by Stella Riley
‘Don’t be ridiculous! How could you be with Jude not a year old yet?’ she snapped. ‘That one is Kate’s tire-woman’s bastard. This is my son.’ And, scooping Jude up, she held him out for inspection.
Rudely awakened, he opened his eyes and began to cry. Kit chuckled, Gianetta made a sound of pure exasperation and Francis eyed the screaming bundle dubiously.
‘Very nice. And his lungs are excellent,’ he said. ‘No, no – I’ve no ambition to hold him. Babies are not my forte.’
‘Give him to me,’ said Gianetta, holding out her arms.
Celia looked at her, plainly torn between wanting to prove her maternal ability and a desire to be rid of the noisy, wriggling baby. Then her normal instincts won and she dumped Jude unceremoniously in Gianetta’s lap – where he instantly stopped crying and settled back with a beatific smile.
Still laughing a little, Kit strolled over to look down at him, saying, ‘A lusty little chap, isn’t he? You and Eden must be very proud of him.’
‘Of course,’ came the careless reply.
‘He certainly looks to have inherited Eden’s colouring,’ observed Francis idly. And then, ‘Speaking of which – where is Eden?’
Kate and Celia’s eyes met and locked.
‘Out,’ said Kate. ‘There was some question of missing livestock.’
‘Why bother to lie?’ Celia’s gaze swept back to her brother. ‘You might as well know that Eden is thick as thieves with John and Nathaniel Fiennes these days – and at this very moment is probably at Broughton helping one of them grease a cannon or some such thing.’
‘Does one grease a cannon?’ asked Francis, not noticeably perturbed. ‘No matter. I’m sure Eden knows. As for the rest … it is regrettable but not particularly surprising. And, to be truthful, it’s one of the reasons I came.’
‘To talk him out of it?’ asked Celia eagerly.
‘Let us rather say … to discuss the matter.’
Frowning a little, Kate said, ‘That sounds remarkably philosophical.’
‘No – merely civilised. One’s opinions may differ from those of one’s friends; one may even eventually find oneself on the opposing side. But there’s no need to allow the thing to become personal, is there?’
‘I imagine it becomes damned personal when you’re facing each other over a couple of loaded pistols,’ observed Kit with unusual dryness.
For a moment an airless silence gripped the garden. Then Kate said remotely, ‘You’re talking as though war is inevitable.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Francis. ‘It’s been so ever since the Parliament decided to wrest control of the armed forces from the King by means of this so-called Militia Ordinance. His Majesty can never – and will never – agree to it.’
‘So he’ll fight?’ asked Tabitha.
‘What else can he do?’ It was Kit who answered her. ‘He’s been turned away from the gates of Hull; his friends are being persecuted and all his appointments revoked. He’s the Lord’s Anointed … but he’s been treated as no king ever was before.’
‘Condemned, you might say, on less evidence than would hang a man for stealing a horse,’ finished Francis quietly. ‘So the only question now, I fear, is who will strike the first blow.’
* * *
Later, when the others had gone into the house to partake of refreshments with Dorothy, Kate looked at Kit and said slowly, ‘We have a problem, haven’t we?’
‘Yes. But not, I hope, one that is either permanent or without a solution.’ He drew a long breath and then loosed it. ‘It looks as though whatever’s going to happen will happen quite soon. The King has issued his Commissions of Array – his call to arms, in effect – and the Parliament is currently appealing for loans to pay an army. But England has been peaceful for so long that I suspect neither side really knows what it’s doing – and both are reluctant.’
‘So?’ asked Kate. Her face was slightly averted and her fingers toyed aimlessly with the roses.
‘So it could all be over very quickly. With the first real battle, in fact. And, if it is, life ought to return to some semblance of normality.’
‘I see.’ Care kept her tone free of any traces of relief. ‘And that being so, the best thing we can do is wait?’
‘Either that or marry immediately and hang the consequences,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t somehow think you’re ready to do that. Nor, I imagine, would your family permit it.’
‘No. Probably not. Any more than I could leave Thorne Ash just now.’ She turned and looked at him, her eyes perfectly stark. ‘With Father at Westminster and Eden – well, who knows where Eden may go? – I’ll be needed here.’
‘By your mother? But surely she has Celia?’
Kate gave a brief, sardonic laugh.
‘Unless Celia changes overnight, she’ll be more of a hindrance than a help. And even if her sympathies ran with ours – which you must surely have noticed they don’t – I can’t see her caring for the tenants or helping with the harvest. Or even, should the need arise, defending this house.’
Kit regarded her thoughtfully.
‘But you would?’
‘Yes.’ Her hands moved in a gesture half-helpless, half-defiant. ‘I don’t approach this quarrel the way you do – or Francis or even Eden. You might say, I suppose, that I’m politically indifferent – though I don’t think that’s true. I can understand what the Parliament is trying to achieve and sympathise with the view taken by the King. But at the end of the day, only two things really matter to me. One is loyalty to my father – and the other is Thorne Ash, our lives here and everything we’ve always held dear.’ She paused and awarded him a small, crooked smile. ‘And because of that, I’ll hold this place against the King and John Pym both if I have to.’
It was a long time before Kit answered her. And when he did, it was to say, in a tone of wry understanding, ‘I see. Then it seems the matter is decided, doesn’t it?’
* * *
By the time they re-joined the party, Francis had succeeded in beguiling Gianetta into mild flirtation. He had also decided that it behoved him to have a quiet word with his sister and, deftly removing her to the winter parlour on the excuse of having messages to deliver from their mother, said meditatively, ‘I suppose you realise how shrewish you’re beginning to sound?’
Celia’s jaw dropped and she stared at him.
‘Take, for example, that remark you made just now about Eden,’ he continued smoothly. ‘He is – as you very well know – neither a fool nor a traitor. And calling him so before his mother and sisters is both ill-judged and futile.’
‘I can’t believe you’re saying this,’ she replied jerkily. ‘If you, of all people, can’t understand how I feel – then you’ve changed beyond all recognition!’
Francis appeared to contemplate his fingernails.
‘I’ve been away a long time and made a number of discoveries, Celia … not least among them the realisation that we’ll all need to preserve a sense of proportion if England is not to go the way of the German states.’
Neither understanding nor caring what he meant, she said hotly, ‘It’s all very well for you. You’re not shut up in this dreary place – cut off from all your friends and everything that matters.’
‘That is a very peculiar remark. Doesn’t Eden matter? He is, after all, both your husband and the father of your child. And if it’s merely a question of his not giving you the life you want, I can only point out that you have no one but yourself to blame for that. You had the option. If you wanted to be an ornament to the Court, you could have taken Cyrus Winter. But you chose Eden instead. And, having done so, you now owe him some loyalty.’
‘And what does he owe me – or don’t my feelings matter?’ she demanded, angrily shredding her handkerchief. ‘My God! At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear you tell me that Eden’s quite right and you’re going to fight against the King yourself!’
There was a pause. Then Francis drawled blightingly, ‘Try not to be any
more stupid than you can help – and take a piece of good advice. Strive for a little moderation and stop quarrelling with everyone; for if you don’t, life over the next few months could be more than just dreary.’
‘Then I’ll join Father in York!’
‘Or our mother in France?’ he mocked, knowing perfectly well that Lady Wroxton had not seen Celia since her marriage. ‘I think not. Whether you like it or not, you are now a Maxwell – and neither our parents nor myself will welcome any attempt on your part to change that. So if you’re harbouring some insane notion of leaving Eden because you disagree with his politics, I can only suggest that you banish it forthwith. Do I make myself quite clear?’
Celia’s mouth quivered.
‘How can you be so cruel? You’re my brother. You’re supposed to care about me.’
‘Exactly. Which is why I’m attempting to bring you to your senses and stop you contemplating ruin.’
‘No you’re not! You’re just pushing me out of the way the same as everyone else. I hate you!’ And, storming past him, she wrenched open the door to come face to face with Eden.
For a moment she regarded him in bitter silence. Then she said savagely, ‘Well? Did you manage to hear all that? But no matter. I’m sure Francis will be delighted to repeat it for you – so I’ll leave you to be cosy together. It would be a terrible shame if I were to get in the way, wouldn’t it?’ And, brushing him violently aside, she was gone.
His face rather pale, Eden watched her go before turning slowly back to Francis.
‘What was all that about?’
‘I’ve been trying,’ came the slightly tense reply, ‘to shake a little sense into her.’
‘Ah.’ Closing the door, Eden advanced into the room. ‘Perhaps you’d better be more specific.’
‘Very well. I told her it’s time she started cleaving unto her husband.’
‘I see. Am I supposed to thank you for that?’
‘What do you think?’ A pause; and then, ‘Does she often speak to you like that?’
‘Sorry, Francis.’ Eden’s reply was swift, pleasant and final. ‘I don’t discuss my wife – even with you.’
‘No. You wouldn’t. But you can’t stop me telling you that you’re a bloody fool.’
‘Quite.’ Eden grinned suddenly. ‘And you’re an over-dressed mammet. Where the hell have you been all this time?’
The tension evaporated into laughter so that at last their hands met and gripped.
‘In Paris,’ said Francis finally. And, with a brief return to his usual languor, ‘Amusing enough for a time, beloved – but I believe I’m glad to be back. Poor Suckling’s drinking himself to death over there, you know.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘Need you ask? I wrote a little poetry and flirted with all the prettiest girls. Speaking of which … the signorina is entirely delicious. A pity her brother’s a usurer.’ Francis smiled and dropped his pose. ‘I haven’t congratulated you on my nephew.’
‘How like you to put it that way,’ retorted Eden. ‘If you hadn’t got yourself mixed up in all that cloak-and-dagger stuff, you could have stood sponsor to him.’
‘Yes. Well, we have Goring to thank for that. And now, to add insult to injury, I hear he’s holding Portsmouth on behalf of the Parliament.’ There was silence for a moment as suddenly austere blue eyes met watchful hazel ones. ‘But that’s not what I came to tell you.’
‘No?’
‘No. Not to put too fine a point on it, I’ve come from York with the King’s Commission of Array. And I intend to read it.’
‘In Banbury market-place?’ asked Eden with apparent lightness. ‘If so, I’d advise against wearing that coat. The flying vegetables are likely to spoil it.’
‘Possibly. The question is – is that all?’
‘You mean will I try to stop you? No. I won’t need to. John Fiennes will do it.’
‘Ah. The ubiquitous Lord Saye’s son. Yes.’ Francis stared thoughtfully at his hands. ‘I imagine you’re aware that his lordship’s been arresting the King’s friends hereabouts for merely organising petitions?’
‘Yes.’ Eden saw no need to mention that he’d had a monumental row with Lord Saye on this subject. ‘I don’t want to quarrel with you, Francis – particularly not today. We may not … oh hell! It may be a long time before we’re able to meet again as friends.’
‘I know it. So what are you suggesting? That we simply agree to differ?’
‘There’s no point in anything else. We both know the other’s views – and neither of us can change tack just for friendship’s sake. You believe it’s the King’s right to command Parliament; I don’t. You’ll fight to preserve His Majesty’s prerogative; I won’t. And we could argue till kingdom come without it making a blind bit of difference.’
‘You want His Majesty turned into a puppet?’
‘No. I want Parliament turned into something more than a cipher,’ came the swift reply. And then, ‘A balance has to be struck. The King stands for stability and tradition – and no one wants to see him safely back on his throne more than I do. But Parliament represents the people and must be allowed to act in their interests without fear of being dissolved on a royal whim.’
‘’Tis to preserve His Majesty that we against him fight,’ sang Francis. ‘No. Don’t answer that. Tell me something else instead. You say you can’t support the King … but must you necessarily take the field against him?’
‘How long do you think I’ll have a choice?’ returned Eden dryly. ‘If you perch on the fence, it’s everyone’s business to knock you off. I wish it need not have come to this. But it has – so I’ve no choice but to follow my conscience, as you do yours, and hope for a quick end. And now … will you please sit down and let me send for a bottle of wine?’
There was a pause. And then, ‘Make it two,’ said Francis, dropping gracefully into a chair. ‘Quite frankly, I thought you were never going to ask.’
* * *
Eden and Francis got gloriously drunk together – which further infuriated Celia. And two days later, Francis proclaimed the King’s Commission amidst a good deal of booing, cat-calling and unseemly jostling but without coming to any real hurt. John Fiennes arrived from Broughton towards the end of the proceedings to inform him that the said Commission was unlawful – but this was accomplished with brisk, business-like efficiency and no incivility on either side. And, true to his word, Eden stayed well away so that he and Francis might avoid direct confrontation for as long as possible.
By the end of the month a letter from Richard told his family that the King had rejected the nineteen proposals for government sent to him by both Houses on the grounds that they had been drafted by ‘raisers of sedition’; but since these had included parliamentary control of all major military and civil appointments along with that of all fortresses, together with prosecution of the laws against Catholics, no one could be surprised that they’d met with a refusal. Slightly less easy to follow was the fact that His Majesty had flatly denied any intention of making war on his Parliament – and then immediately issued his Call to Arms.
‘And having the latter read in London,’ concluded Richard, ‘has not only cost the Lord Mayor his office but also put him in the Tower. But with five hundred parliamentary cavalry drilling ever day in Tothill Fields, he must have expected that. And one can’t but appreciate his difficulty. With so many declarations emanating from both the King and Westminster, there’s not an officer in the land who isn’t now a traitor to one side or the other.’
‘Upon which intriguing thought,’ sighed Dorothy to Kate, ‘I suppose you and I just carry on filling the larder and praying there’ll still be some men here at harvest time.’
‘Quite. And goodness knows there’s little enough getting done around the estate even now,’ said Kate. ‘The ones with horses spend half their time practising cavalry manoeuvres with Eden and the ones without are now marching up and down in front of Tom Tripp, clutching pitchforks. Adam Smith
hasn’t time to repair the winding-jack because he’s too busy renovating all those old swords and halberds Eden had been collecting from God knows where. And Meg’s father nearly blew his head off last night trying to repair an antiquated blunderbuss that probably hasn’t been fired in thirty years. What is it,’ she finished irritably, ‘that turns grown men into little boys playing at soldiers?’
‘I’ve no idea. But I wish it would affect Nathan. He tells me that God has given him the duty of caring for us all during the Conflict’s Rage,’ said Dorothy gloomily. ‘I must say, I wish he wouldn’t. His numerous opinions are beginning to get on my nerves.’
‘Nathan,’ observed Kate, ‘needs setting right on a few things. He appears to feel that we poor females ought to allow him to organise matters as he sees fit. Added to which, he had the effrontery this morning to congratulate me on putting an end to my foolish involvement with a Licentious Cavalier.’
‘Kit?’
‘Kit. So I told him that he was labouring under a misapprehension – which wasn’t all that surprising since the matter is none of his business.’
Dorothy regarded her daughter thoughtfully.
‘I suppose you realise that allowing your betrothal to stand but remain unofficial leaves you in a somewhat debatable position?’
‘Of course. But with Father in Westminster and Kit returning post-haste to York, we couldn’t have done anything else, could we?’ came the glib reply. And then, with creditable negligence, ‘Which reminds me. I suggested that if Kit should happen to come across Signor del Santi again, he might remind him of his sister’s existence. After all, it would be nice to know whether or not Gianetta’s going to be with us for the duration, wouldn’t it?’
* * *
During the third week in July, news came of a skirmish in the muddy streets of Manchester in which a parliamentarian recruit had been shot dead by Lord Strange.
‘And that,’ announced Celia gleefully, ‘is an omen.’
‘It’s also the first gravestone,’ returned Eden caustically. ‘And if you can find anything cheering in that, I’d be glad to have you share it with me.’