The House of Allerbrook

by Valerie Anand

  Allerbrook had hunting rights. Some days ago Stephen had brought down a fine young stag, and the platter now being carried in contained venison steaks. Beside the fire, the cats and dogs stirred and woke, roused by the smell of game. Hunter sat up, gazing at the table with wistful eyes. Whiskers sat up, too, twitching her nose and licking at her whiskers with a pink and yearning tongue.

  “We’ll share with ’ee. Don’t be so greedy,” Peggy said to them. “But two-legs eat afore four-legs. Just let me…why, whatever…?”

  Hunter was on his feet, barking. So was Rusty. Out in the barn the geese were cackling noisily enough to be heard through the walls of both barn and house. Stephen got up. “I’ll go. Whoever’s come visiting without an invitation on a cold day like this?”

  He strode off to open the door. Presently they heard him returning, talking to somebody as he did so. Jane sat still, not sure she quite believed what she thought she had heard. It was so unlikely. But…

  Stephen and his companion came in. Jane rose to her feet. Slowly. It was difficult to breathe, as though Peggy, who helped her dress when she put on formal gowns, had drawn her stays too tight.

  “I see you’re dining. I’m sorry to intrude, though if you can spare a bite for me and the three men I’ve got with me—they’re looking after the horses just now—I’d be grateful. Mistress Jane, it’s good to see you again. You look well. It’s been a long time,” said Peter Carew, sweeping off his sleet-dampened hat and giving her a magnificent bow.

  “A very long time,” Jane agreed faintly. “Over thirteen years, I fancy.”

  He hadn’t changed. There he stood, holding his hat, swinging an oiled leather cloak off his shoulders and grinning at her. He was as handsome, as much the bold adventurer as he had ever been. He exuded confidence and joy in living. He wasn’t a man who had never made a mistake—she knew that well enough. But he was a man who could learn from his errors, who could grow in stature, and he had.

  And she hadn’t changed either. Outwardly calm and gracious, she stood there exchanging banalities with him, and loved him as much as when he had ridden away, back in 1540. He tossed the hat onto a window seat, came to her, kissed her hand and then kissed her mouth. It was a normal greeting between guest and hostess, but the feel of his hands on her shoulders, the smell of him, of horse and sweat and oiled leather, turned her knees to water and made her head reel.

  “I’m here on a mission,” he announced. “I’m on my way to Devon, to my home in Mohuns Ottery, and I’ve things to do in Exeter, but I’m seizing the chance to gather extra men on the way. It’s on account of Queen Mary and this Spanish marriage. We can’t have it.” He said it as though he represented an authority with a perfect right of veto. “We can’t have Mary trying to turn back the clock and bringing us a king from Spain, of all places. Something must be done. We’ve got to resist, in arms if need be. I’m collecting volunteers….”

  One could not stand there in a daze. Someone might notice, for one thing. Jane, becoming a dignified hostess once more, interrupted him.

  “Sir Peter, Dr. Spenlove has just returned from a long winter journey and this is his welcome-home dinner. Please be seated. We’ll hear about your mission, whatever it is, presently, but let us finish dining first. Naturally, you and your companions are welcome to join us. Peggy, Beth, please set a second table for Sir Peter’s men, and bring a seat for Sir Peter. Here, beside me. We have ample food and drink, I think.”

  Peter’s men came in, more places were set and extra food was served. Carew, however, when alight with enthusiasm, could not be stopped from talking, not even by strong cider, fresh bread and venison steaks, and Stephen, intrigued by what Carew had said already, could not be stopped from encouraging him with questions.

  “If you’re collecting volunteers, sir, what are they going to do? Is this to be another rising on behalf of Lady Jane Grey, Suffolk’s daughter? But she’s a prisoner in the Tower!”

  “Stephen, please! Let Sir Peter eat his dinner in peace.”

  “Don’t worry about that. My digestion will work whether I talk at the same time or not. God’s teeth, not Jane Grey!” said Carew. Elbows on table, he talked with his mouth full. “I’ve been to dinner with the Suffolks and met her and she’s the most priggish brat I ever came across. Ruined the taste of a beautiful game pie by lecturing everyone on the wickedness of believing in transubstantiation. Well, I don’t believe in it either. Bread’s bread and wine’s wine and that’s that. I live in the real world and it doesn’t work like that. But if some people like to believe it does, well, I’d leave them to it. It won’t hurt me and I wouldn’t ruin a good grouse-and-partridge pie for it. Or a good dish of venison. These collops are superb, Mistress Allerbrook. But that wretched girl…bah! She’d be a nightmare as a queen.”

  He had changed after all, Jane thought. He had become accentuated, more outspoken, more entertaining than before; there was something about him that caught one up as if on the rolling crest of an incoming breaker. He made people want to laugh, to follow him.

  “Who do you want on the throne, then?” she asked.

  “Oh, the younger princess, Elizabeth,” said Carew, refilling his tankard with a generous hand. “I’ve met her, too. Protestant, but she doesn’t lecture people on religion over dinner. She’s King Henry’s daughter, a royal lion cub. She has her father’s magic. He had magic, you know. Not the transubstantiation sort, but the sort that does exist. The sort that draws people, makes a leader. No one could ignore King Henry.”

  No one can ignore you, either, Jane thought.

  “She’s got pale red hair, the same as his when he was young,” said Carew. “And she still is young. Her hair’s like golden-orange satin when it catches the light.”

  He sounded so lyrical that Jane found herself wishing she, too, had hair like golden-orange satin and a touch of magic.

  “Ralph Palmer, your kinsman, he’s joining in,” he said. “He’s with the forces we’re collecting in the southeast. Their leader’s a Kentish gentleman and Palmer has property in Kent. But he’s often in London and we meet there. He says we can’t just sit by and let the Spanish marriage go ahead. We’ll do no good by skulking at home and letting it happen, he said to me. I have a feeling,” Carew added, “that he doesn’t like being with his wife—she’s here at Clicket Hall, isn’t she?—and welcomes any excuse to stay away, but I fancy his feeling against this prince of Spain is genuine enough.”

  Peggy clicked a disapproving tongue. The disapproval was for Ralph, as Jane well knew. Jane herself said nothing, but wondered how she could ever, even for five minutes, have been attracted by Master Palmer. He had quarrelled with Dorothy for her sake, but she hadn’t wanted that and had felt uncomfortable when she learned of it. Now that his wife was mortally ill, he should have been with her.

  “I’m collecting supporters in the west country,” Carew was saying. “I thought of Allerbrook. Ralph told me what you did at North Molton, Mistress Jane. I believe I can trust you not to betray me, and if this household can produce a sword-arm or two, I’d be grateful. Any offers?”

  Jane asked for more details and gathered that there were several leaders of the intended rising. They had been scheming since November, in London. Carew, cautious to some extent, would not name the principal leader, but Spenlove, interrupting him in weary fashion, said, “Sir Thomas Wyatt the Younger. That’s the man, isn’t it?”

  Carew’s brows rose. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve just been to London and you’ve been careless,” said the chaplain shortly. “There are rumours, man, rumours. But folk are saying that Wyatt isn’t out to put Elizabeth on the throne, just to keep Philip of Spain off it.”

  “Some say that, but others think differently.”

  “It sounds quite crazy to me,” said Tobias, speaking up. “You’ll all get yourselves killed. What’s so wrong with the old religion, anyway? I like candles and the Latin mass myself.”

  “Oh, you were born old! I think you came into th
e world with long white whiskers, just like that cat down there!” said Stephen impatiently. “It sounds like a grand adventure to me!” His eyes danced. “Is the Princess Elizabeth in favour? Does she know of the scheme?”

  “We wrote to her. She didn’t answer, but perhaps that was wise,” Carew said.

  “I’d like to join you!” Stephen said.

  I knew it, Jane thought. I’ve been afraid of this from the moment I realized what Peter had come for. “You’re needed here,” she said anxiously. “You help on the land. Sir Peter, we will keep your counsel, as you ask. No one shall ever know you came here tonight. But I can’t spare my menfolk, least of all for such a risky enterprise as this.”

  “Ah, well,” said Carew, draining a tankard of cider, “it was just an idea. Forget it. We’ll ride on when the horses are rested. Mistress Allerbrook—that’s your correct name now, is it not?—I heard that you were widowed. I am sorry. Palmer told me it came about because of what you did for John Grede. Grede and I are Protestants, but he didn’t wish to rob his parishioners of the images and decorations that they were used to, and nor would I want to. Why take people’s little comforts from them? You did right to help him. You have done enough, perhaps.”

  Carew and his men left after dinner, riding into the darkness and the sleet.

  In the morning Stephen, too, had gone. He had apparently risen early and departed unseen, riding the pony Ginger, who though very elderly now, was still tough. Stephen had left a note on his bed. He was going to join Carew. He was on his way to Mohuns Ottery.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The Infection of Madness

  1554

  In Clicket Hall, on a bitter January afternoon, Dorothy lay in her bed, as massive and helpless as a beached whale, full of pain, nearly blind, bitterly aware that she was slipping out of life, and savagely furious with Ralph Palmer, who, however, was not there to be told how much she hated him.

  Father Drew was there, however, since Lisa had sent for him. On him Dorothy, though hoarse and short of breath, was loosing a comprehensive spleen.

  “He ought to be here…what sort of a husband is he, that he’s not here now, when I’m like this? He turned against me for telling Master Shearer how that Hudd woman at Allerbrook had cheated him, but it was Ralph who betrayed me first, going with other women and very likely one of them was Jane Hudd….”

  “She’s known as Jane Allerbrook now,” said Father Drew.

  “Bah. She’s Jane Hudd as far as I’m concerned. He’s always had his eye on her, and he had the gall to turn on me for telling the truth about her…. Oh God, why is this happening to me? God help me, Mary Mother of Jesus, plead for me…the pain…someone, do something…!”

  Lisa was there, a beaker in her hand. “Take this. It will ease you.”

  “What’s in it?” Father Drew asked.

  “Something the physician got us from an apothecary in Taunton. It’s made from a foreign poppy. I’m keeping Blanche out of the room,” she added in an undertone. “This is no place for a child.”

  “I can hear you,” said Dorothy. “If I die, Ralph will go to that Hudd woman, I know he will. She’ll have him and she’ll have Blanche. She shan’t, she shan’t! I won’t die. I won’t! I’ll live, just to spite her. I…oh no, oh God…!”

  The hoarse voice had been fading, but now it rose again, almost to a shriek. Pain and coma fought for supremacy in Dorothy’s body and for a brief time there was an ugly struggle until the poppy medicine won. Then silence fell, and the gross, pallid body lay quiet. After a time, it became the stillness of death.

  Only a few minutes after that, the messenger arrived at the gate.

  A deathly silence had fallen after Stephen’s departure. Even rumour seemed to have lost its tongue. Christmas came and went, a muted Yuletide. There was no feasting, of course, at Clicket Hall, where Dorothy Palmer, at that time, was nearing her end, but there were gatherings elsewhere: at Allerbrook on Christmas Day, to which all the tenants were invited, and on subsequent days at Rixons and Greys and Hannacombes.

  Efforts were made at jollity, but Stephen’s absence was noticeable. Despite his penchant for subtly spiky remarks, he was good company and he was a gifted dancer. Nothing was the same without him.

  After disposing of the land on the far side of the county, Jane had duly bought a farm near Dunster. The Luttrells, who still owned Dunster Castle, though they rarely visited it, had put the place up for sale. In January she rode over with Tobias to see its tenants and take belated Christmas gifts to them. Then, for the first time, there was news. The tenants were acquainted with the steward of Dunster Castle, who in turn had regular news from the Luttrells, who knew virtually everything that happened in the southwest. Jane now learned that Sir Peter Carew was stirring up the people of Exeter.

  He was said to have about seventy armed men in his Devon home at Mohuns Ottery. Stephen, presumably, was with them. The authorities had apparently got wind of the plot, since Carew had been ordered to London for questioning, but he had stayed resolutely put.

  The Duke of Suffolk, the father of Lady Jane Grey, having been recently pardoned and released from the Tower, was in the midlands, trying to raise support for Wyatt. Fighting somewhere, sometime was expected.

  Jane and Tobias, having stayed the night with their tenants, set off for home next day in a sombre mood. It was raining and the muddy tracks slowed them down. The Allerbrook household was looking out for them, for when they rode in, Tim Snowe and his young son Paul appeared immediately, looking so serious that Jane opened her mouth to ask if anything were amiss. But before she could speak, Peggy and Spenlove had opened the door and were standing anxiously in the porch. Resigning their horses to the grooms, Jane and Tobias hurried inside. “Mistress Allerbrook!” Peggy said in tones of relief. “We’re that glad to see you back!”

  “There’s someone here to see you,” Spenlove said. “Just arrived, in fact. In the hall.”

  “Who?” Jane demanded. She led the way inside, then stopped short at the sight of the two wan figures crouching on stools by the hearth and holding out their hands to its warmth. Their skirts were splashed with mud and their shoes and cloaks, arranged on a fireside bench, were steaming gently. Someone, probably Peggy, had sensibly given them slippers. But their white faces and their shivers spoke of something worse than being caught in the rain.

  “Lisa! And—surely, little Blanche!” said Jane, astonished. “What has happened?”

  “I’ve brought her to you, Mistress Allerbrook,” said Lisa, getting to her feet and pulling Blanche up, as well. “There you are, child. Make your curtsy.” Lisa had not been young when she first became Jane’s tirewoman and the years were taking their visible toll. Her own curtsy was clearly inhibited by stiff knees.

  “But what…?” said Jane, bemused.

  “The mistress—Mistress Palmer—died two hours ago,” Lisa said. “And hardly was she gone before there was a messenger from Master Palmer at the door, saying that he was going to ride with Sir Thomas Wyatt soon and hoped that God would defend the right, but he’d take leave of his family in case things went amiss, as well they might, for…”

  “Gently, gently,” said Dr. Spenlove. “Catch your breath.”

  “I have to tell it!” insisted Lisa. “The messenger took a mouthful of food, but then he took a fresh horse and rode on to Devon, to warn Sir Peter Carew that there’s a warrant out for his arrest. Queen Mary’s men are on their way to seize him. And there was a letter for me. It said that Master Ralph knew his wife might be dying and if she did, to bring Blanche here. He wrote that if he didn’t come back, then it’s in his will that you’re to be her guardian, mistress, and he’d left money as well in case you have to buy her wardship. I don’t think Mistress Dorothy knew about that and, just as well…oh, it was so horrible at the end…!”

  Exhausted, cold and past the age for coping simultaneously with a deathbed and a downpour, Lisa burst into tears. Blanche, much the calmer of the two, put a kind arm around he
r and said, “Dear Lisa, don’t take on.”

  “You poor things,” said Jane. “Now, tell me, did you bring any baggage?”

  “Yes,” said Lisa. “We came on ponies and had our hampers on a pack mule.”

  “Good. You must change out of those splashed things at once. Peggy, have a bedchamber made ready. Does anyone know how far Mohuns Ottery is? I’ve never been there.”

  “Something like thirty miles,” said Spenlove. “But, ma’am, why do you want to know?”

  “I’ve got to get there,” said Jane. “I’ve got to do all I possibly can to get Stephen out of this trouble. I want to bring him home.”

  It was ridiculous. Spenlove said so, Tobias said so and so did Tim Snowe. The weather was too bad, and Stephen would certainly refuse to be dragged home by his aunt. No young man of spirit would stand for such a thing. There was no point at all in Jane attempting to rescue him.

  “I shan’t go about it that way. I’m not so foolish,” said Jane sharply. “I’ll say I’ve come to warn Sir Peter. Who’s to say the messenger who called at Clicket Hall ever got to Mohuns Ottery? His horse could have foundered or the queen’s soldiers could have caught him. I’ll see Sir Peter and warn him to get away and I’ll ask him to disperse his men. Oh, why can’t you understand? If the queen’s men are after him, then all his followers are in danger, including Stephen. I have to try!”

  “Mother,” said Tobias, exasperated, “sometimes you behave like a sheepdog! Always you want to protect people, to safeguard them. But sometimes it isn’t possible. You can’t ride off now! It’s getting dark and it’s pouring!”

  Rain blew against the windows again, tossed on a strong wind. “Then I leave at daybreak,” said Jane.