‘I was indeed!’ When she had described it all to him she reminisced about other events, but talk soon tired her and her voice grew weaker even though her enthusiasm remained. It was then that her young company made a move to leave. His bow was deep and he expressed the wish that he might come again. As the door was closing after them she called Julia back for a moment, not realizing, through being partially deaf, that she spoke louder than she supposed.
‘Yes, Grandmother?’ Julia said from the doorway.
‘That’s the man for you!’
Julia went scarlet with embarrassment and retreated hastily, hoping Adam had not heard. Fortunately he had stepped on a few paces, but she was still uncertain and plunged into telling him how it was Katherine who had first taught her to read and sew.
‘I only wish my mother could embroider her ribbons again, but Makepeace doesn’t allow it. She always loved that work and it would lighten so many hours for her.’ She went on chatting as if by mere talk she could erase anything he might have overheard from Katherine’s room. She did not notice his amused sidelong glance indicating that he indeed had heard all.
A few days later Anne was in possession of a casket that Adam had sent her, which had been his mother’s. Julia was with her when she lifted the lid and saw that it was lined with pink velvet and held scissors, thimbles, embroidery silks in many shades and some rolls of plain ribbon that he must have bought in the ribbon-shop in Chichester, for they were brand new. She would have expected Makepeace to whisk the casket away once Adam had left, but Anne had started stitching at once and he had made no objection.
‘It can only be due to something you said to Makepeace,’ Julia commented to Adam. He had come to the house to see her and found her busy weeding and planting in the Knot Garden, a task she had taken on again since her return from Bletchingdon. ‘He’s never listened to me when I’ve asked on Mama’s behalf.’
He sat on the stone steps to watch her working with her trowel, ‘I did let him understand that if his wife could embroider a ribbon for me, which she had offered to do, it would mean an invitation for him to attend the first meeting of the Warrender Hunt in the autumn.’
‘Ah! You had him there. From what I’ve heard every gentleman in the county wants to ride with your hunt. What flower did you choose?’
‘Mrs Walker suggested several. I thought snowdrops would please you.’
She glanced up at him from under the shady brim of her hat. ‘Why does my approval have anything to do with it?’
‘Because I shall give it to you. I remember how pleased you were with the snowdrops I picked for you on the Downs. I hope these stitched ones will block out the quarrel that came later in the day.’
‘But that has been eliminated by the improvement in our relationship,’ she said honestly, pausing in her work to sit back on her heels, ‘I do think of you as a friend now. Let’s share the ribbon. Half for you and the other half for me. I’ll wear mine in my hair when the chance presents itself.’ Her eyes danced mischievously at him. ‘And you should wear yours looped in a bunch at the side of your hat, Cavalier fashion.’
He grinned at her good-humouredly, wondering if she realized that her teasing political taunts were her defence against the erotic game that was played in an undercurrent every time they met; whether they were in harmony or clashing over some difference of opinion, the sparks of passion were never far away.
‘I may do that,’ he said casually. He saw she was puzzled by his reply, having expected him to retaliate. It happened he had his reasons.
Anne chose a green silk ribbon on which to embroider the snowdrops. It was a flower she had embroidered many times before and now she stitched as assiduously by day as she had done by night in the attics. The work did not rekindle her awareness as Julia had hoped, but it gave her utter peace and contentment, her face serene as it had not been for a long time. Makepeace had ceased to exist for her.
He realized it and considered it of no consequence. It was as if he had broken free of his ridiculous infatuation for her that had held him in thrall. First love had never come to him in his youth, assailing him instead in middle age, and it had proved to be as equally short-lived with a grown man as with a boy. After the birth, when she had recovered from the strange state of mind that pregnancy had inflicted on her, they would resume a more conventional state as husband and wife. He would give her the respect and attention to which she was due, while she could embroider all hours of the day if she wished, for he was no longer jealous of those who were important to her now or in the past. Their marriage would be altogether more agreeable. He would have liked a second son to ensure the continuation of his line, but her age was against that possibility. It had taken many months for her to conceive this forthcoming child and it was unlikely to happen again.
When Anne finished the ribbon, two yards of it gleamed green and white, minuscule French knots in yellow making the stamens. Julia made a little ceremony of dividing the ribbon with Adam. He had to measure it exactly and by good luck the scissors cut through one of the tiny stems and not a flower. She rolled up one length and he the other. Then they exchanged the neat rolls.
‘We have sealed an act of friendship.’ She spoke precisely, wanting to emphasize that they had reached all that their relationship could be.
‘So we have.’
She did not find his smiling acceptance all that reassuring. There was something too explicit and intense in his eyes that she refused to read.
Anne stitched her way through June and July. Then one night in August she went into labour. The midwife and her assistant had been installed in the house a week ahead as a precautionary measure.
‘Delivery will be quick,’ the senior midwife informed Makepeace.
That did not prove to be the case. A breech birth had not been anticipated and difficulties arose. Julia was at the bedside, bathing Anne’s sweating forehead with a cool damp cloth, but when the pains became worse the midwife would not allow her to remain any longer.
‘Your mother is choking back her cries. It’s because you are here,’ she was told, ‘It helps a woman to shriek. Go now and don’t listen. There’s nothing you can do.’
Julia would have waited with Makepeace, who was pacing the floor of the parlour adjoining the master bedroom, but he did not want her there. He and he alone should be the first to see and to hold his new born son. When the midwife emerged from the bedchamber to warn him that all was not going well for his wife, he made a dismissive gesture.
‘A purse of gold for you and your assistant if you save the child at any cost.’
She looked at him, stony-faced. This type of man was familiar enough, an heir the be-all and end-all of everything. ‘We aim to save both mother and child,’ she replied coldly, withdrawing into the bedchamber again.
As the hours dragged by, Makepeace’s resentment against Anne mounted steadily. The sounds of her torment meant nothing to him. All he could think of was the harm this prolonged birth might be doing to his child. Then, when she had been twenty-four hours in unremitting agony, he heard the new-born cry.
Unable to wait a second, he threw open the door of the bedchamber and rushed in, impervious to the stench of blood and sweat and soiled linen that met him, the windows being closed. The assistant midwife was holding the baby, the other woman attending to Anne who lay in disorder in the bed, her eyes closed. Both midwives looked at him and the senior of them spoke with a certain amount of vengeful satisfaction in her voice.
‘It’s a girl, sir.’
He gave a rasping groan. For a few minutes with fists clenched he glared bitterly at his wife and then lunged from the room, banging the door after him with a force that made the windows rattle. In his rush to get away he ignored the midwife’s reassurance that his wife had survived her ordeal surprisingly well.
When Anne was in a clean nightgown and lying between fresh sheets, Julia and Mary were allowed at the bedside and, although weary for sleep, she smiled to see them. She watched the mi
dwife lift the new-born infant from the crib for Julia to hold.
‘She’s lovely, Mama!’
‘Won’t your father be pleased to know he has another little daughter,’ Anne answered blissfully, not noticing the startled glance that Julia and Mary exchanged. ‘It’s so hard this war is keeping him away just when we need him here, but Cromwell has to be defeated.’
‘Of course he has, Mama,’ Julia said gently.
‘Take Patience to see her grandmother,’ Anne’s voice was drowsy. ‘Mistress Katherine will be waiting to see her. And be sure to write to Michael at Westminster School and let him know he has a new sister.’
Cradling the baby, Julia leaned over to kiss her mother’s brow. Then she left the room with Mary, feeling worried. ‘Perhaps Mama will come back to herself once she has had a good sleep.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Mary agreed, but she thought it unlikely. She had been aware of a break-down gradually advancing for many months, and perhaps the ordeal of such a difficult childbirth had tipped the scales.
In the west wing Katherine was relieved to see no likeness to Makepeace in the little red and wrinkled face. The old adage that a child’s likeness began as it meant to go on made her hope that Anne’s features would always predominate. She knew the name chosen was that of Anne’s own mother and should meet with Makepeace’s approval, for Puritans liked their daughters to be named for a virtue.
‘May this little one know much happiness here at Sotherleigh,’ she said, touching the tiny hand with a forefinger.
Mary asked to carry Patience back to her crib. She looked tenderly at the infant. This was Michael’s half-sister and any link with him was important to her. Her hope was that she would be allowed to care for this child. Her role at Sotherleigh had always been a nebulous one and this would give her a purpose as well as fill a gap in her life.
Makepeace did not go to see either his wife or his daughter. His disappointment was too acute, his distaste for them both beyond measure. The day after the birth he departed on a journey, issuing one order to Julia before he left.
‘I want your mother moved back into the room she occupied in the west wing before she became my wife. Is that clear?’
‘Very clear,’ Julia replied coldly.
It was soon obvious that physically Anne would never be strong again. She had been worn down before the birth and the difficult confinement had finally drained her. It was a month before she was able to get about again and take little walks. By then she had been moved into the west wing from the master bedchamber and had made no protest.
‘It’s sensible to close the east wing when there are so few servants to clean the house in these wartime days.’ Her mental state was unchanged since the birth.
Anne had been disappointed that she could not breast-feed her baby, a wet nurse having been needed, but otherwise she was utterly content. Nothing troubled her in her confused state and she had started embroidering again, using the needlework box that Adam had given her.
Julia was puzzled as to why her mother should show no sign of anxiety about Robert since she believed he was still fighting under the standard of Charles I. Carefully she broached the subject.
‘Do you know where Father is?’
Anne gave a little chuckle. ‘Still celebrating the great battle with ale and song, you may be sure of that. Well deserved, too.’
‘What battle was that?’
Anne glanced up from her embroidery with a look of surprise. ‘How could you forget when the news only came yesterday? The victory at Edgehill, of course. It was bravely fought and bravely won. Even the Prince of Wales — and he no more than twelve years old — drew his pistol and shouted, “I fear them not” when a body of Parliamentary horse rode in his direction. The Cavaliers in their splendour routed the Roundheads who fled from their swords and their pikes and their cannon.’
‘Oh, Mama,’ Julia breathed. Edgehill had been the first great battle of the Civil War, a victory for the Royalists on a scale that never came again. She herself had been only a year old at the time.
‘So now it’s only a matter of time before Cromwell and his forces lay down their arms. It may be happening already.’ Anne lowered her embroidery to her lap and looked out of the window. ‘Perhaps by the end of the week Robert will be home. Oh, think of it! Then he’ll never have to go away again.’
Julia realized her mother was lost in the only period during the conflict when her hopes had been high and all had looked well for the future. Little did she know that the twelve-year-old Prince of Wales, as Charles II had been then, was now a king without a crown in an alien land.
*
Makepeace returned to Sotherleigh after two months away. He arrived when Julia had begun to hope she was never going to see him again. He alighted from his coach just as Mary was coming down the stone steps, having collected his infant daughter to take her out for a little fresh air. He passed them on his way up the flight without a glance.
At the head of the Grand Staircase there was a meeting he could not avoid. Anne and Julia were coming along by the flower screen and they were face to face with him. He flicked the gauntlets that he held in one hand irritably against his other palm.
‘I see you are well, madam,’ he boomed at Anne, his face hostile.
She curtsied gracefully, no sign of recognition in her eyes. ‘I thank you, sir, but I don’t believe we are acquainted.’
‘What game is this?’ he thundered, taken aback.
Julia spoke up, moving slightly in front of her mother, ‘I need to talk to you about what has been happening here.’
He glanced from her to his wife and back again. ‘Very well. I’ll see you in the South Parlour in half an hour.’
He stalked on in the direction of the west wing. Anne looked over her shoulder at him. ‘Who is that gentleman? What is he doing here? I thought him very disagreeable.’
‘He’s staying for a while, Mama. You needn’t see much of him.’
‘That’s good.’
With some restraint Julia explained the situation to Makepeace, her aim solely to protect her mother from any displays of temper on his part or any kind of distressing scene that would upset still further the delicate balance of Anne’s mind. The fact that he was entirely to blame could not be brought up now for that very reason.
‘Often childbirth leaves an aftermath and can affect women in different ways. My mother has simply lost her memory for a little while.’
He answered her bluntly. ‘Whether she has or hasn’t makes no difference to me. I might as well tell you that I have been seeing Puritan elders about securing a divorce. Unfortunately, after stating my case many times, my grounds were not deemed sufficient since your mother has not been unfaithful and has proved herself fruitful. I’m not a man to shirk my responsibilities, but I want that infant kept out of my sight and hearing. You and Mary can share that duty until your marriage. After that it will be up to Mary to carry it out or else there is no reason why she should continue to make her home here.’
‘Your daughter’s name is Patience.’
He ignored what she had said. ‘When the child is old enough a home can be found for her in the household of a tutor and a marriage arranged from there.’
Julia could scarcely believe that any man could be so ruthless towards his own child. At that moment she made up her mind that no matter what he planned, Patience should never be parted from those who loved her.
13
It upset Anne that Makepeace should occupy what she thought of as Robert’s place at table, but Julia settled her by explaining that he was being treated as a guest of honour. Anne still did not like it, but made polite conversation about the weather and music and books she had read. She never noticed that he did not bother to answer her, for Julia spoke on his behalf. Only once did Anne blithely mention the war in connection with Edgehill. Makepeace turned crimson and thumped his fist down on the table, making the cutlery jump.
‘We’ll have no talk of that under th
is roof,’ he bellowed.
Anne stared at him in amazement. She had never seen guest behave in such a way. Then it dawned on her that he was as sensitive as herself in thinking of the wounded and dying on the enemy’s side as well as their own. He would say prayers for all those unfortunate men just as she did. She would take care never to distress him again.
Makepeace had good reason for not wanting to be reminded of Royalist victories, however long ago the battles had taken place. His world was falling apart. When away from Sotherleigh he had followed his fruitless visits to the Puritan elders with a certain amount of time in London. There he had been in touch with people he knew in government and others who were influential in the city, to see if there was any likelihood of support for Charles Stuart that might threaten his own position. There was a possibility of all regicides’ awards of Cavalier property being rescinded if milder attitudes began to prevail, but he had returned reassured.
That sense of security had been short-lived. Events had begun to move throughout the land like the first tremblings of an earthquake. Suddenly there was a general fear of anarchy in England, and he threw his weight in locally with land-owners, whether Royalists or Parliamentarians, who as elsewhere were sinking their past differences and acting together to protect their livelihoods.
Merchants were doing the same and army officers were similarly alarmed. As the quakes of that danger increased, ordinary people seemed to be breaking the bonds of Puritanism that had held them in thrall for so long, an urge for freedom coming to the fore whatever the cost, while fear mounted on all political and religious fronts.
Makepeace banged his fist on a table in frustration when a servant returned from Warrender Hall to tell him that the master there was absent from home. Immediately he sent for Julia. ‘Do you know where Adam Warrender is?’
‘I didn’t know he was away from home,’ she replied coolly. ‘I don’t see him all the time and he said nothing to me. Perhaps he is at Westminster again.’
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