was a remarkable flowering of education and knowledge in the seventeenth century about how to help non-hearing children communicate. The early members of the Royal Society of London had the idea of creating a universal language, and developed several different strands of research including the teaching of phonetics and the beginnings of sign language. When I came across this in my research, it sparked my interest, and gave me the idea for Abigail. Of course there are many differing degrees of deafness and every person is different and unique. What works for some, will be unworkable for others. For the particular character of Abigail I am grateful to the excellent autobiography What’s that Pig Outdoors – A Memoir of Deafness by Henry Kisor, who lost his hearing at the age of three to meningitis.

  More on the education of deaf children in the 17th Century can be found by following these links:

  The Story of Alexander Popham

  The Language of Deafness in the Seventeenth Century

  Sign Language in the Seventeenth Century

  Recommended Fiction for Deaf History Month

  I hope you have enjoyed my notes. More information about my research for this book and my writing life can be found on my website, or chat to me on Twitter @swiftstory.

  Also by Deborah Swift:

  The Lady’s Slipper

  The Gilded Lily

  A Divided Inheritance

  If you enjoyed Shadow on the Highway by Deborah Swift you might be interested in Highwayman Ironside by Michael Arnold, also published by Endeavour Press.

  Extract from Highwayman Ironside by Michael Arnold

  PART ONE: THE CHASE

  Beside Pruetts Lane, North of Petersfield, Hampshire, November 1655

  The storm was long spent, but its legacy lingered, the mud now deep and slick.

  The horse's iron-tipped limbs slipped and scrabbled for purchase as it fought to maintain its g
allop, scoring deep furrows through the lane's sunken, waterlogged belly. But still it forged on, snorting its efforts to the threatening clouds that scudded across the evening sky. It stumbled, whinnied wildly, squealing a plaintive cry that fell on deaf ears before gathering chaotic limbs in thunderous rhythm, guttural grunts pulsing steam that rose in roiling jets to briefly swallow its rider.

  The rider pushed himself into the steed's billowing silver mane, the stench of horse flesh and sweat filling his nostrils. He touched his spurs to the dappled grey flanks. The horse snorted again, jerked its granite-hard neck in annoyance, eyes blazing white in the slate dusk. But it quickened all the same. The rider grinned.

  A branch flashed into view like a low-flying gull, whipping out of the oppressive haze in a blur, sending the rider into a desperate crouch, hugging his mount's moist neck. They raced below its swiping range, relief pulsing atop each rasped out-breath, and the rider crowed his exhilaration into the dripping canopy, invigorated by the thrill of the chase. And there it was, suddenly and brilliantly, emerging from the hazy half-light like a wheeled ghost. His quarry.

  The coach grew in size and definition, blooming a hundred yards off like the pall of smoke from a spark-touched bag of gunpowder. The rider held his breath, gritted his teeth till they ached, heart beating like a Naseby drum, scalp prickling, muscles tense. He revelled in the speed, in the danger, in the spray of mud and the eye-stinging air.

  And then he was beside the clattering vehicle, veering to the left of the rear wheels. He took the reins in a single gloved palm and let his free hand drop, groping for the smooth handle of his pistol. There it was, jutting up from his saddle holster, the metal-bound butt hard and reassuring. He jerked it free, luxuriating in its brutish weight, and kicked again, the horse mustering a final burst of speed so that they drew up alongside the driver. The rider looked straight ahead, alert to the hazards of the road, but his arm swept out like a sailboat's boom to bring the pistol level with the coachman's head.