Garland of Straw (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 2)

by Stella Riley

  *

  It was the first visit of many and the beginning of Bryony’s metamorphosis. Sometimes she talked to Free-born John herself and sometimes she merely listened to him talking to others while she helped Elizabeth with the baking, the ironing or the children. And gradually, almost without realising it, she started to absorb the full scope of the Leveller programme.

  She learned that law was the sanctuary of the weak.

  ‘But laws must be written in English for every free man to read. And every law should be as binding upon a Duke as it is on a cottager – or where’s the use of it?’

  She listened to his views of religious toleration, freedom of speech and prison reform; and she asked questions about the right to vote.

  ‘As things stand,’ John told her, ‘only men who own land worth more than forty shillings a year can vote. Our aim is to extend the franchise to all except servants and beggars.’

  ‘And women?’ asked Bryony daringly.

  Lilburne’s bright gaze held a glint of something that might have been approval.

  ‘I’m often accused of wanting to change the world in a day - but even I can see that getting women the vote may take a night as well,’ he said. ‘I believe it will happen one day. But not, I suspect, in my lifetime.’

  Bryony stared into space for a moment and then said, ‘What does Sam mean when he talks about the sovereignty of the people? He makes it sound as if Parliament is only there to do our bidding – but that can’t be right, can it?’

  ‘It is precisely right. When Parliament took up arms against the King, it did so on the grounds that the welfare of the people is the supreme law. Now, if that statement is true – and it is – the Parliament is accountable to you and I and can only expect our support so long as it acts in our interest.’ He paused and then added, ‘It’s very simple. Despite four years of civil war, we’re still labouring under the same grievances we had before. And if tyranny can be resisted in a King, then it can equally well be resisted in a Parliament.’

  *

  After such conversations as this, Bryony found it more and more difficult to go home and guard her tongue. Consequently, when she heard Jack saying he’d trust the Levellers a whole lot more if he didn’t suspect them of trying to make everybody equal, she couldn’t resist informing him that the only parity Mr Lilburne wanted was in the eyes of the law.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Jack, staring at her. ‘Did you use the word parity?’

  She coloured a little, cursed her own stupidity and set about trying to retrieve her mistake.

  ‘Have I got it wrong? It’s what Sam says. At least, I think it is.’

  ‘Ah. I see. For a moment, you had me worried. But do go on. What else does Sam say?’

  ‘Just that, really,’ she shrugged. ‘Oh – and that the Levellers won’t tolerate oppression from Cromwell any more than they’d tolerate it from the King. But that none of them want to destroy property or set up any sort of universal community.’

  Jack continued to survey her thoughtfully.

  ‘You’ve acquired a remarkably good memory all of a sudden. Friend Samuel must be pleased with himself. But I hope – so far as you’re concerned – he’s confining himself to mere talk?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. Because, little though I relish the thought of being constantly regaled with pearls of wisdom fresh from the mouth of John Lilburne, I’d be even less happy if I found out you’d been relaying them elsewhere. And that,’ finished Jack flatly, ‘is something you would be well-advised to remember.’

  Bryony nodded and smiled … and decided that what Uncle Jack didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  *

  As soon as she learned of the Wapping meeting, she was consumed with a desire to attend it. Not surprisingly, however, she met with a wall of resistance.

  ‘No,’ said Sam.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s one thing to visit John in private and quite another to risk being seen at a public meeting. Also, I made your uncle a promise I intend to keep.’

  ‘Is the meeting illegal?’

  ‘Not in itself, no.’ Sam ran a hand through his hair and stared at her exasperatedly. ‘It’s just to convince the waverers to sign the petition. But you don’t need to be convinced, do you? Despite everything I said about it probably being condemned as sedition, you’ve already signed it.’

  ‘So? You should be pleased.’

  ‘I’d be pleased if you were free to do as you wish – but you’re not. So you’re not going to Wapping. And that is quite, quite final.’

  She seethed for a moment; then, veiling her expression, thought, We’ll see about that.

  *

  Getting away from Shoreditch at around four in the afternoon of January 17th was made easy by the fact that Annis was visiting her sister and Jack had a customer. Getting back at goodness knew what time would be a different matter but Bryony refused to let it worry her. She simply wrapped herself well against the cold and set off on foot in the direction of Aldgate.

  Dusk was falling by the time she got to East Smithfield and finding Well Yard amongst the network of narrow alleyways was more difficult than she had expected so she arrived at the house of Mr Williams, the gardener, later than she’d hoped. The rooms were crammed with people and it took a lot of elbowing to fight her way to a corner from which she could just see Free-born John as he called the meeting to order.

  ‘As you know, we’re in touch with towns throughout the Kingdom. Aside from London and Southwark, out greatest support lies in Kent but I’m hoping Hertfordshire and Buckinghamshire may soon rival that. On a practical note, we are ordering a further three thousand copies of the Petition to be printed and sending a thousand of them for distribution in the Army. At present, we have some forty thousand signatures.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘You won’t be alone, my friends. And if every man who cares for his posterity will stand up now and be counted, he’ll find himself one of a hundred thousand.’

  A rumble of talk filled the room. Lilburne let it run its course; then, collecting every eye, he said, ‘And now to the Petition itself. It contains no intended treason. We state only that, since the Commons is the supreme representative of the nation, it should assume supreme authority. We want it to cease bowing to the power of the Lords and to stop toying with the notion of restoring, not just the King, but also his veto. As I say. No treason – only a raising of its stature.’

  ‘What about reform?’ someone asked.

  ‘The Petition respectfully suggests those we would like undertaken. Reform of the law, of prisons, of the electoral system; freedom of conscience and speech, the abolition of monopolies … and measures to end the continued shame of this nation that we know as poverty.’ Lilburne’s voice suddenly rang like a clarion call. ‘These things need no introduction. You would not be here if they were not as dear to your hearts as they are to mine. No. The reason you are here today is to decide whether or not you wish to do something about them.’

  Bryony cheered and then, clapping a hand over her mouth, tried to disappear inside her cloak. It was a waste of time. Two minutes later, Sam materialised beside her.

  ‘You stupid little fool!’ he hissed furiously. ‘Haven’t you any sense?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered back. ‘There won’t be anybody here who knows me.’

  ‘You think so? What about that fellow over there? The one with the fat face. His name’s Masterson and he’s a Presbyterian minister from Shoreditch. Just the sort, I’d have thought, to be Uncle Jack’s bosom friend.’

  Bryony’s heart sank. George Masterson might not be exactly intimate with her uncle but they did know each other. She raised nervous eyes to Sam’s face and said, ‘What shall I do?’

  ‘Pull your hood round your face, stay behind me and hope he hasn’t noticed you. Though why I bother giving advice when you never take it is completely beyond me.’

  The meeting wore on in a series of questions and answers. Th
e mood seemed increasingly positive until, towards the end, a cynical voice remarked that they were all spitting in the wind; that they’d never to able to free people who were perfectly happy to remain enslaved.

  Free-born John’s eyes gathered new brilliance.

  ‘It’s true that some are unwilling to save themselves; but we are in this world to do the best we can – not only for our own generation but for all those which will follow. And posterity will doubtless reap the benefit of our endeavours … whatever shall become of us.’

  The echo of his words seemed to lap the edges of the room for a moment. Bryony found that her eyes were wet and reached instinctively for Sam’s hand. He accepted her fingers in a too-firm clasp and said, ‘That’s it. Let’s go. Unless you want to have a chat with the minister?’

  He lectured her most of the way home on the error of her ways and, when she got sick of it and answered back, they quarrelled. Sam informed her that she was the silliest brat it had ever been his misfortunate to meet and Bryony retorted that, since he was so clever, how come he’d managed to end up in Newgate?

  Ten yards from the Morrells’ door, Sam stopped dead and said, ‘I hope you’ve got some good excuses ready because I’ve no intention of coming in to help you.’

  ‘Nobody asked you to. In fact, if you really want to know, I wouldn’t care if I never saw you again!’

  ‘Good. Because if that fellow Masterson comes calling, you’ll be locked in the attic for a month.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she sniffed, turning towards home. ‘Uncle Jack isn’t a – a despot.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Sam tersely. And set off homewards.

  He was half-way down the street when Bryony finally realised that he wasn’t going to turn round and make it up with her. For an instant, she hesitated, torn between pride and the lead weight settling in her chest. Then, because she was well-aware that the fault was hers, she jettisoned her ill-temper and called softly to him, ‘Sam?’

  He stopped and turned to look at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I – I didn’t mean those things I said.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. And I’m sorry.’

  There was a short pause.

  ‘I should damned well think so,’ grinned Sam. And without bothering to say goodnight, he limped off away across the cobbles.

  *

  They were right to worry about George Masterson – but not for the reasons they’d thought. The following morning found him before the House of Lords, recounting Lilburne’s words faster than he could actually remember them. And since some of these, after the departure of Sam and Bryony, had concerned Lieutenant-General Cromwell, the result of his betrayal was never in doubt.

  The Commons instantly withdrew Lilburne’s bail.

  Free-born John’s brief moment of liberty was over.

  ~ ~ ~

  TWO

  ‘I reckon I’m as reluctant as the next man to insult anybody’s hospitality,’ remarked Wat sourly on the heels of a particularly massive belch. ‘But if I have to eat one more bloody barm-cake or another piece of curd tart, I’m likely to throw up on the spot. And that’s a fact.’

  Moving easily with the motion of his horse, Gabriel turned his head and grinned.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re going to the Skilbeck place next and they don’t run to such luxuries. It’ll be rye bread with a lump of cheese. And if you don’t think you can stomach it, you can always go home.’

  Wat pulled his cloak up against the occasional flurries of snow and relapsed into silence. In the two weeks since the wedding, the Colonel had continued following the pattern set in the three weeks before it. He spent long hours closeted with his bailiff and even longer ones in the saddle getting to know every inch of the estate and every man, woman and child who lived on it. Unfortunately, from what Mr Larkin could see, it was going to take a more than simple application to make Brandon Lacey pay for itself.

  The Skilbeck farm comprised a small stone cottage with a thatch badly in need of repair, a tumbledown barn and the blackened shell of an out-building. Half a dozen scrawny hens pecked morosely round the cottage door and a goat with a nasty glint in its eye was tethered near the woodpile.

  Gabriel dismounted from his horse and led it to the lee of the barn. Then, glancing shrewdly at Wat, he said, ‘Rob Skilbeck fell at Marston Moor. His widow does her best but she lost last year’s fleeces in a fire and her eldest boy is only fourteen. Sound familiar?’

  Wat grunted. He had seen at least four other families with similar problems and it was precisely why he felt the outlook facing Gabriel was so bleak. He said, ‘Is this another one who can’t pay the rent?’

  ‘No. This is one where the rent is paid no matter what hardship it causes.’

  The door was thrown open as they approached it and a gangling eleven-year old clutching a bucket said anxiously, ‘Best not to come in, sir. Ma’s right poorly wi’ fever.’

  ‘Is she, Ned? I’m sorry to hear that.’ Gabriel smiled comfortingly. ‘But I doubt we’ll catch it, you know. And if it won’t disturb her to receive us —’

  ‘Ned?’ A freckle-faced girl of roughly Phoebe’s age appeared in the doorway behind her brother. ‘Whatever are you doing to keep Colonel standing about in wind? Please, sir – come in, do. It’s only tertian ague ails Ma and she’ll be that glad to see you.’

  Inside, the cottage was Spartan but scrupulously clean and a cheerful fire blazed on the hearth. To one side of it stood an empty spinning-wheel and, on the other, flushed, shivering and wrapped in blankets, sat the Widow Skilbeck.

  ‘Colonel Brandon,’ she said feebly, struggling to rise. ‘It’s right good of you to come out here on day like this.’

  Gabriel shook his head and pressed her back into her seat.

  ‘I’m sorry to find you so unwell, Mistress – and we won’t stay to plague you. I merely wondered if there is anything you need?’

  ‘No, no. Janet’s dosing me well enough and our Joe’s taking care of beasts.’

  ‘He’s taking care of ones as haven’t wandered,’ muttered Janet darkly. And then, ‘Ned – for Lord’s sake, go and feed goat and shut the door before our Ma perishes.’

  Ned vanished with his bucket and Gabriel looked thoughtfully at the girl.

  ‘Fences down, Janet?’

  ‘Aye. And as fast as Joe mends one, sheep find way through another. We’ve lost four to Barton this last week – and small chance of getting ’em back, neither.’

  ‘That’ll do, Janet,’ said the Widow. ‘We’re managing just fine and I’ll be about myself in a day or two. Now get a couple of stools so the Colonel and his friend can take the weight off, and pour ’em some ale.’

  ‘Please don’t trouble,’ Gabriel began. And then the yard outside was filled with an ominous rumbling.

  Being that much nearer, Wat was through the door before him. Then they were both hopping over the still rolling logs to the place where Ned lay, apparently unconscious, with the goat munching cabbage leaves off his chest. Grasping the broken tether, Wat hauled the animal away while Gabriel, with Janet crouching worriedly beside him, ran his hands lightly over the boy’s bony frame.

  ‘Nothing seems to be broken,’ he said. ‘He’s just rather grazed and scratched … and, of course, we don’t know how hard he hit his head when he fell.’

  Without warning, Ned’s eyes opened to peer first at the Colonel, then at his sister and finally, with acute dislike, at the goat.

  ‘Evil-tempered bugger,’ he said bitterly. ‘Ought to be stewed afore it kills somebody.’

  There was a brief moment of silence. Then, his face creasing into unaccustomed lines, Mr Larkin gave way to rare laughter.

  Back in the cottage, with Janet bathing Ned’s injuries before the hearth, Gabriel looked at the Widow and said, ‘I know you won’t ask, but would you object if I sent a couple of men over to help Joe with the fences?’

  ‘It’s kind of you, sir – but there’s no need—’

  ‘Y
es there is, Ma.’ Janet looked defiantly up from her task. ‘We can’t even afford the Peruvian bark for your fever, let alone to be losing more stock to Jem Barton.’

  ‘Sounds to me as if somebody ought to drop a word in this fellow Barton’s ear,’ muttered Wat.

  ‘Quite,’ agreed the Colonel pleasantly. ‘And, when we leave here, I’ll be doing just that.’

  ‘Ah. Well, you won’t need me, will you?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ came the irritable reply. ‘Young Ned can’t be left to stack all those logs back by himself and somebody’s got to make that blasted goat properly secure. Then again, if some of these fences were looked at today, there might be a few less beasts missing tomorrow.’ As usual, Wat protected his motives with a forbidding scowl. ‘Good job I haven’t got anything better to do, isn’t it?’

  *

  ‘I see,’ remarked Venetia, looking up from the news-sheet in her hand, ‘that the Committee of Both Kingdoms is to shed its Scottish members and resume its previous incarnation as the Derby House Committee.’

  ‘Yes.’ Gabriel’s head remained bent over the litter of ledgers and papers on the table. ‘But since, thanks to His Majesty, we may shortly find ourselves at war with the Scots, that’s hardly surprising, is it?’

  An all-too-familiar glint lit the pansy eyes and Sophia groaned to herself. In the two weeks of her marriage, Venetia had settled discordantly into Brandon Lacey and achieved a certain routine. During the day while Gabriel was out, she peered into cupboards, inspected linen and ordered a relentless programme of dusting, sweeping and polishing. In the evenings, after dinner, she opened the kind of hostilities to which Gabriel was bound, in the end, to retaliate. And the result, thought Sophia with rare gloom, was an atmosphere that could be cut with a knife.

  ‘It’s not as surprising as the fact that the Army has somewhat ostentatiously surrendered its powers to the new committee,’ replied Venetia sweetly. ‘But now that Lieutenant-General Cromwell has apparently given up all hope of persuading the King to shower honours upon him, I suppose he feels it’s time to kiss and make up with the Parliament again.’