The soldiers were called in and split into two sections, one under the Captain’s orders and the rest with the sergeant, a precaution against any personal pocketing. They began with the ground floor and then went upstairs. Anne followed the Captain and his men to the Long Gallery, wanting to be on hand if Ridley should be landed in any sort of trouble through his plastering, for the responsibility was hers as head of the house in Robert’s absence and she would shoulder it.
As she reached the open doors of the gallery, she thought how in one aspect the Civil War in both its earlier stages, and again in this third, was particularly hard on her, for all along she had been able to view the conflict from both sides. Her parents were members of the Separatist movements, a religious group that had broken away from the established Church and followed Puritan principles. In the reign of James, one of her uncles, a keen Separatist, had sailed for the New World in a ship called the Mayflower. Her mother had always been believed to be barren and the birth of a daughter late in life had brought enormous joy to both her gentle parents. With never a cross word heard in their exceptionally peaceful home, Anne knew she had grown up over-protected in many ways from everyday buffetings.
It had left her with a need for a peaceful existence that was as necessary to her as food and water and was matched by her ability to love those dear to her with a depth and warmth that overflowed to anyone in distress. Robert had come into her life by way of a chance meeting on a market day when he had saved her from a fall as she tripped on a cobble-stone. Upon marriage she had passed from the shelter of loving parental care to another created by a devoted husband.
Although her loyalties were entirely with the Royalists and had been from the start, even as she had become a member of the Church of England through love of Robert and her wish to be with him in everything, she had grieved as deeply for the Roundhead blood that was shed as for the Cavalier, her compassion going out to all the bereaved families; it was something that Robert understood but which she had never dared mention to his mother, who would have taken up a sword herself to fight for the King if it had been possible.
But where was the sense in a struggle that from the first clash of arms had had monarchists on both sides? Not all Parliamentarians were against having a king, just as not all held with the more fanatical Puritan attitude in religious matters, there being men of all faiths under both the Commonwealth and Royalist banners. The greatest tragedy of all was that men who loved England dearly, wanting only the best for their motherland, had killed one another in large numbers over the ways of achieving it and had now gathered again to continue that dreadful purpose.
She entered the Long Gallery to discover what was happening and stayed just within the doorway. Nobody paid her any attention. The soldiers had begun to examine anything there that might be of value, opening drawers in side-tables and the doors of two large cupboards that stood at each end of the Gallery, rifling the contents within; one was tossing out a set of ninepins, which spun about the floor around him.
In less dangerous circumstances she would have smiled to see that Ridley had adopted the old trick of the country-born, which was to hide their own quick wits to get the better of a townsman. It was obvious to her that he thought he had found the perfect target. He had paused in his plastering to gape open-mouthed at the soldiers and then blinked as if the Captain had appeared out of the blue at his side.
‘What are you doing?’ Captain Harding demanded. ‘Plastering, sir,’ Ridley replied, letting his surprised eyes wander again to the soldiers spread out in their search.
‘I can see that. What are you covering up?’
‘Cracks, sir. See ’em along the part of the wall I ain’t done yet? It’s a big job and I does a bit whenever I ’ave the time from other work.’ Ridley cocked his head and lowered his voice confidentially. ‘Everything is going to rack and ruin with women in charge. It’ll be a good thing when you gentlemen have routed the King once and for all and things can get back to normal.’
Captain Harding regarded him with lordly indulgence. ‘So you are with us, are you?’
‘From the start, sir.’ Ridley then shrugged his shoulders and spoke in a whining tone. ‘But I ’ave to earn a living and I’m too old and lame from a ladder-fall to fight.’
‘You should not be under a Royalist roof. Why not seek work on the Warrender estate?’
‘I ’ave, sir, but the bailiff there ’as a rough tongue and didn’t think me able enough.’
‘Well, at least you tried.’ It struck the Captain that this handyman had been received no more courteously than he himself. ‘Now give me your trowel.’
From where she stood Anne thought how cleverly Ridley had fooled the officer, but now, as the trowel was handed over, she held her breath and knew that Ridley was as tense as she. The Roundhead dug the point of the trowel into the wet plaster and scraped it away here and there to make sure no secret door was being concealed beneath. When the inspection narrowly missed the King’s plaque and the trowel was returned to Ridley, she felt nauseous with relief and had to withdraw from the Long Gallery to lean against a wall, waiting for the spasm to pass.
A thumping sound somewhere in the house was echoed closer at hand as the soldiers went through the routine of banging their fists against the panelling in the Long Gallery, listening for a hollow ring that would tell them there was a cavity where valuables might be hidden away. She put a hand to her head, a throbbing in her temples seeming to keep tempo with the banging. This was the method the Roundheads had used when searching for the treasure of Chichester Cathedral. Eventually it had been located behind a panel in the bell tower and the priceless medieval gold and silver crucifixes, chalices, candlesticks, and alms dishes had been seized and melted down.
The Long Gallery had become quiet, and Anne realized that the Roundheads had left by another door. Supporting herself with a hand against the wall, she went back into the beautiful gallery. Ridley had sunk down into the nearest chair, his tools discarded, his hands hanging over the ends of the wooden arms.
‘You did well,’ she said in a cracked voice.
He raised a haggard face, looking older than was normal to him. ‘It were a narrow shave, madam. If they’d found me out it would ’ave been a whipping for me and Sotherleigh would have been wrecked for the deceit we practised on them narrow-minded bigots.’
‘I’m most grateful for your loyalty.’
He gave her a grin. ‘It was a pleasure to give ’em what amounts to a kick up the’ — here he amended what he had been about to say — ‘in the backside.’
The thumping had been resumed in the west wing and as Anne went downstairs it was also resounding from the east end of the house. She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples, longing for the sinister din to stop. There was no sign of anyone in the hall within the entrance, but she could hear by the subdued chattering that the maidservants were tidying up the Great Hall after the Roundheads’ clumsy searching and were pushing the furniture back against the walls.
To reach what was known as the Queen’s Parlour she had to pass through an oak archway that led to a passage only twenty feet long with a door on each side, one on her right leading into a cupboard and the other on her left giving access to the library. The door that lay ahead stood open and she could see Katherine and Julia seated side by side on the day-bed. To keep themselves occupied they had taken Julia’s sampler out of the box where it had been kept with its silks and wools since first begun on her fifth birthday.
Anne recalled vividly how difficult that early tuition in embroidery had been. There had been tears and tantrums and constantly unpicked stitches until the top band appeared pockmarked. It was a long while before a result that was up to standard was achieved. Being told that to embroider well was a necessary accomplishment for any lady had left Julia unpersuaded. She still sighed with exaggerated heaviness whenever she sat down to her sampler at set times each week, long wistful looks at the window being ignored. Now she and Katherine were
counting the number of different stitches she had already mastered in bands of varying depth across the nine-inch-wide strip of linen which, when unrolled from the ivory rods attached to each end, was three feet in length. By the time it was finished Julia would have entered young womanhood.
Neither noticed Anne’s quiet approach and she took in the sight of them, thinking they looked like figures in a painting in the setting of the lovely and yet simple room. South-facing, it was a favourite place with the family, being neither too large nor too small, with panelling descriptively known as linenfold and a large fireplace topped by a ceiling-high overmantel where in winter logs blazed, and at this time of year fresh flowers filled the hearth.
Most of the furniture had been new when the house was built in the last years of Elizabeth’s reign and was of heavy oak on bulbous legs. The seats of the high-backed, carved chairs had been embroidered by Katherine during her betrothment in a vigorous, formalized pattern worked in uninhibited colours and trimmed with a gold fringe. The cushions were also of her handiwork, embroidered in silk in tent- and cross-stitch, some in the Elizabethan tradition of pictorial story-telling by means of trees, flowers, windmills, castle, and house with a solitary figure on the brow of a hill and a cheery, nimbused sun among fluffy clouds in a blue sky. These glowed like gems on the day-bed and on the chairs standing against the walls, the dyes unfaded by time. Seeing no evidence of the Roundheads’ search, Anne guessed the servants had tidied here first.
‘There’s satin stitch and stem, which makes the total ten so far.’ Julia’s forefinger was hopping from band to band on the sampler. ‘Here’s tent and feather and — ’ She broke off as a floorboard creaked under her mother’s approaching step and looked up. ‘Mama?’
‘All is well in the Long Gallery,’ Anne said at once to Katherine.
Julia sprang up and ran to her excitedly. ‘Grandmother says I needn’t worry about Starlight and that he and the other horses are safe in the woods with the stable-lad, and the groom has gone to them.’
Anne tapped a finger warningly against the child’s lips. ‘That’s a secret we must keep from the Roundheads.’
‘Oh, I know. But what of Sotherleigh? Are they taking anything away?’
‘I saw one soldier smash a Venetian crystal bowl for its silver rim, but they’ll have poor pickings this time.’
‘What of my apartment?’ Katherine asked the question without expression as if she dare not let her suspense show. ‘Have they been there yet?’
Anne suddenly remembered that Katherine kept something valuable concealed there. It was so long since she had been shown it that she had completely forgotten about it. She was thankful that she had, for it had enabled her to answer the Captain without seeing it dancing in her mind.
‘No, they’re not there yet. Do you want me to be present when they are?’ She dreaded a bidding to go there, for she was feeling weak and dizzy, not sure how much longer her legs would support her. All she wanted at the moment was to sit down and embroider some ribbon. The delicate work was her bastion against turmoil of all kinds. Even worry about Robert, which often destroyed her sleep at night, could be changed into quiet, loving thoughts and memories of happy times together as soon as she took up her needle and stitched away, whatever the hour.
‘No,’ Katherine said stoically. ‘It’s better that we all stay here together.’ Then she prompted her granddaughter. ‘Finish your counting.’
Anne took her favourite seat, which was her wedding chair, the carved back incorporating Robert’s initials and her own, together with the date of their marriage, the cushions on it embroidered by her own hand. By her chair was her crewel-covered needlework box, neither of which was ever moved away from the window, which gave such good light for her work. Fortunately Sotherleigh was blessed with an abundance of glass that allowed sunshine to flood every room and nowhere was gloomy. The panes held the faint greenish tinge of all glass made at the time the house was built, but none of the windows were marred by thickened circles, known as bulls’ eyes, which formed during manufacture. Normally these were relegated to less important windows, such as the kitchens, but there had been such pride in the construction of Sotherleigh that nothing blighted its beauty anywhere.
‘That’s done!’ Julia had completed her counting in as many seconds and she began rolling up her sampler, anxious to get it out of the way in case she should be told to take a needle and thread to it.
‘My! That was quick,’ Anne commented vaguely, one hand on the domed lid of her needlework box to raise it. She always thought of it as being Pandora’s box in reverse, full of good things to flood over her instead of evil as in the myth, but today that comfort was to be denied her.
‘No stitching now, Anne!’ Katherine rapped out authoritatively. ‘There’s a book of mine over on the side table. Read to us.’
Julia fetched the book for her mother and then took her seat again at her grandmother’s side. Anne was beyond asserting herself at the present time. Standing up to her mother-in-law took a measure of willpower that had temporarily deserted her. Obediently she opened the book at the pages divided by an embroidered bookmark, which had a Biblical picture in silk stitches of Ruth and her mother-in-law. Anne wondered whether, in spite of the good relationship shared by those two women, if there had been times, such as she herself was experiencing now, when Ruth had felt oppressed by filial duty.
She began to read. It was automatic, for she could scarcely take in the meaning of the words in her high-pitched state of nerves. The sun rays through the window behind her made an aura about her neat head and slanted her shadow in the diamond pattern of the panes across the Persian rug at her feet. Light and shade played on the carved ceiling. To outward appearances all was tranquil in the Queen’s Parlour.
It had been so called for half a century to commemorate the day when Queen Elizabeth had sat talking to widowed Katherine on her one and only visit to Sotherleigh. Usually on tours of her realm she stayed many days at mansions of her choice, but Sotherleigh was too small to accommodate the large retinue of those of her household that travelled with her and their innumerable servants. Never fewer than three hundred carts carried royal and palace baggage, each with four horses in the shafts, and so with saddle mounts it meant that at least two and a half thousand horses had to be stabled, an impossibility in itself for Sotherleigh. So the Queen had come solely to enjoy a banquet under its roof and to view every corner of the house that had been built through her munificence to Katherine’s husband. Elizabeth had been genuinely charmed by the house and expressed regret when it was time to leave. It was said she took a backwards look as she rode off in the direction of Parham House, which was no great distance away, to visit her goddaughter there.
When the heavy tramp of soldiers’ feet passed across the floor of the room above, Anne looked distractedly at the ceiling. Julia also glanced upwards, but with a glower. Katherine did not flicker an eyelid.
‘Keep reading, Anne,’ she instructed calmly.
Anne bent her head over the book again. She had finished two chapters when Captain Harding returned from a long and extensive search. Her nervousness returned at the sight of him and she rose to her feet, clutching the book to her as though it were a talisman against anything he might say that boded ill for those at Sotherleigh, quite apart from the property itself. Katherine’s gaze, shot covertly at him under her lids, was more discerning. She was able to tell from his disagreeable expression that he had failed to uncover anything of special value, for which she breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was just a disappointed man with no vengeance on his mind.
‘Have you finished here, Captain?’ Anne enquired, her throat tight.
‘Yes, Mrs Pallister.’ He regretted the time he had wasted.
‘Then do not let us delay your departure.’ She thought the clamps about her head might crush her brain if he did not go soon.
‘Before I leave I’ll relieve you of your pearl ear-bobs, which I see are set in gold.’
Julia flushed angrily and would have shouted her outrage if her grandmother had not grabbed her wrist and frowned warningly. Katherine was exasperated anew by Anne’s foolishness. Why had Anne not hidden the ear-bobs away? She herself had not noticed them under her daughter-in-law’s curls, but the officer had better eyesight. Anne, who had put on her ear-bobs automatically that morning when she was almost too scared to know what she was doing, dropped her book on to the chair and fumbled at them, close to panic that the Captain might change his mind about her wedding ring. She thrust them into his out-stretched palm. ‘Here you are!’
His hand closed over them and he glanced again at Katherine to check she wore no jewellery except her marriage band, ‘I’ll take my leave now, ladies. My sergeant is in the kitchen organizing the gathering of enough food to sustain the men for the rest of the day. Then we’ll trouble you no further. I bid you good day.’
Anne’s natural courtesy made her incline her head, but Katherine did not speak and Julia looked away in case he should single her out for a special word of farewell. As soon as he was gone from the room Anne turned to watch through the windows for the soldiers’ departure; Katherine and Julia joined her. Three wagons, each with four horses in the shafts, were lined up by the steps, one loaded from previous hauls. In single file the Roundheads left the house. The sergeant carried a canvas sack that appeared to be only half full with the spoils from Sotherleigh, while the men bore white laundered flour bags crammed with food, which were either slung over a shoulder or carried between two of them. Everything was loaded on to the wagons and the troopers stood ready to march away. Captain Harding was the last to emerge from the house. He remounted his waiting horse and rode ahead out of the courtyard into the tree-shaded drive. As the last of the Roundheads disappeared from view beyond the elms Anne moved away from the window as if to return to her chair. Then she paused and swayed as she put the back of her hand to her brow. Before Katherine could reach her she tipped forward on to the floor as if pole-axed, engulfed by the deep faint that had been threatening to return ever since her first swoon from tension in the early morning.
Circle of Pearls Page 5