To Serve a Queen

by Josephine Bell

  Nevertheless a change was gradually taking place in the fortunes of the Protestant cause. At last there was a leader of military brilliance and determination. Where the elderly King of Denmark had failed so miserably the King of Sweden was succeeding. The Spanish and Austrian armies no longer had battles and sieges go all their own way, while the countryside suffered both persecution and devastation. They were pushed back towards their own borders, towns were retaken and restored; the citizens took heart when they came to believe that their homes might now be secured, not liable to be overrun again in the next season of fighting.

  All this in time put fresh courage and enterprise into the careful merchants of the Dutch cities, with all their commerce abroad and particularly in England. For though King Charles was bankrupt and the City of London pleaded poverty, that term was not altogether true. The City had suffered from the war with France, but had gained not a little from legalised piracy, both against French and Spanish ships. Losing indeed to Dutch pirates to some extent, but gaining largely on the whole, being better seamen with swifter ships and a greater knowledge of the English Channel.

  Now that the Dutch, the Scandinavian and the German Alliance were having such marked success, the word of it went backwards and forwards in London, where support began again to appear. Not through the Crown. Money passing in that direction sank at once without trace. But through English merchants based in Amsterdam a considerable fund was set up to help the King of Sweden’s cause in the best way it could be applied.

  For more than a year Lieutenant Ogilvy served without leave and without direct contact with either the Prince of Orange’s Court or that of the exiled monarchs. He was not in a position to write to the Queen, his Queen as he thought of her. It would have been gross presumption to him to do so. He spoke of her as little as possible because his fame in saving the Elector in the shipwreck had followed him into the army, sometimes as a source of embarrassing admiration, more often as a ribald jest.

  For the Queen of Hearts, as she was now widely called, was once more expecting to increase her vast family. The yearly event was this time laid by his companions at Francis’s door, for had he not preserved the King’s life, the Queen had not conceived. All of which bawdy talk offended Francis, though he dare not complain. Besides, he solaced himself rather more than before he lost Will Stubble. The man’s service and companionship had kept perpetual loneliness at bay; Will had been in great measure the confidant in his amorous adventures, the privileged adviser, too.

  He wrote often to his father in London and occasionally to Master Angus Leslie. Both men appreciated his kindness in so doing, not realising how badly he needed them and their affection. The alderman particularly was much gratified. He knew his physical powers were beginning to fail and for some months had begun to set his affairs in order. He had discussed his will at length with Alec Nimmo before the latter set sail again for the New World. He now wanted to talk about it to Colonel Ogilvy on behalf of the latter’s adopted son. But knowing the soldier’s pride and also his ignorance of business affairs he hesitated to approach him. His perplexity was increased by those welcome letters he got from Francis, for they were deceitfully cheerful in tone and full of a new maturity and independence that did not promise any easy agreement with his plans for the young man’s future.

  At last, having managed to get from her husband the details of these plans, Mistress Leslie took matters into her own hands. She ordered the coach and was driven by Thomas to the house in Paternoster Row, to call upon the colonel.

  While Thomas, grinning with pleasure at visiting his old stable yard again, drove the coach inside it, Young Giles took Mistress Leslie into the house and upstairs to the little parlour where Giles’s wife attended upon her.

  ‘Doubtless you visited my mother in this room, madam,’ the colonel said, entering.

  ‘Alas, sir,’ she answered. ‘I think I never had that pleasure.’ Seeing a frown settle on his face, she added quietly, ‘Mistress Ogilvy had left London for Oxford after the Doctor’s death before ever I married Master Leslie.’

  Colonel Ogilvy understood that he had spoken awkwardly, so he sent Mistress Giles away to bring wine and sugared fruits, after which he apologised for his mistake.

  ‘A soldier’s manners, madam, but not to be forgiven too easily, for I always knew my poor mother’s foibles well. A fault she passed on to my far more unfortunate sister.’

  ‘Speak no more of the sad past,’ Mistress Leslie said with great gentleness. ‘I have come expressly to discuss the hopeful future of your young son.’ She went on to tell him that her husband was declining in health and had begun to worry over the disposal of his considerable wealth.

  ‘He has no heir,’ she explained. ‘In days now long past he did settle a sum upon my daughter Lucy as a dower in case he should die before I had arranged a marriage for her. Then, when she married Sir Francis Leslie she carried that sum into her union. Lucy will also inherit my small fortune that I had from my first marriage and any that Master Leslie chooses to settle upon me, if he dies before I do. As he now seems determined upon,’ she said, with all her usual robust and cheerful manner of speaking.

  Colonel Ogilvy laughed. Mistress Giles brought in the tray of refreshments at that moment and finding the visitor had put her master in such a good humour wondered what the pair had been up to. Thomas had reported below stairs that the alderman was very far from well and might be declining, they all feared in Gracious Street.

  ‘You did not drive hither, madam, to disclose to me these details of your own affairs, that I am sure,’ the colonel said, still laughing when Mistress Giles went away. ‘In fact you mentioned young Francis, did you not?’

  ‘That I did,’ she answered, serious again. ‘I must tell you that when his natural father was in England last year he spoke to Master Leslie of how he would wish to provide in some measure for the boy. He could not see how he could pay Sir Francis back in coin or in any other way for all he had done. Nor could he approach Sir Francis’s kin in Scotland, who had borne the greater part of the expense of the lad’s upbringing. Nor, certainly, could he offer money to young Francis at this late hour. If they had found kinships, like minds, even a modicum of affection; if Francis had wanted to join his natural father’s family; it would have been easy. But it did not so fall out.’

  ‘I think as I have adopted Francis as my son there is no call for Alec Nimmo or any other to provide,’ the colonel said stiffly. ‘You said yourself, madam, we would forget the past in all respects.’

  ‘Except that Master Leslie did think so highly of Alec as a man after his own heart. In all respects, except that impulsive temper of his that ruined him here, but has brought him great success in the New World.’

  Colonel Ogilvy nodded.

  ‘I understand. So he would now wish to favour my son with a gift. Well, that need not be refused. I will not stand against it. Master Leslie put himself before Francis as a benefactor at the time of his adoption. He helped me and the boy. I did not win great prizes all the years I served. But a sufficient sum, saved for my retirement and an honourable position. Francis is at liberty to do the same.’

  Colonel Ogilvy sat up very straight in his chair, seeming to indicate to Mistress Leslie and to the world in general that his pride was not offended nor his honour questioned by the alderman’s proposal.

  ‘Besides,’ Mistress Leslie continued, after a little pause, ‘it seems to us from certain things Francis said when he was here and hath written since, there is a certain young lady he much admired at the Court of Madam, the Princess Elizabeth –’

  ‘Who likes to be called Queen of Bohemia,’ put in the colonel.

  ‘Poor lady, she is royal, of course, but that title … The Lady Anne Wolmer it is, or was, the lad was so taken by. But felt, in his position –’

  ‘Whereas now he hath an honoured name and with a certain fortune …’

  ‘Very necessary to her father, Lord Aldborough, who is robbed of his patron and has, Mas
ter Leslie says, approached him once again for ‘‘advice’’ as he calls it.’

  Colonel Ogilvy gave another great laugh, this time rising to his feet as Mistress Leslie, eyes twinkling, lips smiling, picked up her skirts to take her leave. ‘I may tell Master Leslie then that you look with favour on his proposal?’ she asked as they went downstairs.

  ‘You may ask him to receive me tomorrow forenoon, madam,’ he answered, bowing, as he handed her into her coach, and walked back into the house, humming a little soldiers’ tune.

  Unaware that his elders in London were engaged upon arranging for his future, Francis was on that day preparing for yet another move, this time, to his great joy, with some prospect of real action. Under his present command he had every reason for hope. There was considerable pleasure among the troops as well, and much cheerful noise as the waggons were loaded, the horses harnessed and a march begun.

  At the place of assembly a crowd had gathered. In former times of subjection the citizens had always kept within doors when their oppressors were on the move, since they knew there would be no lasting deliverance. But now, with Sweden in the ascendent and these departing men on their way to fight for their continuing freedom the young, the idle, the envious, the curious, stood a little way off to cheer and bless their deliverers, their champions.

  A thin-faced man in a ragged uniform that had lost all recognisable badges joined the crowd late after the march had well begun. He started and stared as his gaze fell on the group of young officers mounted and rounding up the stragglers with shouts of encouragement and command.

  ‘Whose men be those?’ he asked in a gruff voice of the man beside him.

  ‘Englishmen, or rather Northerners and Scots,’ was the answer. ‘Of the Lord Craven’s force. Attached to the Swedish army.’

  With an effort to speak ealmly, politely, the man said, ‘Those young officers, know you their names?’

  Seeing his neighbour’s astonishment he went on, ‘I thought I knew the red-head. He is on the right there, with his back to us, riding away.’

  ‘I know not for certain …’

  ‘Is it Leslie, by chance?’

  ‘Nay, I can swear there was no Leslie among the young officers. I should know, for I served them all at times in my master’s inn. What is it to you, their names?’

  The potman stared, then turned away from the ragged stranger, whose fierce eyes were now filled with a glare that terrified him. But the light faded, the man turned away. His quest was not over. Alan Carr, pursuing his revenge, risking his life in his secret return to a proscribed country, disappointed but not convinced, continued out of sight of the marching army, to follow in the track of his intended victim.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  To Master Angus Leslie’s great joy Colonel Ogilvy not only agreed with his proposal to enrich young Francis but also saw it as a valuable bribe for the now impoverished Lord Aldborough.

  ‘I met the wench, his lordship’s daughter,’ Colonel Ogilvy told the alderman. ‘First with Madam and then with the Princess Amelia of Orange after that lady’s marriage. It was none of her father’s doing, this transfer, but a gesture of the Queen’s, intended as a kindness on the Princess’s marriage and to mark the elevation. Not that Amelia showed any gratitude for the transfer. In fact she saw in it only a reflection upon her own beauty and taste. She imagined that Madam was handing her an example of what she should have about her.’

  ‘A difficult, suspicious nature, I have been told,’ the old alderman said. ‘Such women make life very hard for themselves, especially at royal Courts, which are more like dark forests full of wild beasts than a concourse of civilised beings.’

  The colonel laughed.

  ‘You speak truly. But Aldborough’s daughter is fair indeed and of a simple and happy nature. I tell you I felt for the boy when I saw how he was enamoured of her, knowing he could not at that time aspire at all in that direction.’

  ‘But now you think you may try? Would you have me put forward a cautious feeler? I think I told you the noble lord has asked for a business consultation. We know what that means. In a general statement of opinion in the city as to trade he will put forward proposals …’

  ‘Do so,’ Colonel Ogilvy said. ‘But there is no urgency –’

  ‘Except in the matter of my health, sir,’ the alderman rebuked him, but with a laughing face that was very reassuring.

  ‘Except so, indeed. But we must give young Francis time to distinguish himself in the field, to win promise of promotion.’

  ‘That should content Aldborough. His wife, after all, is but a single branch of the budding Villiers tree. The Duke was most active in pushing and training those slips to graft into titled saplings. My Lady Aldborough ranks no higher than your lady mother did. Her father too was a gentleman, no scholar but of the country.’

  ‘Where my lord is living at this moment,’ put in Mistress Leslie, pausing in her embroidery. ‘The old couple linger on, but the Aldborough children, except for that elder girl, the beauty, fill the house, I am told.’

  Encouraged by this story and by the alderman’s account as well, Colonel Ogilvy concocted a small excuse and when the weather grew warm and the roads dry, rode off accompanied by his groom, to pay two visits to old army friends in Richmond, then on to Oxford to see his brother Richard with his family and renew his acquaintance with Sir Francis Leslie. After a few days in the ancient city he rode on towards Banbury, turning aside to a small village a few miles short of that town to find the manor house and farm where the Lord Aldborough was now quietly retired.

  It was a pleasant place, of a suitable size but not overlarge for a nobleman whose wealth was in a precarious state at that time. Large wrought-iron gates led into a circular drive with a central basin filled with shallow water intended to spurt up in an elegant plume from a narrow serpentine shaft in the middle. But the water barely covered the bottom of the basin; it was slimy, with green weed and dead leaves and sticks thrown in by passing boys.

  At the back of the house a rough field with several noble trees led to a steep edge from where the countryside to the south lay spread, part forest, part farmland.

  ‘They cut the forest back more every year,’ Lord Aldborough explained. ‘I grieve for the great trees that have survived so much sad history. But I suppose we are fortunate to be able to cultivate our living from the land.’

  ‘Without too much opposition from nature,’ agreed Colonel Ogilvy. ‘Nor destruction by the armies of jealous kings.’

  ‘You are thinking of the Low Countries,’ Lord Aldborough said at once. ‘Those Spanish Netherlands, suffering under the cruel yoke of that unnatural woman, the Infanta,’

  ‘And the other lands overrun by the Emperor. A great battlefield, a devastation, and yet a prime opportunity for my own young son to win his spurs.’

  Lord Aldborough turned away from the view in order to turn away from the subject. He continued to show the estate to his visitor and to discover in return the Ogilvy connection with the City of London at the Charterhouse School, where the colonel‘s father had taught and in the person of Alderman Leslie of the Fishmongers’ Company.

  The seeds planted so deliberately and with such full knowledge on either side were not to be allowed to wither. Matters would move slowly forward. There would be meetings in Oxford, meetings in London. Letters would follow.

  At present none of these were directed to Francis. His address was not at that time known except to his commanding officer and it changed very frequently. For Francis had at long last found an army unit that was organised and managed as he had always expected to be led. His change of name was largely responsible for this.

  One of the English troops that had served under the Prince of Orange was commanded by William, Lord Craven. He proposed to take three thousand men to join the Swedish army, for it was plain that the Swedes were proving victorious where all their predecessors had failed. Lord Craven had known Colonel Ogilvy for many years. He had been disappointed to hea
r that the veteran had now retired, but at the same time was puzzled when he heard that a certain Ogilvy had distinguished himself from time to time, but never seemed to be available when wanted.

  This did not sound much like the highly experienced, careful officer Lord Craven had met now and then. So he took the trouble to make useful inquiries and before long had Francis brought before him. The latter was just released from the Marquis of Hamilton’s dwindling force.

  ‘I think I know your relative, Colonel Arthur Ogilvy,’ he said.

  ‘Colonel Ogilvy is my father, my lord,’ Francis answered. He blushed a little as he spoke, so Lord Craven, as did several others, imagined the colonel had now established his own natural son. He said no more, but recruited Lieutenant Ogilvy into his Scottish regiment, part of the force he was taking to join Gustavus Adolphus.

  So here at last the new Lieutenant Ogilvy found the place in life he had sought for so long. Not only a body of men who spoke the tongue he had known all his childhood and whose officers still kept the accent he had himself never lost, but companions who thought and acted by birth and upbringing as he did.

  Particularly a Lieutenant Ian Munro. The two were soon firm friends and Francis learned more in a couple of months of the art of war and the experience of fighting than he had gained in the five years he had wasted on the fringe of feeble campaigns, failures and defeats.

  Of the principal towns of the Palatinate all had yielded but Frankenthal and Heidelberg. Kreuznach had fallen in a brilliant action in which Craven’s men, in particular Lieutenant. Munro and Francis, distinguished themselves. After that Lord Craven’s men were detailed to encourage the citizens of freed towns and villages to restore their walls, their houses and their husbandry. At the same time the Scots were set to find out and destroy any pockets of the Emperor’s men who had been overrun, separated from their fellows and were now doomed. Where previously peasant informers had been hanged or burned alive if they were caught, now they were rewarded, while their oppressors were put to death.