The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga)

by Thorne, Nicola

  ‘It was Murray of Broughton, who arrived in France last week to find out the truth for himself, who informed me of grandfather’s illness. John Murray is one of His Majesty’s most ardent supporters in Scotland and, on learning that I was to come to Delamain to see my grandfather, he bade me appraise the strength of support for the King here and in northern parts of England.’

  ‘Among the Catholics and the old nobility support is strong,’ Susan said, ‘but our merchant classes have grown too satisfied and rich under the Hanoverians. They do not yearn for the old way of life as we do. You will find very small support here.’

  ‘Why, brother,’ Brent said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. ‘Let us engender support. Let us whip it up. If we have a small active number surely support will grow? We have connections from here to the border. Oh Tom, is it really possible His Majesty will land in England?’

  ‘Not His Majesty yet I fear,’ Tom said smiling. ‘He is an old man and he looks to his son to capture England in his name. No, it is Prince Charles Edward, scarce twenty-four years of age and as handsome, as upright and as fearless a man as ever you could wish to see – he already saw fighting at 14 years of age – whom we shall welcome to these shores, and before very long, I’ll warrant you. He kicks his heels in Paris and will do anything to board ship for England; though his advisers would have him land first in Scotland where support is greatest – some of the Scottish clans having been long persecuted by the Hanoverians because of their devotion to the Stuarts. From the north the Prince will journey with an army to join up with supporters in the south and the Elector will be packed back to Hanover where he belongs, you mark my words.’

  ‘May it please God,’ his Mother said, bowing her head. ‘But Tom, you know how it goes with George? If word of this were to come to his ears you would be dragged off to prison in Carlisle, brother or not. What you do must be very secret.’

  ‘It cannot be done from here, Mother,’ Brent said. ‘This is no longer our home; we are unwelcome here. George said that the moment grandfather died you and Emma would be banished to the dower house and I must be about my way ...’

  ‘And where to, pray?’ Tom demanded, his eyes narrowing. ‘Are you not a gentleman? Does he expect you to work like some artisan?’

  ‘I think he would have me in the Hanoverian army or the navy. George thinks I am good for nothing, Tom, and it is partly true, I must confess. I lack direction, I ...’

  ‘What is it you want to do Brent?’ Tom said softly, his eyes betraying warm affection for his brother.

  ‘Why, nothing better than to serve the King. Do you think I may?’

  ‘Come to France?’

  ‘Why not? With you? When you go back. Let me come with you Tom. Oh, please.’

  Tom paused and looked at his mother, his face doubtful. He knew how much she had suffered already. Her life had been one long martyrdom to the Stuart cause, first husband and brother, now maybe her two sons. But Susan’s head was proudly raised and her eyes shining.

  ‘I know of nothing that would make me more proud, Brent my son. I know how restless you have been; how you have kicked your heels and wanted for direction. In the service of the King your talents can find a home, and then when he comes to his own country he will reward you by ousting your brother and bestowing on you the lands that should rightfully have gone to your father – Delamain, village and Castle.’

  Her voice rang out proudly and Tom felt his eyes moisten. His mother was like the woman in the Bible extolled in Proverbs: ‘She hath put out her hand to the strong things; and her fingers have taken hold of the spindle ... Her children rose up and called her blessed; her husband, and he praised her.’

  Tom clasped his mother’s hands and held them to him. ‘Mother, you will be on your own ...’

  ‘I ... I will be with her,’ Emma cried. ‘I will take care of Mother, while you and Brent bring back the King to England.’

  Tom looked at his sister, grown so comely, so tall since he last saw her. She was a maid ready for marriage, for adorning the house of some great noble. But what future did eighteen-year-old Emma have? What future did any of them have unless the Stuarts were restored to the throne of England?

  ‘You are a noble girl indeed,’ Tom said, kissing her. ‘I know you will look after Mother and she you. We shall not be far away and we shall see you are both protected. Scotland and the south of England are well taken care of. It is here in Cumberland and Westmorland that we seek support for our cause.’

  The silence at dinner the following day was uneasy. Apart from the stealthy movement of the servants, their soft murmurings as they served, no one spoke. At the head of the table George sat wrapped in thought. Next to him his mother kept her face expressionless. Brent and Tom applied themselves to what was on their plates. Emma hardly ate at all.

  It had been a difficult day, getting the old man laid out and ready for burial. Taking his body to the vaulted Delamain church that stood in the grounds with the family tomb among the gravestones, listening to the prayers intoned over it. Tom, Brent and George took it in turns to stand guard with the male servants. People came and went, some to pay their respects, others on business.

  Now the Delamain family was alone, restless in its solitude. After the last course had been served George motioned to the servants to leave and, as the heavy doors closed behind them, apprehension seemed to hang heavy in the air.

  At last George, who had appeared to be warring with some inner turmoil, lifted his head, took a draught of wine and leaned over the table.

  ‘Let us not mince words. Tom you are not welcome here. Brother you may be, but you have turned aside from your family to an alien cause, a foreign faith. You have forfeited the name of Delamain and I am glad you are known only as Father Anselm. Once grandfather is in his tomb you must go, Tom. I do not want the authorities to hear of your presence among us. They know it already, but there is a reason. Once grandfather is buried that will have gone. I do not want you another night in the castle after tomorrow, the day of his burial.’

  Tom seemed about to reply, but observed the caution in his mother’s eyes and he bowed his head in acknowledgement biting his lip. George then turned to Brent.

  ‘Brent, for other reasons you too are not welcome here. You are idle and good for nothing. You do no honour to our family name. You are twenty-one, without fortune or prospects. I cannot keep you. I refuse to. You are to go for the army or navy or find some other suitable occupation as befits a gentleman. I have no room for you on my estates.’

  Brent too seemed about to speak but on seeing his mother’s eyes upon him held his peace.

  ‘Mother, the dower house is being prepared for you and Emma. I have told you I wish to marry and to this end I want the castle prepared for my bride. Of course I will not marry until a suitable period has elapsed after grandfather’s death.’

  ‘Have you anyone in mind George?’ His mother enquired with a trace of mockery in her voice. It was not lost on her son who replied with asperity.

  ‘There are many women in London, Mother, who would consider it an honour to have me ask for their hand. I do not anticipate any difficulty. Indeed I am much sought after as a dinner guest and to accompany young ladies to fashionable balls. You may expect an announcement quite soon.’

  George nodded and sipped his wine, the fingers of his left hand drumming the table.

  ‘But all of you know why I am so anxious to be rid of you. You have always in your hearts adhered to the old faith, the Stuart cause. You are a danger and a hindrance to my advancement. Your family, Mother, has brought shame on the Delamain name. I do not care to be tarred with your brush. Would that the Allonbys, one and all, were safely over the water with their beloved Pretender. Tom, you openly espouse the old faith and, Brent and Emma ... I know well you are with Mother rather than with grandfather or me. I want to be rid of you, once and for all. I cannot wait to start a new life.’

  Brent rose to his feet and crossed to where his brother sat.
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br />   ‘Gladly, George, will we absent ourselves from our home. For it is our home whatever you may say. Even grandfather let us know that, however much he deplored the fact of father’s exile. You have abused that sense of hospitality that has always been a mark of our family name.

  ‘As for Tom and I, we shall go, and willingly. As soon as grandfather’s remains are laid to rest we shall take ourselves to people who do value and respect us, the Allonbys whom you so despise. We shall not lodge a night longer than necessary in a place where we are so unwelcome.’

  ‘Good,’ George said with satisfaction. ‘And when the militia come to disperse what is left of the Allonbys, God grant they take you off too and fling you in some loathsome dungeon where you are best forgotten ...’

  ‘George!’

  His mother rose to her feet, eyes blazing.

  ‘I am still your mother, though God knows I sometimes wish I were not, for you disgrace me and the memory of your father. It is you who have caused this rift in our family, brought us to shame. You with your greed and your petty spite, George. I will stay in the dower for that is my right; but I will have as little to do with you as 1 can and Emma likewise. For if you cut us off we scorn you too. In your own family, George, you have this day made implacable enemies. Be it on your head, my son.’

  George faltered and looked at his mother as though wondering if he should retract his words. He seemed to be once more the victim of warring forces as he stared at his mother and sister, his brothers whom he had just dispossessed.

  But George Delamain – Sir George Delamain – had trained himself to eschew emotion from an early age. If momentarily he regretted the force of his words he quickly overcame such a sign of weakness and, without glancing backwards, strode purposefully out of the room leaving the great doors open behind him. His heavy footsteps echoed along the stone corridors as his family, still shocked at the abruptness of his words, gazed at each other wondering what the future would bring.

  4

  Analee felt instantly at home with the warm-hearted troupe of brothers and sister, Selinda, who welcomed her to their ranks. Selinda, who played the tambourine, was the most reserved, as her brother explained to them what had happened as they came back, exhausted from hours of playing. Each carried a large bag of coins which clinked satisfactorily together, indicating that there would be enough to eat for several days to come. Randal spoke hurriedly to them, bidding them pack up and be ready to start before dawn. By the time Analee had rejoined them they were all asleep curled up in the shadows of the cart, all except Randal who advised her to get as much rest as she could.

  Now they were on their second day away from the gypsy camp wandering around the countryside near Penrith.

  ‘There we may bide the winter,’ Randal said, ‘for when the snow and the winds come ‘tis no place to be wandering on the roads.’

  ‘There is not enough work for us to bide there all winter,’ Hamo the fiddler said, ‘’tis best we go up to Carlisle and stop there.’

  Hamo and Randal took turns leading the horse, and the girls walked by their side. Benjamin, the cripple, rode in the cart, entertaining them with his flute. Benjamin was like the runt of the litter compared with his tall strapping brothers – lean, wiry men with jet black hair and dark brown eyes. Selinda resembled her brothers, being dark and slim but of medium height. Her skin was whiter than theirs and there was an air of fragility about her, unusual in one who spent her time on the road. She had none of the sturdy robustness of Analee who swung along, easily keeping up with the men. From time to time they would halt to give Selinda time to rest or travel for a while with Benjamin in the cramped cart.

  Benjamin was short, having suffered damage at birth and one of his legs was completely bent at the knee so that he had to hobble on his stick. He had a thin, emaciated frame and his arms and legs looked as though they would snap if any pressure were applied to them. His cheeks were hollow and his hair was sparse, unlike the thick thatches of his brothers, the luxurious raven locks of his sister. But the size and quality of his eyes, their luminosity as they blazed with amusement or affection, made Benjamin’s face almost beautiful. His skin had the transparency of fine porcelain and his mouth betrayed a sweetness of disposition as though he found himself permanently at peace with the world; in love with life.

  Thus it was a gay troupe that Analee found she had joined as they walked briskly along chattering and laughing. Yet once on the road they were busy. There were rabbits to snare, hedges to explore for berries and ditches for hedgehogs, the odd fat pigeon to stalk, pounce upon and kill. There were herbs and grasses to gather to flavour their soups – mushrooms, nettles and wild garlic. Occasionally a lone fowl or chicken wandering on the road was seized and its neck wrung before it was plucked and roasted on a stick over a fire, its belly filled with rosemary and garlic.

  At nightfall they sought the shelter of a wood or rocks and Randal and Hamo would make a fire while Selinda and Analee cooked whatever they had gathered during the day. Sometimes they had caught a hedgehog and then they made the favourite gypsy dish of hotchi-witchi by wrapping it in leaves and baking it in earth. They would take the prickles out with their fingers and divide the succulent flesh before cramming it into their mouths. More often than not, however, it was a rabbit or pigeon, or sometimes it was no meat at all but a soup made from berries and herbs in the gypsy way.

  The other thing they did to pass their time on the road was to tell stories, and here Benjamin the dreamer excelled. They would gather around the little cart in which he rode and listen as he told tales about gypsy lore, or invented new ones himself about those far off days when the gypsies had come from the east and dispersed all over Europe. There were so many legends about the Romany folk handed down from generation to generation that no one knew whether they were true or false. The true ones were embellished in the telling and the false ones came, in time, to be regarded as true.

  They skirted the town of Penrith and its surrounding hamlets and villages, moving all the time across that flat plain to the hills that proclaimed Ullswater and the range of lakes, valleys and mountains that stretched to the sea. At times hills appeared out of a haze, as though floating on cloud, and then they reminded Analee of some enchanted land such as she had heard her grandmother talk of in her far-off childhood. When the sun rose or set behind the hills and the sky was streaked with reds, purples and many shades of gold, Analee would be spellbound by the sheer beauty of it and yearn to be among the peaks, clambering along the narrow passes, roaming through the bracken and short wiry grass or sleeping in some sheltering cave.

  At the head of Lake Ullswater they played in the tavern of the tiny village of Pooley and the next morning Analee crept out of the tent she shared with Selinda just as dawn was breaking. She stood by the side of the lake which, it seemed to her, was so large it must lead to the sea for it disappeared out of sight hidden behind the high fells on one side and the thick woods on the other.

  There were one or two tiny islands on the lake, and the calm water with scarcely a ripple disturbing its surface was so enticing that impulsively Analee stepped into it wading out until it was almost up to her knees. She held up her skirts and nearly cried at the bitter cold of the water which came from high in the ice-bound hills.

  All that day the troupe wandered along by the side of the lake with its wooded bays and rocky inlets, through the tiny villages nestling on its shores and across the broad valley of Patterdale with truly gigantic peaks towering on either side. One or two remote farmhouses were tucked in the folds of the steep fells upon which the hardy Herdwick sheep incredibly found purchase with their nimble feet.

  The valley seemed to be the limit of their journey and when they came to the small lake at the end of it they bathed their weary feet and gazed upwards seeking a way out. Although beautiful and fertile, it was an empty desolate place with no more hamlets with taverns to play in.

  A crofter, passing the time of day with this curious group, told them that t
here was a bridle path over the mountains to Ambleside and Windermere but he shook his head at the pony and cart and the sight of the cripple and the pale weary girl. Selinda tired easily and sat on a stone shivering, her arms pressed to her chest for warmth.

  ‘Them mountains terrify me,’ she said. ‘If you go on, I go back.’

  ‘Aye and me too,’ Benjy said, remembering the crofter’s piteous glance. ‘You cannot get the cart over there and I cannot go without it.’

  Analee held her hand over her eyes and looked towards the massive mountain range which hemmed them in. They didn’t terrify her; they thrilled her. Were she alone she would take off along that narrow winding path that soon disappeared out of sight among the jutting crags. It was a ravaged, harsh wilderness with the individual alone among the elements.

  ‘We could perish in the mountains and none be the wiser,’ Hamo whined, and Analee looked at him with contempt; there was a soft side to Hamo and, more than anyone else, he was always grumbling and complaining about the lack of comfort.

  Randal was whittling at a stick, frowning, indecisive for once. She knew he wanted to go on, and yet he was aware of the drawbacks. He glanced at her as though to say why did they not venture on alone and leave the others? She knew what was in his mind, had been for some time. All that prevented him was the presence of his brothers and sister.

  He didn’t displease her; on a cold night she would rather have his body hugging hers than poor Selinda whose thin frame brought no warmth. But she liked things as they were; the dancing, the adventure. If they made love she would have to leave, for she never stayed with casual lovers for more than a night or two. If she wanted to ease the yearning of the flesh she saw nothing wrong with it; but her affections could not be engaged. Her heart was ice-bound like the mountains. It was not to be taken, certainly not by Randal Buckland.