by Stella Riley
Ned grinned up at Justin, noting the carefree expression that was only ever present at moments like this and which rendered the usually shuttered face younger and less formidable.
‘Enjoy it?’ he asked, passing one powder-blackened hand over his brow and leaving a generous smear behind.
Justin smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘So did I.’ Ned pulled the helmet off his fair, damply-curling hair. ‘And the best is yet to come.’
‘Oxford and Lucy?’
‘Oxford and Lucy. Tomorrow, I hope. Coming? I’d have thought there must be at least one amongst the reputed realms of your former conquests that you’d like to see again. God knows there’s little enough in Banbury to tempt you to use those fabled talents of yours.’
Justin refused to be drawn but could not resist a single mischievous thrust.
‘Very true. But if you really want to see me in action, you could always introduce me to Mistress Lucy.’
*
As it turned out, neither of them went to Oxford – Justin because he declined to go and Ned because large-scale enemy activity between Broughton and King’s Sutton forced him to turn back. After a frustrating day playing grandmother’s footsteps with two Parliamentary scouting parties and a narrow escape from a hair-raisingly large cavalry force, Ned brought his gunpowder back to the Castle and saw it safely bestowed. Then, in a mood of rare aggravation, he went in to make his report.
He found Sir William Compton and the other senior officers gathered round the dinner table. The food had gone but the wine was still out and the room was hazy with smoke from Hugh Vaughan’s pipe. It was Justin who noticed him first and, with a suggestion of tension in his face that was absent from his words, said, ‘That was quick. Did Lucy throw you out?’
‘No.’ Ned walked across to look down at Will Compton. ‘I couldn’t get through. The country’s crawling with rebel troops and I was damned lucky to get back here without a fight.’
‘Where?’ asked Will. ‘And how many?’
‘Just south of Bodicote. They’ve cordoned off all the lanes and stationed about a hundred Horse and Foot on the Oxford road. Without the advance scouts, we’d have been right into them. As it was, we doubled back to try other routes only to find enough men posted at each to delay us until their main body could come up and finish us off.’
Sir William looked at Colonel Greene.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think we’d better send out some reconnaissance parties,’ came the grim reply. ‘And not just to the south, either. If they’re closing in – and, with the King’s army away at Evesham, it looks as though they could be – it would be nice to know it. I’m only surprised they didn’t do it sooner. What’s today – the nineteenth?’
‘The twentieth,’ said Justin. ‘It’s probably taken till now for their wonderful Committee of Both Kingdoms to make a decision. I doubt if its right hand knows what the left is doing half of the time.’ He got up. ‘Shall I send my fellows out now or at first light?’
‘Now,’ said Sir William. ‘But tell them to be careful – no silly heroics.’
*
Knowing that Justin would not go to bed until his scouts came back, Hugh Vaughan elected to sit up with him – but neither of them felt much desire to talk. Once, the Welshman said, ‘Have you any experience of sieges?’
‘Only from the outside. Have you?’
‘The same. I was at Breda.’
The grey eyes widened a little.
‘Were you indeed? Well, I doubt any little affair we have here will rival that – even supposing we have one at all.’
Captain Vaughan surveyed him enigmatically.
‘You’re ambitious, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Is there a problem with that?’
‘No. Not at all,’ replied Hugh, tapping out his pipe. ‘Just don’t go ill-wishing the rest of us for the sake of it, there’s a good fellow.’
The first reconnaissance party returned at about four in the morning and by six, the others had followed suit. An hour later, Justin had collated the information into a concise list of figures and Hugh had drawn up a rough map marked with a number of small crosses.
They did not discuss their findings. There was no need. Rebel troops were quartered in force at Broughton and Warkworth and, in lesser numbers, to the east and west. The investment of Banbury, it appeared, was not just a possibility. It had already begun.
*
It was the opinion of all that every effort should be made to bring in stocks of food before their situation became common knowledge in the town.
‘That gives us just under three hours,’ announced Sir William grimly. ‘There’s a meeting of the Common Council at eleven and I wouldn’t wager a groat on the chances of the secret lasting through that. There’s hardly a burgess or alderman that isn’t hand-in-glove with Old Subtlety.’
‘Who?’ asked Justin.
‘Viscount Saye and Sele,’ supplied Will Tirwhitt, his thin, clever face creasing with sudden, wicked amusement. ‘Lord of Broughton Castle and Keeper – in name only, just at present – of Banbury Castle. Our host.’
The next two hours passed in a whirlwind of organisation and activity. Justin began by listing the slowly incoming stores but, at a quarter before eleven, he handed this task over to Ensign Mayhew and departed on what he had come, with irony, to regard as his personal crusade.
He collected the small, purposely-hoarded store of gold from Sir William, took two troopers and a hand-cart and set off for the sign of the Ragged Staff on Shop Row. For when the Council meeting ended and the merchants returned hot-foot to cancel supplies to the garrison, Justin had a presentiment that Jonas Radford would be one of the first.
He had timed his visit better than he knew for, not only was Jonas absent but Rachel had just set forth to call on a friend recently brought to bed of her first child. Consequently, he entered the shop to find it staffed by what must surely be two junior members of the Radford family; the shy, diminutive girl he dimly recalled seeing before and a dark-haired youth whose fine-boned face was vivid with intelligence.
When the door opened, Abigail looked automatically up from the array of ribbons she had spread out for the perusal of Mistress Atkins and felt her breath leak slowly away. Samuel, perched on a stool with a copy of Godwin’s The Man in the Moon lying open on top of the sales ledger, shot her a briefly quizzical glance and then calmly took control.
‘Good morning, Captain. What may I do for you?’
‘Good morning.’ Justin removed his hat and bowed courteously towards the two girls. ‘I’ve come to collect the broadcloth that I ordered a few days ago. Is it ready?’
Samuel blinked, looked enquiringly across at his sister and, as he had expected, got no help whatsoever.
‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I don’t know. Abby?’ He spoke her name with an emphasis designed to wake her up. ‘Has Jonas said anything to you about the Captain’s order?’
Abigail shook her head and then managed to produce the information that there were a number of large packages awaiting collection in the hall.
As once before, her soft voice struck a chord of vague familiarity in Justin’s memory but he was too intent on the business in hand to pursue it. Beyond wondering why the girl looked habitually scared, he paid her no further attention and said pleasantly, ‘Then let us hope that my order is amongst them. But I interrupt this lady’s business. My apologies, Mistress.’
Barbara Atkins dimpled at him.
‘Oh – no need, sir. I’ll be gone in a trice if I can only decide between these two shades of blue.’
Captain Ambrose crossed to her side and, picking up the brighter sample, deliberately produced his most devastating smile. ‘Why – which but this? It is the only one not made utterly drab by the brilliance of your eyes.’
‘Oh!’ Bab blushed and peeped at him through her lashes. ‘You shouldn’t say such things, sir.’
‘Perhaps not. But how may I help myself when confronte
d with such inspiration?’ teased Justin. ‘And should I apologise for speaking no more than the truth – or blame you for making my day immeasurably brighter?’
Torn between shock and a sort of grotesque fascination, Abigail watched the Captain unleash the full battery of his charm on the goldsmith’s golden daughter and have it returned in full measure. Five minutes later Mistress Barbara was out in the street, clutching several yards of gaudy ribbon that her father would almost certainly forbid her to wear and Captain Ambrose turned back to business without batting an eyelid.
Samuel examined him with respect.
‘Quite remarkable,’ he said, ‘I thought she was here for the day. Is it military training – or can anybody do it?’
Justin’s brows rose in mild amusement.
‘Anyone with a modicum of natural cunning. Since you can recognise it when you see it, you shouldn’t have any trouble. Now … about my cloth?’
‘Ah yes, of course.’ Samuel met his sister’s astounded gaze with a grin. ‘I’ll go and check.’
Abigail pulled herself together and directed a dark glance across the room.
‘I’ll go,’ she said quickly – and went.
Samuel gave a helpless splutter of laughter.
‘I’m sorry. It was just the look on her face when she realised that you weren’t just – just —’
‘Exercising my wanton wiles?’ supplied Justin helpfully. ‘Yes. I hope she didn’t find it embarrassing.’
‘I should think she found it highly informative,’ came the frank reply.
Justin picked up The Man in the Moon and gazed thoughtfully at its reader. He said, ‘You’re not very like your brother, are you?’
‘No.’ Samuel looked him in the eye. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’ve any Royalist sympathies. I haven’t. Quite the reverse. It’s just that we’re not all narrow-minded fanatics.’
There was a pause. Then, mildly, ‘That was straight from the shoulder, wasn’t it? Have you ever thought of joining the army?’
Samuel’s gaze grew bleakly withering.
‘And what would be the good of that? I’m —’
‘It’s there,’ said Abigail, emerging from the house. ‘It’s been cut and priced and everything. Only … well, there’s rather a lot of it.’ She looked dubiously at her brother.
Justin allowed satisfaction to inform every muscle.
‘That’s no problem. I have two troopers and a cart waiting outside. If you will permit me to call them?’
‘By all means,’ said Samuel, bitingly. He rose from his stool and leaned his hands on the trestle. ‘What a good thing you brought them.’
Abigail’s startled eyes flew to his face but he did not meet them. Instead, as the Captain turned to leave the shop, he limped quickly towards the door of the house, muttering, ‘You deal with it from here. I’m going upstairs – since I’m obviously not needed.’
Under the Captain’s eagle eye it was the business of only a few minutes to move the cloth out and on to the cart. Then, despatching his men back to the Castle, Justin pulled a purse from the pocket of his buff-coat and set about paying his account.
It was a simple enough transaction and Abigail dealt with it efficiently until, as he handed her the money, he said abruptly, ‘Perhaps I’m mistaken … but I seem to know you from somewhere.’
The purse slid through her fingers, struck the edge of the table and fell, scattering guineas all over the floor.
‘Oh!’ gasped Abigail, diving after them under the trestle. And coming face to face with Captain Ambrose, whose reflex had been the same, ‘Oh – no!’
The clear eyes were bright with amusement.
‘Pebble Lane,’ he said simply. ‘What a good job you don’t deal in glassware. Do you always drop things?’
This seemed unfair and for one exhilarating second, Abigail actually found herself framing a retort. Then her nerve failed and she said weakly, ‘No. I – you took me by surprise.’
‘Yes. I gathered that. I only wish I knew why. I don’t bite, you know.’
She flushed and bent her head over the coins.
‘There’s one by your knee,’ she said.
‘So there is.’ He retrieved it and then reached out to pluck another from the folds of her skirt. ‘And one by your – oh God, not again! What the devil’s the matter now?’ This as Abigail shot back a foot and dropped the coins for a second time.
Justin stared into wide dark eyes filled with apprehension and his momentary exasperation melted. Dropping his brow on the arm that rested against his upraised knee, he gave way to unexpected hilarity.
Abigail eyed him with dawning resentment. Then, snatching up all the coins she could see, she clutched them protectively to her chest and stood up.
‘I don’t,’ she said finally, ‘see what’s so funny.’
Captain Ambrose drew a steadying breath and arose from beneath the trestle only to dissolve afresh when he looked at her.
‘No. You wouldn’t. But I daren’t explain in case you hurl the money across the floor again and we have to spend another half-hour on our knees together. You may be accustomed to it – but I’m not.’ He picked up his hat and bowed mockingly before setting it on his head. ‘Goodbye … and please give my love to Jonas. I think – indeed, I’m quite sure – that you’ll find him sorry to have missed me.’
~ * ~
FOUR
It took Jonas Radford a full ten days to get over the fact that Captain Ambrose had outflanked him. Indeed, it might have taken longer had not the last day of July brought a small and rather ludicrous skirmish to divert his attention. The change came as a welcome relief to Samuel and Abigail, on whom the bulk of his displeasure had fallen. But though Samuel was disposed to laugh at the tale of a pair of Cavalier captains at Nethercote attempting to duel with faulty pistols, Abigail was not. The episode brought the war close again and she began to realise how much she hated it.
Rachel hated it too, though not for the same reasons – and, as soon as she found out that Banbury might soon become a battleground, she began urging Jonas to leave it. She met, surprisingly, a stone wall of resistance. The Lord, said Jonas, would protect the righteous and he was not leaving town just when the lions and lilies of the Royal Standard might at any time be struck from the Castle flag-pole. Rachel deferred silently to his wishes, relieved her frustration by carping at Abigail and, two weeks later, played her trump card by demurely announcing that she was pregnant.
After his initial burst of typically circumspect joy was over, Jonas discovered that the news had produced a chink in his armour. He began, reprehensibly, to consider the summer plague figures and the possible danger if the Castle should be besieged in earnest. Of course, there was plague every year but he had not previously had an unborn child for it to threaten and, though there was no question of the Cavaliers holding hostile, un-walled Banbury, there would be noise and fighting, overcrowded billets and difficulty over food. He found the prospect worrying and it disturbed his sleep.
It was perhaps unfortunate that, while Jonas was torturing his already tortured conscience with thoughts of Aaron and Isaac, Nancy Lucas walked into the shop. Endowed with ample curves of which she liked to show as much as possible, thick unruly curls and bold, brown eyes, Nancy ran a modest but cheerful brothel near Sugarford Bar and was heart and soul for the King. Her appearance in the Radford’s genteel establishment sent two respectable matrons scurrying into the street and produced a climacteric of shock that temporarily succeeded in depriving Jonas of breath.
Then he choked, bringing Abigail’s head sharply up from a tray of muddled embroidery silks, and managed to shout, ‘Whore of Babylon! How dare you cross my threshold?’
Nancy eyed him calmly.
‘Why shouldn’t I cross it? I’m only a customer – same as anyone else.’ She grinned. ‘And I wouldn’t stop you crossing mine, if you wanted to.’
Jonas’ colour rose and he spluttered incoherently.
Nancy laughed and turned easily to
Abigail.
‘Now, my duck. I want some cambric and I want the best. What’s that on the second shelf?’
‘It’s a little stiff,’ offered Abigail nervously. ‘The one above it is softer.’
‘Abigail!’ roared Jonas furiously. ‘Have you lost your mind? Contaminating yourself with the filth of the gutter by addressing this – this painted harlot!’
‘Now hold on!’ snapped Nancy. ‘She ain’t done nothing but show herself better-mannered than you. And I didn’t come here to listen to hard names. I came to buy some cloth.’
‘Then you wasted your time. Do you think I would touch your tainted money?’
‘Why not? It’s no worse than yours,’ she retorted. ‘After all, we both supply the needs of the garrison, don’t we? The only difference is that you sell ‘em cloth on the sly and I sell ‘em —’
‘Get out!’ Jonas’ voice shook with rage. ‘Get out before you tempt me to violence.’
‘What – would you soil your hands?’ mocked Nancy. And then, ‘Lay a finger on me, Master Poke-nose, and I’ll blacken both your eyes for you. But you needn’t have a fit. I’m going.’ She gathered up her brilliant emerald skirts and smiled at Abigail. ‘Keep your chin up, love. I know he’s a miserable old sod – but he ain’t no more than a puffed-up pig’s bladder underneath. You remember that.’ And she strolled unhurriedly from the shop.
It was a full minute before Jonas was capable of speech but then he rounded on his errant sister and made up for lost time by reducing her to emotional pulp.
*
On the following afternoon when Abigail was returning from Mistress Carter’s close to the derelict Bear Garden, she met the redoubtable Nancy again. Her arm was seized, she was pulled into the shadows and a broad voice said, ‘There – I thought it was you! I saw you go by an hour ago, so I kept an eye open for you coming back.’
Swallowing hard, Abigail digested the fact that she was standing in the doorway of Banbury’s only house of ill-repute. She said weakly, ‘I’ve been fitting a gown on Lizzie Carter. I’m sorry. I can’t stay. If someone were to see me and tell Jonas —’