by Anne Herries
Babette saw the stranger frown as he realised that she had a stool, as of course he did since there were no other chairs. Perhaps he was not used to using them and felt discomfort in the arrangement?
Her uncle said grace as usual. Aunt Minnie rose after grace had been said and fetched the large tureen of stew from the side table, which she ladled into earthenware dishes for the men, before serving Babette, her daughter and herself. Babette offered bread to everyone, and Maria poured ale into mugs. Sir Matthew seldom had wine at table, for it was mostly sour and needed to be sweetened with honey, unless they were fortunate to have French wine, which tasted smoother. Good wine was expensive and saved for times of celebration and the family drank Aunt Minnie’s homebrewed ale. This evening, though, a rough red wine was offered to their guest, and Sir Matthew drank wine himself, though both Babette and her aunt preferred the weak ale they normally drank.
As she retook her seat, Captain Colby stood once more, insisting on placing her chair for her. Babette’s cheeks flushed; he was their guest and should not wait on her, but as she looked at her uncle she saw approval in his eyes. Feeling the flutter in her lower stomach, Babette murmured her thanks, but avoided the soldier’s eyes.
Taking her seat once more, Babette looked down at her trencher. She was very conscious of the man sitting beside her and noticed that he merely sipped his wine and then reached for the glass of fresh spring water that one of the women had placed for him. They were fortunate in having such pure water from their own spring. In towns and cities, Babette had heard it was dangerous to drink the water, for it was often contaminated, but theirs was pure and sweet and she saw the appreciation in the way their guest drank deeply of his.
‘You do not drink wine, mistress?’ he asked as he saw her sip her ale and then the water.
‘I prefer a sweeter variety than my uncle’s cellar can provide, sir.’
He nodded, and she thought that perhaps he felt the same, though would not say. ‘Your aunt’s home brew is most pleasant to the taste.’
‘Yes, sir. Like the water it has been cooled, for Aunt Minnie considers it more palatable thus.’
Again he nodded, as if agreeing. She knew that her aunt kept a good table and no one could object to the food, but her uncle was careful with his silver and would not pay the high price many wine merchants asked for the sweet French wines.
‘Did you have a good day, sir?’ she asked out of a need to make conversation. He turned his sombre gaze on her, and she felt her throat catch under his dark scrutiny.
‘We made some purchases, but hardly enough for our needs. We require much more flour and certainly more pigs and cattle, but your uncle’s friends had little to spare. We were not offered one horse.’
‘Perhaps in a few weeks when the harvest is gathered there will be more, sir. I fear there are few spare horses—but perhaps later this year if the travelling people bring their horses to the fair. Sometimes they have pure Arab bloodstock, but whether they would part with them is uncertain.’
‘Yes. I believe the fairs would be the best source in normal times, but the travelling folk are avoiding the fairs now that the country is at war, I think.’ He looked grim. ‘It was my hope and that of some others that we might retain the goodwill of the landowners and farmers by buying produce, but if we are offered so little...’
Babette felt a tingle of alarm as he left the rest unsaid. She had heard that in some parts marauding soldiers had stolen cattle and grain, burning what still stood in the fields as a punishment to those who resisted. But the tales were vague and it had not happened here as yet.
‘If Parliament is for the right of the people, how can you justify taking what people have toiled all year to produce without payment?’
‘That is precisely my argument, mistress,’ he replied and smiled at her in a way that had her tingling right down to her toes. ‘An army must be fed and there are those who say we must take what we need if we cannot persuade. However, for myself I shall also give payment where payment is due.’
Babette could not fault his reasoning, though she knew that most of the small farmers who helped her uncle to gather his harvest, and whom Sir Matthew helped in return, would produce only enough to feed themselves and their people throughout the year. The large landowners might have surplus corn, but hardly anyone had much to spare. Perhaps if the trees were laden with apples they might take some baskets to market, but as far as the grain, cows and pigs were concerned they raised only enough for their own needs. In times when the harvest was generally poor there was often not enough to go round and the poorest families might go hungry through the winter.
Sir Matthew had a large flock of geese, also several ducks and chickens. He did sometimes give a goose to a neighbour at Christmas and sometimes at that time of year he killed perhaps ten of his flock and took them to the market, but even if the rebels took the whole flock it would hardly be enough to feed the number of men she’d heard had rushed to join the Parliament’s army.
‘Some of our men have gone home to harvest their fields,’ Captain Colby was speaking to Sir Matthew now, leaving Babette to her thoughts. ‘It is necessary work, for if the wheat and oats were left to rot in the fields their families might starve, but it does not please Cromwell.’
‘Is Cromwell not a farmer himself?’
‘Aye, he is that, but he will not release the men who follow him this year and insists the women and old men, children and the infirm must gather in the harvest.’
‘His attitude must be much resented?’ Babette suggested.
He turned to look at her, his quiet grey eyes thoughtful. ‘Perhaps by some, but he is admired and respected, some say loved, by the army. He speaks of more discipline needed amongst the ranks and of turning his men into battle-ready troops rather than a disorganised rabble.’
‘I do not know the man,’ Sir Matthew said. ‘I believe he lives in Cambridgeshire? Here in Sussex his name has reached us, though as yet we have seen little of your fellow officers, Colby.’
‘Do you intend to stay long, sir?’ Babette asked when her uncle had turned to speak to Jonas.
‘A few more days. I should like at least two cartloads of grain and another six or more cattle to send back to the quartermaster before I move on to the next location. Since your uncle has kindly offered us a place to sleep, we have decided to make our headquarters here while we see what is on offer to us.’
A few more days... she thought.
Babette nodded, but made no reply. She had no right to resent her uncle’s decision, for it was his house, but she wished that he had not made the rebels so welcome. She was tempted to return to the castle, but knew that she would find it lonely. Before the rebels came, she had allowed herself to forget the war and believed that her aunt had a softness for the Royal cause, but her uncle had now made his true colours known. He had not chosen to fight, but he was making his home available for the Parliament men; he had effectively made his choice, even though he would not take up his sword.
Her feelings must have shown themselves somehow for she was aware that he looked at her with some amusement.
‘Yes, you must put up with me a little longer. Fear not, lady. I shall not demand that you put away your finery and wear plain black. I am not a Puritan, though I fight side by side with them.’
Babette glared at him. Why did he find the situation amusing?
‘If you are not of their persuasion, why do you take arms against the King?’
‘I am for the people. I would have the King rule, but by consent of people and Parliament, not as the autocrat he believes his divine right gives him the authority to be.’
His beliefs were much as her uncle’s. Her uncle’s views had not concerned Babette one way or the other—so why then did she feel such a strong aversion to this man?
She averted her gaze and saw that her aunt was signal
ling to her. Getting up from the table, she fetched bread, butter, tarts and cheese to set before the men. The servants had begun to clear the dirty trenchers and were now replenishing ale, water and wine. After she had finished her task, Babette took her seat once more, sliding quickly into place before Captain Colby had more than half-risen from his seat.
‘You need not rise for me, sir,’ she said softly. ‘Here in my uncle’s house all the women wait at table.’
‘A custom I am unused to,’ he murmured softly. ‘In my house a gentleman stands for a lady.’
Babette smiled. ‘As in my father’s house, but we are all equal in the sight of the Lord—so my uncle says.’
‘Yes. While I agree, there are differences...’
In her heart Babette knew that her father and brother would agree with him, but here in this house they lived by Sir Matthew’s rules. She arched her brows at him as if to imply she disapproved of his sentiments, but knew she did it only because she had to protect herself from him. His chivalry and charm must not be allowed to breech her defences. No matter if she liked his smile, he was an enemy of all that she believed in. She must always be on her guard.
Now why did she feel she needed protection from him? He was a gentleman and a guest in her uncle’s house. She was certain he would not abuse Sir Matthew’s hospitality—so why did she feel she needed to keep a barrier between them?
* * *
Babette was relieved when at last her aunt signalled that they were to clear the dishes to the kitchen and leave the men to talk business over their ale. Babette carried a loaded tray to the door. Usually, she set it down on a small table, but before she could do so Captain Colby had opened the door for her, holding it as she and then Maria passed through. She gave him a small smile and a faint shake of her head, but his expression did not change and he continued to hold the door as her aunt followed with another loaded tray.
Babette was already at the sink, beginning to pour a kettle filled with hot water over the greasy plates. She added a liquid soap her aunt made herself and was about to start washing dishes when her aunt stopped her.
‘Let Maria do that, Babette. You do not want to make your hands red. Captain Colby might notice and he treats you as a lady, as I suppose you are.’ Aunt Minnie was looking faintly troubled. ‘When you came here your uncle expected you to live as we do, Babette—but your father was Lord Harvey and perhaps I was wrong to allow it.’
‘Do not be foolish, dearest Aunt,’ Babette said. ‘I like to help you. Pray ignore Captain Colby. His manners are good, but while I am in your home I do not consider myself above you or my uncle.’
‘Your uncle’s views are not shared by everyone,’ Aunt Minnie said. ‘You will leave the dishes to Maria, please, and return to the parlour. You may sit and sew and listen to the gentlemen talk.’
‘And leave all the work to you and Maria?’ Babette frowned. ‘No, certainly not. If I may not wash the dishes, I shall dry them and put them away. It is you who should be sitting in the parlour with my uncle and his guest.’
Aunt Minnie looked at her doubtfully. ‘Captain Colby...’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘I would not wish to spoil your chances of a good marriage, Babette. My sister looked much higher than I and found herself a rich lord. Matthew was enough for me, but I was never as beautiful as your mama, dearest.’
Babette acknowledged that her aunt was homely rather than beautiful, but she was a kind, gentle lady and she was angry that the rebel captain had put such doubts into her mind.
‘You need not concern yourself on my account, Aunt. I would never marry a rebel—and I do not care for Captain Colby. I find him arrogant and...’ Her words died on her lips as the door opened and she saw him standing there. He had carried Greta’s tray for her, perhaps considering it too heavy for the elderly servant.
While Babette’s cheeks burned, for he could not have failed to hear her comment, Lady Graham bustled forward, begging him to set down the tray and return to the parlour.
‘You should not, sir. It is not a gentleman’s place to carry for a servant.’
‘She is also a woman and elderly. She looked to be in need of help, so I offered. I beg you, do not scold Greta, ma’am.’
‘No, I shall not,’ she said and looked flustered. ‘But I beg you not to tarry. You must have more important things... Sir Matthew will want to discuss your business...’
‘I shall not keep him waiting a moment longer.’ Captain Colby glanced at Babette, his eyes so cold and icy that she knew he’d heard her and was angry. He inclined his head, his silence speaking volumes as he left them.
‘Do you think he heard what you said?’
Babette raised her head as she answered her aunt, ‘I care not what he heard. He means nothing to me nor ever could.’
‘He lives in a much bigger house than ours,’ Aunt Minnie said. ‘I believe his family to be wealthy—and they have been influential at court in the past. I must confess I was surprised to see that he was one of the...one of the Parliament men. I had thought he would offer his sword to the King.’
‘He says his Majesty is unjust and must come to terms with his Parliament and rule by consent of the people.’
‘Yes, in that I cannot fault him. But the King is...’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘We must not worry our heads over such things, my love. Your uncle knows what is best and we must abide by his wishes.’
Aunt Minnie was so submissive to her husband’s wishes, never venturing a contrary opinion, at least in Babette’s hearing. If every woman was expected to behave so meekly, perhaps Babette would do well to remain unwed.
She sighed inwardly as she finished stacking the dried dishes, then struck a tinder and lit a taper, holding it to her chamberstick.
‘I shall retire for the night, Aunt.’
‘It is early yet,’ Aunt Minnie said. ‘Why do you not sit in the parlour and listen to your uncle and his guest? Sir Matthew will expect it.’
‘Pray tell my uncle I have the headache and ask him to forgive me,’ Babette said. She kissed her aunt’s cheek and picked up her chamberstick, leaving the kitchen before Aunt Minnie could object.
* * *
Alone in her room, Babette went to sit on the deep windowsill and look out at the night. It was a clear, still night and over-warm, the room so stuffy that she opened the casement to catch a breath of air. As she did so, she caught sight of something in the bushes. Her room overlooked the kitchen gardens, and she was not sure whether she’d seen a man’s figure or not. Was it one of the servants—or perhaps one of Captain Colby’s men?
‘Babette—is that you?’
The sibilant whisper was just beneath her window. She leaned forward and saw the man hiding behind the water butt. Immediately, her heart caught with fright and then started thumping madly as she saw who it was.
‘John—is that you?’ she called. ‘Is it truly you come home?’
‘Shush,’ the voice said in a harsh whisper. ‘I’ve seen horses—they belong to the rebels we’ve been following. Are they in the house?’
‘Yes, their captain is,’ she said, leaning out of her window to look down at him. ‘His men are in the barn—nearly twenty of them. If you are for the King, you must be careful.’
‘Can you help us? We need food and water—and a horse. Drew’s was shot from under him and he has a wound himself.’
‘Do you recall when we stayed here once as children?’
‘Yes...’ John sounded hesitant, then, ‘The hut we played in, in the woods—is it still there?’
‘Take your friend there,’ Babette said. ‘I will go down as soon as the others have retired and bring you food and ale.’
‘Can you not come down now?’
‘I shall try,’ she said. ‘Hide in the shrubbery and I will see if I can find anything left from supper.’
&nbs
p; Blowing out her chamberstick, Babette left her chamber and crept back down the stairs to the kitchen. She listened for a moment then, deciding it was quiet, went in. Aunt Minnie must have sent the servants to bed or perhaps on an errand, and she herself was probably in the parlour.
Seeing the remains of a loaf, a heel of cheese and the remainder of a quince tart she’d made, she gathered them into a muslin bag, then picked up a quartern pot of ale and approached the back door. She found it locked and was in the act of turning the key when the door opened and Greta entered.
‘Where be you going, Mistress Babette?’
‘I need a little air, my head aches...’ Babette saw her looking at the food. ‘I’m hungry. I couldn’t eat at table. Please do not tell my aunt.’
Greta smiled, revealing her toothless grin. She went to the table and picked up a slice of pie. ‘I shan’t tell if you don’t...’ she cackled and, tucking the pie into her apron pocket, she went back into the hall.
Babette smiled to herself as she left the house and began to walk towards the shrubbery. That was not the first time Greta had returned to the kitchen to steal an extra slice of pie when her mistress was otherwise engaged. Aunt Minnie knew she did it and laughed to Babette, for as she said she did not grudge her servants their food and the old woman might have asked for it, but preferred to raid the kitchen when others were in bed.
Reaching the spot where she’d seen her brother hide, Babette was about to call out when she felt herself caught from behind and a hand went over her mouth.
‘Be careful, Babs, those devils are everywhere. Give me the food and go back to the house quickly before they wonder what you are doing.’
No one had called her Babs since her brother disappeared and she felt the tears spring to her eyes as she said, ‘Where have you been?’
‘In Holland. I came to England with Prince Rupert to fight for the King. What are you doing here in a house of rebels?’