Nobody else was about. Gideon stood at a loss in the kitchen. He noticed hopefully a basket where Anne Jukes's famous manchet rolls were peeking from a napkin; he identified the delicious gammony scent of a fidget pie, still cooking. The boy watched him.
Gideon placed his hat beside Lambert's on a buffet and sat on a chair. There were three chairs, in wooden country style, all pushed back against the wall to leave more working space around a rectangular oak table. On it were signs of preparation for a celebration meal. Like a bored soldier awaiting action, Gideon put himself into a state of neutral suspense.
The small boy fetched himself a crockery jar, then squirmed up onto one of the other chairs, with his thin legs sticking out in front of him; he wrenched off a tight lid as if he had done it many times, dug in his fist and began eating biscuits.
In the tradition of boys, he could speak with his mouth full. 'Are you my father?'
'I believe not,' replied Gideon, nonplussed.
The child bore him no ill-will, but jumped down, came near and proffered the biscuit crock. 'You may have one!' he instructed.
'Valentine!' A woman came through an internal door. 'He has been taught good manners and he knows how to share.'
'But there are limits,' answered Gideon gravely, eating his single Shrewsbury cake with appropriate concentration and winking at Valentine.
He looked at the mother. Shock jarred on both sides, as they recognised each other. Immediately the woman looked away and went to the table, where she continued working.
What was she — twenty-five? Neat figure; uncovered dark hair in a flat bun on her crown; back of a long neck showing; small earrings hung from pretty ears; an air of wariness and caution.
She had carried in a large platter. Setting it before her, she placed an upturned pudding basin in the centre, then covered all the remaining plate with finely shredded lettuce that she had cut up and washed and swung dry in a clean cloth. She worked unhurriedly, with enjoyment and care.
The boy, Valentine, put back the biscuits on the shelf and stood beside the table to watch. By lolling against it and leaning his cheek on the board, he was able to swivel and stare at Gideon. Gideon stayed still and kept quiet. His light skin had flushed slightly red. At least the boy's presence acted as a distracting focus, making it unnecessary for the adults to converse.
Gideon thought hard. He decided to forget the scene on Whitehall Stairs, unless Richard Brandon was mentioned.
Juliana, for her part, would certainly not admit the conversation she had overheard with the executioner in the boat. She had immediately remembered this tall, fair-haired, clean-shaven man, though he looked different out of uniform — quite different, in fact, sitting demurely with his knees together and his hands clasped. The clothes he was wearing fitted better than the red New Model Army coat. It was not much of an improvement. He still looked, Juliana sneered to herself, like a glum piece of piety. She would not trust him with a kitchenmaid. Luckily she did not have one.
'What is this dish called?' demanded Valentine, nagging for her attention. He knew perfectly well.
'A salmagundi.'
'What is that?'
'A pretty mosaic of meat, fish and salad.'
Slices of cooked chicken had been laid around the outer perimeter of the platter, alternating neatly with a trimmed green bean between each. More beans made a second circle, then Juliana placed a third ring, this time pieces of boned anchovy mixed with nuts and silver onions. She painted salad oil on the pudding basin, a device of her own to help create a centrepiece by sticking on finely trimmed celery, transparent cut radishes, leaves of sorrel, berries and spinach. In a clean bowl she prepared chopped egg yolks, the diced leg-meat of the roasted chickens, capers, almonds and parsley, bonded with a salad dressing which she mixed up fresh. The whole grand display was decorated with nasturtium flowers and, on the top of the central bowl, a turnip cut into the shape of a flower, which Gideon Jukes knew of old must be his sister-in-law's handiwork.
Valentine lost interest and scampered outside. Juliana followed him to the door and called, 'Val — tell Thomas not to spy on people!' When she turned back to the kitchen, there was no choice but to speak.
'Anne Jukes and her husband are walking in the orchard, while they try to come to terms,' stated Juliana.
'I shall not disturb them.' Gideon reflected that this was the closest he had ever come to one of the enemy, except when he was killing them. It did kindle a frisson of excitement. The young woman had used an extremely sharp knife to slice the radishes. She had chopped those egg yolks, Gideon thought, as if she was imagining they were Roundheads' livers… Possibly he fantasised.
'So you are…?' she asked pointedly. A woman had the right to know who was sitting in her kitchen, picking Shrewsbury cake off his doublet.
'Gideon Jukes.' He ate the crumbs. Orlando Lovell would have brushed them away. That was when Juliana spotted the missing ends to several of his fingertips.
He must be thirty; fair-skinned; boyish features. Although he and Lambert were of different builds, and must have many years between them, Juliana could now see a likeness. She noticed that Gideon Jukes did not use the title of Captain which she knew he had. When he said his name, with an effort she managed not to exclaim Ah! to let him know she had heard of him. Men should not be encouraged to think themselves famous, Grand-mere once said.
He was not what she had expected. Well, that was interesting.
For his part, Gideon identified from her manner and the shape of her face that this was definitely the boys' mother, though the children shared distinct looks from another source. He knew from Lambert that her absent husband, the Delinquent, was a Colonel Orlando Lovell. He knew something else too, which the woman might not herself have heard: Robert — who had met Mistress Lovell when she brought Lambert home ill — had noticed in the Westminster reports that Colonel Lovell had levied war against Parliament last year, for which he had been labelled dangerous and voted unfit for pardon. Presumably the man was abroad. Presumably he would have to stay there.
Gideon Jukes felt curious. Mistress Juliana Lovell was not widowed, yet seemed condemned to a lonely life. Judging by her bare house, she lived close to poverty. How did she survive? Why did she not join her absent husband? She seemed too self-assured to be afraid of exile; besides, Anne Jukes had said Mistress Lovell was half-French.
Clearing his throat, he embarked on polite conversation, relating what Lambert had brought for Anne. 'It took us — two plain men, though with honest hearts — much ingenuity to find a suitable gift for a woman who believes that God made the world a treasury for the common man and woman, and that all wealth should be redistributed equally'
'Since Mistress Jukes does not care for outward show, there was no point in a rushed trip to the nearest jewellers,' Juliana agreed. For some reason she thought of the great pearl necklace Lovell once brought her. It lay in its velvet-lined box, at the bottom of her linen chest. She could have worn it today, in honour of Anne.
She was wearing, however, beneath a long apron, the gown that had been her wedding dress. Its once-bright silk had faded until only the deepest gathers of the skirt still showed their original colour. It had a significantly low neckline, but she wore a decent linen gorget to cover her bosom. It seemed to her that Lambert Jukes's pious brother was concentrating too hard on the glimpses of flesh where the circular collar's vandyked lace edge did not altogether meet the top of her silk bodice…
Gideon would say his interest was purely mathematical. Being particularly observant, a fact he was proud of, he had also noted that when Mistress Juliana Lovell bent forwards — for instance, to place the glowing nasturtium flowers on her decorative solomongundi (as his mother had called them) — a narrow triangle of pale bare skin revealed itself intriguingly between the two fronts of the gorget, which was pinned at the neck with a pearl brooch and a bunch of blue ribbons. The ends of the ribbons spoiled the view sometimes — though that added to the challenge.
'Goldsmiths were barred to us,' he replied in a glum tone.
'I would have bought her a new Dutch hoe!' Juliana declared. The tall man eyed her in careful silence. This was hard work. 'So what did the pair of you settle on?' she asked, enticing the story from him as if he were one of her sons.
'Velvet house slippers.'
'With a fur trimming?'
'We did not think of that.' Gideon looked wistful about the lost opportunity. Still wearing that earnest expression, he appealed to Juliana for approval: 'The reasoning was thus: a frivolity — yet useful. Sufficiently expensive to indicate my brother's true repentance of his deficiencies as a husband — which are so many — yet soft on the feet after a hard day labouring in cold fields… In case our dear Anne was still partaking of the agricultural life.'
'Gracious heavens,' exploded Juliana. 'I hope you ninnies bought the right size!'
He shot her a look of reproof. 'This was not overlooked! An old shoe was found at the back of a cupboard, madam, and taken to be measured.'
You thought of that, thought Juliana, for some reason quite certain of it.
Then Gideon Jukes abruptly opened his true blue eyes wider and flashed a conspiratorial gleam. He knew Juliana realised how hard he had worked to bring Lambert here in a conciliatory frame of mind. Too late, she understood just how much mischief and amusement was being concealed. The man had been acting all along.
And what,' asked Juliana, a little more coolly than she had intended, 'if Mistress Anne Jukes declines to be won over? If a bought gift will not do?'
'Horrors!' Lambert's brother propelled himself more upright. 'But in the failing of the first clause, the second clause at once comes into effect.'
'Which is?' Juliana fought off a smile.
'This, madam: my brother will tell his wife, Anne, of his unfailing devotion to her. His constancy and care of her. He will applaud her fine temperament and talents. Her personable features. Her devotion to God and to her meagre husband. Her gentleness, tolerance, honesty, good faith and bravery. Her wit, her skills, her conversation, her kindness. He may — though of course I must blush to say this to a stranger — have some praising words for their pleasures in bed.' He did not blush, though Juliana felt somewhat heated. Above all,' Gideon went on, ticking off points on his damaged fingers, 'he will not forget to dwell avidly upon the splendour of her manchet rolls and how wondrously she can cut a turnip into the form of a delicate flower.'
'You are a wag, Captain Jukes. Do you also juggle with feather mops?'
'I am a true man. He will unburden his heart.'
It will work, thought Juliana. She felt wooed herself. That was dangerous.
Captain Jukes lowered his eyes. His voice was stripped of all comedy. 'Is it your opinion my poor brother will persuade his wife to return?'
'Will he live in the home, share her labours in their business, avoid the company of old soldiers, cease drinking in low taverns — and be grateful that he has a wife?'
'I can suggest this,' offered Gideon.
'Anne will suggest it!' returned Juliana fiercely. 'Well, sir; she must have told him her feelings by now, and they have not come in from the orchard, bitterly arguing. She has not called me out to help her bury his cadaver… Since you ask, I believe she will go back. She grew tired of the community at Cobham. The hard struggles and frequent danger. Tired of the cold fields, but also tired, she says, of people who were neither hers by blood nor chosen by her, tired of living in a noisy, crowded house, tired of never having anything to call her own. Besides — ' Juliana took the baked pie out of the oven and allowed herself a moment to admire its golden, turned-back pastry. She kept the man in suspense deliberately. 'Besides, his faults are neither here nor there for Anne: she misses him.'
She gazed across the fidget pie at Gideon Jukes. He looked straight back — though had a visible temptation to scrutinise the gorgeous pie. He had a way of looking at Juliana as if they had been best friends for thirty years. There was approval in it, and certainty that they agreed with one another on all that was important. It gave Juliana a disconcerting tightness in her chest.
He was just an overgrown City of London apprentice, all cheeky eyes and an unwarranted opinion of his own worth. If she left him alone in the kitchen, he would cut the pie open and steal a slice, then pocket another and walk off whistling…
He was smiling very slightly. He knew everything she thought.
When Anne and Lambert walked in, they both saw it: Gideon was enjoying himself.
Chapter Sixty-Three — Lewisham: 1650
Anne and Lambert were reconciled. They drove off back to London together in Ben Lucock's cart, after a parting between Anne and Juliana which was tearful on both sides.
Before that, however, they had all enjoyed a luncheon where the mood was as happy as the food was resplendent. Lambert overcame self-consciousness by joshing Gideon; Juliana watched how Gideon accepted it. Lambert now needed to have a strong place in the family. Gideon relaxed from being his brother's stern organiser and good-humouredly allowed himself to be subordinate.
He watched her too. Gideon's instincts were entirely masculine.
He sensed it was a long time since she had entertained company. The boys, Tom seated on a barrel and Val on his mother's lap, due to the lack of chairs, were clearly unused to gatherings. Gideon thought that although Mistress Juliana Lovell enjoyed this little party, she was feeling a tug of melancholy. No doubt she was missing absent friends; that would be her husband in particular.
Lambert went out to the cart and returned with a wine bottle; even his brother had not known it was hidden there. French wines were illegal. But a master grocer could always obtain them, of course.
Juliana went into her parlour for decorated beakers she had brought away from Colchester; she did not own wineglasses. Gideon followed to help carry them. He saw her work table and her needlework everywhere. He noticed too, a long shelf full of her father's books. 'May I look at what you have?' She stood watching as he examined them eagerly; she noticed that he always checked in the frontispiece for the printer's name, though he was interested in the subjects — and knowledgeable. 'A First Folio Shakespeare!'
'When I am next in want of money, it will have to be sold,' Juliana admitted quietly. She was on her knees, counting out the beakers from the back of a cupboard. Anne Jukes had paid for the feast today. The folio would already have been given up, but Lewisham to London was probably five miles in a straight line; Royalists were not supposed to go so far from home and Juliana would not risk visiting the booksellers at St Paul's Churchyard until a trip to London was absolutely necessary.
'Offer it to me first! — Do you read these books?'
'I can read!' Juliana exclaimed haughtily. 'Yes, I read them, when I have time.' To prove it, she hauled herself to her feet, took the Shakespeare in her arms, found a place and read to him. It was from The Tempest, a speech of the courtier Gonzalo:
'Had I plantation of this isle, my lord,
And were the king on't, what would I do?
In the Commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things. For no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation; all men idle, all;
And women too, but innocent and pure;
No sovereignty…
All things in common nature should produce
Without sweat or endeavour; treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
Would I not have; But nature should bring forth,
Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people.
Well, sir. You have fought for ideal government. What think you?'
'A Utopia!' Gideon had noticed h
er father's Thomas More, his Plato, his Cicero, St Augustine, Bacon and Rabelais. (He had also seen a seventy-years-old Nuremburg almanac, in German, and shared a wince with her over it; Juliana prayed he did not guess it was plunder her husband had brought her.) 'I could listen to you reading it for many hours,' said the tall man, smiling and acting like a suitor. Juliana chose to think the lechery was a pose — though she was not entirely sure. Neither was Gideon.
'Beware, sir! It is from a play'
For two pins Gideon would have admitted to this woman that he had acted in a masque once. 'Aye, the theatre is the devil's cockpit.'
Juliana laughed. 'Yes, I am aware of that. Such an attraction, is it not?'
From the other room, Lambert was bellowing for them to hurry with the cups. As Gideon came to take the heavy book from her and replace it, Juliana felt suddenly convinced he would trap her against the cupboard and kiss her. Indeed, the only reason Gideon did not, was that he felt so startled at how much he wanted to.
'Still, you are one of the New Model Army Saints, Captain Jukes, and if you ever saw a play you would forfeit your safe position in the new Millennium,' Juliana burbled, ushering him back to the kitchen.
'Madam,' Gideon rebuked her lazily, 'you are thinking of the Fifth Monarchists. Crazily deluded fellows. These people say the King's execution heralds a thousand years of Christ's personal rule upon the earth. One of the rascals told me that greed and power will be replaced by brotherly love! This, of course, is impossible heresy.. '
Lambert had uncorked the wine. He shared it out, even giving small amounts to the excited children, while Anne filled up their cups with cold water. It was Gideon who asked Juliana quietly, 'Do you object?'
'My grandmother was French, Captain Jukes! I should object only if my boys were given wine from Italy or Portugal.'
So they batted humour lightly between them, as if they were laying on an entertainment formally for Anne and Lambert.
'Gideon and I do know a Ranter,' Lambert boasted.
'Do we?' asked Gideon, in some surprise.
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